Chapter 1: Panic-Induced Cardiac Episode
Chapter Text
Harry sat stiffly at the edge of the Dursleys' beige sitting room, trying not to look at the dog that was currently sniffing at his shoe with all the enthusiasm of a bloodhound chasing a steak. It snarled low in its throat, its jowls quivering. Harry resisted the urge to kick it back. Mostly because these were his nicest pair of shoes.
“Don’t antagonize Ripper,” Aunt Marge barked, settling into the largest armchair like a mountain of tweed and self-importance. “He smells freakishness.”
Harry didn’t respond. He could feel Shalis coiled beneath his shirt, a subtle weight against his ribs. She had been a hidden presence since he got here. He had to fight her everytime something happened to just stay hidde.
They both hated this dog, and this woman more.
Aunt Marge wasn’t truly his aunt, not by blood, which Harry had always considered a point in his favor.
She was visiting for a few miserable days with her beast of a dog and the sort of opinions that made Harry’s skin crawl.
As she began recounting, in an uncomfortably loud voice, some story about what a “good-for-nothing layabout child,” Harry was. He let his eyes drift to the window.
He hadn’t expected anything nice from the Dursley’s or his aunt, but lately his “punishments” had gotten pretty bad. He had desperately hoped Aunt Marge would be a buffer for them, but she wasn’t.
Then she turned the subject to his parents, because of course she would.
“No surprise he turned out the way he did, really,” she said with a sniff. “Drunks and layabouts, both of his parents. Ungrateful freaks. It's in the blood.”
Shalis stirred, feeding off his anger.
Harry didn’t think, he raged. Not the kind of wild fury that used to make glass vanish or walls crack, but something coolder, almost controled. Magic coiled inside him like a spring. And then—
Aunt Marge gave a sudden choking gasp, clutching at her chest. Ripper began barking madly, pacing in front of her. Her face went pale, eyes wide with panic.
It was untracable, unprovable. She hadn’t turned colors or inflated like a balloon. Instead, she'd had what doctors would later call a panic-induced cardiac episode.
Vernon had shouted. Petunia had screamed. They bundled her into the car, still wheezing and gripping her chest. Vernon paused only long enough to shout, “Stay in the house, boy! We’ll deal with you when we get back!”
The front door slammed behind them, but didn’t lock.
Harry hadn’t waited. He went straight to the cupboard, pulling a bent bobby pin from behind the frame of the door. A meticulous wiggle and the lock gave way. Inside, covered in dust, sat his trunk, wand, and the rest of the things he wasn’t supposed to have during the summer.
He rushed to his room after pulling it out and sticking it next to the door.
He packed fast. Shalis slipped up to wind gently around his shoulders, quiet and comforting.
“She deserved it,” She hissed.
“Yeah,” Harry whispered, “I thought about doing worse for a minute, but it doesn’t matter that she’s an ass. I’m not going to be like them.”
They slipped out the door unnoticed, Harry’s bag slung over one shoulder. He kept to the back streets until he reached the edge of town and made his way toward the old playground where he used to hide when things got really bad. The swings creaked in the wind. The climbing frame had rusted at the base.
He sat down on the curb, staring into the bushes, the silence pressing in thick and heavy.
A twig snapped.
He stood up fast, wand half-raised before he could even think. Something rustled, low, fast. Not a dog. Too quick. His pulse raced.
He took a step back, lifting his wand. “Stay back!”
There was a loud bang and a gust of wind like a rushing train. Then, with a violent screech of tires, a bus shuddered into existence before him, all purple paint and brass fixtures.
A gangly boy with terrible acne opened the doors. “Welcome to the Knight Bus,” he said in a bored tone. “Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard… Whatcha fall over for?”
Harry stared, then let out a breath.
“Just... get me out of here,” he said, stepping inside.
Shalis hissed her approval.
-
The Knight Bus gave a final jolt as it screeched to a halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron, its lanterns flickering. Harry nearly fell over as he stepped off, his bag slapping against his side. He set his school trunk down as he tried to balance himself.
“Ta then,” Shunpike called lazily before the bus vanished with a loud crack.
Harry stood for a moment, staring at the entrance to the pub. It was quiet in the dead of night, the sign above the door swaying gently in the breeze. He’d been here once before, but this time felt different. This time, he wasn’t waiting to be collected, he was here on his own terms.
Inside, the pub was dim and smelled of smoke and stew. A sleepy-looking man behind the counter looked up as Harry approached.
“Room for one?” Harry asked, digging into his bag and pulling out a few coins.
The man blinked, then nodded. “Course, three galleons. Second floor, third on the left. Comes with breakfast.”
Harry handed over the coins and was given a key in return. He climbed the narrow stairs and unlocked the door to find a small, plain room with a bed, a writing desk, and a narrow wardrobe. It was quiet. It was his.
He dropped his things at the foot of the bed, then collapsed onto the mattress fully clothed. Shalis uncurled from his shoulder and slipped beneath the blanket with him, absorbing his warmth.
“Sleep,” the snake whispered. “You are safe now.”
-
Harry woke early. The morning sun was barely peeking through the cracked curtains, but Shalis was already stirring.
“Hungry,” she hissed softly from under the covers.
“Yeah, me too,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His stomach growled, confirming it. Neither of them had eaten properly in days. The Dursleys hadn’t exactly gone out of their way to stock the fridge while Aunt Marge was visiting.
He pulled on his shoes and robes and headed downstairs, hoping for something simple. The pub was still mostly empty, but someone was cleaning glasses behind the bar.
“Excuse me,” Harry said. “Do you- uh- do you have anything a snake might eat? Mice or... I dunno, something?”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you want me to check the basement,” he said dryly. “Best try the pet shop in Diagon Alley.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Back outside, the bricks of the hidden entrance clicked and folded away with practiced ease. Diagon Alley greeted him like an old friend, already bustling even this early in the morning. Shopkeepers were setting out displays, and a few early customers were drifting past windows full of spellbooks and cauldrons.
Harry made a beeline for Magical Menagerie. The familiar smell of pellets, furr, and something slightly rotten hit him as he stepped inside. The shopkeeper glanced over from behind a counter where a jar of wriggling beetles sat.
“I need something for a snake,” Harry said, glancing toward a tank of live mice in the corner.
“A pet or wild?”
“Pet,” he replied. “Though she’d say I’m the pet.”
The shopkeeper snorted. “Most snakes act that way.”
Harry stepped towards the counter as the woman moved to the side. She opened a cage full of little white mice. Harry doubted they could fill Shalis easily. She had grown during hogwarts, and despite not being fed much, she didn’t look too frail.
“Do you have something bigger?”
Shalis poked out of his pocket, drawing the womans eyes.
“My, something bigger would be better. I have small rats too, don’t worry.”
Harry watched her close the cage and move over to another. About a dozen rats lay in there, cuddled up to eachother.
“One should last about two or three days depending on how fast she digests it. How many do you think you’ll need?”
“Uh, I guess five for now. I’ll just come back if I need more.”
“Good, good. I’ll put a charm on them to last a bit.”
Harry paid for the rats and the charm, tucking them carefully into his bag. As he turned to leave, he felt Shalis shift happily along his spine.
“You are more usseful than a pet,” Shalis hissed. “Too clever. And now, I shall not sstarve.”
“Glad to be appreciated,” Harry muttered, stepping back out into the sunlight.
Harry let Shalis crawl up his arm, wrapping her body around it and looking around. She tasted the air and her attention turned to another alley.
“I think we should go there. I ssensse sssomething,” Shalis hissed.
Harry looked to the alley Shalis pointed to. It was dark and a little unsettling. He walked to it none the less.
Harry examined the building Shalis had led him to. Borgin and Burkes. It was eirie. The sign on the door said it was open.
“Are you sure about this?”
The snake nodded. He sighed and reached to open the door. The place smelled like books and metal. He walked in slowly, examining everything. It held lots of oddities, big and small.
“That wayy,” Shalis pointed.
He followed her guide to a book that sat on a far table. It was bound in dark green leather. He ran his fingers over it.
“What is it,” He asked her.
“That is a book on every dark spell that’s been recorded. Don’t worry though, it’s harmless unless you indulge it,” a man- no, a boy spoke.
Harry wouldn’t have guessed he was a teen by his voice, but there stood a tall boy with wild hair and a light expression.
“Shalis, why did you lead me to this,” He hissed.
“Becaussse I ssseee potential in you. You could make them sssee. It’s not all bad.”
Harry looked back to the boy, who had shock written on his face.
“Sorry, I forgot that people still find that weird. I- Are their good spells in her, something less evil”
“Yeah, I find that some are actually quiet useful too.”
“Like what?”
He moved closer and flipped through the book until he landed on page 12.
“This is supposed to help you focus better, retain more. It’s been twisted into bad things before, but it’s not inherently bad. The book starts with more relaxed, lighter things like charms and small hexes. “And in the back,” He flipped all the way to the last page. Crutiatus. “Is where the worst are.”
Harry flipped the page to somewhere near the middle. The Black Shield. He read some of the information. Originally created and named by Dante Black 200 years ago. The shield pushes a persons attack back onto them. Can be dangerous if the sheild is too big or too strong…
“Can I… how much is it?”
“Well, I normally wouldn’t dream of selling this, but seeing as you seem to have skills aligning with it, and from what I can tell, a moral compass, I’ll give it to you for 6 galleons.”
Harry looked to Shalis who only nodded. He sighed and pulled the coins from his bag. His parents fortune was coming in handy. 6 Galleons could have bought him new clothes for a week, if he got them on the cheap side anyway.
Chapter 2: Howler
Summary:
Harry receives a Howler from Snape. Snape realizes that Harry was abused.
Chapter Text
Harry was half-asleep, stretched across the bed with the dark green book open on his chest, when a sharp tap-tap-tap at the window startled him awake. He sat up quickly, the book tumbling onto the sheets.
A large black crow stared at him through the glass, its claws tight on the windowsill, a red envelope clutched in its beak. Harry groaned.
He opened the window, and the crow hopped inside, dropped the envelope on the bed, and stared at him expectantly.
Harry eyed the letter warily. He knew what it was. He’d heard one before. Ron’s mother yelling about the flying car had echoed through the entire Great Hall. He reached for it slowly.
The howler burst open in his hands, nearly vibrating with fury.
“POTTER,” Snape’s voice boomed through the room, cold and furious. “I AM ONLY GOING TO SAY THIS ONCE. YOU ARE A STUDENT. YOU ARE A MINOR. YOU DO NOT GET TO VANISH INTO THIN AIR WITHOUT INFORMING A SINGLE RESPONSIBLE ADULT. DO YOU THINK THE RULES DON’T APPLY TO YOU? THAT THE WORLD WILL SLOW DOWN AND WAIT WHILE YOU WANDER OFF INTO WHO KNOWS WHAT DANGER?”
The voice lowered slightly, but the edge of anger remained razor-sharp.
“I don’t care how used to chaos you are, running off into it is not bravery, it is idiocy. You are supposed to be under adult supervision. That you are not, is a failure, but not one I expected you to double down on. You are to report to an adult ASAP!”
The envelope exploded in a puff of smoke. The crow still watched him, head tilted slightly, waiting
Harry stood there for a few seconds, arms crossed, then let out a quiet breath and went to the desk.
He pulled a scrap of parchment from the drawer and dipped a quill into the inkwell.
-
Professor Snape,
I’m not dead. I’m at the Leaky Cauldron. I paid for a room myself, and I haven’t left Diagon Alley.
The Dursleys weren’t going to let me stay after what happened. I figured it was better to leave on my own than get thrown out with nothing. So I did. Quietly.
You don’t need to get anyone involved. I’m not trying to disappear. Just trying to be somewhere else.
That’s all.
-Harry
-
He folded the letter, tied it to the crow’s leg. The crow nodded, then hopped to the edge of the window and took off, wings cutting through the morning air.
Harry watched it go, then let the window drop shut.
He sat back down on the bed, not quite ready to pick the book up again. His stomach gave another sharp twist, but he ignored it.
The quiet settled in once more, but it felt thinner now, as if it didn’t have quite as much weight behind it. Not with that howler still echoing faintly in the back of his mind.
Someone had noticed. Someone cared, even if it came wrapped in anger and dissapointment.
That was something.
-
Harry woke to the dull, hollow ache of his stomach twisting in on itself. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, not really. A few bites here and there, maybe, but nothing that stuck. His body had finally started to protest in earnest.
He sat up slowly, wincing, and ran a hand through his hair. Shalis stirred from her spot at the end of the bed, lifting her head with a soft hiss.
“You need food,” she said simply. “You ssshould have eaten yesssterday.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry muttered, pulling on his shoes. “Just… didn’t feel like it.”
He made his way downstairs, clutching the railing as he went. The dining area was quiet, early still, and the smell of food made his stomach clench painfully.
Then he saw him.
Snape.
Severus Snape stood near the back wall, arms crossed, dressed in his usual layers of black. His expression was thundercloud-dark, a mask of annoyance barely held in check. His eyes snapped toward Harry the moment he stepped into view.
Harry froze.
“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, his voice low and sharp like a blade sheathed just beneath the skin of civility. “I see you are still in one piece, despite your best efforts.”
Harry stepped forward cautiously. “I said I was fine.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to take that at face value after vanishing, lodging yourself alone in a public inn, and responding with the emotional depth of a note scrawled on a pub napkin?”
Harry winced, but said nothing. Snape stepped closer.
“You cannot just disappear into the wind, Potter! You are thirteen, not thirty! You are still under school supervision- and my responsibility!”
He raised a hand as he spoke, gesturing toward Harry in irritation.
It wasn’t even sudden.
But Harry stumbled back like he’d been struck, his hands coming up fast, curled close to his face like a shield. His breath hitched, just loud enough in the quiet of the room.
Snape froze.
Something changed behind his eyes in an instant. The disdain faded, washed out by something deeper. He slowly lowered his hand.
Harry dropped his hands as he realized what he’d done. He stood there, frozen, staring at the floor like it might rise up and actually hit him. His shoulders were rigid, but he was shaking.
Snape didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice was quieter than before, measured.
“You thought I was going to hit you?”
Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Snape glanced around the room. No one was watching, but the conversation had grown too fragile for the open air.
“Sit,” he said, motioning to the nearest table. Not a command this time. An invitation.
Harry hesitated, but his legs gave him no other choice. He dropped into the chair and didn’t meet Snape’s eyes.
Snape remained standing for a moment longer before taking the seat across from him.
“I will see to your breakfast,” he said quietly. “Stay here.”
It wasn’t softness exactly, but it wasn’t cruelty either. It was steadiness. And right now, that felt like something Harry could hold onto.
Snape returned a few minutes later, setting a modest plate down in front of Harry with a clink that made him flinch again, less noticeable this time, but not missed.
“Eggs. Toast. Pancakes,” Snape listed, then sat across from him again. “Eat.”
Harry stared down at the food. His stomach still hurt, but the scent of warm toast and eggs stirred something like hunger. He picked up a piece of toast, biting off the corner, chewing slowly. He managed less than half of it before putting it back down.
Snape watched him, brow furrowed. “Is something wrong with it?”
“No,” Harry muttered. “I’m just… not hungry.”
“You look like you haven’t eaten properly in months. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”
Harry didn’t answer. He pushed the food around his plate.
“You reacted to me like I was going to strike you,” Snape said evenly, without venom. “That isn’t a reaction born from my imagination.”
Harry’s hand stilled. He didn’t look up. “It was nothing.”
“It was not nothing.”
Harry’s shoulders tightened. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And yet we must.” Snape’s voice was quieter now, firm but not cruel. “You are a student under my care. When you react to raised voices and lifted hands like that, it becomes my concern.”
Harry shoved the food around again. “It’s not like I’m the only kid who’s had a rough time.”
“That may be true, but that doesn't mean it should be ignored. Or accepted.” Snape leaned forward slightly. “Was it your uncle?”
Harry didn’t reply, but his silence said everything. He stared down at the plate, eyes dark and tired.
Snape’s tone didn’t change. “Did they hit you?”
Still nothing. But Harry’s fingers curled into a fist.
“Did they starve you?”
His jaw clenched.
“I see,” Snape said quietly, sitting back in his chair.
Harry finally looked up, his expression full of uncertainty. “Are you going to tell Dumbledore?”
Snape regarded him for a long moment. “I should.”
Harry tensed again, eyes dropping. “Please don’t.”
Snape was silent for a beat, then asked, “Why not?”
“He knows,” Harry said, voice brittle. “I think he always has. He just… let it happen.”
Snape’s expression darkened at that, not at Harry, but at the implications. “Then he was in the wrong.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard. “You think so?”
“I do,” Snape said. “No child should be raised in fear. Least of all one forced into the spotlight of a war he never asked to be part of.”
Harry stared at him, unsure what to say to that.
Snape leaned back in his chair and gave a short breath. “I won’t inform the headmaster. Not yet. But things will change. That I can promise.”
Harry nodded, slowly, and for the first time in a while, he took a bite of egg, not much, but more than he normally would.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
Snape said nothing, but the silence now was different. It didn’t press down on him. It was steady and watchful.
Snape sighed, his eyes scanning the dim room of the Leaky Cauldron like it offended him on a personal level. The rickety wooden beams, flickering wall sconces, and faint smell of stale ale seemed to grate at him.
"This place is a disgrace," he muttered, almost to himself.
Harry glanced up from his plate, a bite of egg halfway to his mouth. "It's not that bad," he said cautiously.
"It is," Snape said flatly. Then he shifted his gaze back to Harry. "Regardless, you won’t be staying here any longer."
Harry blinked. "What?"
Snape folded his arms. “You’re thirteen, Potter. Too young to be roaming around on your own without supervision, and far too valuable a target to be left vulnerable.”
Harry’s fork clinked as he set it down. “I’ve managed fine so far.”
“By sleeping in a pub and nearly starving yourself to death? Impressive.” His tone was razor-dry.
Harry turned defensive. “So what, you're going to take me back to the Dursleys?”
Snape gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was pink. “Absolutely not.”
Harry blinked again, this time slower, confusion flickering in his eyes.
Snape sighed, looking like he regretted every word he was about to say. “You’ll be staying with me. Just until term begins.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “With you? Like, at your house?”
“Yes,” Snape said with the air of someone enduring a personal crisis. “Though I use the word ‘house’ reluctantly. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than here. Or there.”
Harry frowned. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“No,” Snape said without hesitation. “You do not.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, expression sour. “Great.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “Don’t pout. I’m not thrilled either.”
That pulled a reluctant snort from Harry. “Yeah, I can tell.”
They sat in silence for a beat, Harry pushing a bit more egg around his plate.
“When are we going?” he asked eventually.
“After breakfast,” Snape said, rising to his feet and brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Pack your things. I’ll settle the bill.”
Harry hesitated, then nodded and got up as well. As he turned toward the stairs, Shalis peeked out from his sleeve, tongue flicking.
“Ssstaying with the sssnarky one. Thisss will be… interesting.”
Harry muttered under his breath, “You’re telling me.”
Snape gave him a side-eye. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, bolting up the stairs.
Snape’s mutter followed him. “And they say I’m the difficult one.”
Chapter 3: Spinner's End
Summary:
Harry floos to Snape's house with him and Shalis. Snape is a good cook, Harry is a little shit, and Snape hints at his own experiences.
Chapter Text
Green flames licked around Harry’s vision as he stumbled out of the Floo, coughing on soot and brushing off ash as he straightened. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the sitting room. Snape stepped out behind him, dusting his robes with a grimace.
Harry took in the space. The air smelled faintly of parchment and something earthy, potions, maybe. The walls were a faded green-grey, the furniture practical and threadbare but clean. Shelves of books lined every available wall, and dark curtains blocked most of the daylight.
“Barely call it a house,” Harry muttered, rubbing his elbow where he’d knocked into the grate. “But… it’s so… full.”
Snape raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
The place was bleak, but not in the cruel and suffocating way Privet Drive had been. The muted colors, the quiet, and the faint hum of something magical beneath the surface, it all felt more honest. It suited Snape, in a strange way, and Harry found he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.
Shalis slithered slightly out from Harry’s sleeve, tongue flicking.
“Sssafe enough, I sssuppose.”
Harry glanced sideways at Snape. “Uh… how welcome is she here?”
Snape sighed, already walking toward the hallway. “The snake is to stay in your room for the duration of your stay.”
“What?” Harry frowned, following after him. “She’s not dangerous. She’s quiet-"
“Your room,” Snape said sharply, spinning on his heel and gesturing down a narrow hallway. “Now.”
Harry gritted his teeth and stalked past him.
“Honestly, I bet a rat would be more of a threat than her,” he muttered.
Snape narrowed his eyes. “One more argument, Potter, and you can stay in that room withe her until term begins.”
Harry stopped just inside the doorway. The room wasn’t large, but it was tidy. A single bed with a worn green coverlet sat beneath a narrow window, a small writing desk in the corner, and a shelf with enough space for a few books.
Harry didn’t respond. He dropped his bag at the foot of the bed, and Shalis slithered out, coiling contentedly on the blankets.
Snape lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say something else. Eventually, he turned away without a word.
Harry looked around again, then to Shalis.
“Could be worse,” he whispered.
“Ssssuppose it could,” Shalis agreed. “At leassst no one here hits you.”
Harry lay back on the bed, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
He was sort of curious about what the rest of summer would look like. Snape had never been the most lenient or kind, but he was responsible. Harry was starting to respect it.
-
Harry stepped into the dining room, eyes drawn immediately to the food on the table. It looked amazing—nothing he recognized, though. The vegetables smelled sharp and spiced, the bread was warm and dense, and the pie in the middle gave off a scent that reminded him vaguely of autumn.
He sat down without a word. Snape didn’t look up from his place across the table.
They ate in silence for a while. Harry took small bites, chewing carefully. The food was richer than he was used to. Real food. Heavy, filling.
He’d just swallowed a piece of bread when Snape broke the quiet.
“How long have they been hitting you?”
Harry didn’t answer. He stabbed at a roasted carrot.
Snape waited a few seconds, then tried again.
“Was it always your uncle? Or did Petunia take her turn?”
Still nothing.
Harry focused on his plate, forcing down a bite he wasn’t sure he could keep down.
“Did they use fists? Objects? Did they aim to leave bruises or keep it hidden?”
Harry clenched his jaw.
“Potter.”
Snape’s voice had gone cold.
“If you think staying silent makes you clever or strong, you’re wrong. Silence just ensures it keeps happening.”
Harry looked up at him, furious. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Good,” Snape said sharply. “Because I’m not offering any.”
Harry froze.
Snape went on, quieter but still firm. “I’m offering something else. Something you clearly haven’t had.”
Harry hesitated, the heat behind his anger dimming. “What… kind of something?”
“Accountability,” Snape said. “Understanding. Protection, if necessary.”
Harry swallowed hard.
“…It started when I was small. Too small to do anything. I stopped counting the bruises a long time ago. Aunt Petunia never hit me, not really. She just stood there. Pretended she couldn’t see.”
Snape nodded once.
“Broken bones?”
Harry looked away. “Ribs a couple time, my arm, and a few others. My ribs were the most recent.”
“Food?”
Harry glanced down at the pie. “Only got it when Dudley didn’t want it. Or when I had to resort to the bin”
He didn’t speak right away.
Then, finally, “Some survived by staying quiet, but that doesn’t mean it was the best route.” he paused. “You’re safe here. You’re not there anymore. So don’t act like you are.”
Harry looked up. The words sank in slowly. He felt something flicker in his chest, something like confusion, but also something like relief.
Harry picked up his fork again. He still didn’t have much of an appetite, but he ate.
Snape watched him for a long moment, then added quietly, as if it didn’t matter, “You’re not the only one who learned young how cruel adults can be.”
Harry looked at him. But this time, he didn’t ask for more.
He just ate.
-
Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, the green-bound book open in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. Shalis coiled loosely around his arm, her head resting just above his wrist.
The room was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt heavier than silence.
“He knows,” Harry said at last, barely above a whisper.
Shalis lifted her head lazily.
“Knowsss what?”
“About the Dursleys. He’s not just guessing, he’s… seen it before. He knew too much too quickly.”
“He is clever, yesss. Not alwaysss kind, but clever.”
Harry shook his head. “No, not just that. He… looked at me like he understood it. Like he’d lived it.”
Shalis didn’t reply right away. She shifted, curling tighter around his arm.
“Do you think he was… like me?”
There was a beat. Then,
“Why asssk me? I wasssn’t there. You live with him now.”
“I thought maybe you sensed something.” Harry’s voice was quiet, uncertain. “You always seem to.”
Shalis flicked her tongue with irritation.
“You think too much and sssay too little. You sshould assk him, not me.”
Harry frowned. “You sound like him.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll lisssten thiss time.”
He looked down, lips pressed tight. Shalis was right, annoyingly so. If he wanted to understand, he’d have to be brave enough to ask. Brave in a different way than he was used to.
“You don’t think he’d get angry?”
“He is already angry, ssilly boy. But not at you. Not for that.”
Harry blinked at her.
“He sssmells like guilt and memory. Like sssomeone who remembers too much.”
Harry reached out slowly, brushing a hand over her scales.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay… maybe I will.”
Shalis hissed with something close to approval, then nudged his fingers with her nose.
“Now sssleep. You sstink of worry.”
Harry huffed out a laugh, lay back on the bed, and closed his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was the first night in a long time that he slept without restlessness.
Chapter 4: Apprentice
Summary:
Harry asks Snape if he was like him. Snape takes harry to a room in his house and tells him to brew a potion. Harry enjoys the spark he sees in Snape while he corrects him. Snape scolds him for not eating much again.
Chapter Text
Harry padded quietly into the dining room, barefoot and rumpled from sleep. The smell of breakfast was already in the air, warm spices, something savory, something sweet.
Snape sat at the far end of the table, one hand curled around a mug of tea. His hair was pulled back loosely, and deep shadows sat under his eyes. He looked tired. Not in the theatrical way he usually did, but truly worn. Still, the table was set with care, and the food looked just as good as the day before. There was a soft, spiced porridge with fresh fruit, warm bread with herbed butter, and something like sausages but more fragrant.
Harry sat down and served himself a small portion, glancing across the table. Snape didn’t say anything, just nodded once in acknowledgment. They ate mostly in silence, broken only by the soft clinks of cutlery.
When the plates were mostly cleared and Snape reached again for his mug, Harry finally worked up the nerve.
He didn’t look at him when he asked. “Did you… is that how you knew? Because you were hit too?”
The silence that followed was sharp and immediate.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” He added.
Harry dared a glance up. Snape was staring at him, not furious, exactly, but his eyes had gone hard. His jaw tensed. It was a look that might’ve scared Harry before. Now it just made him want to shrink.
But Snape didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t storm off or sneer.
He just said, low and clipped, “Yes.”
One word. Nothing more.
Harry’s chest tightened, and his fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“Don’t make a habit of those sorts of questions,” Snape muttered as he stood.
Harry gave him a half smile in return.
“No promises.”
They didn’t speak again as they left the room, but something unspoken had shifted between them. Trust, maybe.
-
Things settled after that. Neither of them brought up the conversation again. They slipped back into their usual dynamic of wary silences, sharp comments, Snape’s never-ending glare, and Harry’s stubborn determination not to flinch anymore.
After lunch, Snape stood from the table and said curtly, “Follow me.”
Harry blinked, eyes lingering on the cleared table, but he stood up quickly and trailed after Snape. They walked through the narrow hallway and into a room at the back of the house.
It was a potions room. Smaller than the one at Hogwarts, but fully equipped. The air smelled of dried herbs, acidic potion based, ash, and something faintly sweet.
The moment they stepped in, a cauldron in the corner lit itself with a soft, magical whoosh, casting flickering light against the stone walls.
Snape motioned to a stool. “Sit.”
Harry obeyed without complaint.
Snape moved with fluid precision, pulling a few ingredients from a shelf and laying them out on the worktable. “As long as you’re under this roof,” he said, not looking at him, “you’ll be working to improve your potion-making skills.”
Harry raised a brow. “Is this my rent?”
Snape shot him a look. “Consider it insurance against further idiocy.”
Harry didn’t argue. Not really
Snape handed him a set of instructions, handwritten, not from any textbook, and placed a bundle of ingredients beside him. “This is a fourth-year level restorative elixir,” Snape said evenly. “Though you aren’t going into fourth year, I want you to impress me anyway.”
With that, he stepped back, arms folded, eyes fixed on Harry like a hawk.
No pressure, then.
Harry took a breath and started. He went slow, remembering what had helped him succeed the few times he'd managed a decent result in class. He measured carefully, stirred deliberately, and kept a wary eye on the temperature.
Snape said nothing. He didn’t move closer, didn’t bark out corrections. He just stood there, silent and unreadable.
By the end, the potion in the cauldron shimmered a pale green, maybe a touch too thick, maybe not quite textbook perfect, but... not bad. Harry felt oddly proud of it.
Snape approached, inspected it without comment, and siphoned some into a vial. He labeled it, sealed it, and placed it into a cabinet already holding a modest collection of completed brews.
“You did better than expected,” he said at last. “Mediocrity may not be inevitable after all.”
Harry snorted. “Thanks, I think.”
Snape didn’t smile, but his silence felt less sharp than usual. Almost like approval, in a very Snape-like way.
Harry wiped off the ladle and sat back. Maybe this place wasn’t exactly warm. But it was something. Maybe even something good.
Snape remained by the worktable a moment longer, inspecting the cabinet before finally turning back to Harry.
“Your temperature control needs improvement,” he said, voice a touch quieter now. “You were a degree too high for the first seven minutes. A slower heat would’ve thinned the viscosity properly.”
Harry nodded, and Snape continued, stepping over to the bench and tapping one of the measuring tools. “And this— this is not a ladle. It’s a portioning spoon. You use it for ingredients that will dissolve within ten seconds of contact, not before.”
“Right,” Harry said, watching him. There was something different about him like this. Not gentler exactly, but more… focused. Lighter, even if his tone was still clipped. Harry could see the way Snape’s eyes flicked across each part of the workspace with purpose, with care. There was a sparkle in them, like this was something that actually made him happy.
Harry smiled to himself, barely a breath of sound escaping before he let out a short giggle.
Snape’s gaze snapped to him, one brow arched in suspicion. “Are you laughing at me, Potter?”
“No!” Harry said quickly, still smiling. “No, I just- sorry. You just looked... happy. I wasn’t laughing at you.”
Snape narrowed his eyes but didn’t pursue it. He huffed and turned back toward the shelves.
Harry hesitated, then spoke again. “Could I… try another one? I mean, if you have time.”
Snape paused, hand resting on the edge of the shelf. He looked over his shoulder for a long moment, considering, then reached into a drawer and pulled out another handwritten recipe. This one was longer, more complex.
“This is a stabilizing draught,” Snape said. “Useful for emotional regulation—if brewed correctly. Let’s see if you retained anything from your last attempt.”
Harry took the sheet and read it over carefully. The ingredients weren’t difficult to recognize, but the sequence and timing were more complicated. Still, something about the challenge thrilled him. Maybe it was the quiet support. Maybe it was knowing Snape was watching, not to catch him fail, but to see how far he could go.
As he worked, he heard the occasional quiet hum or the subtle shift of Snape’s robes as he moved nearby, occasionally pointing out a motion with the stirrer or when to stop just before over-pouring. Just soft, dry reminders. Nothing like the harsh criticism Harry had once expected from the man.
And this time, the potion came out nearly perfect. A deep, calming blue with a faint shimmer. Harry grinned, heart swelling a little with pride.
Snape picked up the vial and inspected it with a scrutinizing eye. His lips pressed into a line that Harry was pretty sure was almost approval.
“Not terrible.”
Harry beamed.
-
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows settled deep into the creases of Snape’s dark little house, Harry sat at the dinner table, hands in his lap. The room was quiet except for the faint clink of silverware and the low crackle of a fire somewhere nearby.
Dinner looked good, some kind of savory stew with roasted vegetables and a warm, crusty bread, but Harry only picked at it, nudging the pieces around on his plate with the side of his fork.
Snape, ever observant, didn’t comment at first. He watched in silence, sipping at his tea as if waiting to see whether Harry would correct the behavior himself. When it became obvious that wasn’t going to happen, he set his cup down with a firm clink.
“You’re not eating,” he said flatly.
Harry looked up, startled, then glanced down again. “I’m not really hungry.”
“You said that at lunch,” Snape replied, his tone sharp but not cruel. “And yet I’ve watched you burn through energy like a fourth-year apprentice all day.”
Harry hesitated, then sighed and pushed a bit of the bread to his mouth. He chewed slowly, not really tasting it.
Snape watched him for another long moment. “Starving yourself is not a habit you’ll be bringing into my home.”
“I’m not-” Harry started, then stopped himself and sat straighter. “Sorry.”
There was another pause before he added, quieter, “I just…” He stopped. “I wanted to say thank you. For everything. Letting me stay here. Teaching me. Putting up with me.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to figure out whether Harry was being sarcastic. When he realized he wasn’t, his expression softened just enough to be noticeable.
“I am not… putting up with you,” he said slowly. “You are my responsibility. And, though Merlin help me, you’re proving yourself less of a nuisance than anticipated.”
Harry snorted into his bread. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Snape warned, but the edge in his voice wasn’t quite there.
Still, his eyes flicked to Harry’s plate again. “Three more bites. At least.”
Harry sighed dramatically, but picked up his fork and obeyed.
Chapter 5: Diagon Alley
Summary:
Snape and Harry go to Diagon Alley. Snape is mistaken for Harry's dad. Snape confronts him when they get home. Harry has a panic attack.
Chapter Text
Two weeks into his unexpected summer with Snape, Harry found himself falling into a strange sort of rhythm. Potions practice in the afternoons, reading for hours in the mornings, and meals that were far too fancy for someone raised on stale bread and overboiled vegetables. It was odd, yes, but oddly comfortable.
That morning at breakfast, Snape stirred his tea with slow precision before speaking. “We’re going to Diagon Alley today.”
Harry looked up, toast halfway to his mouth. “Really?”
“Did I stutter?” Snape raised a brow, but there was no real bite to it.
Harry grinned. “Shalis is going to be thrilled. She’s started getting snappy from hunger. And I need more books.”
“I’m shocked,” Snape said dryly, sipping his tea.
They both finished breakfast quickly. Harry made sure Shalis was secure, coiled gently around his arm and tucked beneath his sleeve before stepping into the fireplace. He watched as green flames engulfed Snape, then followed with a steady call of “Diagon Alley!”
The bustle of the alley hit him like a warm, familiar breeze. Shalis peeked her head out almost immediately, tongue flicking as she tasted the air. Snape gave her a brief glance but said nothing. That alone nearly made Harry stumble.
“Not going to complain about her coming?” Harry asked, brushing soot from his shoulder.
“She’s quieter than you,” Snape replied. “Come. We’ll start at Flourish and Blotts.”
The bookshop hadn’t changed; tall stacks of books, the faint smell of parchment and ink, and that quiet hum of magic in the air. Snape disappeared into the advanced sections while Harry drifted toward the shelves marked for fourth-years and beyond.
He scanned a few titles before grabbing “Magical Plant Properties: Beyond the Basics”, followed by “Poisons and Antidotes for the Practical Mind”, and “Charmed Defense: A Guide to Defence Charms.” Then, on a whim, he picked up a book called “Hogwarts History: The Founders.”
By the time Snape returned with a thick, dark-bound book, Harry had already wandered to the counter with his own selections.
“Don’t bother,” Snape said, catching the movement of Harry’s hand diving for his coin pouch. “I’m paying.”
“I’ve got it,” Harry protested. “Really-”
Snape turned his full gaze on him, the kind that could make seventh-years cry. “Potter. I am not in the habit of watching my students spend their inheritance on academic necessities. Especially when they live under my roof.”
Harry hesitated, then lowered his hand slowly. “Right. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Just read them.”
Harry grinned again, glancing down at the books in his arms. “That won’t be a problem.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. Now come along. We still have other errands to finish, and I’d rather not spend the entire day here.”
The moment they stepped out of the bookstore, Harry’s shoulder ached under the weight of his bag. Snape, noticing the strain in his expression, paused.
“Right, magic ban,” he muttered, drawing his wand with a quick flick. “Levis onus.”
The bag immediately grew lighter, the tension in Harry’s arm easing like magic, which, of course, it was.
“Thanks,” Harry said, blinking in surprise.
“Don’t make a thing out of it,” Snape said, though without his usual sharpness. “Let’s get your snake fed before she starts sampling shopkeepers.”
They crossed the cobbled street toward the Magical Menagerie.
A short witch behind the counter looked up and brightened immediately. “Back again! Let me guess, more rats?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. She’s getting a little impatient.”
Shalis poked her head from his sleeve and gave a low hiss, which seemed like a greeting. The woman chuckled warmly. “She’s lovely. How many this time?”
Before Harry could answer, Snape cut in. “A dozen.”
The woman nodded. “Do you want them charmed again for preservation?”
“No,” Snape said simply. He reached into his robes and handed over the payment before Harry could so much as blink.
The shopkeeper wrapped the rats with practiced efficiency, then handed the package over with a kind smile. “Hope you and your dad have a good day.”
Harry opened his mouth, then hesitated. She was already turning away to help someone else. He looked up at Snape, expecting a sharp correction, but none came. Snape’s face didn’t even twitch.
He doesn’t care, Harry realized.
But Harry felt something settle in his chest at the words.
They stepped outside again, the soft thud of the door closing behind them. Harry clutched the package carefully in his arms, still thinking about the woman’s words.
After a few quiet steps, Snape spoke without looking at him. “You didn’t correct her.”
Harry looked down at the rats. “You didn’t either.”
“I’ve more important things to spend energy on,” Snape said.
“I just… didn’t care,” Harry lied after a pause.
Snape did glance at him then, sharp and unreadable. “Why is that?”
Harry flushed and adjusted his grip on the bundle.
“I guess… It’s not that far off. You’re the only person who’s ever treated me like a proper parent should.”
Snape didn’t respond right away. His eyes returned to the alley ahead.
“I see,” was all he said, but it wasn’t dismissive.
Harry didn’t say anything else, and neither did Snape. But somehow, the quiet between them didn’t feel heavy. Not anymore.
-
The floo spat them out into Snape’s sitting room with a rush of green flames. Harry stumbled slightly, clutching his bag to his side. He was still getting used to that part.
By the time he got to his room, he was loaded down with new clothes, more books than he’d expected, his school supplies, and the rats—carefully wrapped and still charmed for freshness despite Snape’s earlier refusal. It seemed the shopkeeper had done it anyway.
Shalis perked up immediately as he entered.
“Yesss,” she hissed, tongue flicking eagerly as he unwrapped the rats. He fed her first, as always, watching the tension leave her coils as she ate.
He’d just set his new books on the desk when he heard Snape’s voice call from the other room.
“Potter. Living room.”
Harry sighed and gave Shalis a gentle stroke before heading out. “Wish me luck,” he muttered.
Snape’s living room was dimly lit, the warm light of a few low-burning lanterns casting golden shadows on the walls. Two cups of tea steamed gently on the table between the chairs.
Snape stood nearby, still in his outer robes, one hand resting against the fireplace mantle.
Harry took the seat across from him, tense but quiet. He noticed the soft scent of bergamot and something herbal. Snape had brewed something calming.
He was definitely trying to talk.
“About what you said. Outside the shop,” Snape said, his tone clipped.
Harry tensed immediately. “I didn’t mean anything weird,” he blurted. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“Relax,” Snape cut in, a little sharper than necessary. “I’m not about to reprimand you for it.”
Harry swallowed and looked down.
There was another pause. Then Snape let out a faint, reluctant sigh. “You caught me off guard. That’s all.”
Harry looked up, uncertain.
Snape’s brow furrowed, as if even speaking was mildly offensive to him. “It’s not… inaccurate. What you said. As maddening as you are, you’ve become… someone I look after. Someone I care for.” He looked off, away from Harry. “Possibly even more than, well… My godson is an entirely different matter.”
Harry blinked. “You have a godson?”
“Yes,” Snape replied flatly, though the edge in his voice lacked bite.
Harry’s heart started thudding again. “Why are you saying this now…? Are you- am I being sent away?”
Snape looked at him, startled by the question. “No.”
Harry’s throat was tight. “Did I say something wrong? I can go back to the Leaky Cauldron. Or somewhere else. I-”
“Stop.” The word hit like a crack. Not loud, but final. Snape stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You’re not being thrown out.”
Harry’s hands trembled in his lap.
“You do this every time something is uncomfortable,” Snape said. “You assume the worst. That you're unwanted. That you're a burden.”
Harry’s voice came out barely audible. “Aren’t I?”
Snape stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”
Harry’s breathing was shallow, eyes wide. He couldn’t stop the rising panic, even with those words. It was too much. Too new. His hands gripped the edge of the chair, knuckles white.
Snape didn’t move to touch him. He just stood in front of him, watching closely. “You need to breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”
Harry nodded helplessly.
“Focus on my voice,” Snape said, tone brisk but steady. “Inhale. Slowly. Keep your eyes on the fireplace if it helps. Match the rhythm.”
It took a while, but Harry managed. Breath by breath, the grip of fear started to loosen. When the fog cleared, Snape hadn’t moved away.
Harry wiped at his face, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Snape’s expression was unreadable. “Don’t apologize.”
Harry gave a shaky laugh.
Snape turned away, finally sitting down and lifting his tea. “You’re staying here,” he said, almost like a command. “You’ve already rooted yourself into my routine, Merlin help me. That’s not going to change.”
Harry looked at him across the table. “I think… I want to stay anyway. I like it here, a lot more that iwould ever have predicted.”
Snape didn’t reply. But he didn’t disagree, either.
They drank their tea quietly after that.
And though nothing more was said, something important had shifted. Not gone, not fixed, but understood.
Chapter 6: The Train
Summary:
Harry takes the train to Hogwarts. He has a panic attack. The first one for the metaphorical dementor part.
Chapter Text
A month had passed at Spinner’s End and the house was starting to feel like a home to him.
The house was still dim, still muted in color and sound, but it had become familiar, safe. Predictable in the way that comforted him.
He and Snape had developed something like a routine: shared meals, shared silences, and increasingly, shared reading in the sitting room. Most nights, they'd sit with separate books under the warm, flickering light of enchanted lanterns.
Sometimes they even discussed what they read. Snape was picky about what counted as "worth discussing," but Harry had started to recognize the look he got when he was actually impressed.
Shalis now had free reign of the house. She'd slither down the hallways and under furniture when bored, occasionally curling up near the fire or draping herself dramatically over the back of Harry's chair. Snape never admitted it, but he’d stopped reacting with irritation when she appeared.
Harry had learned more this past month than he ever expected to outside of Hogwarts. Snape had drilled him on potion ingredients and theory, but had also woven in herbology, how certain plants behaved in and out of potions, which ones reacted to which magical energies, and how to harvest them without damaging their properties.
He’d shown Harry useful everyday charms, the feather light charm, reparo, even a neat little one to dry clothes in a pinch.
Some evenings had dipped into the basics of transfiguration, just enough to get Harry interested and full of questions.
And he liked it. He liked learning like this. He liked Snape teaching him.
He stood now in his room, bag packed neatly at the foot of the bed. Shalis sat curled up next to it, tongue flicking lazily in the morning air.
“You ready?” Harry asked her, tugging his sleeves into place.
“You ask as though I have a choice,” she replied, voice amused. ”Let’s just hope your professor does not forget to pack a snack for the journey. Perhaps one of those little rats…”
Harry snorted and picked up the bag, Shalis draping herself across his shoulders as he headed downstairs.
Snape was already by the fireplace, dressed in long black robes, travel cloak over his arm. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes flicked briefly to Harry’s packed bag and then to Shalis without comment.
“Come along,” he said. “We’ll floo straight to the station.”
Harry blinked. “Wait, really? I thought- I thought I’d be going through the Leaky Cauldron or something.”
Snape merely rolled his eyes. “It’s your third year, Potter. I imagine we’ve graduated from sightseeing.”
They flooed into a quiet alcove just off King’s Cross. The noise of the station hit them instantly, train whistles, bustling footsteps, voices raised in greeting and farewell. Snape stepped forward, cloak now fastened over his shoulders, and Harry hurried after him.
As they walked toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Harry's fingers clenched around his bag strap. He glanced up at Snape, who looked utterly unbothered by the crowd.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Harry said quietly.
Snape didn’t stop walking. “Yes. I did.”
It wasn’t said kindly, not even gently, but Harry knew it was meant that way.
When they reached the barrier, Snape looked down at him. “Through, and then wait just beyond. Don’t stand in the middle like an idiot.”
Harry nodded, looking at the bricks before his eyes flicked back to Snape.
“I understand if things are about to go back to the way they were before. I wouldn’t blame you,” He said before gaving Shalis a quick pat and walking through the wall.
The platform was exactly as he remembered it, steaming, noisy, crowded with students and their families. But this time, when he emerged, he wasn’t alone. Snape stepped through just moments after, standing tall and slightly menacing as always.
Harry looked back at him, the warm weight of Shalis across his shoulders. It was strange; he’d come from a place that had always felt like a cage, and now, going to Hogwarts, he felt like he was leaving a home.
“Harry, do not walk off after saying something like that,” Snape whispered harshly.
“Sorry sir,” Harry tried.
“I’m not going to stop looking after you just because we’ll be at Hogwarts. While, yes, It will be different, I will still be there when you need me.”
“Sorry…”
“Stop apolagizing Harry. It’s making me nauseous.”
Harry could hear the sarcasm in his voice now. He gave Snape a small smile.
Snape adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “Now, do you have everything?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good. Go on then. You’d best find a seat before the rest of the school descends on it like a pack of wolves.”
Harry hesitated.
“And you’ll be on the train too?”
“Regrettably.”
Harry hesitated, then added, “Thank you… Sev.”
Snape glanced at him, and for a moment there was something softer behind his eyes. Then it was gone. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you in class.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Snape gave a short nod, and with that, Harry turned toward the train, stepping into the smoke and bustle.
-
The train was already rolling gently along the tracks when Harry finally made his way through the narrow corridor. He had barely passed two compartments when he heard a familiar voice ahead of him.
“Potter!”
He turned just in time to see Pansy Parkinson weaving her way through a knot of younger students, her usual half-smirk already on her face.
“There you are,” she said, brushing a stray curl out of her face. “Took you long enough to board. I thought you might’ve missed the train, again.”
Harry gave a short huff. “Didn’t feel like theiving this year.
Her eyes flicked to the serpent coiled around his shoulders.
“Shalis,” she greeted, with a touch more warmth than she gave Harry. “You’re still slinking around, then.”
“And you are still shrieking,” Shalis replied with lazy amusement, which made Harry cough to cover a laugh.
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “I assume she said something rude.”
Harry shrugged, grinning. “She’s got opinions.”
“I saw you at the station—with Snape.”
Harry’s smirk faded half a second too late.
“Oh,” he said, keeping his tone casual, “Yeah. That.”
“Well?” she pressed, lifting an eyebrow. “What were you doing with him?”
Harry scratched the back of his neck. “It wasn’t planned or anything. Just ran into him before getting on the train. He was already there. Probably for some professor thing. Probably chaperoning.”
Pansy gave him a flat look. “You don’t just run into Professor Snape and walk side-by-side through the barrier like you’re meeting your favorite uncle.”
“He told me off,” Harry said quickly. “Said I was being too loud, or sloppy, or something. Gave me a lecture before letting me go. You know how he is.”
She didn’t look convinced. “And he just let you go after that?”
“Yeah. Told me not to make a habit of being so unruly.” Harry shrugged. “Same as usual.”
Pansy studied him a moment longer, then flicked her hair over her shoulder.
“Well, you’re lucky he didn’t give you detention before term even started.”
Harry smirked. “Maybe he’s going soft.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Please. That man is physically incapable of soft.”
Shalis let out a low hiss of agreement, and Harry couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out.
“She might faint if she finds out,” Shalis laughed as much as a snake could.
Pansy blinked at the sound of it, then gestured down the corridor. “Come on. I didn’t save you a seat, but I might let you sit near us. Better be careful though, Snape is responsible for the kids in the back. He might get another chance to give you detention.”
Harry fell into step beside her, glad that she had turned back to joking instead of interrogating. Still, he felt Shalis’s gaze flick up at him.
“You are not good at lying, little speaker.”
He didn’t argue.
Pansy led the way down the corridor with her usual strut, throwing open the door to a half-full compartment near the middle of the train. Blaise Zabini was seated in the corner, a book open in his lap. Theodore Nott glanced up as they entered, lifting a hand in silent greeting.
“I saved the space,” Pansy said, flipping open the luggage rack and grabbing Harry’s trunk before he could even reach for it.
She just sat and smoothed her skirt like hualing it up was nothing—Right, it was charmed.
Harry slid into the open space next to Nott, who gave him a small, sidelong nod. Shalis coiled herself a bit tighter around his neck like a scarf with eyes. A moment later, the door opened again, and Draco stepped in.
He looked around, took in the limited space, then sat on Harry’s other side without a word. It felt... oddly normal.
“Alright,” Pansy said brightly, “Predictions. Who’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”
“Oh, that’ll be someone utterly useless,” Draco said with a sigh.
“Obviously,” Pansy replied, “I’m hoping for someone less incompetent this time, but that might be too much to ask.”
“I’m betting on a Ministry leftover,” Blaise muttered without looking up. “Someone with too many opinions and not enough sense.”
“Maybe someone who still thinks Grindelwald was misunderstood,” Nott added dryly.
Harry leaned back. “Or maybe it’ll be someone who only teaches defensive dancing.”
Pansy blinked at him. “Dancing?”
“Yeah,” Harry said with mock-seriousness. “You learn the waltz while dodging hexes. Can’t be hit if you’re twirling.”
That got a laugh from Pansy, a snort from Draco, and even a grin from Nott. Blaise smirked without glancing up.
“Oh, oh!” Pansy said, eyes lighting up. “What if it’s someone who only speaks in rhymes?”
Harry grinned. “And insists you duel while reciting poetry. First one to mess up a stanza loses.”
They kept the game going as the train began to roll, laughter echoing faintly down the corridor. It felt good.
But then, the train jerked.
It wasn’t quite a lurch, but it was enough to send Harry’s heart into his throat. He stiffened.
When it stopped completely, every laugh in the compartment died. The silence rushed in fast and heavy.
Harry’s breathing grew shallow. His hands clenched into fists on his knees.
No. No no no-
Shalis lifted her head from around his shoulders, her tongue flicking rapidly.
“Little speaker,” she hissed quietly. “You are sssafe. Thiss issn’t like what happened in that car.”
But Harry’s chest heaved. His vision blurred at the edges. The walls of the compartment felt like they were pressing in. Theo and Draco felt too close. His ears were full of static and his own breathing, too loud and too fast.
Someone reached out, hand on his arm, and Shalis recoiled with a sharp hiss, her body tightening protectively.
“Harry?” Pansy’s voice, sharp with worry.
Shalis bared her fangs. “Do not touch him!”
Draco looked caught between moving forward and shrinking back. “What- what’s wrong with him?”
Harry gasped, shaking. “S- Snape,” he forced out, voice cracked and desperate.
“Someone get Snape,” Pansy ordered.
No one questioned it.
Draco bolted from the compartment without a word.
Harry curled inward, arms wrapping around himself as if to stop the tremor. Shalis slithered down to wrap across his chest, pressing close, hissing low reassurances.
Pansy sat nearby, clearly unsure of what to do, but unwilling to leave. “Hang on, Potter,” she said, quieter than usual. “He’ll come. Just hang on.”
And Harry tried.
Snape arrived like a storm cloud, robes billowing behind him, Draco quick on his heels. The compartment door banged open, startling the Slytherins still frozen in place.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
Dropping to one knee before Harry without a flicker of hesitation, Snape reached forward and took Harry’s trembling hands in his. They were ice cold, shaking badly.
“Potter,” he said low, firm. “Look at me.”
Harry didn’t. Couldn’t. His breathing had gone shallow again, eyes flicking around the compartment without seeing anything.
Then, with a low groan, the train’s power sputtered and died completely. The lights blinked out, plunging them into eerie, ambient darkness.
The compartment held its breath.
Snape’s jaw tightened. His voice dropped even lower, gentler, but still edged with urgency.
“Harry. You are not there. You are here. With me. You are safe.”
Harry gasped again, clearly not hearing him. His head twitched like he was searching for something, anything, solid to hold onto.
Snape glanced up at the stunned students still crowding the corners of the compartment. “Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, then shifted forward without ceremony.
He pulled Harry into him.
Harry resisted for half a second, tension jerking through his limbs like a jolt of static, but then he collapsed against Snape’s chest, his face burying itself in the black fabric of his shoulder. Snape’s arms came around him tightly, grounding, firm. No hesitation. Just steady pressure. Like the last time, when he’d barely been able to breathe in his own skin.
Snape didn’t say anything else. He just held him.
The rest of the compartment was silent. Pansy stared like the laws of nature had just reversed. Nott looked like someone had unplugged him. Draco’s mouth was slightly open, brows pulled together, confused and, oddly, concerned.
Harry shuddered, shoulders trembling, his breath slowly finding rhythm again in the quiet of Snape’s hold. He didn’t dare look up. Not at them.
Not when they were staring like they’d just watched something impossible. Like Snape hugging him wasn’t just rare, it was unthinkable.
And maybe it was.
But Harry didn’t care. Not right now.
Not when he could finally breathe.
The lights buzzed back to life.
A warm flicker returned to the compartment, washing the walls in pale yellow as the train’s magic righted itself. The hum of the engine kicked in underneath them again, steady and familiar. But no one spoke.
Snape slowly loosened his grip, drawing back just enough to look Harry in the eye.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured, just loud enough for Harry to hear. “Like we practiced.”
Harry inhaled, shaky but deeper this time. He nodded, trying to mimic the pace of Snape’s own breath. His hands were still clutched in Snape’s sleeves, knuckles white.
After a few more seconds, Snape cupped the side of Harry’s face, steadying him. His gaze had lost its usual edge. It was sharp and still, but in focus now, not biting.
“I told you,” Snape said, voice low, quiet like the walls of Spinner’s End were listening. “This summer was not temporary. You won’t go back.”
Harry blinked at him, still pale.
“I will be there,” Snape continued, like it was a vow. “Like I was then. If this happens again—if anything happens again, you send for me. Understood?”
Harry gave a stiff, overwhelmed nod.
The train rolled onward.
And all around them, the Slytherins began watching.
Draco, still hovering by the door, squinted as though something behind his eyes was clicking into place. Pansy’s brow furrowed sharply, and she exchanged a glance with Nott, whose eyes had gone calculating. Even Zabini, slouched in the corner like always, had sat up straighter.
Snape straightened, smoothing his robes like nothing at all had just happened. He glanced at the students, expression cool and unreadable.
“What?” he snapped.
No one answered.
But Harry could feel it; they knew. Or were starting to. Bits and pieces of the truth, forming a shape.
The way Snape had spoken to him. The way he’d touched his face like someone familiar. Like someone who had done it before.
The way he’d said this summer.
Harry swallowed hard.
“Better?” Snape asked, his voice quieter again.
Harry nodded. “I think so...”
“You think so? Potter, I’m not running down here like a maniac again. You know what, come with me.”
Snape turned toward the door, his robes whispering behind him. Harry stood, avoidin the gazes on him.
The door hissed shut behind them.
Harry followed him all the way to the back compartment. Inside Harry could barely make out the figure of another person. His avoidance to admit he needed new glasses was at fault. He realized who it was when Snape nudged him in. McGongall.
Harry turned to Snape, fearing he was about to be left with her. Snape stepped in and closed the door.
“Harry? Severus, what is a student doing in here?”
“That isn’t my business to disclose, Minerva.”
Snape motioned to the seat.
“Sit down, will you.”
Harry sat in the middle of the bench. This one felt less worn that the previous. Snape joined him, sitting on the side of him that was close to the window, almost directly across from McGonagall.
“Now, if you tell anyone about this I will reveal your most horrific secrets,” Severus warned McGonagall.
Harry felt Snape’s arm wrap around his back. He was pulled closer to Snape, head resting on Snape’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat, something he found grounding.
“I believe I’ve finally seen it all,” McGonagall remarked.
“Oh don’t start,” Snape responded. “It’s not even the bulk of things.”
Harry shifted. His eyes were heavy. His episodes had been taking more and more out of him lately.
“I’ll wake you upon arrival, just sleep.”
Harry did.
Chapter 7: Avoidance
Summary:
Harry avoids the questions, avoids eating, and avoids admitting that he's falling back into old habits. Draco is weirdly nice. Harry thinks it's because Draco wants Harry to raise his grade now that he's advanced in class.
Chapter Text
He sat at the Slytherin table for the first dinner, eyes trailing over the food more than his fork ever touched it. He picked at a few potatoes, pushed peas around his plate, and let himself get pulled into the tug and pull of conversation with Pansy and Blaise, all while managing to shirk their questions.
It was enough of a distraction that no one seemed to notice he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites.
But by morning, the ache in his stomach had returned, dull and persistent. He ignored it. Just like he had last year.
He barely touched his toast at breakfast. A nibble here, a chew there. His tea sat untouched. When Nott commented about how sluggish everyone looked for a first day back, Harry mumbled something about nerves and smiled tightly.
Shalis, hidden in his robes, gave a slow disapproving hiss in which he ignored.
By the time they made it to Transfiguration, his head felt light. Not bad enough to faint, he’d handled worse, but enough that he was bracing himself for a long hour.
Professor McGonagall entered the classroom like a storm contained in tartan, lips thin and eyes sharp.
“I trust you’ve all had a restful summer,” she said curtly. “Good. You’ll need it. I’m not easing you into the year, and I expect results from every single one of you.”
A few groans broke out across the room. Even Draco grimaced, leaning close enough to Harry to mutter, “Well, there goes my hope of a gentle start.”
McGonagall began the lesson with a deceptively simple instruction: an advanced transfiguration spell meant to change one solid object into another of similar density. Most struggled. Pansy’s quill turned rubbery but wouldn’t change shape. Draco’s nearly set itself on fire.
But when it was Harry’s turn, he raised his wand with calm precision and cast the spell. The wooden block before him shimmered, and in the blink of an eye, transformed into a small, perfectly formed ceramic teacup.
The room went quiet.
McGonagall blinked, stepped closer, then gave a rare, genuine smile. “Excellent work, Mr. Potter. Very advanced casting.”
Harry flushed, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Thank you, Professor.”
Around him, the other Slytherins stared. Pansy gave him a look like she was re-evaluating him all over again. Nott frowned faintly, intrigued.
Draco looked over at him with narrowed eyes and muttered, “What the hell?”
Harry didn’t answer. He just adjusted his grip on his wand and stared at the teacup, heart fluttering in a mix of pride, nerves, and hunger.
He’d never cast the spell before today, not truly. But he had practiced the wand movement for several spells every night at Spinner’s End, wandless, copying Snape’s precise gestures until they felt like his own. He’d learned the theory, the intricacies, the intent behind it all. And even without performing it once, it was etched into his muscle memory by now.
McGonagall moved on, praising a few Ravenclaws and gently correcting the rest.
But her smile lingered on Harry just a bit longer than it had anyone else.
Professor McGonagall made her way down the rows, correcting wands and posture, guiding the more frustrated students with a clipped kind of patience. But after a few minutes, she circled back toward Harry, arms folded neatly behind her back.
She eyed the perfect ceramic teacup on his desk once more, then him.
“Mr. Potter,” she said, voice measured. “Would you care to try something a bit more challenging?”
Harry blinked, then straightened. “Yes, Professor.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. He could feel the way his housemates turned to look at him again, curious or confused or somewhere in between. But he met McGonagall’s gaze steadily.
She gave the smallest approving nod and flicked her wand. Another wooden block landed in front of him, larger, heavier-looking than the first.
“Try transfiguring this into a functioning pocket watch,” she instructed. “A fourth-year spell rarely assigned until after the holidays.”
Harry nodded. He took a breath, grounding himself, and then repeated the movements Snape had drilled into him all summer. His wand glided through the air with deliberate care, and when he whispered the incantation, the wood shimmered, this time longer, slower, and melted into sleek brass.
A moment later, a perfectly formed pocket watch sat in front of him, ticking softly.
McGonagall’s brows lifted, and she stepped closer, inspecting it with a practiced eye. The watch ticked on, time mostly accurate and brass polished.
“Well,” she said quietly, “it seems your summer hasn’t dulled your talents, Mr. Potter.”
She didn’t ask how. Not directly. But her expression said enough. There was curiosity there, certainly, suspicion even, and something more complex. A flicker of pride, perhaps. A twinge of concern. Like she was trying to place a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, not yet.
Harry just nodded, a bit breathless. “Thank you, Professor.”
McGonagall gave him one last searching glance before moving on. As she passed Pansy, she murmured, “A reminder that excellence is achievable, Miss Parkinson.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.
Behind him, Draco leaned over and whispered, “Alright, what was that?”
Harry shrugged. “Just studied.”
Draco looked deeply unconvinced.
But Harry leaned back in his chair, letting the quiet ticking of the watch settle into his bones.
-
Harry’s head throbbed faintly as he walked to the greenhouses, the hunger from skipping breakfast gnawing at his insides. He felt light, a little floaty, but kept his head down as they entered the greenhouse. The smell of damp earth and growing things hit him, grounding him slightly, but not enough to erase the brain fog.
Professor Sprout stood at the front, her cheeks rosy and her hat askew as always. “Morning, third-years! Today we’ll be working with Spined Puffpods, mildly temperamental and very prone to reacting to your mood. Handle them with care.”
She launched into her explanation, punctuating her lecture with gestures at the plant trays in front of her. Most students looked vaguely bored or confused.
Then she asked, “Now, can anyone tell me what properties in the Puffpod’s casing allow it to survive frost without damage?”
The silence was immediate.
Then, a single hand rose.
Harry’s.
Sprout blinked. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”
Harry swallowed and spoke up, voice clear despite the dull ache behind his eyes. “It’s because of the natural antifreeze compound in the casing. It keeps the inner seed viable even when the outer layers freeze. If you extract it carefully, it can be used in preserving delicate potion ingredients.”
There was a brief beat of silence.
Sprout beamed. “Exactly right! Very advanced knowledge—ten points to Slytherin.”
Harry didn’t quite smile, but something eased in his chest. Until he noticed the staring.
Everyone, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, was watching him. A mix of curiosity, confusion, and a dash of jealousy rippled through the room.
Professor Sprout, clearly intrigued, asked another question. “And what’s the best way to extract the antifreeze compound without damaging the seed?”
Harry answered again. Then again. Four correct answers in a row.
Sprout looked somewhere between impressed and baffled. “Mr. Potter, I must say, you’ve clearly done your reading, and then some. Excellent work.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, his ears burning.
“Alright, everyone,” Sprout continued cheerfully. “Pair up and start planting. Gently! These little beasts like to explode when mishandled.”
Everyone began moving, still eyeing Harry. Most students were too caught up in whispering or glaring to approach him.
Draco slid in beside him smoothly, already putting on his dragon-hide gloves. “Well, obviously, you’re partnering with me.”
Harry glanced at him. “You just don’t want to get exploded on.”
“Of course I don’t,” Draco sniffed. “Besides, it’s not like anyone else is going to be as disgustingly competent as you today. You’ve made them all look like trolls.”
Harry rolled his eyes, tugging on his gloves. “You’re just saying that so I’ll do the tricky bits.”
Draco smirked. “Yes. And it’s working.”
Harry gave him a look, but moved toward the tray anyway, hands already finding the rhythm of the task, a flicker of pride tucked beneath the dizziness that wouldn’t quite go away.
Harry knelt beside the tray, reaching carefully for the Spined Puffpod. His hands were steady. Snape had drilled precision into him, but his head swam as he leaned forward. The greenhouse felt a little too warm, the sunlight through the glass making his already lightheaded state worse.
He took hold of the Puffpod gently, supporting it from beneath the roots with a small trowel.
But as he moved to transfer it, the dizzy feeling surged. His vision wavered at the edges. He quickly set the plant back into the dirt, breathing shallowly through his nose.
“Are you going to faint or are you just making this dramatic?” Draco asked, tone half-teasing, half-sharp.
Harry didn’t answer right away. His hand braced against the side of the planting tray, grounding himself.
“I’m fine,” he muttered after a moment, blinking fast. “Just a little lightheaded.”
Draco raised a brow but didn’t press. His lips pursed like he might say something, maybe concern, but he didn’t. Instead, he folded his arms and resumed watching Harry like this was his job.
Harry forced the dizziness down and focused again. He carefully lifted the Puffpod a second time and moved it to the new pot. His hands moved automatically now, steady, smooth. He pressed the soil in around the base just as the plant gave a low, disgruntled puff of spores, nothing too violent.
He leaned back, satisfied. The plant hadn’t exploded.
The same could not be said for other groups.
A loud pop from the other end of the greenhouse made them both flinch. A Gryffindor girl let out a shriek as her Puffpod erupted in purple mist, sending bits of soil everywhere.
Draco smirked. “Amateurs.”
Harry gave him a tired look. “You didn’t even touch it.”
“Exactly,” Draco said, clearly proud of himself. “And look how intact ours is.”
Harry shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
He was glad Draco hadn’t tried to help. One wrong movement and their plant would’ve joined the rest in exploding, and Harry had a strong suspicion Draco’s confidence didn’t extend to hands-on Herbology.
Still, when Draco smiled at him, genuine, maybe a little impressed, Harry didn’t mind so much that he’d done the work alone.
Chapter 8: Skipping Meals
Summary:
Harry skips his meals and ends up confessing to the Slytherins after Theo tells him he isn't the only one who has panic attacks.
Chapter Text
Harry stepped into the Great Hall with his bag slung loosely over one shoulder. The Slytherin table stretched out before him, students already seated and chattering as food filled the golden plates.
He caught sight of Pansy waving him over, a small smile on her lips, and began to make his way down the aisle between the tables.
He almost made it.
But as soon as he got there, his vision blurred and his legs went limp. The dizziness struck again, sharper this time, like a sudden tilt in the floor beneath him. He wobbled, vision tunneling, and instinctively reached for something to steady himself. He gabbed the bench as he went down.
“Harry!”
Gasps echoed from the table. Someone hollered.
He came to just as someone pulled him up. His vision was still somewhat blurred, but he could see who it was.
Malfoy had wrapped an arm under him and pulled him up. He looked worried. The whole table looked worried.
He used Malfoy as leverage to pull himself into the seat, too embarrassed to look the blonde in the eye. He pulled his bag off his shoulder and set it next to him with a sigh.
“You fainted,” Pansy said flatly, her brow furrowed.
“Did you even eat breakfast?” Daphne asked, already guessing the answer.
“He didn’t eat dinner either,” Nott said. “Just sort of... moved food around. Thought maybe it was just first day jitters.”
Harry didn’t respond, focused on putting toast in his plate. He took a forced bite of it.
“You really didn’t eat anything?” Blaise asked, surprised. “Mate, what the hell.”
“Why didn’t you?” Millicent added, her voice quieter.
Harry shrugged, still not meeting their eyes. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Draco made a quiet sound like disbelief. “Snape glared at you like he was going to murder you.”
“Yeah, what was that about?” Blaise asked. “He was... gentle with you on the train.”
“Snape?” Daphne repeated. “Gentle?”
“He looked ready to hex someone,” Millicent said, glancing around. “I was sure someone was going to lose eyebrows.”
Harry kept eating. He was having a hard time following the conversation anyway. His head still felt light.
Pansy tilted her head, watching him. “What was he talking about in the train? Where did he take you?”
“Nothing, nowhere,” Harry said quickly, too quickly.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “It wasn’t nothing. He hugged you. He treated you like he knew exactly what to do, like he’d done it before.”
There was a pause.
Pansy sat back, crossing her arms.
“You’ve done this before,” Pansy said, not accusing, just quiet. “If I’m right, you don’t eat when things are bad.”
Harry couldn’t breathe. He dropped his toast into his plate, barely a bite having been taken. He stood up too fast.
He couldn’t think.
They knew too much. Not everything, not yet—but the dots were lining up. Snape’s gentleness in the train, the skipped meals, the way he’d collapsed in the middle of the bloody Great Hall.
What would they guess next?
That he skipped food because there wasn’t food? That he’d been punished for rummaging through the trash just to quiet the ache in his stomach? That Dudley got to eat seconds while he was lucky to get toast?
No. No, he wasn’t ready for that.
He moved, fast, jerky, and didn’t stop. He left the hall, didn’t register where he was going. His feet pounded against the stone floor, then grass. The fresh air slapped him in the face like a punishment. It was warm, too warm, and it stuck to his skin like sweat, like shame. His breath still wouldn’t come right.
Harry walked. Down the hill. Past the courtyard. Let the castle shrink behind him.
By the time he stopped, he was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, chest heaving, fists clenched. Shalis stirred faintly under his collar, concerned but silent.
The silence stretched.
Then Snape came.
Snape arrived just as Harry was trying to steady his breathing. He moved quickly but quietly, his dark eyes sharp as they took in Harry’s pale face and trembling hands.
Without a word, Snape crouched down and held out a hand. Harry hesitated for a moment before gripping it, letting Snape’s firm hold anchor him.
Snape’s voice was low, clipped, but calm. “Running off won’t fix anything.”
Harry said nothing, his throat too tight. Snape didn’t push. Instead, he added, “Come back inside. Eat. You won’t starve on my watch.”
Harry swallowed hard, shaking his head.
“No, I can’t. They know too much. They’ll figure everything out.”
Tears ran down his cheeks. His body was shaky.
“Calm down, Harry. Breathe.”
Harry followed Snape’s breath, in and out until his heart wasn’t hammering.
“What did they say?”
“Pansy asked about the train, and then what happened in the great hall. They realized why I wasn’t eating and then they were putting it all together-” He speedily blurted.
“Alright, I see. You were scared they’d find out about the Dursleys, right?”
Harry nodded. The tears hadn’t gone. He felt so vulnerable.
“You need to stand up for yourself, Harry. If it feels like too much then tell them to back off. Trust me, they’ll listen if they care about you.”
Harry wiped his face with his free hand. Why hadn’t it seemed so easy before? It felt like they could see everything and were going at it like hungry wolves.
“Come on, let’s get you back inside.”
Harry nodded again, letting Snape help him to his feet. The warmth outside didn’t feel as harsh with Snape there.
Harry kept hold of Snape’s hand until they got to the castle’s entrance. Both of them seemed to let go at the same moment. Neither drew attention to it.
“I’ll see you in class, Harry,” Snape bid as a farewell.
The two parted ways quickly, Snape escaping through a door on their left. Harry walked back into the great hall with his head held low. He tried to breathe some confidence back into himself, but it felt useless.
“Harry,” Pansy greeted gently.
“Hey,” Harry replied. “Sorry about running off. I had a panic attack.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, I suspected after the train, but I didn’t want to pry.”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” Blaise tried. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
Harry sat down, his breathing still manual. He took his toast and took another bite.
“I have them too,” another voice spoke up.
It was Theo. Harry looked at him dumbly.
“Probably not as much or about the same thing, but yeah.”
Daphne patted Theo’s shoulder.
“Don’t try to invalidate it, Theo.”
“Have they gotten better,” Harry asked.
“Somewhat. I don’t have them as much at Hogwarts.”
Harry connected that easily. Theo was telling him that he didn’t have a great home life.
“I ran away this summer. Snape blew up at me and sent me a howler.”
“Yikes. But hey, at least it was like Weasley’s,” Pansy joked.
Harry nodded.
“He showed up at the leaky cauldron the next day. I was staying there with Shalis.”
The Slytherins were quietly waiting now, not pushing at all.
“He yelled at me and I… I flinched when he raised his hand. He connected the dots pretty easily after that and told me I wouldn’t be going back. He let me stay with him over the summer because we didn’t want Dumbledore getting involved. He sent me back twice, even after I pleaded with him to stay here,” Harry vented.
“So that’s why Snape knew what to do?” Pansy asked.
“Yeah, he’s the one who told me what they were. I guess he’s helped people with them before.”
“I guess I can’t blame you for stealing my godfather after all,” Draco added.
Pansy laughed at that. Harry just smiled and tried to managed more of his food.
That hadn’t been nearly as hard or as bad as he had made it up to be. He was glad they were more understanding than the Gryffindors had ever been.
Maybe this year wouldn’t as bad as the last.
Chapter 9: DADA Class
Summary:
Harry attends a lesson with Lupin that involves the Boggart. Things go downhill when it's his turn. Snape and Lupin have a standoff.
Chapter Text
Harry was actually excited about Defense Against the Dark Arts for what seemed like the first time. Professor Lupin had already proven himself far more competent than their previous professors. He was calm, knowledgeable, and most importantly, he didn’t strut around making everything about himself or turn lessons into pure theory.
Lupin had told them all that this morning’s lesson would be “practical and illuminating.” The class murmured with speculation and suspicion as they followed him into a side classroom. It was one Harry hadn’t been in before. Inside, the desks had been pushed to the sides. In the center stood a rattling wardrobe. It groaned ominously every few seconds, as if something inside was eager to escape.
“A Boggart,” Lupin explained cheerfully, drawing his wand. “Shapeshifters that assume the form of whatever a person fears most. Normally, this would be alarming, but today, we’ll be learning how to fight it.”
There was a beat of silence as Lupin gave them all an encouraging look.
“The charm you’ll need is Riddikulus. Say it clearly. Focus on changing the fear into something silly. Laughter weakens Boggarts. Makes them ridiculous, embarrassing, harmless.”
Harry felt a twinge of nervous anticipation. He wasn’t exactly sure what his greatest fear was anymore. He assumed it would be Voldemort, maybe a Death Eater, maybe something even more personal. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But it would be fine, he told himself. Lupin wouldn’t let anything dangerous get too far.
Neville was called up first.
The Boggart burst from the wardrobe in the form of Professor Snape, looming and scowling. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, then Neville shouted, “Riddikulus!” and Snape’s outfit transformed into a lace-trimmed green gown, a large red handbag, and an odd hat. The class howled with laughter, and even Harry couldn't help it.
He noticed Lupin smiling encouragingly at Neville, who blushed but looked proud. The Boggart retreated, rolling backward in smoke, only to shift as the next student stepped up.
Parvati was next. The Boggart twisted into a massive cobra, rearing up to strike. She shouted the charm, and it turned into a giant jack-in-the-box version of itself, comically coiling around and bouncing with a squeaky horn.
Dean saw a severed hand that tried to crawl up his leg. It turned rubbery and slipped on a banana peel.
Then it was Ron’s turn.
Harry craned his neck to see what would appear, but Lupin shifted slightly in front of him, obscuring most of the view. Still, Harry caught the tail-end of a giant spider slipping around on roller skates, its legs flailing in all directions. Ron was laughing nervously as it stumbled back.
The air in the room shifted the moment Harry stepped forward. The laughter that had filled the space seconds ago stopped as they waited for something new.
The spider came to a sudden halt. It turned toward him for a fraction of a second before dissolving into swirling smoke. The mist reformed, thick and angry, and then-
His uncle.
Vernon Dursley stood in front of him, face red and contorted with rage. The man’s hands were shaking, a crumpled newspaper clenched so tightly it looked moments from tearing. His mustache bristled with every breath.
“You disgusting, worthless little freak!” he roared, the voice unmistakable and loud in the quiet classroom. “We should have left you outside, left you to rot like the vermin you are!”
Harry froze, the words hitting him harder than any wand ever had. He heard gasps. Someone whispered “who is that?” but it all faded into a ringing in his ears. He felt his hand tremble around his wand. It was like he was back in the cupboard, small and invisible and utterly powerless.
“R-Riddikulus,” he said, but it barely passed his lips. The spell sparked but failed to catch.
The Boggart twisted.
Now it was Snape.
For a second, relief flooded Harry’s chest. But then Snape’s lip curled into a sneer.
“I’m going to tell everyone what happened this summer,” Boggart-Snape said, low and cruel. “How weak you really are. How you cried and begged and starved. They'll finally see that you're nothing but a pathetic freak.”
The words echoed and warped, pressing in on him. Harry's breath hitched. He dropped his wand.
There was a sharp rustling of robes. Professor Lupin had seen enough.
“Riddikulus!” Lupin’s voice cut through the air like a blade. The Boggart was yanked backward in a rush of smoke and snapped back into the wardrobe with a loud clack.
The door slammed shut.
Harry blinked rapidly. His chest rose and fell too fast. His wand lay forgotten on the floor at his feet.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. No one laughed. No one moved.
Then Lupin was in front of him, voice low. “Potter. Are you alright?”
Harry nodded stiffly, but it didn’t feel true. His hands were sweating.
Lupin looked like he wanted to say more, but then seemed to think better of it.
“That’s all for today,” he told the class firmly. “Homework: write about what a Boggart is and how the Riddikulus charm works. Dismissed.”
The students hesitated, still glancing between Harry and the wardrobe, but slowly started packing up.
His wand felt like lead in his hand, his heart was pounding out of rhythm, and the air wasn’t going in right.
“Harry?” Lupin said quietly, taking a small step toward him. “Are you alright?”
Harry’s mouth opened, but no words came. His breath hitched, once, then again, and when sound finally escaped, it was barely a whisper.
“Please…” He swallowed thickly, eyes wide and unfocused. “Please… get Snape…”
Lupin blinked, uncertain if he had heard right. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Harry clutched his wand tighter, knuckles white. His voice was trembling, wet with panic. “Get Snape… Please… get Snape…”
Without hesitating again, Lupin lifted his wand and sent a silver wolf bounding from the tip. It dashed through the door, leaving a shimmer in its wake.
Then he turned back to Harry, who was starting to sway on his feet.
“Okay, he’s on his way,” Lupin said, moving forward. “Let’s just get you breathing, alright? You’re fine. You’re alright.”
He gently set his hands on Harry’s shoulders, only for Harry to flinch like he’d been struck. He stumbled back a step, eyes going wide with panic.
“Harry, I’m not—” Lupin tried to soothe, but it was too late. The boy was barely breathing, his gaze wild and distant, hands starting to shake.
Then the classroom door slammed open.
Snape swept inside like a storm, his expression unreadable until his eyes locked on Harry. In that moment, it was all sharp edges, alert, assessing, and then his gaze shifted to Lupin’s hands.
“Get off him,” Snape snapped. And then, without hesitation, he swatted Lupin’s hands off Harry’s shoulders.
Lupin took a step back, stunned.
Snape dropped into a crouch before Harry, not touching him yet, but close. “Harry,” he said, calm but firm. “You’re safe. Look at me.”
Harry’s breath was shallow and ragged. He didn’t respond.
Snape reached slowly, placing a hand against the floor just beside Harry’s. “Focus here. Can you see me?”
Harry’s gaze flickered toward him.
“That’s it. Good,” Snape said, lowering his voice. “You’re not back there. This isn’t the Dursleys. You’re in the castle. You’re in class, remember?”
Harry nodded faintly, eyes welling.
Snape shifted just enough to sit beside him, lowering his voice another register. “Now breathe in slowly. Just follow my voice. In… that’s it. Hold. Now out.”
Harry’s shoulders were shaking, but the air was starting to come in more evenly.
Snape reached for Harry’s hand, gently turning his palm upward. With the tip of one finger, he traced a slow square on the skin, soft, unspoken guidance.
“In. Two. Three. Four…”
Harry matched it.
“Hold. Two. Three. Four…”
“Out. Two. Three. Four…”
Behind them, Lupin stood still, eyes darting between Harry’s face and Snape’s, watching like something long-held in his understanding was unraveling. He didn’t say a word.
Snape continued breathing with Harry until the boy’s trembling eased, until the air started coming steady again. Then he leaned in, quiet enough that only Harry could hear.
“I told you,” Snape murmured. “Whenever you need me.”
Harry let out a shaky breath, not a sob, but close. His eyes stayed locked on Snape’s, like it was the only tether holding him in place.
Snape gave his hand a final grounding press before releasing it.
Only then did he glance back at Lupin, whose expression had shifted from confusion to something far more complex.
Once Harry had steadied enough to sit up properly, Snape finally turned his head to look at Lupin.
Their eyes met, two very different kinds of intensity crashing in the silence.
Lupin was the one to speak first. His voice was low, careful. “How often does this happen?”
Snape didn’t answer right away. He straightened with slow, deliberate precision, as if weighing every possible response. He dusted his hands off, though there was nothing on them.
“That depends,” he said coolly. “On his environment. His stress levels. How poorly someone handles a lesson involving a shape-shifting creature designed to manifest a child’s worst fear.”
Harry blinked, not sure if that was a dig or a dodge.
Lupin narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?” He turned slightly, stepping in front of Harry, not quite shielding him, but the angle was clear. “Forgive me if I’m disinclined to dissect a student’s trauma on demand.”
Harry watched the exchange, his chest still aching, curiosity sharpening behind tired eyes. He wasn’t used to people defending him like this, but he also wasn’t used to the thick tension hanging in the room. There was history here. Some kind of unresolved something curling behind Snape’s cold voice and Lupin’s furrowed brow.
“He asked for you,” Lupin said finally, quieter now. “By name. Before he could even breathe properly. You don’t think that’s something I should understand?”
Snape’s jaw flexed. “He trusted me. That’s all you need to understand.”
Harry shifted slightly behind him, glancing between the two men.
Neither seemed willing to say the real thing hanging in the air: that there was more to Harry’s reactions than a bad dream or a stressful class. That Snape had seen it before. And that Lupin had clearly never even guessed.
Lupin gave a single tight nod and stepped aside. “Fine. But you and I aren’t finished, Severus.”
“Unfortunately,” Snape replied, “we never are.”
He turned to Harry, the tension slipping from his posture with the smallest of exhales. “Come on. You’re not going to class like this.”
Harry followed silently, sneaking one last glance at Lupin before they stepped out into the corridor.
Something told him that conversation was far from over. But for now, he was grateful Snape hadn't said too much.
Too much truth would’ve meant too many questions. And Harry wasn’t ready for either.
Chapter 10: Hushed Talk
Summary:
Harry hears Lupin talking to McGonagall behind his back about his relation to snape.
Chapter Text
Harry spotted Professor McGonagall’s tartan-cloaked figure at the end of the corridor and quickened his pace. He hadn’t been able to subdue his questions about the Transfiguration coursework. She moved fast, but not so fast that he couldn’t keep up.
He paused as she turned a corner and stepped briskly through the open door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. That was… odd.
Harry made it to the door just in time to see it click shut behind her.
His curiosity, annoyingly persistent these days, took over. He moved closer, careful not to let his shoes squeak against the floor. Maybe she’d just popped in for a chat, but if that were the case, why had she looked so serious?
Harry leaned gently against the door, ear pressed to the wood. He expected a muffling charm. Maybe a faint hum of voices, but they hadn't silenced the room.
“…I know you care, Remus, but this is hardly your decision to make,” came McGonagall’s low, clipped voice.
“I’m not trying to take control,” Lupin said quietly. “I’m trying to help him. He shouldn’t trust Severus.”
Harry’s stomach dropped. They were talking about him.
“He’s fragile,” Lupin continued. “More than he lets on. That boggart lesson… Minerva, it wasn’t just fear. It was trauma. He barely even fought back. He crumbled.”
McGonagall sighed. “Yes, I heard Severus had to calm him. Again.”
Harry’s throat felt tight. They noticed. Of course they had. It was obvious now, wasn’t it?
Lupin’s voice softened. “He’s a child. A child who’s been mistreated, possibly abused, and now we’re leaving him in the care of a man who’s hated him for years. He may as well be trusting the boggart.”
There was a long pause.
Then McGonagall, quieter now, said, “You think Severus has it out for him?.”
“I think,” Lupin said, slowly, “that if Harry truly had a choice… he wouldn’t have gone to Severus in the first place. I think he went with whoever showed up.”
Something wet rolled down Harry’s cheek.
He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t sniffle or gasp. Just leaned back from the door and wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe. Another tear slid down before he could stop it.
They all saw it, how broken he was.
He didn’t know why that hurt more than actually being broken.
Harry’s feet slapped the stone floor louder than he meant them to, but he didn’t care. If they didn’t want him to hear, they should’ve silenced the bloody room.
“Harry!” Lupin’s voice called from behind.
“Mr. Potter, wait-” McGonagall tried.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance back. His eyes were burning, chest tight with a pressure that had nothing to do with running. He didn’t know where he was going until he reached the door to the potions classroom and shoved it open.
Empty.
He made his way to the far side of the room, pulling ingredients from shelves with practiced ease. His hands moved on their own. He didn’t bother to take off his robe, just rolled up the sleeves and lit the flame beneath the cauldron with a flick of his wand.
He started brewing the memory tonic Snape had shown him twice over the summer.
It required care, intention, focus. He crushed the rosemary too harshly at first and had to reset the step. His fingers shook.
He stirred clockwise. Counter. Clockwise again.
Maybe if he just focused, it would all go away. Maybe he could bottle up whatever was wrong with him and bury it with the sediment at the bottom of the cauldron.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He didn’t turn.
“Potter,” came Snape’s voice, stern, not sharp. “You do realize this classroom is off-limits outside of instruction hours.”
Harry said nothing, still stirring. The potion had just turned the right shade of lavender.
Snape approached, but didn’t step into Harry’s space. “You are going to tell me what you’re doing here. And you are going to start now.”
The tonic shimmered. It was ready to be bottled.
Harry stopped stirring, slowly set the spoon down on the workbench. He stared into the glassy swirl for a long second, then whispered, “They want to take me away.”
Snape didn’t reply.
Harry’s voice cracked, breaking through the calm. “They were talking about me. McGonagall and Lupin. I heard them.”
He looked over his shoulder, tears already sliding down his face.
“They know. They all know. That I’m broken. That I panic. That I’m not… right.”
He faced forward again.
“Lupin said I wouldn’t have chosen you. That I only went with you because you showed up first. That if I had real options, I’d have picked someone else.”
Snape stepped closer. Still not touching him, but close enough that Harry could feel the weight of his presence.
“I don’t want to go with anyone else,” Harry snapped suddenly, voice shaking. “I chose you, not that it matters to them. They don’t know anything. They want to take me away and fix me like I’m a project.”
He swiped a tear from his cheek.
“You’re the only one who didn’t try to fix me like that.”
Snape exhaled through his nose. Not a sigh, more like restraint. He looked at the potion, then at Harry.
“You brewed that without error,” he said, voice low. “Which means you’re either more capable than most students your age… or you are remarkably good at bottling your distress long enough to perform.”
Harry swallowed. “Both, probably.”
Snape stared at him for another long moment, then reached into his robes and handed him a handkerchief. Black, of course.
“You are not broken, Potter. Flawed, impulsive, occasionally insufferable… but not broken.”
Harry huffed a weak, watery laugh.
“Thanks.”
Snape folded his arms. “Should either of them approach you again, you are not required to speak to them about this subject. If anyone presses, direct them to me.”
“They’re not going to take me away, right?” he asked again, voice muffled and small.
Snape stood still a moment longer, and then, with a sigh so soft Harry barely caught it, he brought one arm around the boy’s back.
“No one is taking you,” he said, quiet but firm. “Not while I still draw breath.”
And Harry believed him.
Even if the world fell apart tomorrow… he believed him.
Chapter 11: Hermione and the Slytherin table
Summary:
Harry runs into Hermione, and she decides to join him at his table.
Chapter Text
Harry spotted Hermione halfway down the corridor, her bag bumping against her hip and her hair frizzed slightly more than usual. She was alone, nose deep in a book as she walked, slowly as to not bump into walls. He quickened his pace to catch up.
“Hey,” he said, a little breathlessly.
She glanced up and smiled. “Oh, hi, Harry.” She slipped a red ribbon into her book to mark the page and tucked it away. “Where’s Shalis?”
“In my bag. She didn’t want to come out today. She’s been oddly unsocial lately.” He gave a half-smile, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “She did mention that the castle feels off. Whatever that means.”
Hermione raised a brow. “I still can’t believe you talk to her like that. It’s… honestly fascinating. Have you thought about documenting it? Parseltongue communication with a non-magical snake might be entirely unique.”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Harry muttered with a soft grin. “She talks a lot more than you'd expect. Has opinions about everything.”
Hermione giggled. “Sounds familiar.”
“If I talk a lot then you must be renowned for it,” he joked.
They turned the corner into the corridor leading toward the Great Hall. Harry felt the familiar tug of warmth in his chest, the comfort of routine.
“You seem really good in class lately,” Hermione said gently, eyes flicking over him. “More focused. Your essays are sharper, and… I don’t know. You’re just different.”
He blinked at her. “Different how?”
She hesitated for a moment, then stopped walking altogether. “It’s not a bad thing. Just… I’ve noticed you and Professor Snape. You’ve been… close. Sitting at the front in potions. Talking after class. You left with him at the train station.”
Harry’s stomach twisted, but he forced his face into something casual. He looked down at his shoes and nudged the stone floor with his toe.
“I guess,” he said, picking his words slowly, “I sort of… ran into him over the summer. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but… it worked out. He’s not as awful as I used to think.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed just slightly, thoughtful. “You ran into him?”
“Yeah. At the Leaky Cauldron,” Harry lied quickly. “I wasn’t exactly where I was supposed to be. He got annoyed, gave me a lecture, then kept an eye on me until school started. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Her tone was curious, not skeptical — but it still made Harry’s chest tighten.
He shrugged, eyes still on the ground. “I didn’t really have anywhere else to be.”
Hermione gave a small nod and resumed walking. “He’s still intimidating. But if he’s helping… I’m glad.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. After a long silence, he said, “He’s… not the worst person to have in your corner.”
Hermione glanced sideways at him but didn’t push any further. “Well… I’m glad someone is. You deserve that.”
They walked the rest of the way to lunch in a quieter kind of silence, not heavy, but thoughtful.
Harry veered toward the Slytherin table without much thought. He didn’t feel like putting on the mask Gryffindor still seemed to expect from him, all smiles and nerves and pretending like he hadn’t changed over the summer. The Slytherins saw through it. They let him be quieter, sharper, tired. Himself.
He was halfway to his usual seat beside Nott when he realized Hermione was still walking with him.
He hesitated. “You sure you want to-?”
“Sit in the snake pit?” she said lightly. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
A few heads turned as they slid into the bench, but no one said anything right away. Then Pansy, never one to let silence linger, leaned forward with interest.
“Well, well. Look who’s decided to mingle with the enemy,” she said, grinning as she speared a piece of chicken.
Hermione lifted her eyebrows. “Is it still considered mingling if I’m sitting next to Harry?”
Pansy smirked. “Fair enough.”
Before the tension could return, she launched into the latest topic. “Anyway, did anyone else actually enjoy Lupin’s class this morning? I was expecting the usual doom and incompetence, but I was… pleasantly surprised.”
“Same,” Hermione said, relaxing slightly. “I actually managed to get the practical spell down the first time.”
Pansy leaned in again. “So, Granger. What’s the verdict? Lupin: actual competent professor or just ‘not a disaster’?”
“Better than not a disaster,” Hermione said. “He knows what he’s doing. That’s rare.”
“About time we had someone who isn’t trying to kill us or sell us a book deal,” Harry muttered.
The group laughed, even Draco, who still looked vaguely suspicious of Hermione but wasn’t trying to hex her, so Harry counted that as progress.
“Alright,” she said. “If Lupin isn’t a disaster, who do you lot think will be the first professor to have a breakdown this year?”
“Divination,” Nott said immediately, not even glancing up from his sandwich.
“Agreed,” Draco muttered. “Trelawney’s a walking fever dream. She told me I’d be dead by Christmas.”
“You do have a flair for the dramatic,” Harry added, smirking.
Draco looked at him, aghast. “I don’t—”
“You do,” Pansy, Hermione, and Nott said in unison.
Harry grinned and leaned on the table with one arm. “She told me I’d burn to death in metaphorical fire this week.”
“What even is metaphorical fire?” Nott asked. “So much chaos that you lose it?”
“Possibly,” Hermione said. “It could actually be several things. For instance, anger or events that cause strong emotions. It’s symbolic.”
“That sounds worse,” Draco said.
There was a beat of silence. Then Harry snorted, and the others joined in with varying degrees of laughter and groaning.
“You’re all so morbid,” Pansy muttered, but she was smiling. “Fine. What about Hagrid’s class? He’s new.”
“Not going to break down,” Harry said quickly, tone fond. “He might accidentally kill us, but he won’t panic while doing it.”
“Reassuring,” Nott said flatly.
“Honestly, I think Hagrid’s the only professor who likes all the students,” Hermione added, brushing a crumb from her sleeve.
“He gave me a rock cake last year that nearly broke a tooth,” Draco said. “Still better than Quirrell.”
The table groaned in collective agreement.
Hermione let out a small sigh as she glanced around the Slytherin table. “I hate to admit it, but… this is surprisingly nice.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “We’re not monsters, you know.”
“I didn’t say that,” Hermione replied smoothly, but she smiled. “Just… this is more comfortable than I expected.”
Pansy raised a perfectly plucked brow, giving her a sideways smirk. “Comfortable? With a bunch of Slytherins? Careful, Granger, that almost sounded like a compliment.”
Hermione arched a brow right back at her. “I didn’t say I’ve converted, just that you’re tolerable when not actively insulting me.”
Pansy snorted, and a few of the nearby Slytherins chuckled. Even Theo grinned over his goblet.
Harry, quietly eating beside them, found himself relaxing a little more with every moment. It was strange how normal this felt, how Hermione didn’t look out of place, how the tension he’d been afraid of hadn’t really manifested. The table was louder than Gryffindor’s, maybe a bit more sarcastic, but not cruel.
Hermione took another bite of her roasted vegetables, then said, “Oh, tomorrow’s the Hogsmeade trip, isn’t it?”
Harry froze. His fork hovered in the air, then slowly lowered back to his plate. He didn’t look up. Instead, he began methodically peeling the crust from his toast, his fingers twitching just slightly with nerves.
Hermione noticed. Her voice softened. “Are you going?”
Harry shrugged, eyes fixed on his plate. “It’s… unlikely.”
The word hung in the air like smoke. A few of the others caught it and murmured among themselves. Pansy gave him a look, but didn’t press. Even Hermione didn’t try to pull it from him this time.
But it was Draco who caught his attention. He glanced over at Harry, not sharply, not rudely, but with something behind his expression. His brows didn’t move, his mouth didn’t twitch, but there was something in his eyes. Something Harry couldn’t quite place.
Not pity, no. Not concern, exactly.
Just awareness. Understanding, maybe. Quiet and restrained.
Then, like it had never happened, Draco turned away and said, “Well, I for one am going. Like I’d miss it,” he scoffed.
Harry blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone. Draco’s voice carried its usual polished drawl, full of overconfidence and smug self-importance. But Harry saw it now, with new eyes, how his shoulders were just slightly tight, how his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his shirt collar, how his eyes didn’t quite match the tone of his voice.
He was performing.
Draco Malfoy, Harry realized with quiet astonishment, was acting.
The others didn’t seem to notice. Pansy rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Can you go five minutes without making the world revolve around you?”
“Why should I?” Draco smirked. “It already does.”
The laughter came, the usual banter falling into place. But Harry’s mind was still stuck on that look, that slight hesitation. That flicker of something real behind the carefully built mask.
He wondered how long Draco had been wearing it. And whether anyone else had ever really looked close enough to see.
Harry didn’t join in the laughter this time. He just sat there, chewing slowly, his thoughts tangled and his stomach still hollow, not from hunger, but from something else entirely.
Chapter 12: Not your broken toy
Summary:
Harry is questioned by professor Lupin. He reads the spell book again while everyone is away at Hogsmead.
Chapter Text
Harry pulled his school robe over his shoulders, slightly covering Shalis in the process. She had surprised Harry with her request to be draped around his neck. She had been rather scarce lately.
Harry grabbed the green bound book from his trunk and placed it in his bag. It weighed on him, both physically and metaphorically.
He planned to get a few hours of reading in while he had the time and space to. He hadn’t had the chance since summer even though he’d thought about it several times.
He stepped into empty halls, secretly enjoying the peace. Everyone had left for Hogsmeade early that morning. He had gotten to sleep in for the first time in a long time. Even Snape hadn’t allowed him such a luxury.
Shalis curled tighter around his neck. She looked almost wary.
“Someone lurks in these halls. They smell like secrets.”
It made him pause.
“Someone’s following us?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s likely.”
Harry glanced behind him, but there was nothing but open corridor. “You don’t know who?”
“No. But I do not like the way the air smells when they pass. They are quiet, but not quiet enough to get past me.”
He furrowed his brows, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “That’s… incredibly vague.”
“The truth often is.”
Harry didn’t bother arguing. Her tongue flicked once, testing the air, but she made no further comments. He walked on, the stone halls humming faintly with silence.
As they turned a corner near the long wooden bridge, Shalis stirred again. “The air grows thick here.”
“Great,” Harry muttered. “Cryptic and ominous.”
Shalis only shifted her weight and remained quiet.
Harry paused at the entrance to the bridge. Professor Lupin was standing near the far railing, leaning into it with a thoughtful look on his face. He hadn’t noticed Harry yet.
The professor looked different out here—less worn, but not quite at ease either.
Harry hesitated. Something about the scene made his stomach twist. He wasn’t afraid exactly, but he didn’t want to be seen either.
Still, Lupin looked up before Harry could retreat. He offered a small wave, one hand lifting lazily in greeting.
Harry nodded and stepped forward. The planks of the bridge creaked beneath his shoes as he walked. Shalis remained perfectly still, as if watching.
“Afternoon,” Lupin said, voice gentle.
“Hi,” Harry replied, stopping beside him. The view was open and green, and the breeze pushed quietly through the trees below.
“I thought you would’ve gone to Hogsmeade,” Lupin said.
Harry shook his head. “Thought I’d take the day to enjoy some quiet reading instead.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Shalis shifted slightly and tucked her head under Harry’s collar.
“You’ve got good taste,” Lupin said, nodding at the snake. “Beautiful markings.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, surprised by the comment.
Lupin smiled faintly, but there was something unreadable beneath it. Harry looked out at the hills and pretended he didn’t notice.
Harry pulled his robe tighter, the chill more noticeable the longer they stood there. Professor Lupin kept his eyes on the horizon, though Harry could feel the weight of his attention shift every now and then, like he was trying to read between the lines of Harry’s silence.
“I heard you stayed with Snape over the summer,” Lupin said eventually, like he was trying not to sound too interested.
Harry nodded once. “Yeah.”
There was a beat. Lupin waited for more, then asked, “Mind if I ask how that came to be?”
Harry hesitated. “I didn’t just run off, if that’s what you were thinking,” he muttered, glancing out toward the forest. “I left because I had to. He found me after I… after something happened.”
Lupin frowned faintly but didn’t interrupt.
“He found out what my relatives were really like. He was furious.” Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He told me I was either staying with him or going where ever Dumbledore would place me. But it didn’t feel like a choice. Not a real one. Not after Dumbledore made me go back last year.”
Professor lupin looked sad for a moment before taking a breath and shifting.
“And what did the two of you do, all summer?” Lupin asked, still curious and still watching.
Harry let out a breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “We read a lot of books together, brewed advanced potions together, practiced magic theory in the evenings. He made a whole routine. It was a pretty strict schedule.”
Lupin huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounds like him. He’s always had a stick up his— well. You know.”
Harry surprised him by smiling. “It was a good thing.”
Lupin turned toward him a little more, eyebrows raised. “Really?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. I was going down a bad path. I was anxious, depressed, slipping. I refused to eat if he didn’t tell me to. That structure helped. It gave me something to focus on. Something to hold onto.”
Lupin looked at him closely. “That doesn’t sound like how most people describe Professor Snape.”
“I know,” Harry said. “Most people just see the front he puts on. The attitude... But he’s… kind. In his own way.”
Lupin tilted his head. “Kind?”
Harry looked down, nudging a stone near his foot. “He taught me coping stuff. How to stay grounded. How to breathe through the bad parts. He was patient about it, even when I wasn’t. Even when I panicked.”
He swallowed.
“He didn’t treat me like I was broken.”
There was a long pause. Lupin didn’t respond right away. The wind rustled the trees nearby, a soft hush filling the silence. When Harry finally looked up, Lupin was staring at him like he didn’t quite know what to say.
Harry’s stomach twisted.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, voice dull.
“No,” Lupin said quickly. “No, I do. I’m just… surprised. I didn’t think he had that in him.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, he does.”
“I see that now,” Lupin said, holding his hands up. “Really. I just didn’t expect to hear you speak so well of him.”
Harry looked back at the trees again, jaw tight. “He’s earned it.”
Lupin didn’t argue.
But there was something in his face—something unreadable—that made Harry’s fingers tighten slightly around the strap of his bag.
“What is it you want from me, Professor?” he asked suddenly.
Lupin blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re not just asking because you’re curious. I’m not some broken toy you can fix and pass around. If you think I need saving, you’re late. Years too late to protect me, months too late to be the first to help.”
Lupin looked taken aback. Not hurt exactly, just… startled. His posture straightened, his voice calmer when he finally spoke.
“I’m not here to fix you, Harry. I don’t think you’re broken.”
Harry didn’t respond right away. He didn’t believe him, not fully, not yet.
So he turned and walked away instead, Shalis shifting slightly under his collar as they stepped back into the castle.
Harry walked in silence to the courtyard. It was more peaceful there. Finally he had the opportunity to open up the spell book he’d been hauling around. He sat there and read the spells, practicing a few as well, for a few hours. When he’d heard the first sign of people, he hurriedly shoved the book in his bag as if it were on fire.
Chapter 13: Truth or Dare
Summary:
Harry and the Slytherins play magical truth or dare.
Chapter Text
The halls were quiet by time Harry returned to the common room. Most students were in their dorms already, winding down from the day’s excitement. The warmth of the fireplace was a welcome contrast to the cool stone corridors outside. He stepped in, ready to head to bed, when he heard soft laughter.
He paused.
There, sprawled around the hearth like cats basking in firelight, were the Slytherins in his year. Theo, Pansy, Draco, Millicent, Daphne, and Blaise were all there. A few pillows were thrown on the floor, someone had conjured a bowl of sugar quills and other sweets. Their voices were low, muffled by the crackling fire and the hushed coziness of the hour.
Pansy was the first to notice him.
“Well, well,” she said, her voice low but teasing, “look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
Harry blinked. “What’s going on?”
Theo gestured lazily with his wand. “Magical truth or dare. But it’s less ‘lick that wall’ and more ‘reveal your soul to your enemies.’ Want in?”
“Speak for yourself,” Draco said with a dry smirk, “I only got dared to do a handstand. I’m not emotionally ruined yet.”
Harry hesitated. Normally, he’d be suspicious of any game involving honesty and Slytherins, but the group felt… different tonight. Softer. Less guarded.
And maybe, just maybe, he was tired of holding everything in.
He shrugged and dropped onto a pillow beside Theo. Shalis, curled loosely around his shoulders, shifted and lowered herself to the ground with a quiet hiss of approval. She moved next to the hearth, warming herself more.
“Alright, new blood joins the pit,” Blaise said, mock-serious. “We go clockwise. Daphne, you’re up.”
Daphne chose truth. The question was harmless: “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
She nervously bit her lip and recalled a vivid description of the time she shoplifted from magic stores. The group laughed, and the game moved on.
Theo revealed he once cried during The Tale of the Three Brothers. Millicent told the group about how she once tried the very advanced and very illegal art of necromancy.
The fire cast their shadows long across the walls, and the laughter softened into a kind of comfortable hum. Something like safety. Something like home.
Then Pansy turned to Theo again, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been dodging the real stuff, Nott. Come on, give us something,” she pleaded.
“Alright, truth,” he huffed.
“What’s something you’re ashamed of or nervous to admit.”
Theo looked down at his knees, then up at her, reluctant. “I have a crush… on a boy.”
“Oh?” Blaise perked up. “Do tell.”
“No names,” Theo said firmly. “But… he’s smart. And… funny in this annoying sort of way. Kind of a mess.”
A quiet fell over the group. Not awkward. Just real.
“Does he know?” Pansy asked gently.
Theo shook his head. “Probably not. It doesn’t matter.”
Harry glanced sideways. Draco had gone oddly quiet. He was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and his eyes were on the fire, but he didn’t look grossed out or anything. Harry shrugged it off.
Theo looked over and asked draco, “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Pansy smirked, sensing the shift.
“Alright, Malfoy. What’s something you’d never normally admit?”
Draco’s posture didn’t change, but his jaw twitched slightly. Then, without looking up, he said, “I’m terrified of snakes.”
They all stared at him. Even Shalis lifted her head, flicking her tongue like she was personally offended.
“You’re in Slytherin,” Millicent said, brows raised.
“Yes, thank you, I’m aware,” Draco replied crisply. “I don’t like things that move without making sound. How should I know if it were crawling into my bed at night to bite me or something?.”
Harry couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his mouth. “You know Shalis can hear that, right?”
“I’m aware, Potter.”
She hissed softly, curling into a circle. Draco shifted his legs away slightly, which only made her flick her tongue at him again, smug.
The next few rounds were slower. Daphne admitted she sometimes wished she’d been born into a Ravenclaw legacy. Blaise said he was afraid of being average. Millicent confessed she didn’t think she’d ever be good enough to become an Auror, even if she wanted to.
Then it was Pansy’s turn.
“Truth,” she said, almost too quickly.
Theo didn’t hesitate. “What scares you most about the future?”
The group stilled again.
Pansy looked into the fire for a long time before she said, “Waking up one day, and realizing I don’t recognize who I’ve become. That I’ve followed the wrong people for so long, I forgot how to walk my own path.”
Silence.
“You mean the Death Eater stuff,” Blaise said. Not unkindly.
She nodded.
Nobody scoffed. Nobody changed the subject. Nobody pretended not to understand.
Harry looked around and realized they were all carrying the same shadow. Different shapes, different sizes, but the same weight.
Then it was his turn.
Pansy turned to him. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“What’s your favorite memory.”
He hesitated.
She didn’t press him. Just waited.
“There was this one day when i was staying with Snape. He and I were in the living room, reading together. Shalis was curled up by the fire. He had made us tea. Mine was half full and cold on the coffee table. He put his book down and we started talking. He told me he was glad I was there with him. Nobody had every said it like that before, that they enjoyed my company. I don’t know… It’s boring- I-”
Pansy reached over and put her hand over his as he started to pick at his nails. He took a breath and looked up. The group wore similar expressions. Soft smile. Warm looks. He calmed himself.
After a minute, Pansy leaned forward, hands clasped over her lap. Her gaze settled on Draco, sharp, but not unkind.
“Alright,” she said softly, “truth?”
He groaned dramatically. “I just admitted my fear of serpents. Haven’t I bled enough for one night?”
Pansy didn’t flinch. “What’s something you don’t like about the way your parents raised you?”
Draco blinked. The room went very still. Even Blaise stopped fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
Harry didn’t look away.
For a second, it seemed like Draco wouldn’t answer. His eyes flicked to the fireplace, to the shadows playing on the stone floor. Then he exhaled through his nose and said, “They made me think being loved had to be earned.”
The words hung in the air. Not bitter, not angry. Just… true.
“They raised me on conditions,” he continued. “Be the best, be the most cunning, the most polished, the most impressive. Be useful. Be worthy. Only then would you be safe.”
Theo murmured, “That’s a kind of cruelty.”
Draco shrugged. “It’s not as dramatic as beatings, but it stays with you. The voice in your head becomes theirs.”
Harry caught his expression, blank on the surface, but his hands were fidgeting in his lap. Not even Draco’s posture could fake calm forever.
Draco asked the next question to Theo.
“What is something weird that you like?”
“Muggle antique stores.”
A pause. Then Theo turned to Harry.
“Your turn.”
Harry nodded, almost grateful to redirect the spotlight.
Theo didn’t ask right away. He looked at Harry for a long moment, something kind and cautious behind his eyes.
“What would you change,” Theo asked, “if you could change just one moment in your life — and not for anyone else, just for yourself?”
Harry’s breath caught in his chest.
He glanced down at his hands. Shalis had curled loosely near his leg, silent but watchful.
The question echoed in his head. One moment. For himself.
He thought of the cupboard. Of the letter from Hogwarts. Of the second year, the basilisk. The screams. The summer. The howler. The night at the Leaky Cauldron. The morning in Snape’s kitchen.
But then his mind snagged on a memory sharp enough to cut.
“The first time I ever stole food from the bin. How cold it had been. How ashamed I’d felt. How I learned that even crumbs came with a price.”
He pulled at the hair on the back of his neck.
“The first time I blamed myself.”
That quiet returned. The kind that said we heard you even when no one knew what to say.
Harry took a steadying breath, then turned to Blaise. “Your turn.”
Blaise arched a brow. “Going to hit me with a heavy one, Potter?”
“Fair’s fair.”
“Go on, then.”
Harry paused. “What is something you wish people didn’t assume about you?”
Blaise didn’t answer right away. He sat back against the chair, legs stretched toward the dying fire, one hand draped over the armrest.
“That I’m cold or careless,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “That because I don’t get angry or involved or loud, that I’m just detached. Above it all.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“But I’m not above it. I just… stopped expecting people to stay. So I don’t invite them in.”
Theo nudged his shoulder gently. Blaise didn’t smile, but something eased in his face.
The group was quiet again, but it didn’t feel awkward.
They had peeled themselves back — not completely, but enough to be seen.
Enough to begin trusting.
Pansy stood up first. “Alright,” she said softly, stretching. “That’s enough therapy-by-firelight for one night. If I start crying, I’ll hex someone out of principle.”
The group chuckled, the tension dispersing like mist. Pillows were gathered, snacks levitated away, and soft goodnights were passed around as they began to drift toward their dorms.
Harry lingered.
So did Draco.
Neither of them said anything as they walked down the boys’ hallway, but when they reached the door to their room, Draco spoke.
“You were brave tonight.”
Harry gave him a faint smile. “You too.” he paused. “It was brave of you to share that about your parents. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he smiled tiredly.
His eyes flitted down to Shalis who had slithered over.
“…And I still don’t trust your snake.”
“She’s still judging you.”
Draco smirked and rolled his eyes, disappearing into his bedcurtains.
Harry lay awake longer than usual, Shalis curled beside him like a weight he didn’t mind carrying.
That night, he slept without dreaming.
Chapter 14: Lupin's request
Summary:
Harry and Snape talk about Defense. Lupin requests something of Harry. Harry tries not to panic about it.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry bottled up the last of his potion with a cool confidence. The iridescent blue liquid looked almost tasty, but he knew much better. Drinking it was worse than drinking mud.
He spent the next few minutes cleaning up his supplies, rinsing out the potion with a charm Snape had taught them, placing things back on the shelves, and wiping up spills.
The other students started leaving, having treated the cleaning process with half the effort of Harry. He and Snape were the only two who remained by time he had his stuff packed up.
“Harry, would you like to stay? I mean, seeing everyone has left,” Snape spoke.
Harry looked over, his hair ruffled, Shalis around his neck. He picked up his bag and walked over.
“Are you going to give me a lecture or something?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Harry pulled a chair to the side of Snape’s desk. He sat, folding his arms over the wood. Harry let out a sighed.
“Is something the matter?”
Harry brought his hands up, putting his head on one hand, the other twirling a black curl between his fingers.
"I feel like I’m lacking in Defense, the practicals anyway," Harry said, glancing up at Snape. “I’ve got the theory down, but every time we have a practical lesson… I… I freeze up.”
Snape looked up from where he was labeling vials. Something flickered across his expression, recognition, or maybe understanding. He set the vial down and turned to face Harry fully.
"You know, I originally applied to Hogwarts for the Defense position," he said evenly.
Harry blinked, surprised. “You… teaching Defense? I guess that makes sense.”
Snape nodded once. “The position, however, has been notoriously cursed and dumbledore had his reasons to give me this position. Still, the subject remains relevant to my skill set.”
There was a pause.
“If you’re interested,” Snape added, “I’m suppose I could find time after your classes to go over practicals with you.”
Harry looked at him. He felt grateful that he had gotten on the gloomy man’s soft side. He couldn’t imagine how bad things might have gotten if it weren’t for him.
“I’d like that,” he said softly.
A knock on the window drew their attention. The two of them looked up to see a bumbling brown owl smack into the glass. Harry paused for a second, purely out of confusion. He’d never seen such a graceless owl.
Harry got up quickly, trying not to give it more of a chance to fumble around. He opened the window for it, expecting it to fly in, but it didn’t. Instead, it dropped the tan envelope on the window seal and flew off without a second glance at him.
He scooped it up and turned it over in his hands. He looked at the sloppy cursive wording that was written on it:
Harry,
R.L.
He opened, careful not to rip it. It was shorter than he’d expected.
Dear Harry,
I hope I haven’t upset you. I would like to apologize for my behavior and anything I said to you.
If you have time, I’d like to speak with you. There’s something important I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.
- Professor R. Lupin
Harry finished reading, folding the note in half. “It’s from Professor Lupin,” he said.
“You don’t need to share,” he said curtly. “Letters are, after all, meant to be private.”
Snape didn’t say anything else, but his face was unreadable in that very Snape way. Like stone when it's about to crack under pressure but never quite does.
The silence was broken by the sound of the door creaking open. Professor McGonagall stepped in, eyes scanning the room. Her expression was tight with irritation, but her eyebrows lifted slightly when she saw Harry still inside.
She hesitated.
Harry hurried over to his bag and picked it up.
“I should get going anyway. I’m meeting a friend.”
He stepped into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him. His feet started leading him as if on instinct, heading toward the Slytherin dorms, but halfway down the corridor, he stopped.
Professor Lupin’s letter had said he wanted to talk as soon as he had the chance. Harry didn’t know what about, but the tone hadn’t felt strict or formal. Just… curious. Maybe even hopeful.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry turned and headed the other way, past the shifting stairs and silent corridors until he reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
The door was closed.
Harry stared at it for a second, steeling himself.
Then he knocked.
It only took a moment before the door creaked open, and Professor Lupin looked up quickly, blinking as if he'd forgotten he'd asked Harry to come.
“Harry,” he said, voice warm but surprised. “Come in, please. Take a seat.”
Harry stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. The Defense classroom looked different in the evening, dim, shadows stretching long along the walls, flickering candlelight casting an unsteady glow. It was oddly quiet without the usual sounds of chairs scraping and students laughing. The stillness made everything feel heavier. He sat down in a chait at the front of the room. When he looked up to Lupin, standing by his desk, he noticed the disarray.
Lupin’s desk was a mess. Papers were scattered in loose piles, half-written notes curling at the edges. A half-eaten chocolate bar sat in the corner. It looked less like a workspace and more like an unorganized storage unit.
“How have you been? How are you now? Gosh, I hadn’t expected you so soon.”
Harry dropped his bag to the floor as he watched professor Lupin flit from task to task while he spoke. He seemed to be trying to clean up but getting distracted too easily.
“Would you like some biscuits?”
The man shifted some books, capped a quill, left it on top of the book, then looked at the papers on his desk with disdain. Harry’s fingers drummed restlessly on the edge of the desk.
“I wanted to talk to you about this,” Lupin began, but his voice was distant. His eyes flicked between the window and the papers, then finally rested uneasily on Harry. “But, maybe it might be good to, well… check in.”
Harry frowned. “You’re not actually saying anything, sir.”
Lupin paused.
“Can you just get on with it,” Harry said, sharper than he intended.
Lupin stared at him for a second, startled into stillness. Then, slowly, the tension in his posture melted. He offered Harry a ghost of a smile, small, understanding, maybe even proud.
“Right,” he said quietly, as if Harry had reminded him of something real. “You deserve directness.”
He folded his hands, took a breath.
“I’d like you to consider spending winter break with me.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Lupin held up a hand quickly. “I know that’s sudden. And I’m not trying to pry or interfere. But, since we spoke last, I’ve been thinking about your parents, about the life they had, and about what they would’ve wanted for you. I just can’t help but feel that… maybe you should know more about them, about the people who loved them, and the who they wanted to love you.”
Harry’s throat tightened. He didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could.
“I’m not trying to take you away from anyone,” Lupin continued, softer now, his gaze steady. “I just… think you deserve to see what it might be like; see all the possibilities. I want to give you the chance to learn about where you came from.”
He glanced down, then met Harry’s eyes again. “It doesn’t have to be forever. I only meant winter break. Just a week.”
The silence was sharp. Harry didn’t know how to feel. His thoughts tangled together all at once, Snape, the Dursleys, the way Lupin had looked at him like he knew more than he should.
“I…” Harry started, then stopped. He forced himself to meet Lupin’s gaze, which was gentle, steady, waiting. “I’ll think about it.”
Lupin nodded. He didn’t push.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Harry stood. The legs of the chair scraped lightly across the stone floor as he moved back. He didn’t know what else to say. His limbs felt too tight in his skin, like he was carrying something unseen and heavy.
He stepped out into the corridor and shut the door behind him, suddenly aware of how loud his own heartbeat was.
Shalis perked up from her new spot under his collar. She’s been favoring it ever since the cold had crept in.
“You did well in there. Now you just have to keep your calm a little longer.”
“Do you think I can trust him? What am I to do? How am I supposed to tell Snape? Should I go?”
“Those are question I don’t have answers to. I’m not entirely sure who to trust these days. Even Theo has been looking suspicious.”
He huffed and turned down another corridor.
What would it be like? To stay with someone who’d known his parents, who spoke their names like they were people and not just ideas. And what would Snape think about all this?
The thought of it twisted something in his chest.
Notes:
I need help peeps. I want you to vote for which relationship pairing you like best. Harry/Draco, Harry/Theo, or Harry/Draco/Theo. I will very much appreciate it cuz I have been trying to decide for a while. Thanks!
Chapter 15: Packing
Summary:
Harry talks to Snape and starts packing for the break.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The classroom was quiet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor. Most students had already vanished into the halls, their voices echoing faintly as they made their way toward the Great Hall for an early dinner or back to the dorms to hang out. Harry stayed seated.
Snape’s quill scratched against parchment at the front of the room, methodically slashing through a poorly worded essay in crimson ink. He hadn’t commented on Harry lingering, but the faint tension in his shoulders suggested he was waiting for something.
Harry cleared his throat. “Professor?”
Snape didn’t look up. “Yes, Potter?”
“I was wondering if I could help grade the first-year essays. For the fungal potion.”
Snape did look up at that, his brow raised. “Volunteering to grade papers now, are we? What’s next? Polishing cauldrons for fun?”
Harry shrugged, trying to look casual even as his stomach twisted. “Just thought… might save you time.”
Snape narrowed his eyes for a moment, then slid a small stack of first-year essays across the desk. “Very well. But if I must redo every mark you make, we’ll be having words.”
Harry gave a small, nervous laugh and took the papers, settling into a chair beside Snape’s desk. He picked up a quill and began scanning the first essay, underlining one student’s repeated confusion between puffapods and gillyweed.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were scratching quills and the occasional faint murmur of voices passing in the hallway. Harry let the silence settle around them, waited for the knot in his chest to untangle enough for words.
Eventually, he spoke.
“I had a talk with Professor Lupin.”
Snape’s quill paused for a second. Harry looked down at the essay in front of him and forced himself to keep going.
“He asked me to spend winter break with him.”
Snape finished his sentence with deliberate care, then set the quill down and turned fully toward Harry, giving him his complete attention.
“He said he wanted to tell me more about my parents,” Harry continued, his voice a little rough around the edges. “And… I guess, what my life could’ve been like. He thought it’d be a good time. Said they’d want me to know.”
Still, Snape didn’t speak. He didn’t look angry, or even surprised, just quiet, as though weighing something far heavier than Harry could see.
“I think… I think I might go,” Harry admitted. “I haven’t made it final, but…I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I know I shouldn’t let the idea of what might’ve been mess with what is, but…”
He trailed off. It was hard to say the rest. That he missed something he never had. That he was scared of wanting it.
Snape inhaled slowly, then released a soft sigh through his nose. He nodded once, almost to himself.
“These kinds of choices,” he said carefully, “are yours to make. They always were.”
Harry looked at him, startled.
“You do not owe anyone an apology for wanting," Snape continued. “Not me. Not Lupin. Not even your parents’ memory. But, you do owe yourself the chance to explore.”
Harry swallowed. He hadn’t expected support. Snape’s silent, looming presence so often felt like a wall, but the words landed like something solid to hold onto.
Snape leaned back slightly, folding his hands.
“That said,” he added, tone softening just a fraction, “if you ever want to come back, whether for a night or simply to talk—” his gaze met Harry’s— “I will only be a Floo away.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It sat between them with a kind of grounding weight.
“Thanks,” Harry said, voice quiet. “Really.”
Snape inclined his head, then gestured toward the half-marked essays. “Don’t think this get you out of finishing those.”
Harry huffed out a short laugh and picked up his quill again, chest a little lighter.
-
In the fourth-year boys' dorm, it was just the four of them, still awake, lingering in the hush that only came when the castle was almost asleep.
Harry sat on the floor near his trunk, folding a jumper and placing it carefully into the small bag beside him. He wasn’t packing much, just enough for a few days away, but he kept pausing like he needed to think between every item.
Theo sat at the edge of his bed, watching quietly, long legs pulled up, a book still in his lap. Blaise was perched sideways in an armchair he’d dragged from the common room, legs dangling over the arm. Draco, ever the dramatic one, lay belly-down on his bed, chin propped on his hands as he stared at Harry like he was an interesting riddle.
“So,” Draco drawled, breaking the silence, “you’ve decided to run off with Professor Lupin over the holidays. Should we be worried?”
Harry didn’t look up. “It’s not like that.”
“Mm. That’s what they all say.”
Harry gave a small snort and shoved another pair of socks into the bag.
“I think it’s kind of sweet,” Blaise said lazily. “A professor who actually gives a damn about his students. That’s rarer than a Hufflepuff with ambition.”
“He knew my parents,” Harry muttered, more to the jumper than to the room. “He said he wanted me to learn more about them. That it might be good for me.”
Theo nodded slowly. “He’s not wrong.”
Draco rolled over onto his back and let out a dramatic sigh. “I just think it’s suspicious. Professors don’t usually take students home for the holidays unless they’re secretly trying to adopt them or murder them.”
“Can you imagine Lupin trying to parent anyone?” Blaise said, grinning now. “He can barely organize his own classroom.”
Harry smiled despite himself. “He was so nervous when he asked that he kept tripping over his words.”
“That tracks,” Theo murmured, soft-spoken. “He always seems like he’s frazzled about stuff.”
The conversation dipped into a pause again. Harry’s fingers lingered on the zipper of the bag.
“I talked to Professor Snape about it,” he said, voice lower now. “Just to… I don’t know. Make sure he didn’t think I was leaving because of him.”
That earned a few glances. Harry didn’t meet any of them.
“He just said it was my choice. And if I needed to come back early, or talk, he’d be a Floo call away.”
None of them spoke right away, but something subtle shifted. Even Draco, never one to leave a silence unfilled, didn’t rush to comment.
“That was… good of him,” Theo said at last, and Harry felt the weight of it. “That he said that.”
Blaise nodded. “Sounds like he really cares.”
Draco gave a half-shrug. “Well, you are his favorite. Just don’t let it go to your head.”
“I won’t,” Harry said, and chuckled softly.
Theo gave a small smile. “I hope it goes well. You deserve to have something that feels… connected.”
Draco made a face. “Are we getting sentimental now? Should we all hold hands and cry?”
Harry grabbed a balled-up sock from his bag and threw it at him. “I could just stay here if it makes you feel better.”
“No, no,” Draco said, sitting up and batting the sock away. “Go be Lupin’s pet project. Just promise you’ll come back with some ridiculous story. Preferably involving exploding kettles.”
“And bring snacks,” Blaise added.
Harry grinned. “Thanks, really. For not being weird about it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Draco mumbled.
They stayed up a little while longer, tossing soft jabs and laughter into the low-lit dorm, until Harry’s bag was packed and the fire had gone cold.
Notes:
I'm gonna go with Harry/Draco/Theo because most people seem on board with it. I will give draco a redemption ark and all that.
Chapter 16: Parting
Summary:
Harry says goodbye to the Slytherins and is welcomed into Lupins home.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The common room was a buzz of energy. Trunks were stacked by the door, their uniforms ditched for fancy robes, and the last bits of holiday sweets were passed around like contraband.
Harry stood near the fire, his bag already resting at his feet. Around him, the rest of the third-year Slytherins moved like a small storm of well-dressed chaos.
Pansy and Blaise were loudly debating about whose gifts would top the others. Theo was helping Millicent with her trunk straps. Daphne had vanished and reappeared twice, apparently having forgotten her wand, her slippers, and a jar of hair potion. Draco sat on the couch, a book in his lap and bag at his feet.
“Alright, alright,” Pansy said suddenly, clapping her hands. “Before we all scatter to the corners of Britain, or France, in your case, Blaise, it’s time.”
“For what?” Harry asked.
“Gifts,” she declared, pulling a few wrapped parcels from her trunk like a magician drawing a rabbit from a hat.
There was a collective rustle of bags opening. Gifts passed from hand to hand like ritual offerings. Some could be deciphered with ease; a book, potions, clothes; others were concealed by boxes or bags.
Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought to bring anything. He hadn’t even considered it.
“Here,” Blaise said, shoving something into Harry’s hands, a sleek, book-shaped present. “It’s not a bribe. Just appreciation for surviving our nonsense.”
“Mine’s breakable,” Pansy warned, pressing a slim parcel into his arms. “So don’t open it until Christmas. Or Hanukkah. Or Yule. Or the solstice. Or whatever your thing is.”
“I… thanks,” Harry said, flushing. “But I didn’t-”
“Didn’t get us anything?” Blaise finished, shrugging. “You didn’t need to.”
Theo handed him a smaller package, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a green ribbon.
“You’re our friend. That’s enough.”
He was touched by the just the idea that they had considered him. Maybe even a bit overwhelmed.
He turned to look at Draco, who hadn’t moved. No gift in his hands, no sparkle in his expression. Harry tried not to feel the small knot of disappointment. He had almost expected him to make a whole spectacle over giving him the best gift. Maybe he was reading into things too much.
The moment passed quickly. Students began dragging trunks out into the corridor.
Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to go. He made it a few steps into the hall before he heard someone calling after him.
“Potter.”
He paused. The voice had come from just behind him, low but clear.
He turned to see Draco standing a few paces back in the now-empty common room, holding something in both hands.
A gift box, small, carefully wrapped in dark green foil with little silver snakes twining through the pattern. It shimmered faintly in the torchlight.
Draco looked like he was spending more time debating whether to give it than he had wrapping it.
“I wanted to give it to you privately,” he said, offering it out. His voice had dropped into something almost awkward, almost careful. “Didn’t want the others making a thing of it.”
Harry took it, stunned for a moment. The paper was cool and smooth beneath his fingers.
Draco’s lips twitched at one corner. “I thought you’d like the wrapping. It reminded me of Shalis.”
“It’s really… fancy,” Harry said as he examined it.
“Good, maybe it’ll rub off on you,” Draco smirked.
Harry held the box tighter. “Thanks.”
Before Draco could say anything else, a voice echoed down the hall.
“Harry?”
He turned. Professor Lupin was standing just outside the archway to the dungeons, looking around as though unsure if he’d gone the wrong way.
“I should go,” Harry said, glancing back at Draco.
Draco nodded once. “Have fun.”
And Harry, still clutching the ridiculous little box with snakes on it, smiled.
“I’ll try.”
-
Harry stepped over the threshold and into a space that could only belong to Remus Lupin.
The small house was quiet, warm, but not tidy. A frayed sweater hung off the side of the couch like someone had thrown it there and forgotten. The bookshelf near the wall was half-full, the rest of its contents scattered in uneven stacks across the living room. There were a few faded posters on the walls. One of a constellation. One of an old quidditch game, Griffindore being front and center. A few pictures hung on another wall, too far for harry to see.
It was different than Spinner’s End. Snape’s house had been so neat and dark.
Remus closed the door behind them with a soft thud.
“Make yourself at home,” he said. “Have a look around, if you’d like.”
Harry nodded, drifting toward the dining room first. The table was round and wooden. It was a pale tan color with a vase of flowers in the center. He ran his finger along the surface, watching as dust clung to his finger.
“I don’t use that room much,” Remus said from the doorway, voice light but not exactly apologetic.
Harry gave a small nod. “Yeah. Figured.”
It wasn’t bad. Not dirty, exactly. Just lived in. Still, he felt the difference settle into his chest. Meals at Snape’s had been quiet, sometimes stiff, but always structured. The table was always clean. The table settings always made up.
This was not that.
He left the dining room and crossed through the narrow hall into the kitchen. The counters had been covered in white tile. The cabinets, a pale wood, looked like they hadn’t seen maintenance in years. A few mismatched mugs sat by a kettle next to the stove.
He looked over his shoulder. “This place is cozy.”
Remus, leaning against the doorframe, gave a smile at that.
“It’s lived in, for sure, but I think it makes it feel more homely.”
Harry nodded slowly, eyes still taking in the little things. The scuff marks where someone had once dragged a chair across the floor and never bothered to fix it. The paint chipping near the doorframe.
“Do you want to see your room?” Remus asked.
Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Remus turned and led the way upstairs. Harry followed, one hand brushing against the banister, his head full of quiet thoughts.
The bedroom door creaked open with a push from Remus, and Harry stepped inside, then stopped short. Deep maroon curtains hung at the window, filtering the afternoon light. The bedframe was gold, a marron comforter covering the bed. It was the same shades that lined the Gryffindor common room. The bookshelf, one of the few neat things in the house, had a row of books organized by topic, not height or color, and a framed photo of four teenage boys in Gryffindor robes sat crooked on the top shelf.
Harry’s shoulders tensed.
“I decorated it before I arrived at Hogwarts,” Remus said, following his gaze. “I assumed…” He trailed off, shifting on his feet. “I thought I’d find you in Gryffindor.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the red blanket draped over the chair in the corner. It looked soft, probably probably cozy. But something about it made his skin crawl.
“It’s alright,” he said, stepping inside. “I’ll get used to it.”
Remus watched him for a second longer, then nodded. Harry placed his bag on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll let you settle in,” Lupin said quietly. “Dinner’s in an hour or so. No need to dress up.” A smile flickered, almost sheepish, before he turned and shut the door behind him.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting in his lap. He stared at the comforter, then at the books, then at the maroon curtains. It wasn’t that it was bad, but it didn’t feel like him.The room reminded him of something that didn’t quite fit.
A moment later, a faint rustling came from beneath his collar.
Shalis slithered out, tongue flicking curiously.
“Too much red,” she said, blinking her narrow eyes. “It looks like the place where they betrayed you. I liked the green better.”
Harry huffed, but didn’t smile. “It’s just a room.”
Shalis tilted her head, scenting the air.
“You are not happy.”
Harry leaned back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. “It’s warmer. And relaxed. But it feels wrong.” He glanced toward the door, then back at her. “It reminds me of the Dursleys.”
Shalis let out a small, irritated sound. “The Dursleys?”
He nodded slowly. “Not exactly like that. But the light wood. The kitchen. The way everything’s laid out. The rug. It’s cleaner, less plastic, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s something about it that makes me feel like I have to sit up straight and not touch anything.”
“You did not belong there.” She slithered closer and curled at the foot of the bed. “But this man invited you. He wants you to be here.”
Harry swallowed. “Yeah. I know.”
He reached up and let his fingers trail gently over her scales.
“I think that’s what makes it worse. I don’t want to feel this way about it.”
Shalis leaned into it. “Then wait. Watch. See what happens.”
Harry nodded, though the knot in his chest hadn’t gone away.
He looked around again, trying to picture himself waking up here. Eating here. Talking to Remus like it was normal. Maybe it would get easier. Maybe he just needed time.
He got up and pulled the curtains closed, the maroon darkening to a deep, bruised red. Then he sat back down beside his bag and started to unpack, one thing at a time.
Notes:
I did give draco his own little scene but that doesn't mean I'm going to overlook Theo. As a poly person, I'm excited to write a polycule (poly relationship).
Chapter 17: Dinner
Summary:
Harry has dinner with Remus
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry heard Lupin call his name from downstairs, a call for dinner. He stood from the bed, leaving Shalis curled up on the pillow. Maybe she was getting comfortable. Or maybe she felt just as out of place as he did. Harry could never tell with her.
He made his way down the stairs, fingers trailing the bannister. The wood was smooth and pale under his hand, and every step seemed to creak a little too loudly. When he reached the kitchen, the smell hit him first, savory and a little strange. It wasn’t bad, just unfamiliar.
Remus stood at the counter, placing something onto paper plates. Not porcelain, nothing like what Snape used. Just paper. The kind Harry remembered the dursleys using when they didn’t have guests.
“There you are,” Remus said, not quite looking up. “Hope you’re hungry. I tried something simple for the first night.” He turned and held out a plate.
Harry took it with both hands, careful not to tilt it. Whatever was on it was steaming faintly. It looked like a small pie.
“Come on,” Remus said, wiping his hands on a dish towel and leaving it sprawled on the counter. “We can eat in the living room.”
Harry followed him through the narrow hallway. Lupin gestured to the couch as he sat down on the other one. His plate balanced easily in one hand. He seemed used to this. Casual. Loose.
Harry hesitated for a second before sitting on the opposite couch. The cushions gave under his weight with a quiet wheeze of air. He looked around the room.
It almost seemed to be daring him to make a mistake.
Lupin turned on the tv that was tucked into the corner of the room. A news channel came on with a woman in front of a building. Her voice was calm and pleasant, but Harry stared at her like she might jump through the screen.
He had never watched television. Not properly. Dudley had guarded it like a dog, and Harry had been left in the cupboard, hearing only the laugh tracks and jingles through the door. He didn’t even know if wizards watched TV. Snape didn’t have one. Hogwarts certainly didn’t. The screen in front of him felt like a window into another world.
Harry looked down at his plate. The crust had started to collapse inward. Harry could see the purple filling leaking out of the slits, thick as it bubbled. It looked like something Fred and George might slip into your dinner as a joke. Or something Dudley would have dared him to eat in front of his friends.
He grabbed his fork and broke the crust open. He then used it to push all the crust to the bottom, compacting it. He only stopped when it looked almost half eaten. Then he set the fork down gently on the paper and stood up.
“I’m done,” he said.
Remus glanced over at his plate and smiled faintly. “First day jitters. Go ahead and get some rest, Harry. You’ve had a long day.”
Harry nodded, relief dull and quiet behind his ribs. He stood and carried the plate back to the kitchen, still balancing it carefully. He tipped the food into the bin and placed the fork in the sink.
Harry climbed the stairs again, not quite rushing, but not taking his time either. He shut the bedroom door behind him and let out a strained breath, sinking to the floor against it.
Harry felt like his breath was trapped in his ribs. He wasn’t hyperventilating, but it wasn’t any better. He wanted to cry. He wanted to tear at his skin. He wanted… no, he didn’t want to go crying to Snape again. He didn’t want to be reliant.
Shalis hadn’t come out. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she was asleep. He didn’t know.
Harry ran his hands through his curls, pulling at them as his thoughts ran.
Something deep in his gut felt like the dursleys would come out at any minute to scold him for wasting food or something else.
Maybe he’d never feel hungry here.
Maybe he’d never get used to it.
Maybe he deserved this…
Notes:
Yeah, sorry... I did what I did.
Chapter 18: Winter shopping
Summary:
Harry goes to Diagon Alley. Both Remus and harry make questionable choices.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry made his way down the stairs slowly, his hand brushing the wall for balance. His socks barely made a sound on the floorboards, but even so, he tried to be quieter.
At the bottom of the stairs, he paused. Remus was on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, reading the daily prophet. He looked up and gave a small wave.
“Morning. Come sit?”
Harry hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room. He lowered himself onto the other end of the couch, his head low. The cushion dipped beneath him, and he folded his hands in his lap.
“How’d you sleep?” Remus asked.
Harry looked up at him. He felt nervous for some reason.
“It was good.”
“Hungry?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Remus gave a slow nod, the kind that didn’t quite believe him but wasn’t about to push.
“Well,” he said, setting the book down on the coffee table with a soft thud, “how would you feel about taking a trip to Diagon Alley? I thought we could pick up a few things for Christmas. Or Yule. Whichever you prefer. And maybe get some new things for your room.”
That pulled Harry out of his own head just a bit. His shoulders lifted slightly. “Yeah,” he said, almost surprised to hear the word come out. “That sounds good.”
He remembered Diagon Alley. The crowded cobbled streets, the crooked signs swinging from shopfronts, the smell of parchment and sweets and smoke. Maybe it would be different now, colder and more dangerous, but it was still familiar. Familiar was better than guessing his every move.
And maybe, just maybe, he could find something that would help Shalis feel more cheery.
-
The street was already alive with movement. Shop doors stood open, letting out bursts of warmth. Wizards and witches weaved past one another, arms full of wrapped boxes and rattling bags. Children darted through puddles of slush, their laughter visible in the winter air.
Harry kept close to Lupin, the weight of his bag solid on his shoulder. Shalis hadn’t wanted to be left behind, and Harry hadn’t tried to argue.
Lupin paused outside a shop, looking as if he’d just remembered something. He turned to harry a beat later.
“Go have a look around. Just meet me back here in an hour.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Lupin smiled faintly. “It’s alright. You know this place. I’m sure you’ve wondered around here without an adult before.”
Harry turned back toward the crowd. His heart thudded once, hard.
The street looked different now. Wider, somehow, like it might swallow him whole. Too many faces. Too many people in cloaks that could hide anything. His brain was already listing the reasons this was a terrible idea. He was Harry Potter. Even if no one recognized him outright, what if a Death Eater did? What if he turned a corner and never saw Lupin again?
He turned back toward Lupin, but he was already halfway down a side alley, his robe flaring slightly behind him.
Harry stood very still for a long few seconds. The wind tugged at his scarf.
Then he felt a shift in his bag.
Shalis poked her head out, blinking slowly against the cold. Her tongue flicked once, tasting the air.
“You’re tense,” she said, her voice low, soothing.
Harry huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“Obviously.”
“You are not alone.” She paused. “I am cold.”
Harry loosened the scarf around his neck and gently tucked the edges around her until only her head remained visible. She settled in with a small hum of approval, eyes drifting half-shut.
The street hadn’t gotten quieter, but it felt less sharp somehow. He adjusted his bag and took one small step forward.
He could do this. Probably.
He took off to the pet shop first. It was one of the most familiar of the shops to him.
The pet shop was warm as Harry stepped in. The musk of animals hit him, a comfort to him after the last visits.
The woman behind the counter looked up from where she was scooping feed into a jar and her whole face lit up.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite summer visitor,” she said brightly, setting the jar down. “And you brought your lovely girl along too.”
Shalis uncurled just enough from Harry’s scarf to lift her head, tongue flicking in the woman’s direction.
“I like her,” Shalis murmured softly in Parseltongue, a tone of gentle approval. “She has a kind heart.”
Harry smiled faintly and stepped closer to the counter. “We’re just stopping in for a few rats,” he said. “And… maybe something to cheer her up.”
The woman leaned forward, eyes scanning Shalis with a practiced gaze. “Is she not eating?”
“Not exactly,” Harry said. “Less so, but she’s just… quieter, less active, less social sometimes.”
The woman gave a thoughtful hum. “It’s likely brumation,” she said after a moment. “Happens to many snakes as the seasons change. It's like a kind of hibernation, but lighter. She’s not sick, just slowed down. Let her rest as much as she wants, and try to keep her warm.”
Relief settled over Harry like a soft blanket. “So she’s okay.”
“She’s fine,” the woman assured him with a smile. “Just a little sleepy.”
Harry nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“Just some rats then.”
While she moved to prepare the order, Harry wandered the shop idly, letting Shalis slip further down into the warmth of his coat. Once the rats were safely boxed up and paid for, he thanked her again and stepped back out into the street.
He paused a few steps down the street. An antique shop next door caught his eye. Its windows were crowded with time-yellowed scrolls, faded photographs, and other nicknacks. He wondered if it might have something that Remus or Snape might like.
The inside of the shop was cool, but not cold. The scent of old paper and tarnished metal wrapped around him.
Nobody appeared to greet him, but he didn’t mind. He walked slowly through the narrow aisles, fingers brushing over mismatched sets of teacups, candleholders shaped like serpents, and a cracked snow globe with a single slow-moving flake.
Near the back of the shop, tucked between a wooden jewelry box and a silver pocketwatch that no longer ticked, Harry saw something that pulled him in.
A necklace hung from a thin metal hook, swaying slightly in the draft. Its chain was dark and unpolished, and the pendant was a small decorative vial made of grey tinted glass and capped by dark metal designs.
Something about it made Harry pause. He reached for it and held it in his hand, surprised by how solid it felt.
It was empty, of course, but he could picture a potion inside. A healing draught. Or something else entirely. It was the kind of thing that could be hidden in plain sight.
He checked the price. 6 Galleon? That was nearly 33 pounds. Something crossed his thoughts. He hadn’t seen the store keeper. Harry looked around and then slipped the necklace into his bag.
Further down the aisle, he found a display of silver rings. One had a snake curling around a black stone. Another was plain but elegant. He picked out several that felt right and held them for a long moment. He checked the price of them. 5 for 5 galleons. He barely had 8 on him. What if he found something better. So he looked about again and slipped them into his bag.
On his way out, his eye caught a thin, leather-bound book. He reached for it, flipping open the cover to reveal the title: Charms of the Unseen: Rare and Obscure Magical Applications. The handwriting was slanted and tight, scribbled in the margins. He looked at its price. 2 galleons. He grabbed two coins out of his bag. He should at least be reasonable.
The man at the counter hardly said a word as Harry paid. His eyes were milky with age, but his hands moved with practiced grace as he wrapped the book in brown paper.
Harry felt anxiety run through him as he waited. What if he’d seen. What if there was someone waiting for him outside.
But when he stepped back outside, into the cold air, nobody had caught him. He felt a strange rush of adrenaline fill him.
Shalis poked her head out as he began to walk.
“That was stupid of you.”
“I know… I just… They were so good and I didn’t have enough for them all.”
“Why didn’t you bring more?”
“I forgot to replenish it.”
She tucked herself back into his scarf with disapproval. Harry exhaled into the air. He felt free now, walking the street alone. The adrenaline made him feel almost invincible.
He turned back toward the direction Lupin had gone, glancing at the clocktower above the street.
Still half an hour to go.
Notes:
I do not support shoplifting. I'm adding it because it is used to cope (badly) with anxiety and depression.
Chapter 19: Decorating
Summary:
Harry and Remus decorate and Remus tells him the first story.
Notes:
What do you all thing of my new pfp. I drew it for this fic. Im obsessed with it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry stood with his feet firmly planted, his back against the stone of a shop. He wad been standing there, waiting for Lupin’s return, for half an hour.
His mind was screaming that he shouldn’t be there. Especially not alone. He could almost feel eyes on him. From the dark and unknown alleyways, the tinted windows above. What if a Death Eater had seen him? What if a reporter had recognized his poorly covered scar? What if someone grabbed him and Lupin never came back?
He forced himself to stop fidgeting and focused on his breath, slow and steady. His hands brushed down his coat. The pressure of it felt nice, so he hugged his arms around himself.
A head poked up through the folds of his scarf. Shalis’s tongue flicked once. “You’re safe. He’s coming back.”
Harry swallowed. “I know.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“No.”
Shalis eased herself out just enough to rest her weight across his shoulder, her smooth skin like a grounding stone. “I’ll watch with you.”
He nodded and looked up, and just then, Lupin emerged from the crowd, bags in both hands. He smiled when he spotted Harry.
Right on the dot, he thought as he checked a clock nearby. He hadn’t expected him to have any time management, but Harry didn’t feel like questioning his vision of the man.
Harry nodded, quieter than before. He let Lupin take the lead, following close as they turned down another side street, toward the remaining shops.
-
The floo spit them out into Lupin’s living room. Lupin juggled his bags while Harry brushed off his sleeves. Lupin staggered toward the couch and dumped the bags and boxes in a soft heap.
“We’ll have it up in no time.”
Harry stayed by the hearth, his eyes drifting across all the stuff.
“We’ll start with the tree if that’s alright,” Lupin offered, already pulling open one of the boxes. “Should be in here somewhere…”
He moved to start opening boxes. His brain told him he needed to be helpful, so he would be. He peeled open a another box to reveal fake pine branches.
Harry pulled the first piece out, putting the base down in the corner. Lupin appeared with the tree skirt just a second later. Harry waited for him to place it before going back for the other bits. They were heavy to his shaky arms, a result of his skipped meals. He ignored it and pushed himself to continue.
As he got to the second layer of leaves, he started to think about past holidays.
He was used to Christmas being clinical at the Dursleys’. Aunt Petunia had very particular standards, red, green, and gold colors, tinsel that had to be draped just so, a tree picked for it’s dimensions, lack of mess, and perfect color. Harry hadn’t been allowed to decorate it. His job was to carry the boxes and put up the tree— the heavy lifting.
He remembered on year, when he was around six, Dudley had switched around a bunch of ornaments and blamed it on him. He had watched with horror, unable to do anything without making it worse on himself.
At Hogwarts, things had been different, but only slightly. The Gryffindors who stayed during the holidays had decorated their common room, but Harry was left on the margins. Ron and Hermione were gone. The older students told him to sit down, stay out of the way. He was too small to help with the heavy things. He’d tried to untangle the garland, but it had ended up in a knot. He hid in his room for the rest of the holiday.
But last year, his first year in Slytherin, that had been different.
There had only been six of them who stayed for the holidays. They were quiet about it, almost awkward at first. But when someone pulled out the box of decorations, they’d all pitched in. No one was excluded. No one told him to sit down. They each took a part of the room, some hanging enchanted icicles, others wrapping garland over the mantel. One older boy had even lifted Harry up on his shoulders to let him place the star.
Harry blinked hard and looked away from the now assembled tree. His hands had stopped working sometime into his head.
The tree here wasn’t neat, and the lights were tangled in a way that made Harry’s eye twitch. Lupin, for his part, didn’t seem to care. He was sitting cross-legged on the rug now, pulling out mismatched ornaments, none of them shiny or elegant. One looked like a tin lid painted to look like a snowman. Another had been handmade with googly eyes on it.
Harry lowered himself to the ground and watched. His hands were clasped in his lap, a habit from when he had to make sure it didn’t look like he’d touched anything.
“Want to do the bottom ones?” Lupin asked gently.
Harry hesitated. He tried to breath, telling himself, This isn’t Privet Drive.
“I can,” He murmured.
Lupin said nothing, just quietly handed him a glass reindeer. Harry knew how to do this, had watched it a million times, but he still felt unsure as he hung it on a branch. Harry picked up another, a black wolf, and hung it a bit higher.
Slowly, Harry found a rhythm.
By the time they placed the last one, he had forgotten all about the holidays before.
Lupin stepped back with his hands on his hips. “Not bad,” he said. “Bit lopsided. But charming.”
Harry gave a small smile, almost despite himself.
“I’ll be right back,” Lupin said.
Harry stayed in front of the tree while Lupin went upstairs. The warmth of the fire brushed his back, and the lights blinked in soft, clumsy intervals.
He felt… weird. Not good. But not awful. Like something had loosened inside him.
It took a few minuted, but Lupin came back down with wrapping paper tucked under one arm, boxes and ribbons stacked high in his hands. He dumped them on the rug and dropped to the floor beside them.
“You’re welcome to wrap yours upstairs if you want some privacy.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s fine.”
He reached for his bag, pulling out what may have been a dozen items.
The necklace and the rings felt heavier than when he’d taken them. Regret, he answered himself.
He laid them out one by one, his fingers smoothing the paper slowly.
They wrapped in near silence, only the rustle of paper and the occasional scrape of scissors breaking the quiet.
-
Harry knelt beside the tree, arranging the two small parcels he'd wrapped for Lupin. One was slightly crooked, the ribbon too short and taped down awkwardly. The other was neater but still plain.
He stared at them for a moment, wondering if they were enough. If Lupin would even like them. Harry wasn’t good at gifts. He didn’t know if anyone had ever liked something he’d chosen, and he suddenly felt that familiar twist of uncertainty in his chest. What if they were stupid?
The rest of the gifts under the tree didn’t look like his. Lupin had wrapped them all with care, mismatched papers layered with charm, stars that shimmered faintly, snowflakes that drifted softly along the surface. There were quite a few. Some labeled for other teachers, some for names Harry didn’t know, but a few simply said Harry.
He quickly looked away and reached for his bag, tucking in the ones he’s wrapped for the Slytherins, and the one for Snape. He was still nervous about that one.
He zipped the bag and was just hoisting it over his shoulder when Lupin’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“I want to show you something.”
Harry looked up. Lupin was standing halfway to the stairs, his smile quiet and warm. Harry hesitated only a moment before rising to follow him.
They climbed in silence, the wooden steps creaking beneath their feet. Lupin paused at Harry’s door, his hand on the knob.
“When I went to get the wrapping paper- I thought… well, you’ll see.”
He opened it.
Harry blinked.
The room was completely different. Gone was the dull beige wallpaper and the worn patchy rug. The walls were now painted in soft greys, almost silvery in the low light, with dark accents along the trim. The bed was made in black, the pillows a cool slate. Emerald green throw blankets were tucked along the edges, and a matching curtain hung neatly at the window.
It looked… modern? It looked like he’d really thought it through. And it didn’t feel like Gryffindor Tower, or Dudley’s second bedroom, or a hospital wing. It felt like his.
Then he saw the tank.
It was set into the corner of the room, clean and already warmed with soft heat charms and gentle lighting that made the plants inside sway as if in a breeze. A curved branch crossed the interior, and a small stone basin glimmered with fresh water.
Shalis poked her head out of his scarf immediately. She lifted her tongue and flicked it once. “That is for me.”
Harry let out a small breath, eyes wide. “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” Lupin said gently.
Harry stepped into the room and dropped his bag onto the bed, unzipping his coat next and shrugging it off. The scarf followed quickly. His skin was damp with sweat from the heat of the house, and his hair stuck to the back of his neck.
Carefully, he reached up to help Shalis down, letting her curl along his hands and arms as he approached the tank. She flicked her tongue again with clear approval.
He opened the lid and gently placed her inside. She slithered down the branch immediately, coiling along its warm length with a pleased ripple of motion.
Harry leaned on the edge of the tank and exhaled deeply.
“Thank you,” he said without looking away. “It’s… perfect.”
Lupin stepped into the room, arms folded loosely. “You didn’t say anything about the rest.”
Harry turned around slowly, taking in the color scheme again, the new bedding, the way the light made the whole room feel calm.
“I didn’t expect it,” he said. “It’s not… red and gold.”
Lupin gave a soft laugh. “I figured you deserved better than an idea I had of you.”
He hesitated. “I like it.”
Lupin nodded, his voice gentler now. “I wanted you to feel like this was yours. Not something temporary. Just… safe.”
Harry blinked quickly and looked away again.
“Would you like to sit?” Lupin gestured to the bed. “I thought… maybe now would be a good time. If you still want to hear about them.”
Harry sat almost too quickly, shoulders tensing with anticipation. “I do.”
Lupin took the desk chair and dragged it a little closer. His face went thoughtful, distant for a moment, like he was remembering too many things all at once.
“Alright then,” he said. “Where to start…”
He glanced out the window, then back at Harry.
“Your father, James, was… well, he was a bit of a menace.”
Harry’s eyebrows lifted.
Lupin smiled, unashamed. “A charming, ridiculous menace. He could talk anyone into anything, and usually did. He had this relentless sort of confidence… the kind that made you believe in things, even when you shouldn’t.”
He leaned back, eyes fond. “He once convinced half the Gryffindor common room that they needed to train for a dragon attack. Made us wear pots as helmets and practice ducking under tables. He made diagrams. And when McGonagall found out and asked him what in Merlin’s name he was doing, he said, without missing a beat, ‘Preventative safety exercises for the underclassmen, Professor. You never know when a Norwegian Ridgeback might come through that window.’”
Harry couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.
Lupin grinned. “She gave him detention, obviously. But she was trying not to laugh too.”
He paused, the grin fading just slightly.
“He was smart, but reckless. Brave, but sometimes too proud. He had to grow up eventually, and he did, for your mother. She rounded him out.”
He looked at Harry, his voice low.
“And I see parts of him in you. The temper sometimes. The stubbornness. He’d have been proud, Harry. I know it.”
Harry swallowed, something thick rising in his throat.
“Tell me more,” he said.
And Lupin did.
Notes:
Is Harry's choice hard enough yet. I'll think about it. Thanks for the comments btw. I love opening Ao3 to see them.
Chapter 20: The visit
Summary:
Remus invites someone over for Harry to meet.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was just past noon and Harry and Lupin were sitting in comfortable silence. The house was warm enough, even with the windows frosted and snow clinging to their seals. The room smelled faintly of sweets from Remus’s attempt at making muggle cookies. At least this food hadn't been so questionable.
Speaking of, Harry had managed to eat most of his lunch. Remus had made something he’d heard of this time. Still more of a Wixen dish, but less… bubbly and slimy.
Remus looked at his watch and said, “Harry, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet,” Harry didn’t think anything of it at first.
“Oh,” he said, brushing a crumb from his sleeve. “Who?”
Remus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced toward the hallway with that same tired kind of fondness he always wore when something serious was coming.
“He’s an old friend,” Remus finally said. “A friend of mine and James’ from our days in Hogwarts.”
That made Harry go still.
Remus set the mug down and added gently, “I’ll go get him.”
Harry watched him walk off, disappearing down the hallway. He was headed for his room, probably for the fireplace.
Two sets of footsteps returned. Remus entered first, still calm. Another man joined them a second later.
The man was tall. Gaunt in the kind of way that made Harry feel like he was looking at someone made from burnt paper. His black hair fell in loose waves at his shoulders, streaked with silver. His face was hollowed, dark-shadowed, and yet his grey eyes gleamed with something fierce and searching.
Harry knew that face.
He had seen it on wanted posters all year. On Ministry alerts. In the headlines of the Daily Prophet, crumpled and passed around the Slytherin table with wide-eyed whispers.
Sirius Black.
Harry’s lungs stopped working.
“It’s alright,” Remus said quickly, stepping forward, but not touching him. “Harry, I know how it looks. But Sirius- he didn’t do it. He’s innocent.”
Sirius raised both hands slightly, in the most unthreatening way he could manage.
“I don’t expect you to believe me straight away,” Sirius said, voice rough with disuse but not unkind. “I know what they say. Hell, I almost convinced myself it was true in Azkaban.”
Harry didn’t move. His breathing was shaky again, but he tried. He really tried. He reached up and rubbed his thumb over the edge of his palm, grounding.
Sirius gave him a lopsided smile. “You’ve got your mum’s eyes. Spitting image of her. And James’s hair, you poor sod.”
That name, something about the way Sirius said it like it still mattered. Like James wasn’t a story, but a person just in another room. It was odd.
“I wanted to be there for you,” Sirius said. “Should’ve been. I was meant to be your godfather. Did you know that?”
Harry blinked. Slowly. “…No.”
“Well,” Sirius shrugged. “That went to hell fast.”
He chuckled, a dry bark of a laugh that sounded like it belonged in a jail cell, not a living room.
“I pictured this a hundred times in Azkaban,” Sirius continued, stepping to the side, not closer. “Meeting you. Taking you flying. Telling you how much your parents loved you. I thought- well It doesn’t matter now.”
Harry’s stomach clenched.
“But you’re here, safe, with Remus.”
Sirius looked to Remus, something fond in his eyes. Remus smiled at him. They were close, harry could tell.
“But, I’ll admit,” he added, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth, “I didn’t expect you to have changed houses, to slytherin no less. I can only wonder how you fell victim to their brainwashing.”
The words were said like a joke. An old, casual bias tossed like a candy wrapper. Meant to tease. Meant to lighten the air.
But it wasn’t funny.
Harry’s entire body stiffened. The tension snapped back. The Slytherin common room, with its low green glow. The way Shalis curled beside his pillow at night. The way Theo shared notes. The way Blaise watched his back. Pansy helping him with his essays. Draco taking the pressure off him when things got heavy.
Remus must have noticed. He stepped forward again. “Sirius, don’t-”
“I’m just joking,” Sirius said quickly, hands up again. “You can’t blame me, though. James would’ve lost his mind.”
He chuckled again. But it didn’t land.
“Your dad hated Slytherins, especially that greasy git who kept trying to brainwash your mother. Snivelus.”
“Snape,” Harry asked with a tremble in his voice.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” He answered. “He deserved what he got, that’s all I’ll say.”
Harry stood, chair scraped across the wooden floor with a high, shrill screech, and both men turned toward him instantly. The sound was loud, but not nearly as loud as the silence that followed it.
His eyes felt wrong, lifeless.
He looked at Remus, and Remus saw it. The way Harry’s jaw clenched. The way his fists were shaking, knuckles white and raw at the seams. The way one slow tear tracked down his cheek and left a shining scar.
Betrayal. Raw and thick in the air.
“Harry-” Remus stepped forward.
But Sirius jumped in, voice too loud, too fast. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that, alright? It’s just old house rivalries. We were always told Slytherins were the worst of the worst, and they were. Hell, most of them were my cell mates. James and I just knocked em down a peg-”
The lights flickered.
Sirius’s words stuttered to a stop. He looked around as mugs floated and papers flew into the air. There was no gust, but the air was charged, magical energy spilling into it.
A loud crack hit their ears as Sirius was flung into the wall. The picture frames rattled, some falling entirely. He hit the ground, coughing.
But Harry was so angry. He couldn’t just stop.
“Shut up!”
His voice was distorted.
The magic Shifted, darker, colder. Flickers of shadow rippled through the room. The lights went out, leaving only a few candles.
“You will never get to know what could have been. Only Snape will. He has treated me better than any Gryffindor I’ve met, given me a home, fed me, clothed me, cared about things that nobody has even noticed before. You will never be as worthy as the slytherin you’ve spent your life hating, and I hope that hurts.”
His warped voice hung in the air. Harry only now heard the gasping. Sirius was choking, magic wrapping around his throat. Harry released it in a panic.
Remus wasn’t moving. Just staring, like he’d seen a ghost crawl out of the boy he thought he knew.
Harry blinked and whatever was once in the air vanished.
The lights came back. The wind was gone. All that remained was shattered mugs, scattered papers, and a groaning godfather on the floor.
Harry took off as everything came back to him. He had done it again, used dark magic on someone who hadn’t even touched him.
His feet thundered on the stairs, echoing too loud in the quiet house. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He didn’t breathe.
His door slammed behind him. He yanked his bag out from under his bed, hands shaking. He fumbled with it, yanking it open and throwing things inside without thought. The room, the room remus had restyled just for him, blurred around the edges of his vision. It twisted in his chest like a knife, regret blunging it deeper.
Lupin had done this for him. Rearranging his life for him. Harry had thrown one of Lupin’s friends into a wall and nearly choked him to death in return.
He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t change it.
Shalis lifted her head in the tank, tongue flicking once. She was watching him, calmly as ever.
“What happened?” she asked, voice slithering through his mind like the only thing grounded in this whole damn world.
Harry didn’t answer at first. His hands were too busy stuffing clothes into the bag, his breaths too fast and shallow. He grabbed his coat. His book. His wand. Anything he’d brought, which wasn’t much.
“Harry.”
He swallowed, eyes darting to her. “Remus brought Sirius black into the house. He was supposed to be my god father. He kept saying things about Slytherins and then… he said stuff about Snape. I hurt him, Shalis,” he whispered. “I hurt somebody again.”
Shalis tilted her head. “It’s okay. We will leave. Snape will protect us regardless.”
His fingers froze around the zipper. His stomach twisted. It was too late to shove it down now.
Before he could answer, footsteps sounded outside the door.
Then Remus’s voice. Gentle. Soft, like he thought Harry might break. “Harry? Are you alright?”
Harry froze, every muscle locking.
Was he alright? Why would Remus care anyway?
Remus stayed at the door. “I wanted to say something. About earlier. I know it was… harsh. Sirius shouldn’t have said what he did.”
Harry kept his back turned.
“I don’t think less of you for what happened,” Remus added. “Accidental magic, especially strong magic, can happen under pressure. Especially if you're scared or angry.”
He didn’t mean to say it. Not really. But his mouth opened before he could stop it.
“It wasn’t just Sirius.”
Remus blinked. “What do you mean?”
Harry stared at his packed bag. “I’ve done it before.”
He turned around slowly, heart thudding so hard he felt sick.
“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Snape.”
Remus waited.
“Over the summer… at the Dursleys,” Harry said, voice thin, shaking. “Aunt Marge said some things. About my mother. I just wanted her stop talking...”
Remus tensed, but stayed quiet.
“She collapsed,” Harry said, staring at the wall. “Just dropped. I thought she was dead. Heart attack. I… I didn’t mean to, but I did it. I made it happen. Some part of me wanted it.”
Remus exhaled through his nose. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
“And now Sirius,” Harry added. “I wanted him to shut up, so I made him.”
“You're not evil, Harry,” Remus said, stepping forward.
Harry turned. “Stop. Just stop. Don’t make this harder. I’m never going to stay.”
Remus went still.
“You gave me food that looked like something the Dursleys would have forced me to eat while they laughed at me,” Harry muttered. “I tried to eat it, taste it even, But I was scared that you would poison me.”
Remus looked stricken.
“I know you meant well, but I felt like I was going to get in trouble for breathing too loud. I didn’t know what your rules were. Or if there were rules. So every time I did something… I was waiting for someone to hit me.”
Harry felt tears on his cheeks.
“And the alley. That day in Knockturn. I know you think I’m old enough to be on my own a bit, but I’m famous, Remus- and not in a good way. I spent that whole day wondering if I’d make it back.”
Remus’s face was pale. His lips parted to respond, but Harry held up a hand.
“I thought I could make it work. I tried so hard to make it work,” Harry admitted, voice small. “I wanted it to feel like home. I wanted to make my parents proud.”
Remus looked broken. Just another thing he could add to his list of terrible actions.
“But I’m always too much. Too angry. Too sensitive. Too broken. So maybe it’s better I go back to the only place where someone actually saw that and didn’t try to pretend I wasn’t.”
“I’m going back to Spinner’s End. And then back to the dungeons at Hogwarts. Back to the people who didn’t look at me different when they found out what really happened to me. Who didn’t expect me to be someone I’m not.”
He stepped forward and cradled Shalis gently against his chest. She curled tighter, protective.
“Thanks for trying. But I think I’ve had enough of pretending.”
Harry grabbed his bag and walked toward the small fireplace in his room. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the small flames. They grew, green and proud, reminding him that he’s be home soon. Really home.
Notes:
I tried to make this a good crash out but idk.
Chapter 21: Home
Summary:
Harry goes home
Chapter Text
The hearth flared green and spat Harry out into Snape’s living room. He landed ungracefully, ash clinging to his cloak. Without waiting, he threw his bag to the floor with a heavy thud and bolted from the fireplace. He only made it halfway into the livingroom when a sharp voice cut through the silence.
“Who’s there?!”
Harry stopped short. His heart thudded against his ribs.
Snape appeared a second later, wand raised, but when he saw Harry, confused and red-eyed, he lowered it immediately.
“Harry?”
Harry opened his mouth. No sound came out. His face twisted, and the tears returned without warning. He turned his face away, scrubbing at his cheeks, but it was no use. His shoulders began to shake.
Snape stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.
“What happened? Why are you here? Did someone-”
Harry flinched.
The question, “why are you here,” settled like a weight on his chest.
He couldn’t breathe.
His hands trembled. The panic crawled up his throat and wrapped its fingers around his lungs. He turned away, walking stiffly to the couch and sinking down before his legs gave out. His breath came in sharp, shallow gulps.
Snape followed, quieter now. He sat beside him.
Harry stared at the floor, trying to will the panic away.
“Breathe,” Snape said softly. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Harry did. His chest still felt like it was caving in, but he followed the voice, the rhythm.
Snape’s hand found his arm, fingers resting lightly near his wrist. A steadying weight.
“I’m not going to send you back,” Snape said. “No matter what happened. You’re safe here. You’re not in trouble.”
That cracked something.
“I-” Harry’s voice hitched. “Before I ran away, the reason I actually committed to it… was because I- I accidentally used dark magic.”
Snape’s hand didn’t move. Just his thumb brushing slowly over Harry’s skin.
“Aunt Marge… she wouldn’t shut up. She was going on and on about my mum, and I- I gave her a heart attack. She collapsed. I thought she was dead. I wished she was.”
Snape was quiet, giving him space to speak.
Harry let the silence stretch. He read the stillness, the calm, as permission.
“Remus was nice. But he was too… he just wasn’t you.” Harry’s voice cracked again. “And today, he brought over his friend. Said he wanted to meet me. He wouldn’t stop. He kept going on about Slytherins being evil, said I was brainwashed, said things about you. Horrible things. And I just…”
Harry’s voice broke completely.
“My magic- I threw him into the wall. I was so angry, I choked him. I didn’t mean to- I mean, I did, but I didn’t want to- I just couldn’t listen anymore.”
Snape exhaled. He sounded weary, but not surprised.
“Harry,” he said, “be truthful. Was it Sirius Black?”
Harry nodded, barely.
Snape closed his eyes for a beat. “Sirius and your father… were not the kindest to our house. I’m not going to say he was evil. But he was a bully. He acted without thought for anyone who didn’t shine the way he did. I didn’t want to tell you that. I know how much you cherish the idea of your parents. But you deserve to know the truth.”
Something in Harry’s expression shifted. His shoulders sagged. His face went still- too still.
He stopped blinking.
“Harry?”
“I wanted to believe,” Harry whispered, “that they’d love me. That if they were alive, they’d… they’d see me, even in green. That they’d know I’m trying. But maybe they wouldn’t.”
Snape didn’t speak. His hand stayed right where it was, thumb still moving in gentle strokes.
Harry’s voice dropped further. “He said my father would have lost his mind...”
The words scraped against his throat.
“They don’t see me. They just see the things that are different from their versions of me.”
He paused.
Snape didn’t lie. “I won’t lie to you, Harry, I saw you as someone else too. I saw you as your father’s clone. But you weren’t him,” Snape added. “And I learned that. You’re clever. You’re reckless in ways, yes, but you’re not cruel. You want to do the right thing even when it’s hard. You remind me of your mother more than you’ll ever know.”
Harry blinked fast. The words landed somewhere raw.
“You’re not broken, Harry,” Snape said. “But if you were, I’d love you regardless.”
Harry didn’t speak, but the tears came again, soft this time.
He leaned into Snape, shoulder bumping his. Snape’s arm wrapped around him. They sat like that for a while. It was so comfortable that Harry even fell asleep. Maybe Snape did too, but he’d never admit it.
Chapter 22: The End- Rewrite
Summary:
I'm honestly about to read this entire thing just to figure out what I made Ron do.
Chapter Text
Harry woke up the next day and opened his presents with Snape. Snape had made hot chocolate for them and had let him sleep in. Shalis had sat next to the fireplace to watch.
Harry had gotten an array of gifts. Pansy had given him a bottle of hair potion. Blaise had given him a silver watch. Theo had given him books. One about magical chants, another about magical numerology. He opened Draco’s next. It was a necklace with a little clock and rings.
“A time turner? Whoever gifted you that?”
Harry turned to Snape.
“Uh, just a friend.”
He got to the other gifts with his name next. Snape had wrapped a few different books for him. Herbology, potions, and other curricular books, but also, books he had shown the slightest interest in. Snape had also gifted him, Shalis really, a tank, one that may have even been better than the one at Lupin’s.
Harry handed Snape his gift with a trembling hand. Snape unwrapped it with a curious face. When he opened the box, his expression changed. He like it. Harry felt his breath come easier.
“It’s perfect. Maybe we could even brew something for it together.”
“I’d like that.”
-
Harry received a few more gifts in the dead of night. One from Hermione, one from Ginny, and one from… Ron.
He opened Hermione’s first. It was an annotated book about charms and jinxes. Ginny had given him a few bits of silver jewelry. He supposed he could get his ears pierced. For now, he just slid the rings on.
He saved Ron’s for last. It had a note attached to it.
I’m sorry for ignoring you and getting mad at you for being honest. I want to make things right with you.
Mum says hi by the way.
-Ron
Harry put it down and opened the box. It held a hand-knit scarf. A green scarf.
Harry wondered if he should write back. Maybe he could get back what he had before. Maybe it would be even better.
He put it off until later. For now, he just hung the scarf on the bedframe and cuddled up to Shalis.
-
Over the next few months, Harry tried his best to rekindle things slowly. It was awkward and hard, but he tried. Ron tried his best to, but never sat with the Slytherins, even when Hermione would.
None of the Slytherins like him talking to Ron, but they respected his choice.
Harry felt like things were actually changing for the better now. Or, he hoped. He really wasn’t sure of anything.
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