Ron and Hermione’s soft footsteps echoed as they made their way through the quiet corridor.
Harry skirted the bust of Hengist of Woodcroft and tried to keep up. He should have been delighted to be out in Hogwarts at night, as in the past, he’d loved sneaking about and discovering new passageways and rooms while most of the castle slept. Hogwarts had often seemed as excited to be explored as Harry was to explore it. He’d go so far as to say that the castle made escapes easier by lessening the chances of being caught, if snooping student’s paid close enough attention.
Ron dashed through bright blocks of moonlight and whispered at Hermione and Harry to keep up.
He wished he’d convinced them both to let him go alone. If he had, he could’ve been in an empty classroom right now, rather than chasing after his friends. He’d be sitting as still as possible and letting the cool, quiet space slow him down enough to rationalize Umbridge’s dreadful meeting.
Harry’s stomach ached and he tried to shake off the slippery feeling of ribbons around his mouth.
“Wait!” Hermione hissed as she paused and flipped over a fold on the map. “Filch is coming up the western staircase.” She added nervously. “Doesn’t he sleep!?”
“We can cut around the Transfiguration classroom and take the passageway behind the tapestry.” Ron whispered just a hair too loud as he picked up speed. Harry cursed his own sluggishness as he chased after him. “I don’t think Ruffles will cover for us—”
His voice was cut off when he dashed around the corner and down the corridor.
Harry’s heart clenched as he imagined what Snape would say when he found them out of bed after hours. He’d never failed to come down as hard as he could on Harry when he’d caught him before. Harry now understood why, given how his dad had snuck out more often than he stayed in. It wasn’t difficult to imagine James and Snape getting into midnight duels where Snape would be caught but James would somehow miraculously escape.
What would Snape say when he saw them? What if he compared Harry to his dad again?
What if he gave them detention and kicked Harry out?
Harry very nearly turned tail, before Ron’s fingers snagged his collar and tugged him into a dark alcove.
“Sorry.” He huffed in apology. He kept a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder, stopping him from tipping over as he wedged himself between Hermione and the brighter side of the alcove’s opening.
Once he seemed to think it was safe, he gestured to Hermione who in turn pointed at the map.
Harry squinted and spied Flitwick’s name making its way down a connected hallway. It rounded the corner and entered the corridor, nearing their hiding place.
What would Snape say if he heard about Flitwick catching them after hours? He’d probably slam the door in Harry’s face if he ever tried to visit again. He might take back everything he’d said throughout the summer. Harry’d gone to great lengths to prove he wasn’t a bullying, strutting, rule breaking, prat, but wasn’t that exactly what he was doing at the moment?
Well, maybe Harry wasn’t doing all of those things, but given that he was doing some of them, it wouldn’t be a stretch for Snape to lump them all together and compare him to his father.
The necklace beat a staccato into his chest.
Harry knew their changed relationship depended on him being different from his father and if Harry turned out to be just like James, Snape would despise him. Harry couldn’t lose Snape. If he lost Snape, he’d probably wind up back at the Dursleys come next summer. He might end up fighting Dumbledore alone. He’d most definitely wind up fighting Voldemort alone.
He’d need to handle the prophecy alone as well.
Hermione’s hand slipped upwards before jabbing Harry in his eye.
“Sorry!” She hissed as she inched backwards. “Flitwick’s gone.” Her wide eyes flashed over Harry’s face. “I saw Ruffles do it once when you weren’t responding.”
Harry blinked as he rubbed his eye. “What did he do?” He asked while Ron led them out of the alcove.
He spared a moment to worry over how long he hadn’t been able to hear them speaking, but he tried to tell himself that it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. He tried to guess when Snape jabbed him in the eye before as well.
“This—” Hermione waved her finger upward, but seemed to struggle to find the right word. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I was worried—am,” She paused before continuing. “Am worried.”
Ron took the map from her and carefully guided them down the remaining floors. They’d needed to double back around Mrs Norris once and twice past Peeves once they reached the second floor, but the poltergeist had thankfully been occupied with several stink-bombs.
It was a miracle they’d made it to the dungeons at all. The icy air now cooled over their sweaty skin and almost held the appearance of smoke as it sank around the stone.
Damp grass seemed to grow in the corner of Harry’s eyes. It climbed overtop broken tombstones and lingering just out of sight. He shuddered against the feeling and tried to remind himself that Hogwarts had no graveyards.
A dank and moldy smell whispered from the entrance, seeming to boldly ignore that claim. After all, dead people roamed freely through Hogwarts.
“It’s smooth sailing from here down, unless we run into any Slytherin’s, that is.” Ron said.
The doorway seemed to swallow the surrounding noise, as well as any light. Where their path had previously been lit by wide swathes of bright moonlight, it drifted into nothingness in the dark face of the dungeons.
“Let’s turn back.” Harry said, unsure if he could hear the soft snickers of Death Eaters, or if he was imagining it. He knew, logically, it had to be his imagination, as the only Death Eater in the castle was Snape and Snape wasn’t about to giggle at his fear, or tie him to a tombstone. Though, while he may not want to murder Harry, he might take back everything that’d changed between if he was under the impression that Harry hadn’t changed.
Every new thought seemed to stack onto the next, humming through Harry’s body and making him numb with worry.
“We’ve gotten this far,” Ron said, holding up the map. “And there’s no one about down there.”
Harry shook his head and tried to swallow around his dry throat. He wasn’t sure if he could explain his fear to Ron and Hermione, nor was he sure if he even wanted to tell them.
“If I was Ruffles, I would want to know if someone drugged my—my students.” Hermione said with a cough. “Especially if the offender was a co-worker.”
Ron nodded. “I mean, imagine if she just started drugging everyone’s tea.” He said before concern started spreading across his face. “We’re going to have to check our food tomorrow morning.” He added. The sweaty flush darkened for a moment and he twisted and whispered to Hermione and Harry. “Bloody hell, if I were her, I’d probably drug Ruffles first. He’s got to be good at guessing poisons.”
Harry forced away a panicked gasp and stole the map from Ron before checking Snape’s location. He knew they would’ve said something if Umbridge had left her office, but the thought of Snape coming across Umbridge and being unwittingly poisoned horrified him. He tried to remind himself that he still wasn’t sure if she was actually drugging people, as he had no proof of having been drugged.
He might just be sick. The longer he went without being ill in the toilet seemed to be proving that to him. Although, that span of time seemed equal to how much he’d eaten. He’d been less sick now that there was nothing in his stomach.
That hadn’t stopped the nausea from making him gag though.
He wondered if they could just leave Snape a note. They could explain their worries about Umbridge without Harry having to admit his confusion over whether or not anything had happened and that would ensure Snape gave his food and interactions with their new defense professor a watchful eye.
He couldn’t turn back now, not with Snape’s safety to worry about, but he desperately didn’t want for Snape to think of Harry as identical to his father.
“Let’s go.” Hermione said with a firm nod before taking the map back.
She slipped into the inky darkness without a second word and Ron followed her quickly. Harry took a moment to wonder when he’d stopped being the one to lead them into adventures before chasing after them.
Iron basket torches flared to life as they searched the winding hallways for Snape’s office. The dim light struggled against the oppressive darkness and hardly managed to brighten the space around them, to say nothing of the hallways. He didn’t fancy losing Ron and Hermione down here, though he supposed they’d find him quickly with the map. Harry stuck nearer to them in case as he internally composed the note.
He could slip it beneath the door and then Snape couldn’t say Harry was out after hours. He’d have no way of knowing when the note arrived there, especially if Harry said he’d woken early to write it. Then he’d just need to find concrete proof of Umbridge’s actions. His memory of the interaction could’ve served if Harry’d paid better attention, but that was over and done with.
He tossed a look around as he trailed Ron. Several narrow passageways spun off to his left and he was fairly sure the Slytherin Common Room was down the third crooked hallway.
Snape’s office was before the Common Room, wasn’t it?
He turned and stared back through the darkness. He belatedly realized they must’ve passed the hallway leading to his office and now were following the map directly to him. They were headed for his private chambers.
“Wait!” He cried in a strangled voice.
His heart thundered in his ears. Snape hadn’t given Harry permission to visit his private chambers. He’d said Harry could come to his office if he wanted or needed, but he’d never said anything about chambers. Harry had no way of knowing if this was appropriate or not, especially given that they were now at school and supposed to be discreet. Every hope he’d had of escaping this interaction died when he realized with utter surety that Snape would think he’d broken curfew and gallivanted through the castle without a second thought.
He was James in the flesh. He’d been back at Hogwarts for less than 24 hours and he’d already gone and cemented the impression that he was above school rules.
It was easy when he’d been six. Snape could see Harry as his own entity when he was in Germany and they played Gobstones or read, but at fifteen and back at Hogwarts, a place where he and Snape formed spectacularly bad impressions of each other, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Snape might revert to tormenting him.
What if Snape thought Harry expected to get a free pass because of their new relationship? A pass that allowed Harry to abuse or break any school rule he liked, as though he was Malfoy?
Snape would be disgusted.
Usually Harry wouldn’t have cared whether or not he was the most well behaved, but now that Snape’s impression of him was on the line, he was hard pressed to ignore it.
To top it off, he still had no justifiable proof that Umbridge had done anything illegal. He couldn’t just give Snape an accusation, not against another professor. He knew how little his word had meant to Snape before August.
He never stood a chance.
Something soft brushed down his nose and he blinked through the gloom. A blurry, dark shape moved before him and he realized quickly that his glasses had disappeared at some point, though they were now set gently back onto his nose.
“Clever bit of magic, this.” Snape said as he held the map up for Harry to see.
He was still in his teaching robes. He didn’t look upset.
Harry blinked dumbly at him for a moment before turning toward the map. He couldn’t remember Snape having ever seen it in it’s full form before, as the last time Snape had been anywhere near it was in Harry’s third year and when pressed to reveal itself, it’d insulted him. Had he known it was a map then? He didn’t seem to have known before, though he supposed Snape was the sort to catch on quickly. He blinked several more times as Snape grasped his hand and gently tugged him from the dark hallway.
Hermione circled around Snape and stuck close by, having apparently been present the entire time, though Harry hadn’t been able to see her.
A sharp cramp bit into his stomach and he dreaded what had occurred in his panic.
“It was Umbridge.” Hermione began as they were shuffled into Snape’s Chambers. “Umbridge, you see. She’s done something, but I don’t know what and we’re very sorry, of course, very sorry, to disturb you so late at night, but we just weren’t sure about our next course of action, that is, I’m sure—”
“A moment, Miss Granger.” Snape said.
Harry could hear the slight annoyance at Hermione's too quick explanation.
He watched confusedly as he was led into a small sitting room, not unlike the one in Germany. He relaxed rather quickly when he saw one of Ms Eileen’s knit covers tossed over the back of a tufted black couch.
Snape sat him in the corner of the couch and handed him the knit cover before disappearing down a side hallway.
The three of them descended into an awkward silence, each as unsure as the last of what they should do.
Hermione slid slowly onto the couch next to Harry and cast a curious look around as she clasped her knees. Her eyes landed on the crammed bookshelves several times, though they always drifted away distractedly. Harry could almost see her mentally devising questions.
‘How do we safely accuse Umbridge? How do we avoid this happening a second time? Should we arrange a communication system?’
Harry shook his head and tried to push her voice from his head. He was sure they’d be on the receiving end of her thoughts when they returned to the Common Room.
“Erm.” Ron mumbled.
He fussed awkwardly with his sleeves and rocked back and forth on his heels. It looked as if he couldn’t decide if it was safe to look around Snape’s sitting room, so he chose instead to appear endlessly interested in the ceiling tiles. Harry vaguely remembered that neither Ron nor Hermione had been to Germany, or Spinner’s End and therefore hadn’t ever been around so many of Snape’s things. Although, Ron had been in Snape’s office enough times to recognize some of the mismatched bottles stuffed into the glass collections cabinets.
Harry had seen the vials as well, though he now thought of it as the medicine cabinet in Ms Eileen’s house.
“Never imagined we’d actually be in here, you know.” Ron said in a weak voice. “I sorta—” He coughed and his voice strengthened slightly. “Sorta imagined we’d have some, some meeting in the office.”
“He wasn’t there.” Hermione whispered as she shook her head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“We could’ve tried writing a note.” Harry said, silently berating himself for speaking at all. A note wouldn’t have solved anything and the dry look Hermione threw him told him she’d thought it was a stupid idea as well.
Snape swept back into the room, this time with a collection of vials sitting in a small try.
Harry eyed them and hoped his stomach wouldn’t interfere with anything they were meant to find. If he needed to drink them, that was. He wasn’t sure what any of them were either, despite the entire month he’d spent reading over potions catalogues and dusty tomes with Snape. Reading had been interesting enough at the time, though that was because Harry’d spent most of his time searching for increasingly ridiculous reactions to early iterations of brews and draughts. He wished he’d been paying more attention to the descriptors now that he faced a tray full of potions he couldn’t guess.
“From the beginning and with organized clarification.” Snape said with a dark look at Hermione as he sank onto a chair.
Hermione’s mouth opened and her voice cracked as she seemed to struggle to find the beginning.
“I wasn’t actually there,” She finally said after a moment and with an apologetic look at Harry. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Weasley?” Snape asked.
Ron flinched at the sound of his name, but shook his head ‘no’ as well.
Snape inhaled slowly before standing and heading toward a cluttered desk. He flicked his wand and summoned a scrap of parchment and ragged quill from the mess before giving Ron and Hermione an icy look. He scribbled something with a sharp movement and dried the ink with a wave of his wand.
“Do not abuse this.” He said silkily before passing Hermione the note and sitting again.
Ron looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head but he nodded. Hermione stood and looked twice at Harry, both times appearing to silently convey her hopes for him to be honest about what happened with Umbridge.
Harry blinked dumbly back. He still wasn’t sure what had happened in the meeting, so he couldn’t be very dishonest about something he wasn’t sure about, could he?
Hermione huffed and pushed Ron out the door.
Snape fell backwards against his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite all of Harry’s earlier worries, some more heart stopping than others which he didn’t fancy investigating at the moment, Snape didn’t seem angry.
Harry’d almost say Snape didn’t even look upset. He tugged at his cover and arranged it over himself, all the while wishing he could borrow it. He didn’t fancy returning to his dorm and sleeping with the burnt blanket. He wanted to know what Ron would tell the other boys about Harry’s disappearance, as well as what had happened between Ron and Seamus earlier in the evening.
“What did the pass say?” Harry asked after a moment.
He wondered if Ron would mention it to Neville or Dean.
“That the two of them had finished their prefect duties at a later hour than they’d anticipated.” Snape said. “It’s a standard pass given to students in leadership positions.”
Ron probably wouldn’t mention it.
“Merlin help them if they have any inclination toward abusing that privilege.”
Harry blanched as his earlier worries spun back to the forefront of his mind.
“We didn’t—I didn’t mean to break curfew.” Harry said quickly. “I’m not ignoring the rules and I don’t think I’m above them. I thought if I might leave a note instead but—”
Snape stood and circled the coffee table before settling next to Harry and tugging him into a hug.
Despite Harry’s growth in size, he consistently rediscovered that being hugged wasn’t radically different from when he’d been six. Snape’s long fingers slid over his back and slowly began pushing away the high strung tension thrumming through Harry.
“You haven’t broken curfew, nor have your friends. Average rules apply, but if you fear a Professor has drugged you, then that isn’t average and you are allowed to break curfew. In fact I'd prefer you break curfew anytime you fear something illegal or dangerous has happened. I trust you’ll know when it’s inappropriate otherwise.” Snape said softly. “Your friends behaved exactly as prefects are meant to, though, for other students within their house they should inform Professor McGonagall.” He added before leaning back and tucking the blanket tighter around Harry.
Harry wondered what had happened to stop him from being able to come to that conclusion himself. It made complete sense. He was well aware that normally, he wouldn’t have needed to have that explained to him, as it was rather like having someone explain how jumping in the lake led to getting wet. All the same, his earlier logic lingered in his ears, wondering how long Harry could get away with claiming he needed help before it became rule breaking and he became a degenerate delinquent.
In the back of his mind he could distantly hear Snape’s voice mentioning Harry struggling to tell when he was allowed to ask for help.
“I have a feeling that may take time to adjust to.” Snape said before summoning several scrolls of ragged parchment. “Regardless, I will always be thankful you’ve sought help.”
Something tightened along Harry’s throat and though he was still nauseous, he couldn’t help but relax into the sofa and feel safe.
“Now, try and explain what happened between you and Dolores Umbridge.”
Harry nodded and rifled through his pocket. He found the note Colin had delivered and passed it over, thankful that the pungent perfume had yet to fade. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it to continue to smell, but it felt oddly as if that helped fortify Harry’s accusation.
Snape’s nose wrinkled as he read the thin writing.
“When I got to her office, she made tea, I took a sip and then she asked me where I was for August.” Harry explained. “I didn’t answer or anything, I panicked. I don’t know how she could know. I don’t think Aunt Petunia ever mentioned the Ministry, but I couldn’t remember if you’d actually spoken with her after everything.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed and he flicked his wand, summoning several vials from the medicine cabinet.
“I didn’t speak directly with your aunt. What did Umbridge ask, exactly?” He asked. “Repeat verbatim if you can. Ministry workers are bound by specific laws and she’d be well aware of potential illegality in her behaviour.” He said before performing a series of tasks in quick succession. He drew a small amount of Harry’s blood into a vial and added a few drops into the collection of potions in the tray.
Harry tried to think of the specifics, but he found himself much more interested in watching Snape work. He poured a murky green tincture over the note, but Harry found his curiosity dulling as the note dampened, but failed to change. He’d hoped for a more exciting reaction.
He shook his head and tried to focus on Umbridge’s conversation.
She’d asked Harry where he’d been, but she’d said she was asking because the Ministry took his safety seriously. She’d mentioned Aunt Petunia, but she hadn’t remembered her name. Had she asked if Harry lived with Aunt Petunia or had she just stated that he did in fact live with her?
“I don’t think I remember her exact words.” Harry said as he folded his fingers into the blanket.
Snape flipped the note over and dabbed the tincture on that side as well. He explored a number of tests, some involving smelling, licking, and burning the note while Harry chased Umbridge’s voice in his thoughts. The more he guessed at her statements, the more unsure he became. He couldn’t decide anymore if she’d said Fudge was concerned or the Ministry was concerned, or if the difference was important at all.
“I just remember her being,” He paused and tried to shove away a shudder at how uncomfortable she’d made him. “Awful. There were a lot of ribbons.” He added, rubbing at his mouth at the phantom whisper of ribbons over his lips.
Snape paused and looked up as concern flashed across his eyes. “Try and relay the encounter, regardless.” He said before setting the note aside. “There are several methods we might use to search your memory, but we need to be cautious and careful about it. If she has drugged you, your memory might not show that. She may have altered your perception of events, thereby ruining the memory if it were ever brought up in court. That wouldn’t be unusual, the ministry has used that tactic before when they didn’t want to be caught. If Umbridge is clever she’d utilize several skills at once in order to achieve her goal.”
Ice shot through Harry as his stomach cramped and his mouth watered. He hadn’t imagined more than a few things happening at this meeting, it’d hardly lasted ten minutes. Trelawney had arrived too soon for Umbridge to have really done something, hadn’t she? Harry'd only had a sip of that perfumed tea as well, could a sip actually do so much damage?
“It would be better if we knew her goal, though that could be any number of things.”
He shoved his palm over his mouth and Snape’s wand swung upwards as he summoned a rubbish bin seconds before Harry sicked up.
Harry kept his head firmly near the bin as the soft sounds of Snape’s movements whispered past him. A cool breeze drifted over his neck and through his fringe, helping to ease the uncomfortable sweating that broke out over him. He worried mildly about having spat up bile once more and promised to ask if that was a symptom of being drugged.
He mentally struck that promise after remembering having been sick before meeting with Umbridge.
When he finally felt safe enough to look up, Snape had a calming draught in his hand.
“The absence of evidence is not definitive evidence of absence.” He said, handing the vial over. “We know the instance occurred. Your perception of it may be altered, but we have proof of an illicit meeting, however legitimate it may sound from the note.” Snape added as he held up the note once more.
Harry rolled the vial between his fingers and smiled to himself at the vague memory of Snape warning him about going catatonic if he swallowed a full dose when he’d been six.
He hadn’t given much thought to how memories of events worked, though he knew they weren’t always the most trustworthy things. He’d sworn up and down how he’d seen his father cast a patronus when Dementors descended on Sirius in his third year, only to find out it was actually himself who’d done the casting. So memories weren’t always reliable. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that thought when tied to Umbridge’s behaviour. He’d promised himself he’d be more careful around manipulators this term and he’d already been manipulated, less than a day in.
Manipulated by Umbridge no less. Her yowling China cats and fluffy pink rugs should’ve given him some advanced warning, but he’d been too thick to notice it and run away.
“The Ministry is well versed in covering its own tracks.” Snape added. “Much like Death Eaters, they’ll save their own necks first.”
Harry nodded and swallowed down the contents of the vial.
The anxiety tightening around his muscles released so suddenly that he dropped to the left and his last waking sight was of Snape blanching and shooting forward to catch him before he fell off of the couch.
——
Harry’s mouth was damp.
He tried to breathe, but found it strangely difficult. It felt as if he’d taken a bludger to the chest but had somehow avoided incurring any pain. He didn’t like it and prepared himself to shout about it, but before he could, his chest began expanding and he slowly inhaled, whisking away the uncomfortable out of breath feeling. He didn’t much like this either, but he supposed forced breathing was better than being unable to breathe.
He thought about sitting up to look around, but the pillow beneath him was too warm and comfortable for him to want to leave. Something began rumbling near his ear. Or maybe it rumbled near his face? He couldn’t guess where it was coming from and he felt a brief moment of panic until he realized it was Snape’s voice doing the rumbling.
If Snape was present, he was likely alright.
A different voice brushed over head, separating itself from the deeper one near Harry’s ear. Or face. He couldn’t place this second voice, nor could he fully tell it apart from Snape’s. It was softer, but it didn’t have the same ringing safety Snape’s voice had.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered if this second person was here, as he was quite comfortable where he was and everything seemed to be in hand.
Something smelling of lavender tickled along his nose and he thought of tipping off the couch in Snape’s Chambers. It was fairly hilarious after the fact, that Harry was so nervous he’d taken a bit of a calming draught and promptly tipped over. He laughed at the thought, or he tried to. It was especially difficult, given that he couldn’t very well force his lungs to do what he wanted when he wanted. He supposed it wasn’t awful though, he could wait his turn to laugh.
Did people usually wait turns when it came to laughing?
Long fingers carded through his hair and he realized with a bright feeling that he didn’t feel nauseous. He’d have thought he’d recognize not feeling ill sooner, but he guessed that if it wasn’t bothering him, it made sense for him not to bother with it.
“Rennervate!” The softer voice said.
A bright crimson light shot through Harry’s eyes and he jolted.
Dumbledore’s wizened face leant away from Harry’s, giving him ample time to flinch away, for all the good that it would do. He couldn’t seem to move very far.
Snape’s large hand slid over his back, soothing the sudden fright.
“Good evening, Harry.” Dumbledore said with what looked like a genuine smile. He didn’t seem to be planning to ship Harry back to the Dursleys that very second, but then, Harry’d never been good at guessing what Dumbledore was thinking. “You’re having a dreadful night, my boy. I’m very sorry for the mess.”
Harry huffed as he looked around for Snape and felt himself go numb after spotting the pillow he’d slept on and subsequently, Snape.
The reason he hadn’t been able to tell where Snape’s voice had come from, was because he was pressed against Snape’s chest. It’d come from all around him. He’d been bundled in Ms Eileen’s knit cover and his school jumper, which hadn’t been shrunk to fit his now far smaller frame and was loose enough to be entirely too vulnerable for any meeting with Dumbledore.
He wanted to go back to the foggy place and be blissfully unconscious.
This was a nightmare.
It couldn’t be real, it must’ve been a nightmare.
“It is my understanding that we can fix this on a temporary level.” Dumbledore said with a carefully calming gesture. “I know you are upset, Harry.”
“Upset!?” Harry shrieked.
His mum’s necklace hummed to life.
Upset scratched the surface of how he felt. Harry dearly wished to hurt Avery at that moment. He didn’t much care how he did it, he’d drown him in the lake or throw him from the high tower. If he could, he’d owl Charlie and ask him to bring back the Hungarian Horntail just to roast Avery alive. Harry couldn’t fathom being six years old again and at Hogwarts. He had bigger problems now, bigger problems like Ministry inquiries and women who looked like painted toads, Voldemort, Dumbledore himself, and Malfoy’s potential upcoming torment, which Harry could safely say was not going to be easy to ignore, given his current problem. A nearly imperceptible thought crept up the back of his mind, whispering that if Harry was six, Dudley was eleven.
“Perhaps, Albus, you can refrain from guessing how others feel without asking first.” Snape said as he ran a comforting hand over Harry’s back again.
Dumbledore folded his hands and nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry. Forgive me for assuming.”
“No.” Harry snapped.
“Harry,” Snape started softly as he tucked the knit cover tighter around Harry. Harry fell forwards before jerking back again as he realized with a humiliating curl that his mouth had been damp because he’d drooled over Snape’s shoulder. “This is only temporary. You were fifteen earlier today and you will be fifteen again soon.”
Harry couldn’t see how that was possible, given that he’d woken up six again.
“The important thing is that we’re aware of the issue.” Dumbledore said as he strolled past Snape’s bookshelves and toward the floo. “Both of the issues. I will take the matter with Dolores seriously and will be watching her carefully.”
The urge to spit something about how pathetic Dumbledore’s usual careful watches were raged in Harry, though he ignored it with herculean effort.
“Severus, do update me of any findings. I would stay and speak with you both, but I fear my presence will not facilitate a safe and calm environment. Good evening.” Dumbledore said before tossing a handful of floo powder in the fireplace and disappearing in a blaze of green fire.
Harry wanted more than anything to scream or throw something at that moment. He couldn’t decide which one might make him feel better. Screaming was certainly easier, but he felt throwing something and watching it break would be more cathartic. The small practice snitch Harry’d chased after in his mum’s flat and Germany fluttered from Snape’s pocket, reminding him, however distantly, that anger was a way for Voldemort to sneak into Harry’s thoughts. He didn’t think Voldemort would want to sneak into his thoughts at this particular moment, especially given the righteously, furious mess they were, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and re-evaluate the situation.
“This is temporary.” Snape said again, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than Harry. “We have a method to bring you back to your correct age, it will just need to be administered routinely until a proper cure is brewed.”
“What about Dudley.” Harry asked, forcing himself to breathe slowly. “Won’t he wake up being eleven?” He asked. “He’s at Smeltings, they won’t know what to do about him.”
“Dumbledore is on his way to collect him. He’ll arrive before any muggles are made aware of your cousin’s condition.” Snape said with a quick look at his wristwatch. “He’ll have more time left at his appropriate age, given that he took the antidote several hours after you.”
Snape scrunched his eyes shut and he shook his head, seemingly at himself. A curtain of dark hair brushed over Harry’s ears.
“I thought it was just food poisoning.” Harry said miserably. He disliked the way he’d calmed upon hearing Dudley would be alright. He’d have liked to be angry about it for a while longer, however childish that may be. “I thought I’d eaten something and just couldn’t keep anything down.” The thought of Dudley likely having the same symptoms as Harry didn’t help either. He wasn’t cruel enough to want to keep food from Dudley. Afterall, Harry could go a lot longer without eating than him. “I went to Madam Pomfrey and she thought it was just an upset stomach, she waved her wand and checked and everything.” Harry added with a mimicked wave of his own.
“I’m glad you went to her, and that scan helps narrow down what might be occurring.” Snape said. “If her scan declared no obstructions then it may be your stomach having shrunk, closely followed by the surrounding organs.” He muttered beneath his breath before snatching the parchment and quill he’d been using previously and scratching out several bullet points. “Although, shrinking should’ve shown in a scan.”
Harry shoved his face into Snape’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the embarrassing damp patch.
“Will I be nauseous the entire time I’m fifteen then?” He asked.
Snape paused in his scribbling and dropped a hand over Harry’s head, steadily helping to push away his burning anger. Something that sounded curiously like himself at fifteen whispered persistently about keeping calm in the face of his bitter anger.
“There is a chance you might feel nauseous. You went two days without symptoms before this occurred, so the likelihood you’ll go two days again is high.” Snape said. “I have the antidote in my bag, though giving you it will be more akin to putting a plaster on a broken bone.”
Harry wished he had broken a bone. It’d be loads easier to fix.
“What now then?” He asked.
“Right now, I feel it would be best if we extracted the memories of your meeting with Umbridge and placed them in a Pensieve.”
Chapter 3
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! d84; I will update fairly regularly.