Chapter Text
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for checking this story out! I'm initially planning for it to be five chapters, but that may change as I get a little further in it. In the meantime, this chapter contains mentions of blood as well descriptions of panic attacks and flashbacks, so if these are triggering for you feel free to skip this chapter. I will put a tw/cw free summary of the chapter in the endnote if you still want to follow the plot!
The potion in Harry’s cauldron sizzled under the small flame, and he quickly glanced over to Hermione’s cauldron, trying to determine how off of the described bright teal his current work was. He squinted at the directions before him, scanning to figure out where he went wrong, while half-listening to Neville’s worried muttering beside him. Harry’s and his fellow fifth years had noticed a definite increase in the difficulties of their potions, and the nervousness Neville exuded prior to their class was enough to set everyone else on edge as well.
Harry could see Snape making his way throughout the classroom, peering into cauldrons with various levels of distaste directed at each one. He tried not to let it bother him, but the threat stalking throughout the classroom was difficult to ignore.
Neville swore beside him, and Harry chanced a glance over. “I think you need to dice some more shrivelfigs,” Harry whispered, trying not to attract Snape’s attention as he looked between his and Neville’s cauldron. His mixture had turned from the gray shade currently in Neville’s cauldron to the light blue he was now trying to fix as soon as he added his cut shrivelfigs, and Harry hoped that would be enough to get Neville back on track.
“Thanks, Harry,” Neville said, much louder than Harry had been earlier and they both winced, hoping they had gotten lucky. They hadn’t
“Eyes on your own potion,” Snape’s voice called out from directly behind them, startling them both enough that they turned around in surprise. Harry watched in slow motion as the knife Neville was working with swung into the air, arcing widely until it sliced neatly through Harry’s robes.
It was with a numb sort of detachment that Harry saw the black fabric open and a deep, red line welled on his skin. It started to trickle down his arm, the blood turning cold in the night air. He heard a sharp “Longbottom,” in the background, but all he could focus on was the potion bubbling behind him, thick and dense as it roiled against the stone cauldron, waiting for its final ingredient.
A hand reached out to his arm, and he struggled backward, uncaring that he had run into what must have been a smaller gravestone, trying frantically to keep his blood out of Wormtail’s grasp.
I won’t let him rise again, Harry thought desperately, shielding his arm as he cowered on the ground, ready to crawl behind the surprisingly smooth headstone that his back was resting against.
After a few moments of silence and intense focus on his arm, as if just paying attention to the blood drenching through and dripping off his robes would be enough, Harry finally heard a voice calling his name.
“Harry,” it said again, only this time he realized it was Professor Snape. He can’t be here, Harry thought with a jolt of fear. He needs to be at Hogwarts. But maybe, if he’s here, he can help save Cedric.
“Potter,” he repeated louder as Harry shook his head, curling even further into a ball, trying to protect the blood that was urgently gushing out of his arm, as if it could sense how much it was needed. As if Voldemort himself was drawing it out of his arms for his use.
“You need to slow your breathing,” Snape was saying, although it sounded muffled. Maybe he was behind the cauldron, preparing the potion so Wormtail could focus just on Harry.
“The cauldron is off,” Snape said. Harry went to scoff at the absurdity of Voldemort stopping the ritual he had spent months planning before he realized Snape was right. That awful bubbling, a slow simmer that had been slowly driving Harry mad, had stopped.
He hesitantly looked up, only to see Snape’s face level with his on the ground. He had thought Wormtail would be in front of him, waiting anxiously to take the blood the moment he dropped his guard, but a quick look around told him Pettigrew wasn’t there. And he wasn’t even in the graveyard.
The potions classroom came back into focus, and Harry saw the empty tables around him, including the one that just moments ago he had been certain was a headstone behind him. He was still gasping out breaths, and Snape was staring at him expectantly. Harry tried to slow his breathing, working to keep down the involuntary gasps that threatened to escape him, as if the thick fog from the cauldron was still choking him.
“Are you back with me?” Snape murmured, quieter than he had previously been speaking, and something about the lack of ire in the tone had Harry blinking up at him in shock. It took a few seconds to realize his professor was waiting for a response as he nodded his head, looking down at the solid, stone floor beneath him.
He started to bring his hand down to touch it, only to see his bloody sleeve and the puddles of blood that had started to overflow onto the floor. Oh, he thought, his mind still trying to catch up to his vision. Before he could even look at the blood for another second, it disappeared, leaving only a thin, red line that had already begun to clot. Harry looked up and saw Snape sliding his wand back into his robes before effortlessly getting back to his feet.
He glided across the room and out of Harry’s sight, as he tried to gain a sense of his surroundings again. He felt uprooted, as if he wasn’t sure he was really at Hogwarts, and he traced his now sluggishly bleeding arm against the cool stone floor, a far cry from the rough, overgrown grass in the cemetery.
Footsteps echoed across the room, and Harry looked up to see Snape making his way back with a small vial to where he was still curled against the table leg.
“I’ll need your arm again,” he said, and it was still void of all the anger Harry had come to expect from Snape’s voice. He slowly held it out, hardly even feeling the stretch as he bared it towards Snape, who, with a surprising amount of gentleness, begin pouring the vial onto the cut. Harry had expected it to sting like an antiseptic. Instead, it felt surprisingly warm, and not even Snape slowly rubbing it into the cut could take away the warmth.
Before his very eyes, Harry watched as the skin began to knit itself back together, until all that remained was a faint ghost of the cut, already more healed than the knife wound last spring, still stark and jagged against his arm.
“Are you still experiencing any panic?” Snape asked, and Harry shrugged, looking up so he wouldn’t have to see the reminder on his arm.
Snape looked as if he was going to ask a follow-up question before he shook his head and smoothed his face over. “As you are aware, I was not at the graveyard last spring when the Dark Lord rose. But, I heard some rather interesting tales from my…” Snape trailed off, before clearing his throat and starting up again, “less esteemed colleagues about the events that took place. I can see how those experiences might have affected you, and how the circumstances of this class period might have brought about the flashback you experienced.”
Harry frowned, unsure what his professor was trying to say. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to ask as Snape continued talking. “I apologize for placing you next to Longbottom this afternoon. It will be far more beneficial for everyone else if I remedy the seating chart before the next class. In addition,” if Snape had seemed awkward before, it was nothing compared to this. “If you are experiencing flashbacks or panic attacks similar to this, or otherwise related to the events of last spring, I would encourage you to speak with Madame Pomfrey.”
Harry looked forward blankly before shaking his head. The thought of physically voicing the pure panic that worked through him whenever a room was a little too dark, when the smell of the grass under his feet was a little too fragrant, or even when a potion bubbled a little too loudly in his cauldron was too much. He didn’t think he could ever talk about it; Harry was certain that he would break down again, the reminder of that horrible night too raw.
“I understand it may be undesirable to have to relive what happened to you,” Snape said, and Harry had half the mind to ask what this stranger had done with his brooding potions professor, “but I can hardly imagine you want to continue having these panic attacks for the rest of your life. If it will help, at least for the time being, I’m willing to give you some potions to reduce some of the background anxiety you are facing, as well as potions that will help when you experience panic attacks or flashbacks, on the condition that you find someone to talk with this about. It doesn’t have to be with Madame Pomfrey if you truly do not want it to be with her. Although she is certainly the most qualified, every professor in Hogwarts receives basic counseling training. It would be best if they were…”
Snape paused again as if searching for the correct description, “aware of some of the more personal details. Perhaps Professor McGonagall—”
“What about Professor Lupin?” Harry cut in, feeling a flash of fear as Snape’s eyes narrowed. His hands were still shaking, and his fingers had started going numb.
“Lupin is busy with the Order business,” Snape said finally, and although there was a noticeable amount of tension in the conversation, it wasn’t as bad as Harry had anticipated, “And would therefore be an unsuitable candidate, simply for his lack of availability. Perhaps it could be arranged to visit with him when he is at headquarters, but that solution won’t work consistently. I would encourage you to still speak with another professor residing in Hogwarts currently as well. I’m certain Professor McGonagall would be more than happy to set aside some time to speak with you.”
Harry shook his head again, already feeling some of the overwhelming worries begin to course back through him. “I don’t think…” Harry trailed off, curling further into himself, “I don’t think I can explain what happened yet. I mean, Sirius told Remus afterward, so I wouldn’t have to explain anything new to him. But Professor McGonagall wasn’t there. I’d have to tell her everything, and I just can’t,” Harry said, hoping that it was enough for Snape to understand where he was coming from.
He shifted restlessly on the floor as the silence echoed throughout the room, only broken when Snape opened his mouth again.
“I understand if this would make you uncomfortable, given our past interactions,” Snape began, and a rush of dread overcame Harry as he realized where this was going, “but as I am a professor at Hogwarts, and aware of the details of last spring, feasibly, should you feel comfortable on stretches of time when Lupin is otherwise detained, you may speak with me.”
“Like talking about my feelings?” Harry couldn’t help the tone of disgust that shot through him at the thought of telling Snape the very personal emotions and fears he was experiencing. This was the teacher who had made his life a living hell for the past four years and giving him more ammunition would certainly make his next three years of potions class much worse.
Snape grimaced and then nodded. “As tedious and undesirable as it may sound, I cannot simply just give you potions in hopes that it will solve the problem. You experienced a significant traumatic event; medication alone will not help you work through your physical and psychological responses. The potions may help initially halt some of these panic attacks, but, until you learn to work through some of the trauma and fear surrounding that night, you’ll still experience them. In fact, they’ll only increase in frequency and intensity as time goes on.”
With that, Harry realized he didn’t have a choice. He might be able to talk to Remus here and there, but Snape was going to make him talk to someone else, and as much as Harry hated to say it, the least scary option seemed the intimidating professor currently knelt before Harry.
“Alright,” he finally whispered, trying to wrap himself further in his robes, as if he could just disappear from this very moment. A look of relief shot across Snape’s face before he carefully concealed it with his typical look of disinterest.
“Good,” Snape said, “Now, I’ll need to ask you some questions to know which potions to prescribe to you. I’ll confide in Madame Pomfrey simply to see if she agrees with the potions and the dosage, as well as to alert her to the addition of your potion regimen, should you find yourself back in the hospital wing later this year,” before Harry could even respond, Snape had launched into the questions. “In addition to these panic attacks and flashbacks, have you been feeling any other bouts of anxiety? Any feelings of dread or nervousness throughout the day?” He asked, and Harry considered the question. He hesitantly nodded, looking down to avoid Snape’s piercing gaze.
“And how often do these feelings plague you?” Snape followed up, causing Harry to bite his lip.
He knew he had to tell Snape the truth, but the thought of revealing his personal weaknesses, something he had tried so hard to hide, was terrifying. “Constantly,” Harry finally croaked out, cracking his knuckles to break the awkward tension in the room.
“Constantly?” Snape confirmed, and Harry nodded, still not making eye contact. “And how often do you get flashbacks? Are they often in conjunction with panic attacks?”
“I’m not sure,” Harry began, before backtracking, “I mean, I’ve only really had a couple of, umm…” He trailed off, trying to figure out the difference between what Snape was calling a flashback and a panic attack. Not only were the words new to him, but he wasn’t sure even the context of this conversation would help. “Well,” he finally continued, “It’s only been bad a couple of times. Once when I was at my aunt’s house this summer, I was certain that my uncle’s car backfiring was someone apparating, and then all I could think about were the death eater’s coming to the graveyard. I had to go hide in the—” Don’t say cupboard, Harry thought desperately “room so that I could calm down. And then at headquarters, one of the objects we were clearing shot a body-bind curse at anyone who touched it with their bare skin. And…” Harry trailed off, trying not to remember how Mrs. Weasley had finally realized what was wrong, canceling the spell. How Harry had run out of the room, desperately trying to hide his breakdown, until Sirius came to find him, letting him cry as he still felt the headstone digging into his back, could still hear Wormtail’s stuttered cry of the killing spell.
“And do you always feel transported back to the graveyard when these events occur?” Snape asked, taking pity on the way Harry was struggling for words.
“Only those times,” Harry said, trying to clarify his thoughts where they were jumbled around in his head. “Sometimes, something will remind me of it, or I’ll even just start thinking about it, and I feel like I can’t breathe, but I know I’m still at Hogwarts.”
Snape took this new information in. “Do you start to hyperventilate when this happens?” Harry thought to the other day, when Professor Sprout had stuttered over Cedric’s name at the end of class, and how Hermione had made him sit down afterward, curled up with his head between his knees to slow down his gasping breaths. He nodded, unsure of how to put into words the choking feeling that often overcame him like his very throat had thought him unworthy of the air he breathed.
“And have you experienced any guilt or feelings of hopelessness? A loss of interest in things you once enjoyed? Or even a general feeling of apathy?” Harry shrugged at this, unsure of what to say. He had been experiencing enormous amounts of guilt ever since that dreadful night, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it. He was the one who had gotten Cedric killed after all; surely Snape knew that.
“A verbal answer if you would, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, a hint of annoyance back in his voice, and Harry was startled by how much more normal just his voice seemed with the addition.
Harry finally looked back up at his professor, surprised to see his tone did not match the carefully constructed neutral expression on his face. “I guess,” he finally said, and before Snape could cut in, Harry quickly finished. “But it’s not like it’s undeserved. I mean, you know what happened; you heard how it was my fault, so it’s not like that’s a problem.”
Snape was unseemingly quiet as he studied Harry’s face, before shaking his head minutely. “And you feel as if what happened was your fault? Even though you were incapacitated and tortured for the majority of the proceedings?”
“Well,” Harry said, unsure of what Snape was trying to get at, “I mean, yes? It’s not like Cedric would have died if I hadn’t been there. Voldemort wouldn’t have even rose, which makes it at least partially my fault.”
Snape was still shaking his head, frowning slightly. “It appears to me as if the Dark Lord and Pettigrew should be blamed for Mr. Diggory’s death. Unless we were all mistaken and you actually cast the killing curse itself?” Snape asked, and before Harry could let the anger overwhelm his answer, Snape continued. “In addition, as you were tied up at the time, I hardly think it fair to cast blame on you for allowing the Dark Lord to rise, given you were a victim in the situation yourself.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to shake his head. He knew Snape wouldn’t get it, which is why he had tried to avoid the argument, but now that he had started, Harry couldn’t stop. He wanted to keep arguing, to prove that it was in fact his fault. If he could hold on to this little bit of guilt, maybe it would stop him from crumbling up into a ball of despair on the dungeon floors.
“I understand this is a difficult and rather delicate topic for you, but we will need to work on this unfounded guilt. I’ll mention it to Lupin and see if he can’t help you understand; otherwise, we’ll continue to talk through it.”
Snape got to his feet as he kept speaking, walking back over to his office and giving Harry a moment to reflect. Did he really want to argue about his own feelings to Snape of all people? He heard the floo roar and Harry assumed he was talking to Pomfrey.
A few minutes later, Snape came back, a large glass bottle in one hand and half a dozen small vials in the other. “This,” he said, gesturing with his hand that held the large bottle, “is similar to a muggle anti-depressant, if you are familiar with them. It works in a different manner, as it is first and foremost a potion, but it is designed to aid you in a similar manner. You won’t notice its effects at first, but with time it will help manage the background anxiety and depression symptoms you are feeling. You are to take one vial full every evening,” he finished up, gesturing to the empty vial among the glittering blue vials in his other hand.
“These,” he said, still gesturing to the stack of vials, are for use anytime you have a panic attack. Given the intensity of your last one, and the fact that you were unresponsive, it might be pertinent to alert one of your friends to them, so that they may administer them if you are unable to. Otherwise, you can take up to one every twenty-four hours. You will need to come to my office to receive refills, as they are relatively potent.”
Snape set the bottles down on the table above Harry, before looking down at him, still shaking on the floor. “Am I mistaken in assuming you don’t feel ready to go back to class?” He asked, and Harry instantly shook his head, trying to get up.
“No,” he said quickly, even as his legs refused to work underneath him, almost collapsing into the desk as he stood. “I can go back. I’m sorry for wasting your time—” and just like before, Harry felt himself struggling to catch his breath, his throat clenching tightly.
“Harry,” Snape said, reaching out to steady him as he wobbled slightly before Harry flinched back at the hand on his arm. Snape held his hand up and away from Harry, watching him as his legs weakened even further and he sunk back to his knees. Wordlessly, Snape reached above him to one of the vials on the table, handing it down to the shaking teen below him. “Drink,” he said as Harry hesitated, and if Harry had been paying any attention, he would have noticed the concern plain on his professor’s face.
Without another thought, Harry took the vial and downed it, still gasping for breath as a wave of exhaustion ran over him, finally feeling a heavy weight of calm beginning to permeate the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.
Snape wordlessly took the vial back from him, watching until he finally got his breathing under control. A scarred hand reached down in front of Harry, and with a jolt of shock, he realized Snape was helping him up off the floor. He took his grip with his clammy hands, shaking and sweating from the anxiety and panic the day had brought him. Snape let go as soon as he was upright, but he put a gentle hand on his back, guiding Harry forward into his office.
With a heavy fall, Harry collapsed onto the seat opposite Snape’s desk, watching absentmindedly as his professor cast dozens of spells upon the office, warding it so that no one would be able to enter. As soon as he finished, Snape was back at his desk, scrawling a hurried note.
“What class are you supposed to be in right now,” Snape asked, and with a hurried glance around the room, Harry realized he was in fact supposed to be partway through transfiguration. He told Snape as much before the spare bit of parchment Snape was scribbling on folded itself neatly and disappeared before him. “I let Professor McGonagall know you’re with me, in case she was worried about your absence. In the meantime, you will tell no one what is happening right now, not even the Headmaster. Understood?”
Harry was so bewildered that he nodded, feeling a spike of panic shoot through him before his rational mind calmed him down. According to Snape himself, McGonagall now knew where he was, and it wasn’t like Snape would do anything to hurt him if she knew. Within a minute, Snape was back at the fireplace, glancing quickly back at Harry before stepping through.
He sat there for a few minutes, wondering if he was supposed to follow him, before realizing he didn’t know where Snape had stepped through to. He hadn’t announced it like Harry was used to doing when floo traveling, so he had no way of knowing where his professor had disappeared to. It was only a few minutes later that Snape stepped back through, gracefully landing in his office and dusting off the soot that speckled his robes.
“Your godfather,” Snape couldn’t hold back the sneer at the mention of Sirius, but his voice lacked the anger Harry had grown accustomed to at the mention of Sirius, “Will be through shortly. The spells I’ve put up should allow him to stay undetected for a little while, but he won’t be able to stay long. Although Umbridge is watching the floo usage, she will be teaching at this moment, and won’t be paying attention to the traffic in my office. If he leaves before this class period is over, she won’t be able to detect anything.”
Harry nodded, a feeling of gratitude overwhelming his stomach with warmth as the fireplace thundered to life. Out stepped Sirius, who hurriedly brushed himself off and stared around the office, finally spotting Harry in the chair.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said softly, coming forward and kneeling to Harry’s level. His big hands came up to rest on Harry’s cheeks, softly wiping away tears Harry hadn’t even noticed falling. They must have been from earlier, but to Harry’s horror, his eyes began to well again. Sirius, who was staring at Harry with a look of sorrow in his own eyes, reached forward to pull him into a hug. With the warm scent of leather and tobacco encircling him, Harry bit back a sob before sinking his head further into Sirius’s shoulder, the tears seeping out. All his energy went to focusing on the hand slowly rubbing his back while he silently cried, holding back the cries that threatened to burst out of his throat.
He could vaguely feel the rumbling from Sirius’ chest, and if he had been any more aware, he would have noticed the lack of spite in both Sirius’ and Snape’s words as they spoke quickly with each other. As it was, Harry could only make a few words out, hearing Snape say the words “panic attack,” followed by “trauma,” and “potions.”
Intermittently, Sirius would mention words such as “over the summer,” and even “Dumbledore,” which shot worry through Harry’s nerves, causing him to finally pull his head out of the embrace. Sirius immediately stopped talking as Harry came up, pulling away from him except for a hand resting firmly on his shoulder.
“Snape says you had a panic attack in class,” Sirius spoke calmly, and although it wasn’t a question, Harry nodded briefly.
“My arm,” he said, slowly, pulling back the sleeve to show Sirius his new scar that was still healing against his skin.
Sirius ran his rough hand over it, right beside the scar from last spring. “Oh, darling,” he whispered, bringing his other hand up to cup his head, both rubbing gently along his cheeks.
“Did class end?” Harry asked suddenly, remembering that the classroom had been completely empty when he had come to.
Snape glanced to where Sirius was kneeling and shook his head. “I dismissed everyone early. I didn’t want you to begin vocalizing the events in front of your classmates, and as soon as they all left, I warded the door.”
“Oh,” Harry said, not remembering when that happened.
“You were quite out of it at the time,” Snape said, and Sirius’ grip tightened perceptively on the side of his face.
“Oh,” Harry said again, and the room lapsed into silence.
Sirius drew his gaze back in as he stared at him with his warm eyes. “Has this still been happening since this summer?” He asked quietly and Harry hesitated before nodding his head. Sirius’s thumb continued to trace gentle circles on his face before he continued. “Snape said you’re still feeling guilty about last spring,” he said, and this statement wasn’t a question either, but Harry shrugged anyway.
Sirius was quiet before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I know it’s hard,” he said, “dealing with guilt. But this wasn’t your fault.” And Sirius did know, didn’t he? Hadn’t he spent twelve years believing he deserved to be in Azkaban for letting Pettigrew betray his friends.
He felt himself leaning forward, resting his head back on Sirius’ shoulder as his thin fingers kept carding through Harry’s hair. “You were a victim in this; it’s not your fault,” and if the situation had been any funnier, Harry would have smiled at how Sirius, probably for the first time in his life, had subconsciously agreed with Snape.
For the first time in his life, with Sirius squeezing him tightly and the calming potion rushing through his veins, Harry felt happy. Which was why he was so surprised, when for the third time this afternoon, he burst into tears.
This time, he couldn’t contain his cries, and let out bone-shaking sobs as he gasped for breath. “Shh,” Sirius was mumbling, his arms wrapped around him much tighter as Harry shook and heaved.
He cried for Cedric, for the life that had been taken from him. He cried for the old man, who he had only realized had died because of him the night of the graveyard. And he cried for everyone who would undoubtedly be hurt or killed in the upcoming war. Through it all, Sirius continued rubbing his back, making soft comforting sounds whenever Harry’s breath hitched.
“Classes will be letting out in five minutes,” Snape announced, and Harry instantly stopped crying, knowing what that meant. Sirius kept his grip on him, as if that could stop the passage of time itself, but Harry knew it was only a matter of moments. He pulled back, feeling Sirius’ thumbs trace over his cheek again, wiping the tears that were soaking the skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gently pulling back and standing up before Harry. Harry expected him to leave and had gotten to his feet to see him off, but instead, Sirius rooted around in his pockets, finally pulling out a dusty, tarnished mirror from his robes.
“This is for you,” he said, glancing at Snape who was still staring at Sirius with a disinterested gaze, tinged in a dislike that Harry was certain would never go away. “It was your father’s, and I have a matching one at Headquarters. If you need to, you can speak my name into it, and we’ll be able to see each other and talk. It’s a lot more secure than owls, and this way if you need something, you can reach me without worrying.”
Harry’s heart felt full, as he gently traced the ornate handle, imagining how his dad must have done the very same thing twenty years ago. “Thank you,” he said, internally wincing at how rough his voice sounded.
“Anytime,” Sirius said, leaning forward to press another kiss to the top of Harry’s head. Turning it into a hug, Harry squeezed back tightly. “Just make sure you use it. Even if it’s to tell me about your day.”
Harry nodded into his chest. “I promise,” he said, already debating how often was too much to use it.
Sirius pulled away, and Harry reluctantly let him, although his heart rate picked up, already missing the comfort of his godfather. “Remus will be by as soon as McGonagall gives him permission to enter the castle. He’s quite worried about you as well. Until now,” he glanced over his shoulder to look at Snape, and although it pained him, Sirius continued, “make sure you talk to Snape. I know it might not seem like it’ll help, but it really will. I promise,” he said, before nodding and stepping forward.
Harry watched as Snape mirrored him, motioning towards the fireplace.
“I love you, sweetheart,” Sirius called back, and Harry’s eyes watered before he blinked the tears away, heart swelling as he realized this was the first time he remembered someone telling him they loved him. With a final wave, Sirius was ushered through the fireplace, calling “Grimmauld Place,” through the green flames as he did.
Harry watched as Snape double-checked the time, nodding as Sirius disappeared, before turning back to Harry. “You’ll likely start to feel tired from the potion you consumed earlier. Given your godfather’s mention of your nightmares earlier this summer, and the likelihood that they haven’t gotten better since being back at the castle, I would encourage you to take advantage of this and get some rest. Your final class should be getting out momentarily, and I can write you an excuse for your classes tomorrow so you can get caught up on your work. If McGonagall hasn’t gotten Lupin permission by the end of the week, we’ll need to have an initial meeting, primarily to address the potions you’ve been given.” With a wave of his wand, Snape summoned the bottles of potions from the classroom, handing them over as Harry quickly shoved them in his bag.
Finally, his legs had stopped shaking, and he didn’t think taking another step forward would cause him to collapse. He began to walk to the door, feeling the tiredness from earlier increase like Snape had mentioned it would, before the professor himself stopped Harry at the door.
“Potter,” Snape called, and he turned back to see him standing behind his desk again. “If you find yourself in need of immediate assistance in the meantime, as much as I may loathe to admit it,” and Harry could tell from the discomfort in Snape’s gaze that he was telling the truth, “Your godfather, although arrogant at times, would be a good listening ear.” The sour gaze on Snape’s face was almost comical in the situation, and Harry was reminded how the two rivals had unknowingly agreed earlier.
“In addition,” he continued as Harry reached for the door handle, “my office is always open as well.”
If Harry hadn’t just spent the last class period with his professor acting in such an exceedingly peculiar way, he might have been confused, perhaps even worried at the sudden change. As it was, he couldn’t help the slight smile that quirked his lips. “Thanks, professor,” he said as he stepped out of his office, feeling as if a small weight of the world had been lifted off his straining shoulders.
ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading! The summary of the chapter is as follows: An accident in potions class triggers a flashback to the graveyard for Harry, and Snape witnesses the event. He asks him questions about his mental health, before giving him potions that will help with the anxiety and panic attacks he's been facing. In addition, Snape wants him to talk about what he went through with a professor, in order to help him work through his feelings. While Harry initially suggests Professor Lupin, despite him not currently teaching, Snape strikes a deal, allowing him to meet with Remus if he agrees to meet with a different professor while Remus is on missions for the order. Harry relents, finally admitting he wants to meet with Snape since he already has a good of what Harry's been through. Snape agrees. While Harry is still experiencing some anxiety, Snape gives him a calming potion and calls Sirius through the floo to calm Harry down. The two put their rivalry aside to help Harry, and Sirius gives Harry the mirror, before going back to Grimmauld place and telling him he loves him. Snape lets Harry go back to his dorm room to sleep off the rest of the calming potion, with the promise that Harry will either meet with Remus or Snape himself soon.
That's it! I will hopefully have the second chapter up soon, which will have Remus talking with Harry about his experiences. Wishing everyone good luck and health in the meantime :)