"Mr. Potter, wake up."

Harry didn't want to wake up. It was nice and comfort on the cold floor… and to be honest, the shrill voice didn't make the offer more attractive. He was vaguely aware that he didn't like the person that spoke. Perhaps they'll leave him alone if he won't open his eyes...

"Mr. Potter!" A hand had landed on his cheek harshly, something harsh and circular stinging him. He tossed himself upwards immediately at his attacker, only to be stopped by a simple sticking charm which glued his whole upper body to a wooden chair. The complex Harry-chair fell to the floor and his body went limp with the sudden effort. It took him a whole minute to snap out of it and focus on the world around him, only then noticing that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

The great Harry Potter, beaten by a first-year jinx. Malfoy would've celebrated on it.

"Welcome to the world of the living, Mr. Potter." His eyes had somehow managed to focus on Umbridge just enough to see her wide, hateful grin. "In this world we don't skip detentions."

Harry groaned. "I had a lesson and dinner! When was I supposed to come over?!"

"You should've thought about it before your precious Severus gave you a week of detentions which is overlapping mine." She said sweetly, making a popping sound with her lips.

Something red gushed down his face and he closed his right eye, still laying on the cold stone floor. The blood teased his ear with a slightly tickling sensation as it flowed towards the floor.

Umbridge ignored the red drops on the ground.

"Now, I believe we haven't finished our last conversation." She continued and retrieved something that he couldn't see from her pocket. Harry's face became pale. If it was Veritaserum, he was doomed. Any little detail about their rebellion, the twins' pranks, the Half Blood Prince, Sirius… Umbridge would kill him.

Or even worse, expel you, lectured a tiny voice in his head.

"Using Veritaserum on a student is illegal." He declared, trying to sound confident. As if she would care.

She growled in frustration and it was the sweetest noise that Harry had heard since he woke up in the pink room. "Unfortunately, I have ran out of Veritaserum during some previous… sessions." Was she referring to his detentions, or other students had suffered as well?

The answer was obvious to him due to the cold glass vial that was squeezed against his right thigh. If only he could reach him…

"Don't bother wriggling. You will only hurt yourself again." She remarked and suddenly giggled. "On second thought, I shouldn't have told you that. Go ahead, Potter."

Harry hadn't stopped squirming; he had to try, at least. His valor rewarded him with a stinging hex that caused him to jump and he bumped his head on the floor again, accidentally bruising his right hand under the weight of his body. He bit his lower lip, eager not to make any sound.

Umbridge took advantage of the situation and tugged his hair backwards, thrusting a vail between his lips. She had managed to make him swallow a few drops before a wild movement of his head hurled the phial onto the wall, shattering it to tiny pieces that seemed like smudged light stains in his eyes.

"Remember that I told you that I don't have any more Veritaserum?" she asked viciously. "I lied."

Harry gritted his teeth. The potion will come into effect any moment. If only he could drink the antidote…

Think, Potter. A bored, baritone voice ordered inside his head.

And abruptly, it hit him – the most absurd, stupid, mental idea that popped into his mind. But it was his only chance.

Who said that potions must be drank?

He wiggled the chair again, pushing his lower body upwards with his right leg. Umbridge merely stared at him, waiting to see his hapless endeavors. His right shoulder was squashed against the hard stone, serving him as a fulcrum. Harry's lower body hurtled and tossed through the air, crushing into the ground again with a sickening sound.

He drew a sharp breathing as a pang of pain went through his body. He probably had dislocated his shoulder, but it didn't matter; the crucial fact was that his right palm was underneath his right pocket and he groped a sharp fragment of glass inside it. With a swift motion he wounded his leg through the pants and the loosen liquid, thanks to his waterproof clothes (Harry was going to kiss Mrs. Weasley), began absorbing inside the wound.

The burn felt worse than the acid that Dudley and Piers had poured on him during Chemistry class in the fifth grade and Harry immediately understood why all of the wizards consumed potions through drinking. He hissed with agony, almost forgetting Umbridge until she chuckled.

Fuck! Pretend you're under Veritaserum, Harry!

He urged all of the pain to the back of his mind, trying to clear it as Professor Snape had said.

Typical Harry Potter. Demands a life and death situation in order to carry out an action as simple as tying his shoes.

He restrained himself from snorting. Definitely not working. Umbridge was waiting, but soon she'll begin to suspect. He needs a different teacher. Harry shut his eyes and tried to concentrate despite the tears that had escaped through his eyelids. When did he begin to cry?

Harry felt a tug in his hair and watched helplessly as he floated backwards inside his brain, following the lead of the bubble of pain. Almost as if he waited for this moment his whole life, a familiar small boy with black hair had stepped forward. Harry watched from far away with fright mixed in fascination as his ten years old doppelgänger took over the reins.

"Minerva! Poppy!" Severus barked into the fireplace. "Potter is missing and considerably ill. Get me Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley this instant. And take care of your consigned to oblivion student."

When the women in question raised their head to the hearth Severus has already landed flawlessly in the infirmary, his right hand gripping a shaking Neville Longbottom.

Severus silently cursed his foolishness. He was just gone for the moment – after he had arrived to the scene and crouched in front of Potter in a not-typical way for the second time in the last two days, he had noticed the letters which were clutched inside his palms. He ruffled through them briskly; he already knew that Lily had a Rhnull, it was no surprise. The tone of the letter, however, caught him off guard. It was demanding and accusing, as if Potter was the one who asked his family for a favor and not the other way around.

Pushing the new substrate for musings aside, he paced to his rooms in order to retrieve a Pepper-Up from his office, as Potter's body didn't seem well enough to even stand a Mobilicorpus. Furthermore, the stoic boy would want to donate blood to his cousin; less spells meant less complications. He had warned Longbottom to stand on guard and adjured him to do so.

Yet, when he returned, merely seven minutes after, he discovered a petrified Longbottom. A quick Legilimens discovered that the boy was obliviated, a black block present in front of his short-term memories. It was severe. Severus has a fair ability to estimate magical powers of his surroundings. He doesn't believe that Umbridge is powerful and familiar with the mental arts well enough in order to obliviate someone without making him dement.

The only logical conclusion was that Umbridge has a partner which has access to the school. He could be anyone and anywhere. Their common target was clear: Harry Potter.

And Severus doesn't mess around with Harry Potter's life.

This was the reason why when he had recounted the last events to his peers, he had excluded the fact that Longbottom was obliviated, only mentioning that he hadn't see the attacker.

Poppy listened while taking vital signs from her new patient. Minerva's lips became a thin, white line. "What do you need Weasley and Granger for?" she asked.

Severus glared at her. "I have my own methods, Minerva."

She gestured towards the hearth and took a handful of floo powder, throwing it into the fire. "Be my guest, then. The password is Gillyweed. I will update Albus." Minerva said smoothly, not even a hint of doubt in her tone.

Before anyone could even blink, Severus stepped into the fire and came out in the Gryffindor common room, his robes billowing. It was the end of dinner already and the place was beginning to fill up again; his sudden appearance had caused a general panic and buzz. Some first years had tried to escape through the portrait of the Fat Lady, but two students approached him.

"What's up, Professor?" asked Weasley one, a devilish grin on his face. Severus' eyes narrowed down. He was sure that his key to find Harry Potter, were he still on school grounds, is the Marauders' map. Granger and Weasley would know it, of course. But who gave Potter this map in the first place? Retrospectively, it couldn't be Lupin, since the man seemed surprised to find the piece of parchment in Severus' hands. It probably wasn't Black – even Potter had the common sense of not taking gifts from strangers, let alone criminals.

And if not, Granger had. Which means…

"I know of the map." Severus said bluntly to the amazed twins. "If you bring it to me in the next twenty seconds, you may know that the Potions lab is always empty on Saturdays between eleven am to one pm."

The ginger pair had exchanged looks and wordlessly Weasley two bolted towards the stairs. "Two pm." Weasley one tried to negotiate, but at Severus' glare he stopped.

He accepted the piece of parchment from Weasley one and turned away, only then recalling.

"Two pm for the passphrase." He said with a frown. This was a long overdue riddle that he hadn't solved.

Both of the twins smirked and twin one had thrusted into his hand a note. Severus nodded at them curtly and walked out of the tower, trying not to think about how a Weasley had outsmarted him.

Well, if any Weasley deserves to do so, it's this pair, a voice in his head argued, the part that was always amused with their tasteful hoaxes, especially on Umbridge's account.

 Severus murmured the phrase ("I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good" – what were they, three years old?) and watched with awe as the magical map divulged itself across the parchment. Even a broken clock is right twice a day, as his mother used to tell him when he asked her why did she marry Tobias.

He had traced himself with a small label of 'Sinvellus' under his feet and snorted disdainfully. A quick scan revealed that Potter was, not to his astonishment, inside Umbridge's office. Then, Severus did what he hadn't done in his era as a Professor in Hogwarts; he dashed.

Harry watched as the little boy handled Umbridge similarly to how he'd dealt with Vernon and Petunia. He nodded, answered politely and curtly, apathetic. He agreed to be healed by the toad. Between Harry and the reality stood a cloud of black, dark memories. Somehow, this obscure fog felt scarier than almost everything he had ever done.

The Boy Who Lived took a deep breath and began watching his childhood, no longer forgotten and pushed aside under barriers.

Distinctly, he was aware of Snape entering the room; hissing something about missing his detention. He knew that Snape ushered him out of the room, then placed a supportive hand on Harry's lower back, perhaps the most meaningful touch that had ever occurred between them. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over him. He could see that Snape knew something's wrong with him, but he couldn't deflect his eyes from the horrors that he saw.

Because now, he recalled the first years of his life; being four and already weeding the garden, staring with zeal and disappointment as Dudley had received attention and love. Trying to behave as piggy as Dudley, only to end up with a whole week inside his cupboard. Picking flowers to Aunt Petunia, which she threw and trampled under her heel. Asking again and again for stories about his parents, even if the only answer he had was how useless and drunken were they.

And the belt. The burnings.

The memories floated slowly and quickly altogether, leaving no space to breath; as he reached age six, he felt another mind brushing inside, detouring the horrors of his childhood.

"Come on, Potter." Said Snape, looking as authoritarian and tangible as ever, his robes billowing between his feet.

Harry hadn't answered and Snape sighed, glancing at the memory in front of them. It was Christmas Eve and Harry cried outside in the cold as the family celebrated together, eating a turkey. His face flashed with a feeling and immediately became unreadable again.

Suddenly, the environment had changed. Harry stood in an unknown park and a teenage Severus Snape was sitting in front of him. Harry walked towards him and the teen rolled over, making him place. They sat together and listened to some kind of classic music, which seemed to come from a group of sparrows.

Harry glanced downwards, studying his clothes; he was wearing a Hawaiian, blue shirt, which was buttoned carelessly. He closed his eyes, letting the sun rays to caress him, feel the heat that never was available inside his cupboard.

Snape hadn't urged him; but when he did reach out to the other boy, Harry did something unbelievable. Unlike a similar incident a few years before, he took the offered hand and followed the Slytherin.