Portended Prophecies by WiCeBa

Horror flooded Harry as the classroom shrank in on him.

His heart hammered in his chest and he inhaled greedily, though he despised every desperate breath. The ribbons receded from his throat and mouth in slow, slippery movements until they hardly brushed his skin at all. The last he felt of them was a soft sweep over his jaw and then they drifted away entirely.

“Now, these distractions can’t be allowed to come in the way of our lesson. Who would like to read the second course aim?” Umbridge asked.

Her voice faded into murky sounds until Harry could no longer hear anything beyond a blurred murmur.

The oppressive buzzing he’d experienced before in Umbridge’s office seemed to swing into full force. The sound rattled over his skull and Harry wasn’t sure if this was Umbridge’s doing as well, or if he was actually mad and losing it. He’d have to be mad to have given into what Umbridge wanted.

He’d never given in like that before, certainly not of his own free will. He’d gotten himself into trouble with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or any awful person who felt they could force Harry into saying or doing something and no matter how many times they’d threatened him or done exactly as they’d threatened to, Harry’d never given in. He hadn’t given in even when subjected to the Imperious curse, despite the curses controlling nature.

He’d never given in.

Sweat dripped down his back and soaked uncomfortably into his button down. His head still rolled over his shoulders, though the exhaustion blanketing through him seemed to be letting up.

A thought split in two in his head, diverging in one direction and whispering angrily about Cedric’s murder and the callous, cruel cover up Umbridge was engaging in, while the other remained entrenched in Harry’s bitterness and hissed about his treatment at Umbridge’s hands. Harry struggled to give his full attention to either of them, as they warred in his ears and argued about their shared injustice.

At once, both opinions swung back and collided in a tangled web of confusing, righteous and selfish complaints.

Cedric’s death was being side-lined again, despite Harry’s desperation that his murder be announced and action be taken. His own hopes were being thrown aside again as well, as Umbridge seemed far more concerned with Harry’s loud pleas than any action by the government. That shouldn’t have come as such a shock, no matter how disgusted Harry felt about it. He knew intimately how incompetent the Ministry was, given their behaviour in the last few years surrounding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and it’s bloody history, Sirius’s escape and innocence and Harry’s involvement in a deadly tournament, followed by his and Cedric’s kidnapping.

The statute of underage wizardry should’ve alerted the Ministry to Harry’s whereabouts that night in the graveyard, shouldn’t it? Harry had clearly been off school grounds and performed magic, so why hadn’t anyone come leaping to his rescue? He’d illegally performed magic in a muggle graveyard. The last time he’d illegally performed magic in a muggle area, he’d received a howler shortly after the fact.

Voldemort had attempted to murder him as well, which should’ve been taken seriously.

If they had any inclination to help him, they’d have taken his memories, given him Veritaserum, or inspected Cedric’s own body to help corroborate Harry’s story. Instead, they’d cried foul and hidden within self-imposed blindness, hoping against hope that Harry’d been wrong. When Harry’s ridiculous fame led to his story’s presence and they couldn’t afford to ignore it, they’d responded with Umbridge.

‘She succeeded in silencing the truth, no matter what her goal had been,’ Hissed the bitter voice. ‘She spun a web and ensnared the one person loud and stupid enough to fall into it.’

Harry no longer worried about her keeping him after class. If she did, it would likely be to gloat and he’d sooner fall over and suffer through the choking ribbons than speak to her again. In fact, he’d prefer to choke to death, rather than endure her nastiness for a moment longer. He couldn’t decide if she’d enjoy him dying by choking on his breath, or if she’d prefer to watch him suffer, as she seemed the type to enjoy watching people break.

‘That’s just it though, isn’t it?’ Whispered the angry voice. ‘Whether or not she’d prefer death or suffering, she’d acted.’

Harry hardly understood this second voice and he couldn’t fathom what it guessed at. He wondered belatedly about his inability to fully understand his own thoughts when the angry voice whispered again.

‘Proof.’

A thunderous explosion shuddered through the classroom and forced Harry sluggishly from his thoughts.

Discordant confusion erupted in him and he felt as if he couldn’t tell left from right. His eyelids drooped despite his desperation to look around and figure out what was happening. He nearly worried he wouldn’t be able to avoid being crushed beneath what was surely the ceiling caving in, but a bushy head of hair flew past him and ensnared his arm, wrenching him from his seat and onto his feet.

“Out!” Hermione shouted over the noise. “Out now!”

He twisted his head with a weak tilt and spotted Ron, whipping his wand in a neat twirl and sending parchment in every direction.

“They brought down a bloody wall!?” Ron bellowed as they bolted from the classroom. “You’d think they were being intentionally thick!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Hermione answered over her shoulder.

Her tight grip on Harry’s sleeve never faltered and she led them on a mad race through the winding passageways and connecting hallways. Their shoes cracked over the stone floor and a high-pitched sound whistled in Harry’s ear, making him worry he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Hermione’s quick movements. He was struggling to stay upright, to say nothing of keeping his feet moving beneath him. Harry belatedly realized she was avoiding wide corridors and stairways by taking an increasingly complicated route.

“In here!” Hermione hissed breathlessly, guiding them toward a dusty, unused classroom and throwing herself and Harry inside. “I don’t—” She inhaled desperately. “I don’t think we were followed, but check the door, will you?”

“Looks clear,” Ron said, equally out of breath. “I thought I saw Neville chase after us for a while, but I think we lost him on the second floor.” He added before tugging the door shut and locking it with a whisper and wave of his wand. He dropped his and Harry’s bags on the floor and fell forward, holding his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Harry twisted and dropped weakly into a chair.

He’d lost time again. He’d fallen into his thoughts and been forced out in a deeply uncomfortable way, as his brain still seemed to be firing into a foggy and stupid part of himself. Snape hadn’t ever given a name to this phenomenon Harry experienced, but he’d been able to draw Harry out in ways that didn’t involve feeling like he was packed full of mud afterwards.

“Alright.” Ron started, anger colouring his voice as he caught his breath.

“Wait.” Hermione said, holding up a hand.

“I want to know—”

“Ron! That wasn’t normal, it wasn’t—”

“Obviously it wasn’t normal! We’ve spent months telling the truth about what happened and you just turn around and apologize for it! How do you explain that?!” Ron shouted as he rounded on Harry.

“Ronald!” Hermione’s wand cracked through the air and sent several desks careening toward the walls. “There was something else wrong.”

Harry nodded as he tried to catch his own breath. “I couldn’t breathe when she spoke. I don’t know what happened, it was,” He paused and his hand slipped upwards, rubbing at his throat as phantom ribbons slipped over his skin. “I couldn’t say anything, I don’t understand,” He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It wasn’t Umbridge’s voice in Harry’s head that’d given him the phrase required to make the ribbons go away. Harry’d just known innately what to say, though he still didn’t know how. “I don’t understand, I couldn’t breathe.” He repeated.

Hermione nodded as a worried look magnified in her eyes. “I know.” She said. “It was awful, we couldn’t tell what was happening, you sort of just leant over—”

“And bloody well apologized.” Ron argued.

“It was Umbridge.” Hermione said fiercely. “You saw that disgusting display of hers, you saw that, that cow by her desk.” Her eyes glittered wildly and her voice pitched into a girlish mimicry of Umbridge’s simpering. “You see? Nothing to fear.” Hermione said, parroting Umbridge’s earlier comments and giving an unerringly similar giggle. “And that self-satisfied smile, ergh!” She snarled before swinging left and storming down the long end of the classroom. She paced back and forth over the worn wooden floor and spun her wand in her hand. Harry couldn’t guess where her thoughts had gone, only that they’d bolted far ahead of his own. He still felt as if he were full of mud. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with a single intelligent thought at the moment, no matter how hard he tried.

That feeling had slowly begun to fade since leaving the Defense classroom, but the entire process was highly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how long it would take either, as he’d never been wrenched from his thoughts so abruptly before.

Ron at least seemed to have calmed down. His eyes had widened and followed Hermione’s angered path as he lingered almost nervously at the door. He blinked over at Harry momentarily and looked as if he wanted to apologize, but couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. Harry supposed that was better than nothing, but he hoped Ron wouldn’t yell at him again. He already felt dreadful and adding Ron’s anger on top, especially in the face of Harry’s new found issue, wasn’t helping.

Soft, clipped sounds escaped from Hermione as she paced. Her hands crept upwards and she plucked at the shirt sleeves of her button down while a multitude of emotions flashed across her eyes.

Harry wished he knew where her thoughts had spun off to. He nearly thought back to the awful encounter himself in search for any evidence, but he didn’t fancy the awful slippery ribbons brushing over his face again. He knew they now had proof though. Hermione knew that as well, because Harry would never have denied Cedric’s death so blatantly and no matter how Umbridge tried to hide her actions, she couldn’t hide the fact that Harry now felt ribbons where he hadn’t before. Nearly choking to death on them must've been evidence of Umbridge’s actions, but Harry wasn’t sure how that would look in any sort of formal investigation.

What if Umbridge could choose when Harry lied and when he told the truth?

An icy stone dropped into his belly at that thought. The urge to escape to the dungeons and find Snape stole through him, but before he could run, Hermione whirled in place and ran closer, shoving him back into the chair with a rough push.

“Hermione!” Ron’s tight-strung voice echoed around the room.

The tip of Hermione’s wand darkened as red smoke began to billow outward. “What toy was Harry Potter given this summer?” She asked.

The chair dug into Harry’s back as Hermione leant closer.

“Erm.” He stuttered, suddenly worrying about everything he’d so much as touched over the summer. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually been given any toys, nor could he guess why Hermione was interested in them. He hadn’t realized she’d known about any of them either.

“Hermione what’s wrong with you!” Ron asked, trying to come nearer before Hermione’s wand flashed in his direction.

“Harry Potter would have told Umbridge the truth about Cedric.” Hermione said.

Harry shook his head and desperately tried to scrounge up his memories. “A, erm, Ms Eileen found me a—a football.” He said finally, relieved to have come up with anything in spite of his cloudy thoughts.

Hermione’s eyes hardened and her wand slid closer still. “Anything else?” She asked.

Snapshots of his time in Germany filtered through his confusion. He had never truly considered Hermione turning her wand on him and now that she had, he felt a sudden empathy for the fear Malfoy likely experienced anytime it turned on him.

“A stuffed dog!” Harry shouted as the image of the stuffed animal flew into his mind. “It looks like Padfoot!”

Hermione’s wand dropped and she fell forward, giving Harry a tight hug. “That’s correct. I’m so sorry, I was worried. Once I’d thought you might be an imposter, I couldn’t let it go. What if you were and we’d taken you to see Ruffles and then ruined their cover, I was, I was horrified Harry. I’m so sorry.” She said.

“I’ve been with you for two days now, don’t you think you’d have picked up on it sooner?” Harry asked.

“Well, I had thought so, but after Professor Moody and Avery’s impersonation, I couldn’t leave it to chance.” Hermione said as she pulled back and shrugged.

“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said weakly. “Bit overkill, but alright. What was all the smoke? How did you make that?”

Harry’s eyes flashed between Ron and Hermione as they spoke. His heart had yet to stop pounding and he was wondering at what point he’d pass out from it.

“It’s actually nothing, but I didn’t know what else to do. The smoke I did create is from a smokescreen spell. The actual screen won’t appear unless you say the incantation. I’d thought it would look intimidating enough to an imposter though.” Hermione said.

Harry nodded. “It worked on me, I didn’t know what it was though.” He wasn’t sure how it would work against an actual Death Eater, or whoever else might be masquerading as others, but he didn’t know any spells to give Hermione to use instead. They’d have to ask Snape. “How did you know about the stuffed dog?” He asked suddenly as embarrassment trickled through him. He hadn’t shown either Ron or Hermione the dog, nor did he mention it, having thought it was too childish to bring up.

Hermione blushed and wrung her hands together. “I did a bit of spying on you over the summer, just to make sure you were alright!” She added when Harry dropped his head into his hands.

Ron made an uncomfortable sound.

“Er, right.” He said. “Let’s get back to Umbridge.”

“Of course, yes.” Hermione coughed. “We should try and remember everything Umbridge said. I don’t know what happened, but I’m certain what she said caused the effects. We should explain to Ruffles the next time we see them and try and tell Dumbledore immediately.”

Harry looked upwards and nodded before climbing shakily to his feet. “We have to get to potions soon, we might want to start making our way now.”

“Actually.” Hermione paused offhandedly as she blinked at the floor. “Actually, no. Sit back down, Harry.”

“What? Why? You want us to be late? For potions?” Ron asked as shock spread across his face.

“No, not at all, certainly not on our first day.” Hermione said. A thin crease of worry cut between her eyebrows. “That would be terrible—but what I mean to say is, I had a thought and I didn’t want Harry to be hurt if it turned out to be true, since you didn’t look very well after, whatever it was, happened in class.” She said, waving her hands as she spoke.

“Well, how could I look well?” Harry snapped. “I couldn’t breathe.”

“Exactly.” Hermione said with a sharp look. “That was my point. What I want to ask is, what happened last spring?”

“You know what happened.” Harry said as he crossed arms and sat. “What do you want me to say?”

“No. I mean, tell me what happened. What happened after you and Cedric grabbed the trophy.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could slip out, ribbons tore over his jaw and burned hotly as they careened into his mouth and down his throat. He choked and tried to tug them out but he couldn’t force his body to do what he wanted. He couldn’t even tell if they were real or not, or if Ron and Hermione could see them.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione shouted. “I’m so sorry! Ron, help!”

“Say what you did last time Harry! It was something about speaking out!”

Harry tried to shake his head, but he could hardly move. He couldn’t tell if it was his recent, near constant oxygen deprivation or his intense urge to fight back against Umbridge’s actions, but he refused to give in without at least attempting to fight.

“Harry, please!” Hermione begged.

The ribbons loosened momentarily, allowing him a thin gasp. Harry knew immediately what he’d need to say to make it stop, thought he wondered again how. The phrase had changed though, seeming to take Hermione’s word choice into question similar to the way it’d tailored itself for Umbridge.

“It was a—a,” He began, unable to even begin to say the next word. Every piece of him railed against it.

“Make it stop.” Hermione said again. “Make it stop!” Her wand whipped back and forth over Harry’s head, but nothing seemed to change. He didn’t know why he’d thought anything might, but put it down to Hermione’s usual logic and skill saving him at the last second.

“It was a t-t-tragic accident.” Harry choked as he slumped to the right and hung over the chair. “I shouldn’t have spoke—spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet!”

The ribbons receded slowly, just as they had earlier. Harry dropped forward and would’ve tipped out of the chair had Ron not darted closer and caught his shoulder. He helped push him back into the chair as air rushed through his lungs once more.

The three of them stood for a long moment as the sounds of Harry trying to breathe past the awful ribbons and exhaustion that sank through him. He wanted this day to be done already. He wanted to hide in his dormitory until he could rationalize everything this changed.

Did it change much? Not many people had asked him about Voldemort’s return yet, but Harry had glared down anyone who’d been brave enough to approach him. The ribbons slipped over his jaw, reminding him unnecessarily of his inability to speak on the topic. He shuddered against the feeling. Everyone in Defense knew what he’d said. They couldn't have missed it, with how Umbridge carried on during and after they’d spoken. Seamus was going to pick a fight with him soon and a burnt blanket was going to be the least of his worries.

He wondered how quickly it was spreading through the school. Maybe Snape already knew about what happened in Harry’s dreadful Defense class? He wasn’t looking forward to potions, not when Snape would probably put on a good show for the Slytherin’s who took that lesson with them, nor was he looking forward to Malfoy.

Malfoy, who already knew Harry’d been six for a month and now would have even more to torment Harry about.

He blinked upward after finally beginning to feel more normal.

Hermione’s hands were caught tightly around her mouth.

“Right, reckon we’re done asking that question from now on.” Ron said quietly. “You know,” He turned in place and grabbed his and Harry’s bags once more. “We might be able to fix things a bit, I think?”

Harry stood and gave him a sour look. “How’s that, d’you suppose?” He asked. “I can just release an official statement on paper maybe? Or I could, I dunno, write the Daily Prophet and retract what other people are saying about me?”

“No, none of that.” Ron said as he pulled Hermione from her stupor. “But Hermione or I can answer for you. We can say you’re mental about talking about it and You-Know-Who did something?” He passed Harry his bag and led them from the classroom, making sure to keep them each walking with sturdy tugs when they lagged. “Not that you are mental mate, just, you know.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” Hermione apologized softly. “I knew that might happen, but I felt we’d need to know for sure.”

“No, it’s fine.” Harry said through clenched teeth. “You’re probably right to figure it out. I just never, ever want to feel like that again.” He added as they descended several sets of stairs and swept into the dungeons. They hardly passed any other students, for which Harry was thankful for. He wasn’t surprised though, given they were very nearly late and passing time was coming to a close. “I don’t want to deal with Snape right now either.” Snape wouldn’t love it if the three of them were late for his first class.

What if he was angry with Harry about it?

Maybe Harry could pass it off as trying to maintain their secrecy by acting how he typically had?

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure he’ll give us a show. I hate the idea of us saying you’re mental though, you’ve already gone through enough. We can try and keep them at bay instead. I’m sure we’ll think of something if that doesn’t work.”

Harry didn’t want to consider being forced to rely on Ron and Hermione to keep his story alive. What if Umbridge targeted them next?

They slipped into their potions classroom with seconds to spare and found what followed to be surprisingly similar to the usual first days in years past. While Snape rarely looked their way, on the off chance he did, it was usually to snap something helpful at Harry. He mentioned twice that the direction Harry sliced his newt’s eyes in was abysmal, but neglected to say anything to Ron despite the two sharing the ingredient. Harry half wondered if all of Snape’s comments throughout the last four years had been meant to steer him toward becoming a better potions master, but scratched that thought after remembering Snape’s particular preference for neglecting to tell Harry how to counteract any poisons he came in contact after last year.

“Remain behind, Potter.” Snape drawled as the bell rang.

Harry gave him a look and tried to convey thankfulness behind what he hoped appeared to be anger. He shoved his books and parchment into his bag and tried to pretend like he was cleaning as he waited for the rest of the class to leave. Hermione patted him comfortingly on the shoulder and hurried away to her Arithmancy class, leaving Ron to handle what Slytherin’s came his way.

“Weasel, how fortuitous—”

He could already see Ron’s ears colouring as Malfoy’s snide voice echoed quietly through the room.

“To class, Mr Malfoy.” Snape said with a lazy wave of his wand. “We wouldn’t want to be caught misbehaving now, would we?”

Malfoy smirked and stepped from the room while Harry tried to recall what Snape’s usual interactions with Malfoy looked like. Any thought he’d given their relationship in the past revolved around how much Snape let Malfoy get away with, but now he was less sure if that was the truth. He wondered if it had more to do with Lucius Malfoy and how much Snape could say to Draco without having Lucius owl him. Snape’s emphasis on the word ‘caught’ had Harry worrying for Ron, but he wasn’t sure if he could leave the potion’s classroom to forewarn him.

Once the room had cleared, Snape flicked his wand once more and forced the doors to slam shut as a fuzzy spell coated over them. He dropped into the chair behind his desk and gestured for Harry to come closer.

“How was Umbridge?” Snape asked.

“Horrible.” Harry said as he dragged a stool closer to Snape’s desk. He moved to fall into the seat and found it’d been transfigured seconds before he landed. Rather than the hard topped stool, it was now an oversized, plush armchair. “I don’t,” Harry tried to start, though he couldn’t tell where to begin. “I don’t know where to begin, but she asked and I couldn’t breathe.” He tried to explain. The ribbons brushed over his lips once more and this time Harry asked. “Can you see them?”

Snape blinked at Harry and raised his eyebrows.

“The ribbons.” Harry said. “Hermione and Ron acted like they couldn’t see them.”

“Harry, you aren’t making much sense at the moment.” Snape said. “You couldn’t breathe?” He asked.

“No, I couldn’t—there were ribbons!” Harry said, stumbling over his words. He could hardly keep track of them now that he’d begun trying to explain how he’d felt when Umbridge had spoken with him. He’d thought his earlier confusion had more to do with his falling into his thoughts, but he was becoming increasingly worried that whatever Umbridge had done, it’d trickled into his ability to explain what he was experiencing.

“Occlude for a moment with me.” Snape said. “You have a break period between now and your next class, correct?”

Harry nodded but couldn’t restrain his steadily growing panic.

“Then occlude for a moment. Close your eyes and picture the snitch.”

“I don’t see how this will help.”

“Humour me. You’re distressed and will benefit.” Snape gave him an encouraging look.

Harry whinged and shoved his hands into his hair before taking a deep breath. The snitch flickered in his thoughts and swooped left and right as he attempted to catch it. It darted just out of reach each time he so much as grazed a wing. After what felt like countless attempts, he changed tack and turned to drawing lazy arcs through low hanging clouds.

“Alright,” Snape’s soft voice surrounded him. “Now, don’t open your eyes. Tell me what happened on your way to Defense class.”

Harry nodded. “Ron was upset that he couldn’t throw the fire-cracker. Fred and George brought down a wall, by the way, not a window.”

“I’ll handle any repercussions should they appear. What happened next?”

“We saw the books on Umbridge’s desk and Hermione checked to make sure we were in the right classroom, because there wasn’t much else around.” Harry said as he sank farther into the armchair and imagined himself arcing upwards over the clouds and towards a starry night sky. “Umbridge came in, introduced herself and started talking about the course aims, which Hermione had a question about, and Umbridge was nasty to her.”

“I’m sure Miss Granger had several questions.” Snape said as the scratch of a quill echoed in Harry’s ears. He wondered if Snape had begun grading summer essays yet, as he’d told Harry it was one of his least enjoyable tasks, though every once in a while a student would manage to surprise him with a clever suggestion.

“Well, yeah, the class is more of a law class. Dean pointed that out. Umbridge started asking us if we knew how fast Aurors could arrive at crime scenes.”

“Most are remarkably slow, in case you were curious.” Snape said.

Harry snickered before remembering Snape’s wisdom likely came from personal experience with his background as a Death Eater.

“Proceed.” Snape said.

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, Hermione made a point about that, she said she’d summoned an Auror and I think she meant Professor Moody, or I guess, Barty Crouch Jr.”

“Not someone she’d willingly choose to summon in her hour of need, I’d imagine.”

“No. Probably not.” Maybe Harry was more stressed than he’d imagined, but he found himself almost falling asleep. He often used Occlumency to fall asleep though, so that made sense. “Well, Umbridge didn’t like Hermione’s comment and told her it was all a mix up, but Ron backed Hermione up. Umbridge asked him if he was a Ministry employee, and Ron said no, to which she’d said he was mixed up.”

Snape hummed and Harry realized they’d come to the point when he’d need to admit to having ruined their plans by intentionally baiting Umbridge.

“Harry?”

“Well,” Harry started. The night sky faded in his imagination and Umbridge’s taffy-pink ribbons shot toward him, hurdling around his body and sending him plummeting to the ground. His eyes flashed open before he could hit the ground and he looked at Snape, trying to head off any anger quickly. “I said she should ask me about it.”

Snape blinked at him with a blank stare and Harry wondered if he should begin apologizing. He’d never done something downright wrong in Germany and Snape had nothing in line for punishment for Harry, not that Harry knew of at least.

“And she said I’d already explained myself last night.” Harry said weakly.

Snape’s eyebrows rose.

“But I hadn’t!” Harry said in a high-strung voice. “And then there were ribbons.” Phantom ribbons slipped over his lips again though this time far less intensely. He despised the soft caress and began attributing it to Umbridge’s nasty, small smile. “Ribbons, can you see them now? They’re here.”

“What did you say to Umbridge?” Snape asked.

“I can’t say what I said. I won’t be able to breathe if I do.”

“I think you will.” Snape stood and his dark wand appeared in his hand. “Take a deep breath and repeat it for me, please.”

Harry shook his head and a small trickle of worry dripped down his back. He’d already endured the ribbons twice today and in a short amount of time.

Snape dropped into a crouch before Harry’s armchair and flicked his wand upwards, sending a cool draft over Harry’s sweaty form. The quill continued to scratch despite Snape having left his desk.

“I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet.” Harry whispered and flinched as he prepared to choke. He blinked dumbly at his own voice and clear throat after the fact. “That’s not what happened last time I spoke, Hermione even checked.” He quickly said as horror replaced his worry. This only made him seem even more like a liar and as if he whinged about Umbridge’s actions with no just cause. “It changed, inbetween, I promise it did. Hermione tried again in an empty classroom, the second time I’d said ‘it was a tragic accident, I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet’, it—I, I had to, because Hermione asked—”

“I don’t doubt it.” Snape said softly. “Umbridge said you’d explained yourself and you felt, how?”

“Ribbons.” Harry said, aghast at his own quick answer. He tried to explain again. “I mean, I didn’t, I couldn’t breathe, I feel—there are—”

“Ribbons.” Snape repeated. “You can’t explain how you feel. Only that there are ribbons.” He added before twisting on his heel and pulling up a roll of parchment and showing Harry. Written on it was every word he and Snape had said, the entire story Harry’d just told, laid out clearly. “You provided me with a solid, coherent explanation for the entirety of this conversation, the only instance where you babble, is with how you described the effects you experience.”

Harry had the oddest urge to cry and he put it down to frustration. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the babbling or the choking. He’d almost choose to go endure the choking because at least those around him wouldn’t think of him as mad.

“I didn’t babble intentionally.”

“No,” Snape shook his head and leant against his desk. “That’s part of the issue. I will not subject you to the more violent effect of this malady,” He said slowly. “Though there are several potions I know of that can incept the imbiber and tailor the effects like what you’re experiencing, though they’re obscure and I wouldn’t have imagined Umbridge would come into contact with one of them without a tremendous amount of research. That is to say if it even is a potion.”

“It might not be a potion?” Harry asked.

“There are too many things it might be.” Snape said.

Harry fell back into the armchair and lamented his life. “You don’t have any ideas, or thoughts about it?” He asked, wonderingly somewhat morbidly if Snape had ever encountered something similar while in Voldemort’s service.

“I have several.” Snape flicked his wand, somehow making Harry’s armchair soften farther. “Dolores Umbridge is labouring under the delusion that she is the only person able to step into the Dark Arts in order to succeed at her task.”

Harry blinked confusedly. “Why would she think that?”

“Because she is unaware that whatever she has done to you, has left traces.” Snape said as he held the parchment up once more.