Chapter Text
Harry stares at the purple coloured flower covered in spots of blood sitting innocently on the edge of his bed. He thinks it must be a bundle of lavender.
Had that just come out of him? How?
He had been sitting on his bed, stewing in his own thoughts, when he had the sudden urge to cough. Then he began to choke. He coughed up this flower and now he’s sitting here staring at it because what else is he supposed to do?
He shakes his head to clear the confusion and gathers the little bundle of lavender into his hands. He stuffs it into his trouser pocket and flies off his dorm bed.
He has to find Hermione and fast. It was evening, after dinner, so she might be in the library. He hoped so. It was an hour before curfew so he hurried out of the Gryffindor common room and towards the hall that held the library.
He found her sitting at a table by herself, an open book next to her and a parchment and quill in front of her. He walks briskly over to her and plops down into one of the chairs in front of her. She startles a little at seeing him, but before she can start to be annoyed at being interrupted, she takes notice of his panicky state and sets her quill down.
“What’s going on?” she asks quickly but quietly. There was barely anybody else here, and she had chosen to sit in the back of the library where a lot of people chose not to go, but he still appreciated her being quiet for his sake.
“Something strange is happening to me.” he replies shakily.
“Something strange is always happening to you. What is it this time?” she replies, dead serious.
“Hey!” he laughs a little and some of the tightness in his chest eases. She was right, of course. Something strange happens to him every year that he’s here at Hogwarts, so this really shouldn't be all that surprising.
Instead of replying, he pulls out the bloody bundle of lavender and sets it near her so that no one else will see. She studies it silently before looking up at him with questioning eyes.
“Why are you handing me a bloody flower?” she whispers incredulously.
“Because I coughed it up 10 minutes ago and don’t know why.” he replies with a small shrug.
“You…coughed it up?” She raises an eyebrow and it makes him feel like he’s speaking nonsense.
“I know it sounds impossible, but I swear I coughed it up. Right onto my bed. I figured you would know what it is?” He asks hopefully.
He’s a little devastated when she shakes her head. He deflates and sags into the chair.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out, but this is highly unusual, even for you.” she says as she lays a hand over one of his reassuringly.
He feels a little better when she says that, so he flips his hand over to grasp hers and squeezes gently.
“Even for me.” he echos with a little laugh.
“I’ll figure out what books I need to read, but for now I think you should be cautious about coughing any more flowers up. Maybe someone is pranking you? I’m sure it can be undone though.” she says with determination lacing through her tone.
“Yeah.” he sighs, feeling tired all of a sudden. He had only been at Hogwarts for over three years and something weird was always happening to him. He hated it, just a little bit.
“Thanks, ‘Mione.” He says with another squeeze to her hand, and when he gets up to leave, she gives him a little nod and lets go.
He makes his way up towards the Gryffindor dorms and sits heavily on his bed. The little spot of blood is still there, so he waves it away with a flick of his wand and crawls under the covers.
Hermione will figure it out, he hopes. He stays awake for hours thinking about what it could be, but finds no answers of his own. He drifts off to sleep fitfully and dreams of wilting blossoms covered in blood.
—
A few days later, Harry finds himself walking hand in hand with Hermione towards the edge of the Black Lake. It’s nearing the end of September, but today is a wonderfully warm day, so he and Hermione had decided that the best place to relax and talk would be outside.
She had been studying for days and had been gathering data on his condition but had refused to explain anything to him until she had gained enough information about it.
“I had to lie to Madam Pomphrey and tell her I had a sudden interest in medical information, so she gave me a few books on wizard illnesses. I read them front to back and think I have the answers you may need. You might not like it though.” she explains as she grabs the aforementioned books out of her enchanted bag. They’re thick, with medical jargon labeled on the front and back. When she opens the books, they’re filled with big words and things he doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t know how she read these in only a few days, but he thinks he shouldn’t be so surprised by it at this point.
He feels uneasy at her words, but he craves the knowledge.
“Is it bad?” he asks weakly, and Hermione gets a pinched look on her face like she doesn’t really know how to answer that question.
“I’m…not entirely sure actually. It can be cured, but it’s complicated and I am not sure if you want to share your thoughts with me about it…” she says slowly, looking at him a little wearily.
He takes her hand back into his, something they’ve done since the day they met, and nods encouragingly.
“Just tell me, ‘Mione. I can handle it.” he replies.
“It’s called Hanahaki. It most commonly forms in a romantic sense. The victim coughs up flowers after realizing they are in love with someone who may not love them back. The flowers have meanings, which I brought a book to explain those meanings. Lavender means distrust. Have you fallen in love with someone you distrust, Harry?” Hermione says teasingly.
“What? Don’t be absurd. I would tell you otherwise…” he says, flushing. He’s telling the truth, he doesn’t like anyone like that. He wouldn’t even know how that would feel to him anyways. He had just turned fourteen two months ago for Merlin's sake. He doesn’t know what love is supposed to feel like.
“Not to worry. Hanahaki can also take a platonic form, familial form, or something much more rare called Death Hanahaki. That one happens when someone you love dies and you cough up their favorite flowers until the grief takes over and you die from heartbreak.” she explains in what Harry has dubbed her “professor voice.” She had it so often it was nearly her own voice.
“Well, I don’t think it’s that one, that’s for sure.” he says with a little anxious giggle.
“So it must be platonic or familial. Then. What were you doing or thinking about when it happened?” she questions with a tilt of her head.
Harry has to think hard about what he had been doing at that moment before he can answer her.
“I was sitting on my bed, reading but not really reading. I had the book open on my lap but I was thinking of something. What was I thinking about..?” he questions himself quietly.
“I was thinking of our professors, I think? I don’t remember how it started, but I was thinking about how different they all are from one another, and how all of them have treated me differently in their own way.” he says, the thoughts from days previous floating through his head again.
In truth, he had started thinking about the Dursley's again and how their treatment angered him, then he had started thinking about how the other adults in his life, which happened to be his professors currently, had treated him like he was actually worth something. For the most part, at least. Some teachers are just idiotic or cruel, so maybe it wasn’t so different from the Dursley after all…
“What do you mean?” Hermione asks.
“Well, since the day I got here, I was treated differently than how I had experienced growing up. Hagrid was the first kind adult in my life to treat me like I mattered. He had never even met me properly, but the night he retrieved me he’d brought me a birthday cake. I remember thinking how strange it all was, but looking back it makes me feel…I don’t know. Warm, I guess?” he explains, a little flustered about it.
“Then I met Mrs. Weasley, and she had given me a hug and welcomed me like I was another one of her children. Then, Professor McGonagall had treated me like any other kid. You get what I’m saying?” he says, a little desperately.
“I do. Who were you thinking about when you coughed up the lavender? It had to be someone you don’t trust, but that could be anyone from the late Quirrell, Lockhart, or even Lupin, but he’s not someone you distrust so It can’t be him…” she trails off in thought.
The answer hits Harry like a lightning bolt. He feels fear and dread grow in his belly and what he wants to deny but knows it's true.
“Harry?” Hermione questions softly at the scared look he must be sporting.
“I was thinking about…about Professor Snape.” he whispers weakly. He turns wide, terrified eyes up to one of his only true friends in the whole world and meets her steady gaze.
“What were you thinking about him for?” she asks gently.
“I was thinking about how even though I don’t like him or trust him, and vice versa, he had still chosen to save my life multiple times before. The spells to save my broom when Quirrell tried to knock me off, the attempt to save us when Professor Lupin transformed, stuff like that. I don’t know why he does it, but even with all that I still don’t like him. I don’t get why he does what he does.” he explains in a rush.
He feels out of sorts admitting that, but he knows Hermione would not judge him. She had been there through it with him after all, so he knows she would understand at least a little.
“So the flowers must be related to Professor Snape, but why?” Hermione thinks outloud, and Harry shrugs in uncertainty.
“I don’t know. It’s not like I enjoy his presence or anything, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy mine. We hate one another and always will, probably. I-” Harry is suddenly cut off by a cough that starts deep in his chest. He grasps at his chest desperately, but he’s already gone through this once so he knows what’s going to happen next.
He coughs up another flower, this one decidedly different from the bundle of lavender.
An orange flower speckled in blood lays between him and Hermione. They sit in silence while Harry catches his breath.
“That’s an orange lily blossom. It means…” Hermione trails off as she reaches for the book about flowers and their meanings. She flips through it until she finds what she’s looking for.
“It means hatred.” she says, looking back towards the flower with a thoughtful expression.
“Well, I guess that’s all the confirmation we needed. I just don’t understand why it’s happening now…” he says with irritation clear as day in his tone.
“I couldn’t say. I think you should keep track of when you cough up more flowers. Keep a list of when it happens and what flowers it is, and I’ll look into what they mean. If it gets worse, we will need to go to Madam Pomphrey.” she says sternly, and Harry looks up sharply at her.
“Why?”
“Because the flowers can kill you if not taken care of properly. They might need to be surgically removed, or they will suffocate you.” Hermione says seriously, and he can see that she’s fighting the sudden tears down. He quickly pulls her into a hug.
“I’m not gonna die, ‘Mione. I’m right here. It’s just some flowers. If it gets worse, I'll get them removed and we won’t ever have to worry about this again, I swear.” he says soothingly.
He just has to figure out why this is happening to him first.
—
The next few days pass in a blur, and he coughs up more orange lilies and lavender bundles. They seem to happen only once a day now, and it’s painful and unpleasant to deal with. It makes his chest ache all day and he starts to feel more worn down and tired throughout the day. Sleep doesn’t always help, and he becomes slow in all his classes, which includes Potions unfortunately.
He coughs up another lavender bunch into his hand in between potions steps and quickly hides it away in his robes. He gets a few strange looks but he’s used to it by now, so he ignores it the best he can.
Alas, Professor Snape is not someone who ignores things.
“Mr. Potter.” comes his slow, low drawl. Harry closes his eyes in tired annoyance and takes a deep breath as silently as he can.
“Sir?” he says quietly, eyeing his professor wearily. The man has an annoyed look on his face as he rakes his eyes over Harry’s tired frame.
“Cease with coughing all over your potions ingredients before you blow my classroom up.” he says with a cross of his arms.
Harry wants to roll his eyes but doesn’t have the energy.
“Will do.” he says with a little more irritation than he intended.
“Detention after class.” is the response he gets for that.
Oops.
—-
He’s just finished putting away his potions kit as the last of the students file out of the classroom. He assumes he’s going to be scrubbing cauldrons or something equally ridiculous for the next hour.
“Why have you not gone to the Hospital Wing?” comes the unexpected question from his professor once the doors are closed for good.
“What?” Harry says, feeling sluggish.
“Focus, Mr. Potter. Being sick in a highly volatile room can spell disaster for everyone around you, so why have you not gone to Madam Pomphrey?” Professor Snape says sharply.
Harry does roll his eyes then.
“I’m not even sick. I’m fine, sir.” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh yes, because hacking up a lung and clearly being ill with fever means you aren’t “‘sick.’” Professor Snape says sarcastically.
“Why do you even care?” Harry snaps angrily.
“I do not. I care about you not blowing up the classroom and taking everyone down with you, as per usual.” Snape sneers, eyes glinting dangerously.
“I’m not going to blow up the classroom. I’ve done fine so far, haven’t I?” he questions with an annoyed wave of his hand.
And he had done fine so far! First year he blew up a few cauldrons by accident, but after that he never did it again. It was to be expected when you put an 11 year old child who hadn’t known what magic even was a month prior in front of a boiling cauldron with ingredients he had never even heard of.
He had never been fond of potions, but it reminded him a little of cooking, so he got the hang of some of it quite quickly. He had even studied his potions textbook when he needed to and he doesn't even like the stupid class!
“You’ve done fine so far due to Ms. Granger and her need to make everything perfect.” Snape rolls his own eyes, and damn him he was a little bit right about that.
Hermione was a perfectionist when it came to all things academic, and that included blasted potions. She was a huge help to Harry and Ron and others as well when they struggled to understand what was going on in this class, and she let them study her essays so they could write their own with at least a little inkling of understanding of the subject.
He was so grateful for her.
“Glad that’s settled then. I’ll just be on my way and-” Harry starts making his way towards the classroom doors.
“Not so fast.”
Harry very nearly groans in annoyance. Instead, he turns back around and recrosses his arms.
“There is still the matter of your detention. As you are clearly unwell, I insist you see Madam Pomphrey straight away. I will not have you spreading your germs throughout my classroom.” Professor Snape states with a raised eyebrow.
Damn that stupid eyebrow.
“I really am fine, sir. It’s just a little cough.” Harry insists again.
Can’t the man just let it go?
“You may serve your detention in a few days time. Madam Pomphrey will be able to assist you with the correct potions to take over the next few days.” Professor Snape says, ignoring Harry completely.
Whatever, it’s not like Harry was actually going to go to the hospital wing anyways. He had to figure out what was truly causing the flowers to continue to bloom inside of him, and he had to do it fast.
Somehow Professor Snape was apart of it, and Harry was going to figure out why.
“I will escort you to the hospital wing daily until you are able to complete a potion without infecting it.”
Harry’s brain screeches to a halt.
“What?” he says, flabbergasted.
“Are your ears ceasing to work today? Save me from dunderheaded teenagers…” Professor Snape murmurs to himself with a sigh, and Harry feels vaguely offended.
“Come.” His professor orders as he begins walking towards another door on the opposite side of the room. He doesn’t wait on Harry, but Harry knows if he doesn’t follow right away, he’s going to get another stupid lecture.
He hurriedly makes his way towards the door and when Professor Snape steps through it, Harry finds himself in the man's office.
Somehow even with all the detentions he had had before, he had never made it to the man’s office. His detentions had always been in the classroom. He usually scrubbed dirty cauldrons, cut ingredients up, or gutted some slimy creatures he couldn’t identify, so this was unusual.
There’s a dark brown almost-black desk with a tall black cushioned seat on one end of the room, with a dark green (of course) rug adorning the ground. There are bookshelves trailing along one wall and shelves with extra ingredients along another wall. On the back wall sits a fireplace with a cup of Floo powder sitting on the black marble mantle.
Professor Snape strides over to the fireplace and grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it in, setting the hearth ablaze with green flames.
He beckons Harry over, impassive and clinical.
They clamber into the fireplace and Harry feels distinctly uncomfortable, and he’s sure the other man is too, but he calls out for the hospital wing and then they are whirled away in green magical flames.
Harry stumbles as they exit the Floo, just barely catching himself and keeping himself upright before he can embarrass himself by doing something stupid like falling.
“Poppy?” Professor Snape calls out as he strides into the hospital wing.
“Severus?” comes Madam Pomphreys’ reply. She bustles around the corner from her office and spots the two of them.
“What’s happened?” she questions as she meets them in the middle of the room.
“Mr. Potter appears to be unwell, and I’d rather him not infect my potions classroom with his germs.” Professor Snape explains with a sneer, which Madam Pomphrey promptly ignores.
Typical Severus Snape to focus on his potions instead of a sick student…
“Not to worry then, Harry, dear. I have just the things you need. Come along.” Madam Pomphrey instructs, already walking over to a cupboard full of multicoloured potions. She nods at Professor Snape and then the man is gone with a swish of his robe like he had never even been there.
Harry feels an odd feeling in his chest when he starts to think over the last 15 minutes. In an absurd way, Professor Snape was the only one who had noticed the coughing. No other professor had seemed to catch on that there was something wrong with Harry, but his most wretched professor did.
How odd.
Harry shakes the thoughts from his head and follows the matron further into the hospital wing.
She gives him a few nasty potions to choke down, and it does make him feel better to have a pain reliever and Pepper-up potion in his system. Madam Pomphrey decides to keep him overnight for observation, and he obliges only because he’s too tired to do anything else.
She isn’t there when he coughs up a white flower with a multitude of petals adorned with it’s usual amount of blood.
He stares at it dejectedly before stuffing it in his pocket with the other bundle of flowers, commits the flower to memory, and then rolls over and falls into a fitful sleep where he dreams of petals being plucked from his skin.
—
The coughing sometimes got easier and sometimes got worse. There were some days he would only cough up a single flower, other days where he wouldn’t cough anything up at all, and other days where he’d be practically hacking up a lungful of flowers and blood.
It was now always the same white flower; a Candytuft.
It means indifference, apparently.
He didn’t exactly feel indifferent to his potions professor, but whatever.
The flowers seemed to think otherwise, but he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.
He was increasingly confused and didn’t understand what was really happening to him, and neither did Hermione or Ron.
Ron had been informed after Harry’s ‘detention’ about what was going on, and he was rightfully horrified at it. No amount of research seemed to prove fruitful, so with each passing day Harry was beginning to lose the little bit of hope he had about getting better.
The only person who seemed to even notice other than his friends, was Professor Snape.
It was such a strange feeling to have. It was an even stranger experience to have.
Yes, the man hated him, and yes, he still seemed to protect Harry for some odd reason or another, but it was still strange and Harry was weary of it all.
He was just mainly confused, though.
“Do you think someone has cast a spell on you?” Ron asks one day while the three of them are huddled up in the empty common room.
“We thought that at first, but it doesn’t seem to be. I can’t figure out why it started with Professor Snape, of all people. It’s the weirdest thing.” Harry replies with a small sigh. He had his head laid up on Ron’s lap with Heroine sitting next to him with his feet crossed over her legs. She has another book resting on the top of Harry’s feet, intently studying it and making notes with a magical quill and parchment.
“I don’t know mate. This is all really weird, if you ask me. Hanahaki doesn’t seem to be all that common and maybe never really was, so of course it would happen to you of all people.” Ron says with a light flick to Harry’s ear.
“Hermione said the same thing.” Harry groans.
“Maybe it’s one of those things that just happens randomly. It wouldn’t be so strange that way.” Ron replies, thinking hard.
“Maybe.” Harry whispers, feeling off-footed and uncomfortable.
“Maybe you should mention it to Professor Snape and see if he knows any potions to get rid of it, or slow it, or something.” Hermione suggests thoughtfully, then looks a little perturbed by the suggestion.
“Absolutely not.” Harry immediately replies with a disgusted scrunch of his nose.
He would just have to get on with it, it would seem. There’s no way in hell he’ll ever tell professor Snape about any of this.
The man would flay him alive probably, and Harry was not about to find out by being stupid and telling the man that he’s the reason Harry is choking on flowers everyday.
Ridiculous.
—
A week later, Harry finds himself stuck in detention once again, this time for something completely ridiculous, which he felt was honestly something that happened more often than not.
He had been whispering to Neveille about the upcoming Quidditch match when a rolled up parchment paper hat struck him gently over the head.
He had startled and turned around to find Professor Snape scowling at him.
“Detention for disrupting class, again.”
“Wha-!” Harry had gasped and then shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth.
So now here he was, once again in detention and scrubbing stupid first year cauldrons for over an hour.
He remembered what it was like being a first year and discovering potions for the first time, but could these first years not clean up after themselves? Did they have to make such a sluggish mess behind?
Even Harry cleans his station up before the end of class, and he didn’t even care for this class all that much. Come on!
Muttering to himself, he jumps when Professor Snape interrupts his thoughts.
“Tell me, Mr. Potter, why is it you delay in improving your health once again? What ploy are you playing at?” the professor questions with narrowed eyes.
Harry turns his body all the way around towards the professor and stares incredulously.
“What?” he blinks, confused.
“You have entered my classroom once again with your germ-infested self, and yet you refuse to go to the hospital wing, again. Why is that?” Professor Snape snaps, crossing his arms and looking every bit the scary, intimidating professor he is.
Too bad Harry is used to it.
“I’m not sick, sir. I don’t need the hospital wing.” he says with a roll of his eyes.
Didn't they already go over this a few weeks ago?
“Desist with the attitude.” Snape practically growls.
“I’m honestly telling the truth, professor. There’s no need for you to badger me about this. I’m fine. It’s nothing a little rest and time won’t fix.” Harry says placatingly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“You foolish boy. This is Hogwarts, a magical school! You are a wizard are you not? Therefore you can simply take a potion or have a spell performed on you to heal whatever it is you’re ailing from.” Professor Snape scoffs, a little condescending.
“I just told you, I don’t need help! I’m-!”
“You’re fine, yes, as you’ve said repeatedly! Clearly you are not, with the way you look so poorly you could rival one of the many ghosts in the castle.”
“Hey!” Harry says, offended.
“What foolish thing have you gotten up to now? What have you done that makes every adult's life around you so bloody difficult that they can’t perform their duty properly? What. Have. You. Done?” Professor Snape punctuates his words with venom, and Harry feels fury build within him.
What had he done? Nothing!
“I haven’t done anything! It’s your fault that I’m like this! If anything, you’re the one who’s gone and made my life difficult!” Harry snaps, then immediately regrets his words.
He shouldn't have revealed that. He’s such an idiot.
He crosses his arms and glares at his professor, daring him to say something.
“My fault? I haven’t done anything to warrant that kind of accusation! How dare you-” Professor Snape spits angrily, but gets cut short when Harry starts sputtering and clutching his chest.
“What are you-”
Harry is in more pain than he’s ever felt with these stupid flowers before. It feels like razor blades are slicing up his chest and through his throat, and he chokes on the flowers that are now making their way out of him.
An Orange Lily blossom and a bundle of lavender plops bloodily to the ground, and Harry stares at them as he gasps for breath and clutches at his aching chest.
He slowly turns his eyes towards his professor, who’s also staring at the bundle of bloody blossoms with wide eyes.
“What. Is. That.” Professor Snape finally says, practically an angry whisper.
Fuck, Harry thinks repeatedly to himself.
How was he going to explain this one?