Chapter Text
Harry Potter had been acting strangely for the last week. He had stopped glaring at Severus. He had stopped giving unbearable cheek. He paid attention in class. He didn’t even complain when Severus had asked him to stay behind after class.
After giving the boy a firm talking-to about an incident that Draco Malfoy had almost certainly been the culprit of, during which Severus analyzed the child to attempt to determine if he was jinxed or cursed or ill, the boy hadn’t even given him a look of loathing on his way out.
The boy wasn’t sick. He wasn’t jinxed or cursed. He was just being… strange.
Severus needed to find out what was going on.
If there were two people in the whole castle who would know what was wrong with Potter, it would be… well it would probably be Weasley and Granger. But they would tell Potter that he had been inquiring about his health immediately, so it was out of the question. If there were two other people in the castle who would know if something was wrong with Potter, it would be Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.
Minerva was busy with essays, as she had complained about in the staff meeting the night before, but Albus was likely not busy. For a headmaster, he always seemed to have an exorbitant amount of free time to spend attempting to make Severus “chat”. Well, tonight, he would get his wish.
“Coconut Puffs,” Severus snapped at the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s office.
It leapt aside, revealing the revolving spiral staircase beyond. Severus stepped on and simply rode to the top. Typically, he would also climb them, making his arrival to the headmaster all the quicker, but the climb up the seemingly endless stairs that night had tired him. Surely there hadn’t always been that many stairs in the path to the headmaster’s office.
Oh, sweet Circe, was Severus getting old?
This particularly disturbing thought was cut off when Severus was suddenly face to face with a polished oak door and large, brass door knocker. He stepped off the staircase and knocked.
“Come in!” Called a cheery voice from inside.
Severus entered, ignored the look of delight on Dumbledore’s face, and strode right up to his desk.
“There’s something wrong with Potter.”
Dumbledore’s smile fell.
“Has something happened, Severus? Has the person who put Harry’s name in the Goblet finally come forward?” He asked seriously.
“I do not think so, Albus. I believe it’s something else. He is behaving strangely.”
“Oh dear,” Albus hummed, “Could he have possibly been put under the Imperious Curse? You and I both know it’s easier for the average person to use than the other two Unforgivables. Perhaps this assailant put it upon him? Or perhaps one of his fellow champions? A student from a rival school? Perhaps even one of our own? They were being rather cruel to him earlier this year…”
“No, he is not acting that strangely. There is just something off about him. He no longer looks at me with hatred and contempt. He’s always watching me with this look of utter impassivity. He doesn’t even make snarky comebacks when I attack his intellect or character. It’s wrong.”
Albus suddenly had an extremely maddening twinkle in his eyes. The smile was back.
“What?” Severus snarled.
“My dear boy, I do believe that this means that he respects you.” Albus said, sounding positively delighted.
“But I have not changed my attitude or actions at all! I am still cruel and evil and detestable! Why on Earth does he suddenly respect me?”
“Well, it’s probably due to the fact he has discovered your position as a spy.”
“WHAT?!” Severus roared, sure that the force of his anger would send Albus’ silly little devices flying.
Dumbledore didn’t even flinch.
“He watched my memory of Karkaroff’s trial and, naturally, had questions. I answered what I could and left out what was necessary. Do not fret, dear boy. I did not reveal your relationship with his mother to him.”
Severus was, admittedly, slightly reassured by this. He was not, however, going to let the topic go.
“He was not supposed to find out about my position, headmaster. We agreed on it. You believed him to be soft-hearted and thought that knowing such a thing would cause him to act outside of his role. And it has! We are supposed to hate each other! If he is seen treating me with anything less than contempt, when the Dark Lord is the closest he’s ever been to returning, I will not have a prayer when I attempt to rejoin the fold! And don’t you dare suggest that I treat him more kindly in return. If I do that, I will be executed!”
Dumbledore only sat and passively watched Severus as he gave his rant. Only observing, just as Potter had been for the last week.
Severus stood there, panting, and waited for whatever madness was sure to issue from his mouth next.
“No, Severus. I do not think that you should treat Harry better. I know that the time is coming soon and that Lord Voldemort is not forgiving. I simply ask that you get him alone and inform him that his newfound respect for you could compromise your position. He does, after all, have a soft heart. He will not willingly put anyone in danger. Not even you. And I do not think it will be difficult for him to return to his previous hatred of you, either. You are, as you said, cruel and evil and detestable towards him.”
Severus scoffed and turned away.
“Do not give the boy any more of my secrets, Albus,” he said in a low, hopefully dangerous voice.
“You have my word, Severus,” the old man whispered.
Then, Severus turned and left.
— — — — — — — —
Three days passed in which Severus did his best not to ponder his conversation with Dumbledore. Now, however, it was his night to patrol the corridors of the castle, and he was alone with his thoughts.
Albus wanted Severus to talk to the boy. How absurd. Even with Potter’s newfound “respect” of him, he was unlikely to actually listen. Stubborn and foolish, just like his father.
But… Albus had been correct about how Harry would take the information that Severus was a spy. He had changed his entire demeanor. He had been treating him with more respect. Did that mean that the boy really did have a soft heart, as Albus suggested? No, surely not. He was simply less unintelligent than Severus had previously thought. There was no way that he had inherited anything of his mother other than her green eyes. He only inherited traits from his…
A muffled sob sounded from a hidden door to Severus’ left.
…Father…
The man pressed his ear just below the false stone that acted as a doorknob, where he knew the keyhole to be.
The person crying was definitely alive, their cries not echoing enough to be ethereal, so that ruled out Moaning Myrtle. The person was definitely a child, too, their sobs were too wild, too high pitched for someone with many years under their belt.
Severus righted himself and started at the expanse of wall that he knew led to a small room. What to do? If a child was out of bed, they should be confronted. That was his job. He knew how to do that. If the child was clearly in distress, he should help them, comfort them. That, he was less skilled at.
The man stood there, undecided, until the student’s quiet sobs started to become frantic gasps. On instinct, Severus moved. He knew what a panic attack sounded like. He knew that the child inside, no matter what rules they had broken, did not deserve to suffer through it on their own.
Once he was through the door, however, he wished that he could back right out. The student inside was Potter. Of course.
Severus blinked, and there was suddenly silence in the room. Potter stared at him. The man stared back. Terror and panic were written all over the boy’s face, and tears streamed down it. His entire pajama-clad body was trembling and he was biting his lip so hard that Severus was sure it would tear.
Mind blank, the professor just stared. Somewhere, in the back of his vast, currently empty mind, someone with his voice shouted swear words.
Then, Potter gasped again, clearly unable to keep his panic at bay any longer. He wheezed and clawed at his chest and curled up, pressing his face into his knees. This action knocked his glasses off and onto the floor. They cracked.
The sound of metal and glass hitting stone finally spurred Severus into action again. He stepped forward, the soles of his shoes barely making a sound against the flagstones, knelt in front of the boy, and rested a hand on one of the other’s. There was blood dripping from it.
Potter, whose breaths were already pained and shallow, choked on one at the touch.
“Breathe, Potter.” Severus whispered as he attempted to loosen the boy’s tightly clenched fist, “Open your hand. You’re bleeding.”
As if spring loaded, the hand popped open. Severus sighed at the damage done by the child’s own fingernails, healed the shallow, crescent-shaped cuts with a simple spell, and silently mourned the destruction of his carefully-built reputation.
As soon as the hands were healed, the boy jerked them upwards in order to tangle them in his messy mop of hair. He tugged, hard, and let out a pitiful sounding whine. Cold-hearted as he was, even Severus disliked hearing it.
“Stop. Do not do that.” Severus softly commanded, once again bringing his hands up and taking Potter’s in them.
After a bit of coaxing, Potter finally released his hair and allowed Severus to hold his hands firmly in his own, preventing the boy from harming himself further.
“Take a deep breath. You are not dying. I know it feels that way, but you will survive. You just have to breathe.”
The boy shook his head rapidly and attempted to jerk his hands out of Severus’ grasp. The man held them tight.
“I-I’m not- I-I can’t-!” The boy gasped.
“Yes, you can.” Severus calmly responded.
“I-I’m no- I’m n-not going to make it this year! I-I d-don’t think I-I can-!”
Severus gave the boy’s hands a gentle squeeze.
“You will survive, Potter. As infuriating as it is, you always do. You have faced worse than a magical maze.”
Potter shook his head wildly again.
“S-someone’s trying t-to kill m-me! I can’t, I-I d-don’t-!”
“Potter, there will be dozens of teachers watching closely during the task. If anything seems even a bit off, they will stop the whole thing. Breathe. You will survive.”
Potter squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and let out yet another heart-wrenching whine.
“Deep breath, Potter. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”
The boy’s eyes snapped open and he looked up at Severus with both alarm and desperation.
“No,” he whispered.
There was nothing but honesty in his eyes.
“You did not wish to be in this competition?”
The boy shook his head. His breathing was a little steadier.
“Then there is no reason for you to fight to win. If you sense that something is even the smallest amount wrong, I would suggest that you pull out of the competition.”
The boy looked up at him with round, green eyes. He looked so young, curled up on the floor in his oversized pajamas, trembling. Only fourteen, but he looked so much younger. Had the child always been that small?
“I know all too well of your competitive streak, Potter, but your life is not worth winning a competition you did not even sign up for.”
Potter nodded. He was finally breathing normally. Severus sat for a moment, ensuring that the child was not going to start panicking again, then stood.
“Come. Back to bed with you.”
Potter stood, shakily, and nodded. Before he could exit, however, Severus stopped him.
“One last thing. The headmaster has informed me that you know of my role as a spy.”
The boy nodded.
“I must ask you to stop treating me differently than you normally do. The Dark Lord is cunning. He misses nothing. If someone were to report that you have adopted a less hostile demeanor towards me, it would complicate things greatly. As it is, he will already be quite displeased with me. Do not make my job any harder than it already is.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said quietly.
Severus reached for the doorknob.
“Good. Now, this interaction never happened. I will escort you to your dormitory.”
The two strode down the corridors, on the familiar path to Gryffindor tower, lit only by dimmed sconces.
Well, Severus strode. Potter walked timidly, shivering. Pathetic. The boy was lucky that Severus had learned many warming charms in the years he had lived in the dungeons, and was charitable enough to cast one on him now.
The boy looked up in surprise when he was suddenly no longer freezing, but said nothing. They soon reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
“Do not dawdle, Potter. And ten points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew.”
Potter frowned at the subtraction of points, but nodded nonetheless.
“Goodnight, sir.”
Severus said nothing.
It wasn’t until the portrait had swung securely shut and he had stalked halfway down the hallway once again that Severus murmured a quiet “Goodnight.”