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Chapter Text

Harry paid little attention to the sorting. Another year, same old speech from Dumbledore about being wary of outside threats and the value of your house and trusting them like your family. Except this year there was the obligatory mention of Voldemort’s return.

While Dumbledore had not stopped talking, Harry could feel every head in the Great Hall turn to look at him. And he hated them for it. All of them gawking at The Boy Who Lived, year after year, yet when he needed support and help last year, no one was there to give it to him. Everyone was far too happy to believe the Ministry and Umbridge over him, the person who actually saw Voldemort kill Cedric. Harry wanted to glare wickedly at every pair of eyes that he could feel fixated at him, but he knew since everyone was staring at him, he would look like a madman if he spun around glaring at the entire Hall.

Harry refused to look up. Refused to acknowledge the hundreds of eyes bearing down on him. He stared at the empty plate in front of him, willing Dumbledore to move on, to stop talking about Voldemort so people would lose interest in him.

And at long last, after Dumbledore had finished warning the first years not to go into the Forbidden Forest, he let the feast begin.

Sounds of pleasure and happy chatter immediately erupted in the Great Hall. Hands reached around the table to grab turkey legs, scoop potatoes, peas, sauteed vegetables, mixed salads, rolls, and all the other delicious fixings of the Welcome Back Feast.

Once Ron had filled up his plate and taken the first bite of his turkey leg he glanced across the table to see Harry had not helped himself to any food, and had just been staring at the half-scooped out bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Hey Harry,” Ron started, “Aren’t ya gonna eat anything?”

Harry’s head gave a tiny jolt, as if he was coming back to reality from some far away land and he nodded. He straightened his back and helped himself to two small scoops of potatoes, and a serving of peas. He pointed to the jug of pumpkin juice next to Ron’s left elbow and Ron passed it to Harry with a “Oh, here mate.”

Harry nodded in thanks. That was what Harry did now. He nodded, or he shook his head, or he just walked away when the conversation got too much for him and he couldn’t cope with the petty dealings of everyday life.

*****

Since losing Sirius at the end of last term, Harry felt miles different than who he was last year. It was like there was a dead man walking around in the shell of who Harry used to be, because the old Harry had disappeared.

This past summer the Dursleys ignored Harry most of the time, only addressing him to tell him when they were going out or if they wanted Harry to cook something. Which Harry grew quite comfortable with. Harry began to rise early in the morning, cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, helping himself to his portion, then slipping quietly back into his room until it was time for lunch, then time for dinner. Either Petunia or Harry would make dinner, then Harry could be excused to his room for the rest of the evening.

The Dursleys must have interpreted Harry’s silence as him finally showing a sense of respect for them, and him having learned to not run his mouth about his special school and weirdness anymore. And that was fine with Harry.

It came to a big shock to Ron, Hermione, and Lupin when Harry politely declined their offers to come stay at the Burrow or headquarters after his birthday. He wasn’t quite sure why, but Harry wasn’t ready to see his friends, in fact, he preferred his solace at the Dursleys where he was able to keep to himself and grieve Sirius privately.

Eventually it had become two months since Harry had spoken to anyone, and he realized he liked keeping his mouth shut. On August thirty-first he approached Uncle Vernon with a note stating the time he needed to be at King’s Cross Station the next day, and miraculously Uncle Vernon agreed to take him there with little protest. Harry had already sent mail orders for his books, supplies, and robes to be delivered to Hogwarts so he didn’t have to set foot in Diagon Alley and deal with all the gawkers.

Harry had told Uncle Vernon the time he needed to be at the station 30 minutes earlier than he needed to be, so he could pass through the barrier without a crowd and find a seat on the train alone. Harry situated himself on the train, staring out the window and counting bricks in the station when he heard the door to his compartment start to open. Ron was pulling the door open with Hermione standing behind him.

Ron had a huge smile on his face as he crossed the compartment to give Harry a big hug.

“Harry there you! We’ve been looking all over the platform for you!” Ron said enthusiastically. “I told Hermione those Muggles of yours probably hadn’t dropped you off yet, but she insisted we should board the train anyway to look for you. Guess she was right.” Ron finished as he sat down across from Harry.

“Of course I was,” Hermione said assuredly. She closed the door and gave Harry a big hug of her own. “So good to see you, Harry. We missed you terribly this summer. Wish you could have come to the Burrow or into London for a bit so we could catch up,” Hermione said. “Of course, we understand why you wanted to stay at your aunt and uncle’s though,” Hermione added quickly, not wanting Harry to feel bad.

Harry offered a small smile in return. As Hermione sat down next to Harry, Ron burst into stories of all the inventions Fred and George have been testing for their joke shop, while Hermione occasionally jumped in to share some tidbits from her vacations with her parents, or about how exciting it is to get back to school. Harry smiled and nodded along.

Eventually Hermione and Ron exchanged a look when they realized Harry wasn’t speaking to them, and had started staring out the window almost as if in a daze while Hermione was still talking.

Hermione placed her hand gently on Harry’s arm. “Harry,” she asked, “Is there a reason why you’re not talking to us?”

Harry brought his eyes away from the window and looked over at the worried expressions of his friends. But he didn’t open his mouth, only offered a shrug and threw his hands up in what could either be an “I don’t know” expression or an “nothing matters” expression before he turned his body away from his friends to stare out the window.

Hermione and Ron forced themselves to keep the conversation going for a while, hoping Harry would jump in at some point, but he never did. Not even the Trolley Witch could tear Harry’s gaze away from the window, it was only when the Hogwarts castle appeared in the distance did Harry get up to go put his robes on.

*****

Chapter Text

After the feast the Gryffindors huddled back in their common room to listen to the prefects explain basic house rules and McGonagall’s usual first-day speech. But Harry stood lazily in the back, leaning against the wall, spending his time surveying the appearance of each of his Gryffindor housemates instead of listening to anyone talking. He couldn’t help but feel bitter when he looked at the relaxed smiles on peoples’ faces, and how so many people were elbowing their friends, cracking grins and stealing glances with each other while McGonagall talked. Harry couldn't imagine he’d ever be that carefree in his life again. Not since learning to love Sirius as part of his family in a few short months only to get him ripped away from him in the most cruel way possible.

Once McGonagall finished her speech, Harry dashed up to his dormitory, unpacked his things, then began getting ready for bed. Harry was in bed with his glasses off before any of his year-mates entered the dorm, and pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to interact with any of them.

On the first day of classes Harry rose much earlier than the rest of his housemates and decided to head down to breakfast earlier than he ever had before. Harry dressed quickly and crammed his books in his bag, before setting off to the Great Hall.

While not the first student in the Hall, Harry had arrived early enough to see the house elves popping in and out, loading the tables with food. As Harry set himself down in a seat at the Gryffindor table, Dobby popped in suddenly with a basket of bagels on his right.

Dobby immediately dropped the bagel basket and shrieked, “Harry Potter! Harry Potter has come to breakfast early! What a pleasure it is for Dobby to see Harry Potter!”

Wide-eyed and mortified, Harry began cramming the bagels Dobby dropped back in the basket as he looked around to see who had heard Dobby. A few Gryffindor second-years looked amused at Dobby’s outburst, there were some snickers from the Hufflepuff table, but luckily none of Slytherin house was at breakfast that early. That is, except Snape who fixed Harry with a stare from the Head Table, as if Dobby getting all excited at breakfast was his fault.

“Stupid git,” Harry thought to himself, while also wondering what Snape was even doing at breakfast so early, knowing the man seemed to be up all night patrolling the corridors of the castle.

Harry brought his index finger up to his lips in a “shh” motion in front of Dobby and Dobby’s tennis-ball sized eyes widened as he lowered his voice, “Dobby is so sorry to have shouted during breakfast! Dobby just got very excited to see his friend Harry Potter,” Dobby finished sheepishly.

Harry offered Dobby a soft smile then shook Dobby’s hand, hoping Dobby understood that Harry was happy to see him as well.

Dobby clasped his hands together and a big smile overtook his face after Harry finished shaking his hand. Dobby kept staring at Harry in amazement until eventually Harry had to point to the food and point to himself, and pantomimed eating so Dobby got the hint.

“Oh yes, Dobby will leave Harry Potter to his breakfast as Dobby gets back to work!” Dobby exclaimed, and with a snap he was gone.

Harry began picking at his bagel with his fingers, only putting small pieces into his mouth and chewing them thoroughly as his thoughts wandered off. He was beginning to get that awful feeling in his gut he sometimes got when eating, when he remembered that he would never share another meal with Sirius again. Harry swallowed roughly.

Fighting not to cry in the Great Hall, Harry dropped his head and began rummaging through his bag to see what books he threw in there this morning. Oh lucky him, he had his brand new Potions book that was delivered yesterday and his Divination book that he only ever needed in class. He decided to start reading his Potions book, figuring he should at least crack the spine of the thing before the first class with Professor Slughorn.

Professor McGonagall has sent him a letter over the summer explaining that a different professor was taking over Potions classes this year, and Harry had made the cut with his E grade, so he needed to order the sixth year Potions book and supplies.

When Professor McGonagall sent Harry that letter, he had a brief hope that Dumbledore had finally fired Snape from Hogwarts, and instead had him busy doing Order business, or working elsewhere for Dumbeldore. He was thoroughly disappointed at the feast when he realized even before Dumbledore made his speech, that if the new professor - Professor Slughorn - was taking over Potions, and there were no other new members of the staff, that Dumbledore finally had awarded Snape his desired teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Why now Dumbledore had finally promoted Snape to DADA professor, Harry could not quite figure out.

But Harry was always miles ahead of his classmates regarding DADA material, thanks in part to Lupin’s private lessons third year, Hermione studying spells with him for the Triwizard tournament fourth year, and then all the extra practice he had instructing the DA last year. There was a good chance he already knew all, if not at least a large majority, of the sixth year DADA material, so Snape would find it hard to find fault with Harry’s performance in that class. That is, until Snape found out Harry no longer spoke.

*****

At the Head Table, Severus Snape could not take his eyes off the Potter boy. He did not normally breakfast so early, but he had slept poorly the night before and decided to just get up and start his day. But of course, Potter had to be at breakfast this early as well, along with the house elf who must be captain of Potter’s fan club. Severus snorted to himself. One day back at school and the boy was already making a big deal of himself. Severus was disgusted with the boy’s arrogance, as he was every year.

Despite himself, Severus watched Potter pick at his bagel while managing to actually eat very little of it (the brat was being so wasteful!) and realized that Potter had pulled out his Potions book and after brushing some bagel bits off the table into his hand then onto his plate, he opened his book and began reading.

Severus could not believe what he was seeing. For five years, Harry Potter had taken his Potions class, and Severus bet he had willingly opened his textbook less than a dozen times in five years. And yet here he was, doing extra reading before it had been assigned so he would be prepared for the lesson. Unbelievable. “What a selfish little twat,” Severus thought to himself. “The brat starts putting effort into Potions when I’m no longer his teacher.”

As Harry continued reading his book, Severus continued watching the boy. Come to think of it, it was… odd to say the very least that the boy was at breakfast this early, and had whipped out his Potions book to read for leisure. Severus briefly wondered if an imposter was polyjuiced as Potter, but then remembered he had set wards in his storeroom that would notify him if anyone tried to steal from him, and most people couldn’t just buy all the necessary ingredients for polyjuice potion so it was extremely unlikely for someone to be impersonating the Potter boy currently.

As the Hall began to fill up, Severus was nursing his third cup of coffee. Since he got to breakfast early, he normally would file out quickly after he finished his first cup, but his curiosity regarding Potter got the better of him and he poured himself a second and third cup as he kept his eyes on the boy. Eventually more of Potter’s House-mates flocked to the Gryffindor table and his year-mates began sitting around them. He noticed that Potter looked up from his book to hold up a hand and smile at his friends, but immediately ducked his head to continue reading his book. “Now that was odd,” Severus thought.

Weasley and Granger sat around Potter and mostly chatted to each other, but when Thomas and Longbottom attempted to start conversation with Potter a few times Potter would just look up at them, shrug or shake his head, then point back to his book and continue reading. After being forced to look up from his book a half-dozen times, Severus saw the boy roll his head up to the ceiling in annoyance before grabbing his bookbag and waving to his friends with a tense smile as he left.

*****

Chapter Text

After breakfast, the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins settled into the DADA classroom. There was quiet chatter amongst the class as everyone anxiously waited for Snape to arrive. No one could believe Dumbledore had finally given Snape the job he truly desired after all these years, so there was an… uncertain energy before their first lesson. Every year the DADA course had brought some eccentric character to Hogwarts to attempt to instill Defense training (or lack thereof in Umbridge’s case) in the young students. But Defense being taught by someone they all already knew, and someone most of them hated, was a first.

“Potter. Potter!” Draco hissed. “Guess this will be one year when Harry Potter isn’t able to show off every single lesson in Defense. I’m looking forward to Professor Snape teaching this class, about time we had an instructor with a brain.” Draco leaned over his table to smile cockily at Harry.

“Oy, shut it Malfoy,” Ron said as he fixed the Slytherin with a glare. “Guess you’ll have to try extra hard to learn something this semester now that daddy can’t pay off your professors from Azkaban.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“At least my father can afford to give teachers gifts Weasle-brain. Unlike your parents who have to search the couch cushions for knuts just to afford your robes!” Malfoy snickered, and with a glance behind him Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter.

Ron had his fists clenched in anger and had started to say, “Oh you little-” before Hermione steered Ron away from Malfoy and plunked him down in the chair in front of Harry while Hermione sat down next to Harry.

“It’s not worth it Ronald,” Hermione said with an air of dignity in her voice, “You know he’s just doing it to get a reaction out of you right before Professor Snape comes into class.”

“Yeah I know,” Ron said glumly, kicking the bottom of Harry and Hermione’s table. “He’s just such a prat he deserved to be in Azkaban with his loser daddy.”

Hermione made a sound of agreement and Harry nodded, still reading his Potions book.

“It’s not like you to stay silent in a fight with Malfoy,” Ron said suddenly as he turned to face Harry now. “Come to think of it, don’t think I’ve heard you say one word since we boarded the train. Is everything alright mate?” Ron asked. Although he had good intentions, Harry hated the tone of curiosity and maybe even a little pity in Ron’s voice.

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug, not bothering to look up from his book. When he could feel both Ron and Hermione’s eyes still on him, Harry marked his page in his book, then pulled out some parchment and his quill.

“Just don’t feel like talking anymore. To you guys or to anybody. Please don’t make it a big deal.” Harry wrote on a piece of parchment, then turned it around so Ron and Hermione could read it.

Initial shock overcame both their faces, before Hermione’s face shifted to deeply concerned. She met Ron’s eyes first and gave him an expression Harry couldn’t quite read, before she looked to Harry with tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione started, but before she could say anything else the doors slammed open and Snape strode into the room.

Ron turned to face front and Hermione quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as the students began to take out their textbook and notebooks for whatever class entailed.

*****

“Now I’ve heard our very own Mr. Potter already knows how to cast a shield charm,” Snape said, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Care to share what the spell for that is, Potter?”

All the eyes in the classroom turned to face Harry as Harry felt a sudden pit in his stomach. Crap. Of course of all the students in the class, Snape had to single him out on the first day. Sure, he was was one of the few students who did already knew the spell and how to cast a shield charm, but it annoyed him that Snape had to pick on him the first day of term, when the man had to know Ron and Hermione - especially Hermione - would have knowledge of the shield charm as well.

Harry knew Snape would insist on a verbal answer to his question, but Harry wouldn’t give him one. He just couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in months, and the first time he did try his voice out again was for sure not going to be in front of Snape.

Harry quickly weighed his options in his head, whether he should not answer Snape’s question and just stare at him, or write his answer down and show Snape. Harry decided on the latter.

Harry wrote down “Protego” on his piece of parchment and held it up for Snape to see.

Snape glanced at the paper in Harry’s hand and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I expect verbal answers in my class, Potter.”

Harry put his parchment down and looked desperately to Ron and Hermione for help. Hermione slowly put her hand in the air and even though Snape had not taken his eyes off Harry, Hermione spoke anyway. “Please sir, Harry can’t answer verbally as he doesn’t speak. Er, not anymore, at least.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Miss. Granger,” Snape said sharply.

Hermione sheepishly put her hand down as Ron started staring daggers at Snape. Hermione ever so slightly shook her head at him.

“Well. Well. Well,” Snape drawled as he began walking towards Harry. “How do you expect to earn proper marks in this class if you can’t even speak the spells we practice?” Snape looked down at Harry, a sneer evident on his face.

Harry pursed his lips in a straight line and picked up his quill.

“I can do them nonverbally,” Harry wrote, and he was about to turn the paper over to Snape when Hermione kicked him under the table. “Sir,” Hermione turned her head and mouthed dramatically to him, hiding her mouth moving from Snape behind her hair.

Harry added the word “sir” after his sentence then held up his parchment to Snape.

“You plan to cast spells nonverbally?” Snape said in a very uninterested tone.

Harry nodded sharply.

“Non-verbal magic is a very difficult skill to master,” Snape said dismissively as he walked back to the front of the classroom. “It takes a person with a certain level of subtlety, precision, and care for one’s work to be able to perform a simple “Wingardium Leviosa” nonverbally. As we all know from Potter’s potion-making skills, he exhibits none of those traits,” Snape finished with a smirk as the Slytherins laughed.

Harry’s cheeks were suddenly burning, but he had had enough of Snape’s bullying this early in the school year. Harry picked up his wand and cast “Wingardium Leviosa” inside his mind on his quill, and sent it steadily up to the ceiling of the classroom then back down to his table, making sure he held his wand high and kept his mouth closed so everyone could see the first successful example of nonverbal magic in their year.

Harry even surprised himself a bit when his quill successfully levitated and then came back down. Before he cast the spell in his head, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure his nonverbal magic would even work. But he had been practicing at the end of last year to moderate success, and now that he didn’t say things verbally, he had anticipated that his magic would allow him to just say the spell in his head and it would work.

There were murmurs of assent and amazement throughout the Gryffindors as they watched Harry, with a few “woah”s and “nice one Harry!” thrown in throughout the room. None of the Slytherins said anything, but most of their eyes were wide in astonishment as well.

*****

Severus certainly had not expected Potter to actually perform nonverbal magic, especially this early in his sixth year. He was used to Lupin and Minerva boasting about Potter’s skills in Defense, but he was truly surprised that Potter had taken it upon himself to learn non-verbal magic this year. Or did he manage to learn it last year? Most students couldn’t get a grasp on non-verbal magic until the end of sixth year, some couldn’t even pick it up until their 7th year.

This certainly was interesting to Severus. He had thought accounts of the boy’s magical powers had always been greatly embellished due to his celebrity status and the fact that the boy had fans fawning over him his entire life. And Dumbledore’s constant praise and softness for the boy made it difficult for Severus to trust even Dumbledore’s stories of the advanced magic the boy had performed over the past few years.

But somehow the boy had had enough discipline sometime over the past few months to consistently practice non-verbal magic? As lamentable of a potion-maker the boy was, Severus would’ve been skeptical if Minerva or Dumbledore had told him that, but when the boy performed non-verbal magic right in front of him in his own classroom, Severus could not deny the effort.

However, he could never admit he was slightly impressed to see Potter’s feat. Instead, he said, “Ten points from Gryffindor for uninstructed magic, Potter,” and was pleased to see the smug impression was wiped right off Potter’s face.

“Now then, everyone open your textbooks to page 2,” Severus announced.

*****

Chapter Text

Once Defense was over, the sixth-year Gryffindors sped back to their Common Room, everyone itching to applaud Harry for his non-verbal magic and also to see if it was true that he really didn’t speak anymore.

Harry had hoped to continue reading the latest chapter he started in his Potions book, but he quickly realized he would have no such luck when he returned to the Common Room.

“That was wicked what you did in class Harry!”

“I can’t believe you’re already casting nonverbal spells!”

“The look on Malfoy’s face-ha!”

“Stinks old Snape had to be such a bat, any respectable Defense teacher would’ve given you at least ten points for being able to do such advanced magic.”

Harry nodded and smiled to all the praises his housemates were lauding him, trying his best to look appreciative to all the compliments.

Eventually the praises subsided and everyone looked at Harry expectantly. Only a cough somewhere in the back broke the silence.

“So... it’s true then?” Neville said hesitantly. “Do you really not talk anymore - like at all?”

Harry nodded twice, hoping that would be enough for his housemates, but when he looked out into the common room and was met with looks of confusion, and possibly even some fear, he realized his housemates needed an explanation. “Better to just get it over with now before rumors start,” Harry thought.

Harry held up his index finger to the group in front of him to signal he needed a minute, then pulled out some parchment and his quill and bent over a table, writing quickly.

“Look guys, I can’t really explain it, but I don’t talk anymore, ok? I don’t know when or if I ever will so please don’t try to make me. I’ve been through so much over the past few years and it’s all taken a really heavy toll on me. And that’s all I feel like sharing.”

Harry passed his note to Ron and watched his friends’ faces as Ron read his note out loud. There was a lot of confusion and concerned looks at Harry, but for the most part, the group in front of him stayed quiet.

Harry was trying to figure out what they were thinking. Did they think he was just being dramatic? Refusing to talk to people to get attention? Or were they thinking about how messed up he must be to all of a sudden return to school a mute. He wasn’t quite sure how his classmates felt, because they were all just staring at him.

Eventually Neville spoke up, “We understand Harry, we’d never try to force ya to do something you’re not comfortable with. We’re all here for you.”

Harry was shocked when he was met with nods from his classmates and people echoing Neville:

“Yeah, it’s all good Harry.”

“We’re always here for you.”

“Hope everythings all right for you, Harry.”

Harry smiled appreciatively at his House-mates then waved goodbye and headed upstairs to his dorm.

*****

The Gryffindors watched Harry walk up the stairs, and only when they heard the door to the sixth year boys’ dormitory close did they all huddle up and start whispering about the recent Harry reveal.

“He’s just playing with us, right? Like he probably is a bit annoyed with all of us after last year when everyone was calling him a liar, but everyone knows You-Know-Who is back now, so everyone knows Harry is telling the truth,” Dean said.

“Yeah but a lot of people last year were calling Harry a liar, pretty much to his face,” Ron said, with a pointed look at Seamus. “You guys have to imagine the physical and mental toll that took on him. He saw Cedric killed by You-Know-Who, almost got killed by You-Know-Who himself, had to deal with everyone calling him a liar all last year, then almost got killed by You-Know-Who again last year!”

“We can’t blame him for the ways he’s coping this year,” Hermione added. “I think we owe it to him to support him and be there for him in this difficult time, and not be another source of stress for him.”

As the Gyffindors nodded in assent, Parvati asked, “But he’s still talking to you and Ron, right? You guys are his best friends.”

Hermione’s eyes glanced to Ron, who was wearing a pained expression. “No actually, he hasn’t spoken to us either. We’ve tried on the train and at meals, but he won’t even talk to us,” Hermione said sadly.

*****

Chapter Text

“Nice one, James!”

Harry and Sirius were dueling side by side, deflecting spells and casting their own at light speed. Harry was still reeling in Sirius’s compliment, thinking how impressed Sirius must be of him if he had mistakenly called him by his father’s name. Harry ducked to avoid a spell coming at him from the side, and that’s when he heard it.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The flash of green light faster than Harry could blink. He could feel the blood run cold in his body, paralyzed by fear. He wanted to scream, to curse, to yell, but nothing came out.

“Nice one, James!” still echoing in his head.

Sirius was fading into the veil, his face frozen as his body slid away. His godfather slipped away from him, not even leaving his body for Harry to cling to.

“James, James, James”. Sirius’s last word repeated through Harry’s head, reminding him once again of the father he was robbed of knowing and the godfather who was taken from him after he just barely got to know him.

Harry woke up panting and clutching his scar in pain. His heart was panging uncomfortably with grief and guilt. It was his fault he lost Sirius. His fault his godfather went to the Department of Mysteries in the first place. His foolishness had cost Sirius his life, and now Harry had to live with the knowledge that it was all his fault.

Harry missed his godfather, and missing Sirius made him think of his parents, causing another stab of pain in his heart. So many people had died for him, and for what? Why did so many people have to lose their lives to protect him? Harry wasn’t quite sure he was worth all these sacrifices.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands. He tried frantically to breathe in and out, in and out, until his heart rate had calmed down.

Why did his dreams insist on replaying such traumatic memories night after night? He couldn’t even begin to count the number of dreams he’s had where he would see Sirius, and then all too soon they were back in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius was slipping into the veil. Each dream was just as painful as the last, and Harry’s subconscious didn’t seem to be giving him a break from them.

Harry couldn’t fall back asleep now, too afraid of another awful dream ruining his night. He pulled on a hoodie, his shoes, and grabbed his wand, deciding to go for a wander about the castle. He thought briefly about bringing his invisibility cloak and his dad’s map, but for some reason Harry didn’t want them tonight. He just wanted to appreciate the silence of the castle.

Harry wandered about for a while, strolling aimlessly with his wand on a very dim Lumos, occasionally dashing down another corridor or Nox-ing his light when he thought he heard Mrs. Norris.

On the second floor he found a little cushioned window seat in the wall of the castle that he had never seen before. Harry climbed up, scooted close to the window, and pulled his hoodie over his knees like a little kid.

It was almost a full moon tonight, Harry could see. Which of course, made him think of Lupin, who had to be getting ready for another full moon, now with another one of his best friends dead. Sirius. Harry felt his heart constrict painfully again.

Determined not to cry now, Harry tried to push any thoughts of Sirius or Lupin from his head. Instead he just gazed out the window, thinking but not really. He just sort of stared out the window almost as if he was asleep with his eyes open. It was nice, admiring how quiet Hogwarts was when everyone in the castle was sleeping. That is, everyone except a certain Potions Master who had a proclivity for roaming the halls at night too.

Harry didn’t even realize Snape was patrolling the halls until he was standing right in front of Harry’s window seat, shining light from his wand in his face.

Ugh. Harry groaned internally. Of course of all the people in the castle, it had to be Snape who caught him the one time he decided to not bring his cloak or map.

“Look what we have here,” Snape said silky. “Another year the famous Harry Potter thinks the rules don’t apply to him. How surprising.”

Harry wished he could roll his eyes, but not wanting to get in even greater trouble than he probably was already in, he settled for scowling at Snape.

“What on Earth are you doing out of bed at this hour? And why are you on the second floor, so far from Gryffindor Tower?” Snape inquired.

Harry pulled his knees out of his hoodie and offered a shrug. When he looked up and saw Snape was not amused at his response Harry sighed and pointed at the window then made an “I don’t know” gesture. But even as he motioned, the flash of green light and Bellatrix’s cruel smile slipped to the front of his mind, and as he made eye contact with Snape, he got the feeling Snape was able to see the same surface thoughts as Harry was thinking.

Harry didn’t sense Snape cast Legilimens or any other spell that would allow him to enter his mind, but after their lessons last year, Harry had a hunch that Snape could see briefly in some people’s minds just through eye contact. It was unnerving, and Harry was correct that Snape had just seen glimpses of his nightmare.

Snape sneered. “Feeling sentimental about your godfather tonight are we? Still not a good reason to be out of bed at this hour.”

Harry shook his head and gestured wildly in front of him, thinking angrily “Stay out of my head!” but as he broke eye contact with Snape he wasn’t sure the man got the message.

After shaking his head Harry looked back up at Snape, who was beginning to look curiously at Harry.

“So it’s true then, what Miss. Granger provided in class. You have gone mute.” Snape said evenly.

Harry nodded, praying it was too dark for Snape to see how Harry’s cheeks flushed at being called a mute by his professor.

“Care to explain why?” Snape said, his greasy hair falling in front of his face as he stared down at Harry.

Harry shook his head determinedly, looking at Snape’s large nose rather than make eye contact with the man so he couldn’t slip into his mind again.

“Pity.” Snape said, in a voice that offered exactly no pity. “I guess that means you deserve a week’s detention.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. A week’s detention? On the first day of classes? Oh he wanted to murder Snape.

Snape smirked. “Oh yes, I do think a week’s detention will strongly discourage any other nighttime wanderings, and hopefully give you a chance to find that annoying voice of yours. You will report for your first detention at seven tomorrow in my office.”

Extremely annoyed, all Harry could do was nod as he climbed down from the window seat and made the trek back to Gryffindor Tower.

*****

Chapter Text

The next day at 6:59pm, Harry found himself in the dungeons, preparing for an awful detention with Snape.

He knocked on Snape’s office door and waited for the “Enter” before he opened the door.

“For your detention this evening you will be cutting and jarring flybeetles,” Snape said without preamble, as he gestured to the materials spread on the table in front of Harry. “Any questions?” Snape said with a smirk, obviously not expecting Harry to be able to answer him.

Harry took a piece of parchment out of his robe pocket that said “No, sir,” and held it to Snape with a smirk of his own. Harry relished in the surprised expression that overcame Snape’s face before his usual look of displeasure replaced it.

“Get to work Potter,” Snape snarled.

Harry pocketed his note and got to his task. They had brewed a few potions with flybeetles last year, so Harry already knew that Snape wanted all the legs cut off, then the shell cut in thirds before being dumped into glass containers.

It was boring and time consuming work, but work that Harry already knew how to do so at least he didn’t have to ask Snape for any instructions.

After he had about a half dozen jars filled, a thought jumped into Harry’s head. Snape had been appointed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position this year. He should have no need for a student to prep potions ingredients for him. So was this just a useless task that Snape had drummed up for Harry as a detention assignment, or was Snape still brewing potions for the school (or just for himself) even though he no longer was the Potions instructor in residence?

Harry knew Snape was very particular about his potions - he had seen the man in enough Potions classes over the past five years to know that - which apparently meant that he still preferred to brew his own potions rather than ask Professor Slughorn to do them for him.

In Harry’s brief encounters with the man, Professor Slughorn seemed like a knowledgeable enough professor in the art of Potions. Slughorn had been a bit disappointed the first Potions class this year when he realized Harry didn’t speak, but that didn’t stop him from holding Harry after class and eagerly sharing that his mother, Lily, had been one of his favorite students, and he was looking forward to seeing what Harry was capable of in his class, which caused Harry to blush and nod and smile awkwardly.

If Slughorn had taught his mother, Harry had deduced that he probably taught Snape as well, thinking about how he had seen his mother, father, and Snape in Snape’s memory last year and they all seemed about the same age.

Harry paused his knife to scrutinize Snape, wondering if the fact that Slughorn had been Snape’s own Potions professor was the reason, or part of the reason, that Snape didn’t want to ask the older man to brew a potion for him and would rather brew it himself.

Without looking up Snape said, “I don’t hear your knife moving Potter. Get back to work.”

With a start, Harry shook his head and resumed what he was doing.

*****

On the third day of his detentions, Snape had informed Harry that he would be juicing sopophorous beans into vials.

Although Snape had written him instructions on how to proceed, Harry frowned while reading them. Snape had instructed him to crush the bean with the flat side of the knife, then pour the juice into the glass vials. But in his Potions book he had been reading earlier, it said the most effective way to juice these types of beans was to cut the bean in half down the middle then squeeze the juice out.

He wondered despite himself if Snape had copied the instructions incorrectly, and didn’t want to be made to redo his detention because Snape had written the directions wrong.

Sighing, Harry pulled out some parchment and started to write his question to Snape.

“Excuse me sir, but why did you write to crush the bean with the flat side of the knife? My Potions textbook says the best way to get juice from a bean was to slice it down the middle and squeeze the juice out.”

Nervously, Harry walked up to Snape’s desk and gave a little cough to announce his presence.

“What is it Potter?” Snape snapped.

Harry handed his parchment to Snape and watched as Snape’s eyes scanned what Harry had written.

“So despite my best beliefs you do posses the ability to critically think,” Snape said, eyeing Harry.

Harry kept his expression neutral and waited for Snape to answer his question.

Seeing Harry wasn’t rising to his bait, Snape continued, “Your textbook is severely outdated and in need of an update. I figured out through my own experimentation several practices that are far more efficient than how your book requires you to do them, so I often employ them in readying ingredients on my own time or for students preparing ingredients for me in detentions.”

Harry frowned in confusion. He gestured for his parchment back and started scribbling another question once Snape handed it back to him.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us about your practices in class then, sir? Surely there were some things you thought the textbook got wrong.” Harry added to his parchment.

Harry passed the parchment back to Snape and could’ve sworn he saw the corners of Snape’s mouth imperceptibly twitch up.

“I thought about it every now and then, but so many students already have trouble following the directions when they are written in the book and written on the board,” Snape paused to give a pointed look to Harry, knowing they were both thinking of the many potions Harry had messed up because he rushed or didn’t properly read the directions. “So I didn’t want to stray away from the required text. Besides, the book isn’t necessarily wrong per say, I have just realized there are more efficient ways of doing things than the way your book lists them.”

Harry nodded, feeling like for the first time at Hogwarts, he had an understanding of just how smart Snape was if he was improving recipes and potions from an approved Hogwarts textbook.

He wrote a hasty “That makes sense, thank you sir” on his parchment before sitting back down to start draining the beans, making sure to do it Snape’s way, by crushing the beans with the blade of the knife first.

*****

Chapter Text

The first few days back at Hogwarts were uncomfortable, with everyone constantly asking Harry why he wouldn’t speak, or with Harry having to throw glances at Ron or Hermione during class waiting for them to explain to their teachers that Harry didn’t speak anymore. There was some initial confusion in his teachers’ faces when they learned this, but much to Harry’s relief no one pressed him on the subject, at least, not in front of the other students as Snape had.

Except after the first Transfiguration class, McGonagall asked Harry to stay after.

“Potter, a word,” she called. Harry laughed to himself, knowing McGonagall would give him many words but he would not reply with any words, verbally at least. Harry packed up his bag but left his notebook and quill in his hands, so he could reply to anything McGonagall asked him.

“It’s true then?” McGonagall asked as Harry approached the front of the classroom. “What Granger said, that you no longer speak?”

Harry nodded solemnly.

“Oh, oh Potter,” McGonagall said, her face falling into a curtain of sadness, before she masked it by putting on a front of concern. “I understand recent events - especially those that happened at the end of last term - have been difficult for you, but how do you expect to practice anything in Transfiguration if you don’t talk?”

Harry opened his notebook to the notes he had written already, expecting that McGonagall would ask him this.

“I was already practicing non-verbal magic last year, and when I stopped talking this year, it just made it easier for me to cast spells without talking. I just say the spell in my head instead of out loud.”

Harry watched McGonagall’s eyes read through his note, and saw her mouth form a surprised “o”.

“Non-verbal magic is quite advanced magic for a first-term sixth-year,” McGonagall said. “Can you show me proof of your claims?”

Harry nodded, putting his quill on the empty table behind him and pulling his wand out of his pocket.

With a wave of his wand, Harry turned his quill into a beautiful white dove, flapping its feathers on the table.

Before the dove could fly away, Harry levitated the dove up a few feet in the air, then in a circle, then back to the table, casting another non-verbal spell on the bird to turn it back into his quill before the bird flew away.

McGonagall gasped. “My, Potter, I had no idea you were capable of performing such advanced magic. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry grinned and McGonagall’s features softened, being reminded just how young this boy was, and how rarely she saw him genuinely happy now.

“Well, I believe that is enough for me to see you should not have any problems casting Transfiguration spells non-verbally this year,” McGonagall stated. “I won’t press, but you know I’m always here for you, right Potter?” She added gently.

Harry nodded and offered her a half smile.

“Alright, now run along to your next class, here I’ll write you a note.”

*****

At the end of each day that first week, it was almost a relief for Harry to head to the dungeons for his detentions with Snape. He had very quickly grown tired of everyone in the Common Room shooting him furtive glances, almost as if everyone hoped to be the one to catch Harry talking. Seamus, Dean, and a few others had even tried on more than one occasion, insisting, “Just say a few words like old times, Harry, we won’t tell anyone outside of the Tower,” but Harry would just shake his head and move with his homework somewhere else. Everyone had claimed they understood and were there for him, but they all still wanted to be the one to get Harry to talk, which was extremely annoying.

It had only been a week and he was already fed up with everyone’s attention on him. How was it that when he didn’t engage in conversions, people seemed to want to converse with him more, and looked at him and tried to include him more? Why couldn’t anyone get the hint that he didn’t want to talk to them, and he really didn’t care if he was included either.

At least when he was in detentions with Snape, the man seemed to accept Harry’s silence now. Probably preferred that he was mute than when he was constantly snipping with him or testing his patience. Aside from a snarky comment about Harry’s weak potion-making skills every once in a while, Snape’s comments now had very little bite to Harry. He couldn’t make any disparaging remarks about Harry’s performance in Defense since Harry was excellent in Defense, so the man seemed to know he could only insult Harry by insulting his potion-making skills. Which was annoying, because now Harry was better at Potions, so it wasn’t even that he was bad at Potions in the past, he just had no interest in the subject so he didn’t give it his full attention. However, the man could throw an insult in Harry’s face and he knew Harry would just sit there and take it, but then he would have to move on.

Harry’s grades had never been Hermione-level good, but he did feel - at least in the first few days - that he was enjoying his classes rather than struggling through them, and might even be able to make this year his highest Potions grade yet.

The first couple of Potions classes had gone surprisingly well, and Harry was really proud of how well his Potions were turning out now that he was properly reading and understanding the material. And he had to admit, having a Potions professor who let him brew in peace all class then heaped on compliments when Harry produced an adequate potion, didn’t hurt. Potions just might end up being his favorite class this year.

After Snape explained the other night that he himself had figured out ways to improve the Potions listed in his textbook, Harry was increasingly curious to ask Snape’s opinion on if he thought there were other Potions recipes or practices that could be improved. But he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up to the man.

He thought his relationship with Snape could move in a better direction this year. After being kicked out of his god-awful Occlumency lessons last year, Harry focused so much of his anger and private vitriol on Snape. But he had a lot of time to reflect over the summer, and realized his assumptions about the man may not have been entirely fair.

Sure, the guy was still a proper git, being such a stickler for petty titles, and itching to take points away from Gryffindor at any moment, but he did try to save Sirius last year. After Dumbledore told him last year about how Snape had called to check in on Sirius after Harry gave Snape his cryptic message in Umbridge’s office, Harry refused to believe him for weeks. It was easier for him to push the blame on Snape being a jerk to him and a jerk to Sirius which had caused Sirius’s death.

But one day in the summer with nothing to do but dwell on his thoughts, Harry found acceptance in Dumbledore’s claim. He believed that Snape had warned Sirius, and if it hadn’t been for his own foolishness in racing to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius might still be alive. Harry couldn't quite recall the exact moment he stopped speaking to the Dursleys over the summer, but it feels appropriate that it was around when he had this realization.

*****

Chapter Text

A week after term began, Harry was on his way to the dungeons for his final detention with Snape.

As Harry entered Snape’s office, he found Snape furiously marking papers at his desk.

“Shut the door behind you,” Snape said in Harry’s direction. “There are a dozen cauldrons on the counter you will be scrubbing tonight. Without magic, of course.”

Harry held up his “Yes, sir” piece of parchment and walked over to inspect the cauldrons.

They appeared to be coated in either the remains of pepper-up potions or fever-reducer potions Harry deduced, surprising himself as he figured that out.

Harry dropped his bag, rolled up the sleeves of his robe, and got to scrubbing. Although he would never admit it, scrubbing cauldrons was one of the better detentions Harry could get. He had become a pro at scrubbing grease bubbles, fried egg remains, or soup-stained pots at his aunt and uncle’s, and knew when to scrub dry versus when to scrub wet and just how much soap it would take to get the stains out. He also could tell just by looking at a stain how long he should let it soak in warm, soapy water to help loosen any remains stuck to the inside of the cauldron.

The constant strain on his forearms was almost soothing in a way; Harry tirelessly scrubbing back and forth, back and forth, allowed little room for him to think about unpleasant things or face reality. Before he knew it, Harry was on the last cauldron, and once he got all the gunk out he set off on drying each cauldron until they were practically sparkling.

Snape had left him alone since the beginning of the detention, which Harry was extremely thankful for as he didn’t have to deal with the older man breathing down his neck and was able to just focus on the cauldrons.

Once the cauldrons were dry and lined up on the counter, Harry wrote in his notebook “I finished cleaning the cauldrons, sir” and walked over to show his notebook to Snape.

“Already? Why it’s only been,” Snape paused to look at the clock on his desk, “Barely over an hour.”

Harry shrugged then wrote in his open notebook “They’re all done, you can check.”

“Oh I will,” Snape sneered. “Stay here.”

Snape went off to inspect the cauldrons, peering into and sticking a long finger inside and around each cauldron. But Harry could see that the man's finger was not met with a single spec of dirt when he would remove it. The professor even cast a Lumos with his wand to better see the inside of the cauldrons, but he still was unable to find anything to flag.

With a flick of his wand, Snape extinguished his light then sent the cauldrons flying back into the cupboards leaving the counter clear.

Snape turned to face Harry and reluctantly admitted, “Very well Potter, the cauldrons are clean to my satisfaction. You are dismissed.”

Harry nodded and scooped up his bag and headed for the door. Though just when he was an arm's length away from the door, Harry turned around and looked at Snape with an odd expression on his face, almost as if there was something right on the tip of his tongue he was itching to get out.

“What, Potter?” Snape snapped.

Harry imperceptibly jumped at Snape’s tone, then must have decided against whatever he was going to ask, and simply shook his head, then turned to duck out the door.

*****

“Stupid, stupid!” Harry thought to himself as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He finished his detention fairly early and had a perfectly good opportunity to ask Snape about improving potions recipes, but he chickened out.

When Harry opened his Advanced Potion Making textbook at breakfast the first day of classes, he just had opened it as a way to occupy his thoughts and to look busy with something. But he was surprised to learn just how interesting it really was. Besides the actual Potions recipes, the book had theory and history of where the potions ingredients were found, and all the different types of purposes the potions could be used for.

He was so used to skimming his Potions textbook in the past to just look for answers to assignments or bits of the book that related to his essays. But the more he read through his book, it was like a fascinating story and a magical cookbook all in one. How did it take him so long to realize that?

With a pang of regret, Harry realized he could’ve probably fared far better marks in Potions his past five years, even with Snape always breathing down his neck, if he had just done his assigned readings and followed the instructions more closely.

And despite himself, Harry was still curious about what other potions Snape had modified from the textbooks, and how Snape had even discovered those skills. Did the man start experimenting while he was still at Hogwarts? Or was potion experimentation something required of a Potions Master before they earn that title?

Professor Slughorn on the other hand, did everything exactly by the book. He made sure all his students knew that they were going to be following the approved textbook to a T, and that his class was not the time or place to do any experimentation in any potions.

Harry had once stayed after Professor Slughorn’s class and wrote a polite note, asking if the man ever modified any potions from the textbook, and Slughorn told him absolutely not, explaining that the textbook was the best source of instructions for them to have. That disappointed Harry, as he was hoping Slughorn had some tricks to share that he'd learnt in all his years of making potions. He certainly was older than Snape, but it seemed his years didn't equate to the same skills and innovation in the Potions-field that Snape possessed.

Well, unless he got another detention with Snape preparing potions ingredients, Harry was just going to have to keep wondering about what other potions the man could have improved upon.

*****

Harry had grown quite comfortable keeping his head down and his mouth closed, thank you very much. He was relieved when people finally stopped with the, “So Harry, feel like talking yet?”

No he didn’t, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. But people had come to accept Harry’s silence as the term went on. He suspected either Ron or Hermione, or possibly even some of the teachers had spread the story of how Voldemort tried to kill Harry (yet again) in the Department of Mysteries, and that combined with an incredibly difficult year with Dolores Umbridge had left Harry traumatized in ways no one else could possibly understand.

No one outside of his friends knew that he was still grieving Sirius, as it would be too hard to explain to others why Harry was grieving an escaped criminal.

But Harry knew, and the pain he still felt when thinking of Sirius didn’t get any easier. Every once in a while Harry would catch himself having a small laugh or smile at something someone had said, and then just as fast as the joy entered his face, it would disappear.

It made him feel awful whenever he had a moment of joy, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how Sirius would never laugh, or smile, or do anything ever again. And it was all his fault. How was he expected to not feel awful every waking minute of the day?

Being mute made it slightly easier to get by, because he participated less in conversations and as such heard less jokes and shared less joyful moments with his friends. But he had grown to prefer his solace.

Being at Hogwarts and not speaking, only listening was a really interesting thing. There were no longer any expectations of Harry at meals to provide his input in conversations, and because of all the time he spent reading, he actually didn’t have many homework questions to ask Hermione anymore.

He still appreciated his friends for being there for them in that way only they could, but Harry could tell they both wanted him to snap out of whatever was going on with him and talk, but Harry couldn’t. How was he just supposed to coax words back into his throat, to make himself talk as if it was nothing? Maybe he wasn't meant to talk anymore, maybe this was one way he could pay tribute to Sirius. He still existed, sure, but he didn't have to talk.

One night after Harry had finished his homework in the Common Room and had bid his friends goodnight, he was halfway up the stairs before he realized he forgot one of his books. As he turned back to head back down the stairs, he stopped in his tracks when he heard Hermione giggling.

“No Ron,” Hermione got out in between fits of giggles, “You had the voice all wrong. You have to add the zaniness into your voice, ‘Why Miss. Granger! How awful the lines of your palm are! Have you ever even tried moisturizer? It might make your palm lines resemble a young lady’s rather than a sphynx cat’.” Hermione finished in what must have been her Professor Trelawney impression.

Harry didn’t quite see what was so funny about it, but saw that Ron and Hermione obviously found it hilarious, as they were sitting side by side on the couch now and Hermione was clutching Ron’s knee as she was bent over laughing. Harry also took notice of how relaxed Ron’s face was, with a sense of joy he never seemed to have anymore when he was around Harry.

Harry felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He decided against interrupting Ron and Hermione for his book, deciding to get it in the morning tomorrow, and headed upstairs to get ready for bed.

*****

Chapter Text

Although the first one in bed, it took Harry ages to fall asleep. He got in bed plenty early and tried to calm his mind, but he was still awake to hear each of his roommates come up and climb into their respective beds one after another.

After the breathing of the other four boys evened out, Harry sighed and threw the covers off himself. He needed a little night time wandering, and he didn’t intend to get caught this time.

Harry quietly put his shoes and hoodie on, then grabbed his cloak, map, and wand then headed out the portrait hole of Gryffindor Tower.

Checking the map, he spotted Snape on his rounds on the first floor, so he had either just begun or was just finishing. Throwing the cloak over his head, Harry set off on his stroll, going down a few flights of stairs, then aimlessly wandering down the corridors.

When he got to what he thought was the fifth floor, Harry started looking for a place to sit. Almost as if the castle had heard him, a cushioned window seat, similar to the one he had found on the second floor, appeared a few paces in front of him. Harry grinned. The castle truly was marvelous sometimes.

Harry settled himself in the window seat, pulled his hoodie over his knees, and adjusted his cloak to make sure he was still completely concealed. He checked his map again and found that Snape was now on the second floor, but as long as Harry stayed covered by his invisibility cloak Snape wouldn’t spot him.

Harry looked out the window and in the silence of the castle he finally felt he could address some of his thoughts.

“Should I start talking again?” Harry thought to himself. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready to. Everything feels easier when I can be quiet. No one expects much of me, everyone just sees me as some traumatized mess. The teachers all think I could break if they push too hard, so no one pushes me anymore, or makes me do anything difficult.”

“But I also kind of hate everyone for treating me like that. No one believed me when I said Voldemort killed Cedric. No one believed me when I said Voldemort was back, even though I saw him in the graveyard that night,” Harry thought bitterly.

“But now, because the blasted Minister saw Voldemort right in front of his own damn eyes, people finally believe me. People feel bad for me, or pity me, or think I’m a weak, depressed mess now, but I’m still the same Harry no one believed last year.”

“But am I even the same Harry as I was last year? Last year’s Harry Potter who stood up to Dolores Umbridge time and time again would never get so lost in his own grief he would lose his ability to speak. Can I even get my ability to speak back after being mute so long?”

Harry reached both hands into his hair and pulled it in frustration.

He opened his mouth experimentally to try a verbal “Hello”, but surprised even himself when nothing came out. Harry kept trying to speak, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before he realized he couldn’t form words.

Harry had thought that his being mute was his choice. He thought he had given up speaking as his own way of grieving Sirius while also punishing himself for being what caused Sirius’s death. He thought he could just turn the switch back on, and he would be able to talk and jump back into his old Harry self normally. But he couldn’t.

“Why am I like this?” Harry screamed in his head. “What’s wrong with me? Speak you freak, speak!”

Harry sat there for a while, with his hands in his hair and his head resting on his knees as he continued to fight his inner demons. He was so in his head, he didn’t even notice the quiet footsteps approaching.

“I know you’re there Potter,” Snape said suddenly, with his wand casting a dim light at the window seat. “Remove your cloak at once.”

Harry didn’t dare to breathe. How on Earth did Snape find him? Not moving a muscle, his eyes glanced around his peripheral vision only to confirm every part of him was covered by his cloak. Harry frowned. Maybe if he didn’t remove his cloak Snape would think he was mistaken and go investigate somewhere else.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said in a low, dangerous voice, “Remove your cloak or I will spell you and remove it myself.”

Not in the mood to deal with being spelled, Harry groaned and removed his invisibility cloak, bunching it under his armpit as he pulled his knees out of his hoodie. He looked wildly at Snape, willing him to answer Harry’s obvious question, “How did you find me?”

“Your thoughts were being quite loud tonight,” Snape said matter-of-factly, “Since I assume you were screaming in your head, it was as if your magic was screaming from this location in a way only another Legilimens could sense. I heard you from a few floors down and came up to investigate.”

Harry looked abashed, and pointed at his own head then at Snape’s, curious to find out how much Snape had heard.

“I didn’t hear everything that went on in that head of yours,” Snape said, “But I did… hear enough to get an idea.”

Snape cleared his throat. “The Headmaster along with the rest of your teachers are under the assumption that you are mute by choice. That you were taking your own time to grieve your godfather, but that you would eventually snap out of it and begin speaking again.” Snape fixed Harry with a look. “Although I think we both know now that is not the case.”

Harry felt a sense of shame prickling up his neck and into his ears.

“Professor Dumbledore will be most displeased to find out that your muteness is something you have no control over, and the fact that we are already well into the school year and you have not once asked for help from him or from any of your teachers,” Snape chastised.

Snape paused to take in Harry’s bashful expression with a smirk.

“In cases like your own, it would be typical for the student in question to be removed from Hogwarts and sent on a rather extended stay to St. Mungo's to be healed by a Mind Healer,” Snape said.

Harry visibly reacted with a startled expression. Him? Taken out of Hogwarts and made to live in St. Mungo's like a mental case? This sounded like a nightmare.

“Although, as I’m sure you are quite aware, with the Dark Lord’s return made public, Professor Dumbledore is adamant that the safest place for you is at Hogwarts. I have already proposed shipping you off to St. Mungo's when I first learned of your muteness, but regrettably, the Headmaster rejected such an idea,” Snape sneered.

In a silky voice, Snape continued, “Though there is a way we can try to get you speaking again that does not involve you leaving Hogwarts,” which made Harry’s ears perk up.

“We would have to resume Occlumency lessons,” Snape said.

Harry couldn’t help how fast his face fell.

“Occlumency lessons went so horribly the last time,” Harry thought to himself glumly. “I didn’t get any better and didn’t learn anything. Why on Earth would I want to continue?”

Snape cleared his throat again, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. “I would like to think that we have both ah-matured since the events of our Occlumency lessons last year, Potter. I’ve heard that you’ve been getting exceptional marks in all your classes so far - apparently even Potions, which I don’t have the faintest idea how you’re managing that - along with already having mastered non-verbal magic. If you are able to put a modicum more of effort into Occlumency lessons this year I see no reason for them not to go better than they did last year.”

Harry’s mind was racing a million miles an hour as he quickly tried to weigh the pros and cons. Snape? In his head? The man who had bullied and belittled him for five years as his Potions teacher, and had made Occlumency lessons torture just last year was offering those same lessons to Harry again? He was actually suggesting Harry allow him to poke and prod in his mind and see his deepest, darkest, most painful memories? And after last year, Harry had a lot more painful memories that he did not want to re-live, let alone have Snape view them as well.

But this was also a member of the Order, Harry realized. A man with Dumbledore’s absolute trust, and a man who was able to spy so convincingly on Voldemort for years. And, a small part of Harry knew that Snape had been the one to ensure Sirius’s safety last year when Harry relayed to him his cryptic note. Snape had warned Sirius even though he had hated the man; it was Harry’s own mistake that got Sirius killed.

Harry turned to face Snape again and fixed him with a look, waiting to see if Snape had anything else to say, or maybe a snide comment to add. When Snape didn’t say anything further Harry sighed and nodded in Snape’s direction, all the while nervously running his hand through his hair at the prospect of having Snape in his mind again.

“Very good then, I shall inform the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall of your extra lessons we are set to resume,” Snape said as Harry pulled out his wand.

Harry transfigured a piece of lint on the window seat into a piece of parchment, and ripped a thread off his hoodie to turn it into a quill. He started writing as Snape continued talking.

“Now, I do seem to remember I told you the last time I caught you out after curfew that this was not to happen again,” Snape said as his lips curled up unpleasantly.

Before he could finish his thought Harry thrust his parchment at Snape.

“Please sir, if we’re resuming Occlumency lessons, and I really want to try and do it right this time, won’t that mean I won’t have any time for detentions?”

Snape's features twisted into a look of annoyance.

“Fine then, fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor as punishment for being out after curfew,” Snape said.

Harry internally grimaced at losing his house such a large amount of points, but otherwise did not react.

“Report to my office at seven in the evening tomorrow and every Tuesday after for our resumed Occlumency lessons,” Snape said sharply. “Now, back to your dormitory.”

Harry nodded and scuffled out of the window seat. He was not overly enthused at the idea of having Snape in his head again, but figured he had to try something to find his voice again.

*****

Chapter Text

The next evening, Harry could barely eat anything at dinner. He was too nervous about resuming his Occlumency lessons with Snape. Harry had gotten…used to Snape again after Sirius’s death. He understood the man’s position in the Order, and decided to believe what Lupin had said so many times, “If Dumbledore trusts Snape then so do I.”

That didn’t make it easier to deal with the man when he was being a proper git in DADA, or how he kept finding Harry when Harry was out after curfew, but he managed. But Harry knew he had to be a git to students, especially the Gryffindors because the Slytherins students probably would tell their Death Eater parents if Snape was anything but to the Gryffindors.

Which was why Harry was getting progressively more nervous about the idea of having Snape in his head again. Now that Harry was mute, he never stood up to Snape in class, never talked back or spoke out of turn to the man. There was a comfortable distance between the two of them forming. Harry had begun to notice that it was mostly students chatting and not working on the task at hand that would draw the source of Snape’s ire in class, causing him to snap and assign detentions or take points. Well, Snape didn’t have to worry about Harry being distracted and chatting in class, that’s for sure.

Harry just showed up in DADA, completed all his spells and assignments nonverbally, and left. He personally thought the teachers should have nothing to complain about regarding his silence. But that thought was mostly just Harry trying to ignore the bigger issue…

When it was getting close to seven and Harry could no longer put it off, he waved bye to his friends and set off for the dungeons.

Harry knocked on Snape’s office door and once he heard the “Enter,” from Snape he took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

Much to Harry’s surprise, Snape wasn’t at the Pensieve depositing his memories or even furiously grading papers when Harry walked in. He was sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled in front of him, merely watching Harry enter.

“Sit, Potter,” Snape said as he gestured at the chair in front of his desk.

Harry sat down, easing his notebook and quill out of his bag and onto his lap before depositing his bag on the floor. Harry looked at Snape expectantly, waiting for him to direct the conversation.

“Somehow over the past few months you have lost the ability to speak. Whether it is by accident, on purpose, due to grief, or some other issue you have, I am not sure. But I do know that Occlumency has been used in the past to help victims of traumatic events move past the events and come to terms with them.”

“Similarly to last year, I will attempt to penetrate your mind. You will attempt to resist. Your attempts to resist will work to strengthen your mind and senses, and as such restoring strength to the voice that you lost.”

Harry made a confused face, willing Snape to explain further.

Snape sighed. “As you work to guard your mind from outsider penetration, you will become more in touch with your own mind and senses. Your mind is yours and yours alone; as you aim to protect it from me entering it, it will take incredible mental concentration. If you are able to divert that much energy into the mental focus of Occlumency, you should then be able to divert your mental energy into speaking.”

Snape paused and fixed Harry with a look. “Have you practiced Occlumency at all since our lessons last year?” Snape said suddenly.

This question took Harry by surprise and he felt a twinge of embarrassment creep up on him as he shook his head no.

As Harry opened his notebook and started to write, Snape put his fingers on his eyebrows and sighed. “Of course you haven’t. Why would I have expected any less from you?”

At this, Harry looked up to glare at Snape briefly before he finished what he was writing then showed Snape his notebook.

“I have sort of tried to wall off my thoughts and emotions right before I sleep sometimes, but then when I’m asleep I have such vivid dreams and I wake up either from a nightmare or with such strong feelings of certain emotions.”

Snape read what Harry wrote and stroked his chin while he thought. “Interesting. When you have these vivid dreams, do you speak in them?” he asked Harry.

Now it was Harry’s turn to think. He briefly considered before he wrote:

“I don’t think so. A lot of my dreams are nightmares of my past or visions I see through Voldemort’s eyes. The focus is more on the other people in my dreams.”

“What are your nightmares typically of?” Snape inquired.

Harry blushed then offered a half-hearted shrug, not really wanting to tell Snape his awfully personal nightmares.

Snape made a noise of displeasure. “Potter,” he said. “I am sacrificing my free evenings on lessons with you with the hope that they will break you out of this miserable, depressive episode you are stuck in. The Headmaster does not wish for you to take up residence in St. Mungo's, but if being institutionalized in a mental hospital for Merlin knows how long is more preferable to you then having one Occlumecy lesson a week, then so be it,” Snape finished with a sneer.

Harry blushed harder and started to stand up, already rethinking his decision and deciding it would be best he left before he wasted more of Snape’s time. Harry grabbed his bag and pointed towards the door, then gestured his head in that direction, signaling he was going to go.

“Sit down, foolish boy,” Snape snapped in a tone that made Harry freeze. “Problems don’t get solved because you are too frightened to buckle up when the going gets tough. You think your blessed godfather ran away at the first sign of trouble?”

Harry stiffened at the mention of Sirius.

“Of course not. Even he knew that his role was to stay out of sight and out of mind, no matter how difficult it was for him to stay locked up in his home. Time and time again he wanted to leave and be part of the action beyond his four walls, but even he managed to restrain himself when a difficult task was asked of him. It was only the idea that you might be in trouble that convinced him to run straight into trouble. Now sit down and write what your nightmares are of before I lose the last of my patience,” Snape finished, now on his feet and glaring at Harry as he pointed at Harry’s seat.

Defeated and feeling numb after Snape’s rant, Harry slumped back into his chair, dropping his bag to the floor as he picked up his quill and began to write.

“Cedric in the graveyard. Green light and my mum’s scream. Bellatrix and Sirius. Sometimes a vision that Ron and Hermione are in trouble and no matter what I do I won't be able to save them.”

Harry turned his notebook around and looked down as he scuffed his shoes against the floor, embarrassed despite himself to be writing down his nightmares for Snape. Even though the man had been inside his head multiple times last year and had seen plenty of Harry’s embarrassing moments, discussing this sort of stuff with his dark and surly professor didn’t get any easier.

*****

Snape was being pulled into one of Harry's memories.

Harry was running down the stairs at Grimmauld Place, laughing as Ron pulled the hood of his sweatshirt to pull him back. As the boys reached the landing Hermione emerged from the kitchen and said, “Ah Harry! Sirius wants to show you something in the kitchen.” Harry beamed and pulled his sweatshirt down as he headed into the kitchen.

Harry didn’t feel Snape intentionally passing through that particular memory on his way to the next one, but that particular memory ended rather abruptly. It was as if Harry's memory of Sirius talking to him had disappeared from his memory. The conversation he had with Sirius as well as his memory of Sirius waiting in the kitchen had vanished.

“Time for Harry Hunting,” a large round face jeered in Harry’s direction. An overwhelming sense of fear began to cloud the memory as sounds of footsteps chasing and shouts faded into the background as Harry’s heart beat faster and faster.

Harry’s fear was mounting quicker and quicker. The memory of Harry Hunting felt too real, and it was too much to see Dudley and his gang in his memory after he had worked so hard to try to forget them.

Harry could outrun Dudley - he’d done so dozens of times - but they always caught up to him eventually. His dread and fear were growing by the second.

Harry had to get out, had to make this memory end. Harry tried desperately to clear his head, to think no thoughts, but it wasn’t working. All he could hear were Dudley and his gang closing in on him. He had to escape this memory.

He nonverbally cast a stinging hex and an instant later felt Snape end the spell.

Snape was rubbing his arm where the hex hit him and accio’d a potion to make the pain subside.

Harry was bent over wincing and clutching his head, obviously in pain after the invasion of his headspace.

“An abysmal effort Potter,” Snape sneered.

Harry looked up to glare daggers at Snape for a second, before wincing in pain and grasping his head again.

“Not the slightest attempt to block me from your memories or “wall off” anything in your mind you don’t want seen. Pathetic.”

Harry threw up his arms in exasperation and his mouth dropped.

Harry’s mind was going a million miles an hour. “Well maybe if you explained like a proper professor how I’m supposed to block you from my mind I would be more successful! You just invade my mind like a proper git, viewing all my awful memories and making me feel awful! No wonder it’s hard for me to block you after viewing all that!”

But none of that came out. Cheeks flushed with anger, Harry stared at his teacher with his mouth moving, willing the angry words to spew out. But none of them came.

To Harry’s frustration, Snape looked amused at the sight of Harry, bursting with rage, trying desperately to convey his anger with Snape, yet not able to make the words come out.

“Why, if you have something to say, your notebook is right there,” Snape said nonchalantly as he pointed to Harry’s notebook.

Harry grabbed his notebook and started writing quickly, trying to translate his angry thoughts onto the paper. After he got a few lines of his rant written, Snape made an impatient noise causing Harry to look up.

“I would think very carefully about what you want to write to me, Potter. Allowing you to waste time filling your page with insults and curse words towards me is not an effective use of these lessons. If you wish to moan and sulk to your paper, fine by me, but then please frequent somewhere else for such activity,” Snape finished dryly.

Harry quickly glanced over the awful words and complaints he had been furiously scribbling and felt abashed. He quickly turned the page in his notebook, hoping Snape hadn’t read too much of what he had written. Harry’s anger deflated and he just stared at the blank sheet of paper.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Snape asked with a smirk.

Harry pressed his lips into a straight line.

“Now then, let’s try that again. Legilimens!”

*****

Chapter Text

“Harry! Harry help!”

“Harry!”

“Harry HELP!”

Ron. Hermione. Harry could hear them but he couldn’t see them. Their voices were just out of reach, but he could hear the desperation in their voices. Like they were scared for their lives.

Harry was sprinting through the halls of the Department of Mysteries, head switching left to right to stay alert for any Death Eaters coming at him from the side. He glanced behind and saw a Death Eater about to curse him, so he turned down a row and cast a spell to topple the shelves behind him.

Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione. Where were they?

Harry kept racing down the corridors, thinking he must be getting closer to his friends. He was running so fast he actually passed them at first; he had to skid back on his heels to face his friends down a corridor.

There was Lucius Malfoy with his arm around Ron’s neck. And Bellatrix Lestrange with her arm even tighter around Hermione’s neck. Both of them grinning triumphantly as they aimed their wands at Harry.

Harry could see the fear in both his friends’ faces, no matter how hard they were trying to hide it.

“Harry help us!” Ron shouted as he tried to pull Lucius’s arm off his neck, which earned him a punch to the gut causing Ron to howl in pain.

“Ron!” Hermione cried, as she attempted to wiggle out of Bellatrix’s grip to no avail.

‘Ah ah ah, I don’t think so little missy,” Bellatrix said, as she tightened her grip on Hermione and jammed the end of her wand right into Hermione’s cheek. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Hermione’s terrified eyes pleaded with Harry to do something.

As Harry took a few steps closer to his friends, Harry could see Death Eaters emerging from the shadows behind Lucius and Bellatrix. He didn’t want to look behind him and turn his back to Lucius and Bellatrix, but through the sides of his peripheral vision, Harry could see more Death Eaters creating a ring around them.

The blood ran cold in Harry’s body as he tried his best not to let the fear show on his face. Harry forced his head up, and shoulders back.

“Let my friends go!” Harry tried to shout. But nothing came out.

“Oh, no objection?” Bellatrix said playfully. “Seems like Potter is just fine with us hanging on to his friends for a bit.”

Harry furiously shook his head and tried to object, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. This was infuriating! He needed to talk, needed desperately to talk, yet he couldn’t.

With the hand of the arm she had around her neck, Bellatrix grabbed Hermione’s chin and forced her to look her in the eyes. “I have plans for this little Mudblood,” she said chillingly, and Harry could see Hermione stiffen in fear. Her eyes were wide and looking desperately to Harry, begging for help.

Harry put his hands together in his best attempt at a beg. He wished he could offer Bellatrix words, assurance of some kind that if she let Hermione and Ron go, they could have him instead, but he physically couldn’t get that out. So he tried to look as desperate as he could as he motioned between his friends then to himself, trying to convey the message: “me for them.”

“I suppose we could work something out,” Bellatrix said lazily. “But the Dark Lord said we could have a little fun first,” and she shot a grin at Lucius.

Lucius met her eyes, and in an instant he released Ron, pushing the boy forward as he stumbled, confused trying to figure out why he was just released.

Ron looked at Harry then back at Lucius, and as his head turned to look at Lucius, Bellatrix took her opportunity.

“Avada Kedavra!” She cried, ripping her wand away from Hermione’s cheek, while still holding Hermione tightly with her other arm.

“No!” Hermione screamed as she saw the flash of green light and Ron’s body collapsed to the floor. Harry’s jaw dropped in shock and he felt all the blood in his body run cold.

Harry raced over to Ron, shaking his body, willing him to move, to breathe, to make a sound.

“No, no, no,” Harry thought to himself, the tears now flowing freely down his face. His best friend in the world was gone, and it was all his fault.

“Actually,” Bellatrix said, breaking into Harry’s breakdown, “I don’t have any need for a filthy Mudblood after all.”

Bellatrix released Hermione and shoved her forward as she held up her wand, ready for a repeat of the spell she had just cast on Ron.

“No!” Harry cried, but it was too late. Hermione’s body had crumpled to the floor.

As Bellatrix let out a hoot of glee, Harry was frozen. He wanted to scream in frustration, to cry out for the loss of his friends, but he couldn’t. Harry felt his knees hit the floor and his vision became blurry. He could make out the lifeless figures of his friends on the ground in front of him, just out of his reach…

“Harry! Harry!” came Ron’s voice. No, that couldn’t be right. Harry just saw Ron die. How could he hear his voice?

“Harry wake up! Harry wake up!” There it was again. Ron’s voice.

Harry could feel the sensation of being shaken as the scene in front of him disappeared, and he was thrust into darkness.

“Wake up!” Ron’s voice again, now more urgent.

There seemed to be light somewhere behind the darkness. Harry fought to reach it. The darkness was slipping behind him as he could feel the light enveloping him, bringing him up.

Harry opened his eyes and sat straight up. He was in his bed, in the Gryffindor dorm, with his dormmates all in their pajamas wide-eyed surrounding his bed.

“Are you alright, mate?” Ron asked from his left, the worry evident in his voice. “You were thrashing pretty violently for a while there.”

Ron! Harry felt the lump in his throat growing again as he remembered the sight he had just seen of Ron’s lifeless body.

Harry turned and grabbed Ron’s stomach, thrusting his arms around his friend, not even caring that the angle was awkward and the other boys were watching, because he had to feel Ron and know he was really there and still alive. He needed to hear his heart beating against his head and feel the soft rise and fall of Ron’s chest over and over again.

Ron reached down and gently patted Harry’s sweat-stained back, letting Harry hold on for as long as he needed.

After quite a few seconds had passed and Harry had yet to let go of Ron’s stomach Ron said, “Uh, I think I’ve got this now that Harry’s awake. You guys can go back to bed, I’m sure Harry doesn’t want everyone gawking at him,” Ron said pointedly to Neville, Dean, and Seamus.

Seamus was staring at Harry, so Dean pulled his arm, forcing Seamus back into his own bed. Neville still looked deeply concerned, but it was obvious he didn’t know what to say in that situation, so he drew the curtains around Harry’s bed to give the two boys some privacy before he climbed back into his own bed.

Once they heard the other boys climb back into their beds and draw their curtains, Ron asked Harry softly, “Nightmare?”

Harry nodded his face into Ron’s stomach. Belatedly, Harry realized he must’ve woken up crying, because the front of Ron’s shirt was all wet where Harry’s face was.

Harry dropped his arms and took his face away from Ron’s stomach and he swiped at his tears and quickly dragged his sleeve across his nose.

Ron moved to sit down next to Harry in his bed as Harry shuffled over a bit.

“Was it You-Know-Who again?” Ron asked quietly, knowing Voldemort was an all-to-often recurrence in Harry’s dreams.

Harry shook his head numbly, staring at his hands which he had been twisting on top of his covers.

“Was it Sirius?”

Harry shook his head again, still not able to quite meet Ron’s eyes.

“Oh,” Ron said as he seemed to pick up on Harry’s avoidance of eye contact.

“It was me then, wasn’t it,” Ron said, more of a statement than a question, since he already seemed to know the answer.

Harry nodded, sniffling as he fought back more tears.

“I’m really sorry mate,” Ron said.

Ron reached over to pat Harry on the back again, noticing again how drenched in sweat Harry was.

Ron got up and briefly rummaged through Harry’s trunk.

“Here, a fresh shirt might help you separate reality from your nightmare,” Ron said as he handed Harry the new shirt.

Harry nodded thanks, then shrugged off his sweaty shirt and pulled the fresh one on. He was just going to leave his ruined shirt at the foot of his bed, but Ron scooped it up and dropped it in the hamper for him.

Ron came back round to Harry’s bed and sat next to him.

“I know you probably don’t want to - can’t - talk about it, but is there anything I can do? Do you want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey? Or should I fetch McGonagall?”

Harry shook his head at all of Ron’s suggestions. He really didn’t feel like explaining to anyone just how violent his nightmare had been.

“Do you want some water? Or tea?” Ron continued suggesting things, trying to offer something that he thought Harry needed.

Harry thought for a second, then nodded.

“Water?” Ron said, and when Harry nodded Ron went to the bathroom to fill up a glass for Harry.

“Drink some,” Ron said when he returned and held out the glass.

Harry chugged three-fourths of the glass, not even realizing how parched his nightmare had made him. He reached over to set the glass on his bedside table and wiped the remaining water off his lips.

“Are you sure you don't want me to get McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey tonight?” Ron asked again, evidently still not sure if Harry was in the right headspace or if he needed to be looked at by an adult tonight.

Harry nodded, then shuffled up to his bed and readjusted his covers, signaling to Ron that he was going to go back to sleep.

“Ok, if you’re sure,” Ron said hesitantly. “Wake me up if you need anything or want me to go with you to McGonagall.”

Ron watched to make sure Harry nodded in response, then turned to go climb back into his own bed.

Except Harry didn’t go back to sleep. There was absolutely no way he was risking having another dream like that again tonight. Instead he listened intently to Ron’s breathing all night, making sure his breath stayed even throughout the night, and if his breath hitched or wasn’t consistent for a second, Harry sat straight up to check on his friend. He had to make sure Ron was safe.

*****

Chapter Text

“Aren’t you coming to class?” Ron asked.

Neville, Dean, and Seamus had already bid Ron and Harry goodbye, and said they were heading to breakfast and would see them there. Ron had been lagging as much as he could to wait for Harry to get up, but now he was cutting it close to the end of breakfast, and Harry hadn’t made any movement towards getting himself out of bed today.

Harry shook his head, then pulled the covers tighter around his chin. He forced a weak cough then shot Ron a knowing look, implying that he was going to stay in bed ‘sick’ all day today, and would appreciate it if Ron could let their teachers know where he was.

“Oh, uh, I’ll tell McGonagall and the teachers you’re sick then. Try to make it down for lunch at least, m’kay?” Ron said.

Harry noncommittally nodded his head then waved Ron away. Harry listened to Ron exit and close the door, then loosened his grip on his covers and rolled to his side.

While he didn’t have a sickness or a flu, Harry was exhausted. After his nightmare last night, he forced himself to stay up the rest of the night, in part to keep watch over Ron and make sure he was safe, but also because he was too terrified of what he might see if he fell asleep again.

This particular nightmare had just felt so real. It was as if his subconscious had taken his very tangible memory of losing Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, and subverted it so he would think he had lost his two best friends as well. Harry was wrestling with a very odd sensation of grief at the moment that was tearing him up inside.

And now the lack of sleep was catching up with him. Harry would stay awake as long as he could, and then when he felt his eyes start to close he would force himself to sit straight up and shake his head to stay awake. He knew laying in bed wasn’t the best idea if he was trying to not fall asleep, but he just couldn’t bring himself to get up.

He even briefly considered reaching for one of his school books to read to occupy his thoughts, but he felt too antsy to read. He knew he wouldn’t be able to absorb anything he read until he put more time between his nightmare and himself.

Morning classes came and went as Harry thought he heard conversations in the Common Room of students returning after their classes. Despite what Ron had said, Harry stayed in bed through lunch as he tried his best to keep a calm mind (even though he really felt anything but), and reassure himself that his nightmare wasn’t a vision of what was going to happen to his friends in the future, it was just a nightmare.

At some point Ron noisily returned, banging open the door as he went to stand at the foot of Harry’s bed, taking in the sight of Harry still under the covers with a sigh.

“I brought you some toast and an apple from the Great Hall,” Ron said to announce his presence.

Harry looked up and nodded his thanks, then gestured to his nightstand where Ron could put the food down.

Ron didn’t move. “Harry, you missed breakfast and lunch. You need to at least eat something. If I put the food there I doubt you’ll look at it again until I come back” Ron said, his tone slightly accusatory as he held out the food at the side of Harry’s bed.

Harry blew air through his lips at his fringe in annoyance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ron continued. “Even if I have to stand here all day. I’ve only got Herbology later and I can just copy Hermione’s notes. Or Neville’s notes, if Hermione is being stingy with sharing hers,” Ron tried to joke.

A small chuckle escaped Harry while he pictured Ron begging Hermione to let him copy her notes, as he so often did.

Harry tossed his covers down and sat up against his headboard as he held out his hand for the food Ron brought him.

Ron grinned and handed it over to him. Once Ron filled Harry’s glass with some more water from the bathroom, he returned and sat on the end of Harry’s bed, filling him in on what he had missed in morning lessons.

Although it sounded just like a typical Hogwarts day, Harry was more than happy to listen to Ron rattle on and on about the lesson and how annoying the Slytherins were being and Ron’s complaints as to why the teachers insisted on loading them up with so much homework everyday.

Harry swallowed the bite of toast he was chewing on then let out a loud groan when Ron told him McGonagall had set them a four foot essay on household transfigurations before next class.

Ron offered him a look of sympathy. “I told her you weren’t feeling well and she said you could have an extra day to turn it in, but she said she still expects four feet from you.”

Harry sighed and placed the rest of his toast on his side table, no longer hungry. Great. Even on his ‘sick day’ he still had to deal with a mountain of work waiting for him. But he didn’t want to dwell on that now. Harry shuffled back down his bed and turned to fluff up his pillow before looking at Ron as he forced a yawn, signaling he wanted to ‘go back to sleep’.

Ron got the hint and got off Harry’s bed. “Try not to sleep the whole rest of the day, yeah mate?” Ron said. “The work is still gonna be there no matter when you get up.”

Harry jokingly rolled his eyes then waved Ron goodbye as he laid back in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

Eventually, Harry did manage to fall back asleep and was miraculously blessed with a few hours of dreamless sleep before he awoke to his dormmates returning for bed.

“Hey Harry.”

“Hey mate.”

“Hi Harry! Feeling better?”

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes, bleary after sleeping for what must have been the entire afternoon and evening. He gave his dormmates a nod and a half smile.

“That’s great!” Neville said, who seemed genuinely glad to see Harry was doing better.

As the boys started preparing for bed, Ron walked over to Harry’s bed to deposit the assignments he had missed.

“You missed a lot,” Ron said grimly. “Binns assigned essays on the Goblin revolts of 1810 and 1822 in addition to the test review he expects completed by the end of the week. Herbology we just have an essay due by next class, but for Transfiguration McGonagall stopped me after dinner to tell you that she wants you to copy mine or Hermione’s notes before you start on the essay, as you’ll need them to help you write it.”

Harry fell back in his bed and pulled the covers over his head as he let out a dramatic groan. He finally felt well rested, only to now have to be up at least half the night trying to make up what he had missed. Just great.

“I know it stinks. But I think Hermione is still in the Common Room if you want to copy her notes before you start the essay. You know she takes more detailed notes than me,” Ron said.

Harry pulled the covers off his face and considered. He had just slept the entire afternoon away, so he supposed he needed to get up and work on some of his schoolwork.

*****

“Harry!” Hermione looked up from her work to greet her friend with a smile. She was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with her hair tied up and her cardigan neatly folded on the couch beside her. She was working on the coffee table, taking advantage of being the only one in the Common Room so she could have multiple books open at once and spread her notes all around so she could see them. “Are you feeling better?”

Harry gave her a smile in return as he nodded. Then he gestured to his bookbag and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, trying to show what he thought about the amount of work he had missed from just one day.

“I know, it must feel like a lot you’ve got to catch up on,” Hermione said sympathetically. She pulled some of her papers under her notebook and closed two books and placed them on the floor. “Here, come sit,” Hermione said as she gestured next to her where she had just cleared a space on the coffee table.

Harry sat down next to her and began pulling some books and parchment out of his bag. He wearily eyed Hermione’s Transfiguration essay that must’ve been at least five feet already of Hermione’s minuscule handwriting. How she always found so much to write about, he never knew.

“Ron said he was going to tell you what you missed and that McGonagall wanted us to pass along that you need to copy our notes from class before you started on her essay. Did you copy Ron’s notes already?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, then turned to a blank page in his notebook and wrote:

"I was asleep most of the day. Ron just came up and told me what I missed so I came down to work with you."

Hermione glanced at what Harry wrote then shuffled under her papers until she found her Transfiguration notes.

“That’s ok, one sec-”

Hermione handed them to Harry.

“Okay here are the notes from today’s lesson - it was about transfiguring household furniture into stuff you would find outside of a household. Professor McGonagall turned her chair into a mailbox, then she had the rest of us practice turning our chairs into something you would find outside of a household or classroom. I managed to turn my chair into a small telephone booth and McGonagall gave me five points,” Hermione said proudly.

Harry grinned and offered Hermione two thumbs up, to which she blushed in response.

“But the rest of the class had quite a bit of trouble transfiguring their chairs into something else. Most just ended up changing their classroom chair into a desk chair like Professor McGonagall’s or a lounger like we have in the Common Room. Ron tried to turn his into a Quidditch goal - and I thought he actually had done it - but the goal just sprouted from the top of the chair instead of transfiguring completely,” Hermione said as she shook her head. “The incantation is “Supellectilem Mutatio” and you move your wand in a counterclockwise circle once if you want to give it a try before you look at my notes.”

“Supellectilem Mutatio, Supellectilem Mutatio,” Harry said over and over in his head.

Harry looked around the Common Room looking for a good chair to transfigure when he landed on a regular desk chair pushed into a small desk against the wall. He walked up to it and pulled it away from the desk and got ready to cast the incantation. “Supellectilem Mutatio,” Harry cast in his head.

The legs of the chair started to disappear but the seat of the chair remained. Harry frowned. He took a deep breath then tried to focus even harder as he cast, “Supellectilem Mutatio” in his head again. This time he was rewarded with a small park swing held up by two poles.

“Ooo well done Harry!” Hermione gushed as she sprung to her feet, book still in her hand to study his transfiguration. “McGonagall would’ve loved that if you did it in class - well on second thought she probably would’ve noticed that the swing is still an oaky brown like the wood chair was not a solid black like a real park swing, but nice job nonetheless.”

Harry smiled as Hermione continued inspecting his transfiguration. She seemed to be looking longingly at the swing before she finally asked, “Can I swing for a little bit before you transfigure it back?”

Harry nodded and gestured to show “go for it”.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the swing and used her feet to propel herself forward and back on the swing, slowly enough so that she could still read the book in her hands.

A look of content came over her face and Hermione looked quite peaceful quietly swinging and reading as Harry sat down at the coffee table to begin copying her notes.

*****

Chapter Text

Harry had just left breakfast, hoping to find a table at the Library to try to add some more to his Transfiguration essay when he heard it.

“Potter!” Snape’s voice snarled from behind him.

Harry froze. He recognized how angry Snape’s tone was, and as he turned around he saw the rage in the man’s eyes. Harry took a few steps back to put some more space between him and Snape’s rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Imagine my surprise at seeing you alive and well at breakfast this morning, when I was convinced you must’ve been taken by the Dark Lord himself in order to skip our lesson yesterday,” Snape said.

Harry’s jaw dropped and he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. His Occlumency lesson! He had slept all afternoon and evening, and when we woke up he went down to work with Hermione. It had escaped his mind that yesterday was Tuesday, the day he was supposed to have Occlumency lessons with Snape.

He was so taken aback and embarrassed at having forgotten about his lesson he tried to open his mouth to sputter out an apology, before forgetting that he still wasn’t able to talk. Harry groaned and hit his forehead with his hand again.

Snape made a sound of annoyance. “Potter for Merlin’s sake stop hitting yourself and just take out your notebook!” Snape exclaimed. “I require an explanation for why you thought you would waste my time yesterday instead of informing me that you would be missing your lesson.”

Harry nodded quickly then held up his pointer finger to signal “one second” as he pulled his notebook and quill out of his bag and started to write as he held up his notebook on his fingers.

“I was sick yesterday, sir. I didn’t go to any of my classes and slept most of the day.”

Harry turned his notebook around so Snape could read it, then offered a lame cough to sell the notion that he had been sick.

Snape read his notebook then looked him over from top to bottom, obviously studying him for any lasting illness or possible other ailments.

“And you chose not to inform me, why?” Snape asked icily.

Harry winced then started to shrug, but when he caught how Snape was glaring down his nose at him he wrote:

“I forgot, I’m sorry sir.”

Snape made a noise in the back of his throat that was anything but pleasant. “You seem to forget time and time again that the universe does not revolve around you, Potter. We had made arrangements for your lessons to continue every Tuesday, and yesterday was no exception. If you were ill you should have the decency to inform me via a note from your owl or by one of your classmates.”

Harry hung his head, feeling properly reprimanded and embarrassed, knowing that he messed up.

“My time is valuable, and if you waste it again, I will go straight to the Headmaster and personally demand that you be shipped straight to St. Mungo’s,” Snape threatened.

Harry frantically shook his head, and waved his hands in front of him, trying to show Snape he wouldn’t waste his time again.

“Are you still ill at the present time?” Snape asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Harry shook his head.

“Then you can make up your lesson this evening instead,” Snape said, his lips curling up. “After you serve a detention with me as a consequence for skipping yesterday’s lesson.”

Harry nodded, then looked at Snape expectantly, waiting to see if the man was going to take points too. But Snape apparently had nothing further to say to him because he dismissed Harry with a pointed look as he said, “My office. Directly after dinner tonight,” and with a swoosh of his robes he was gone.

Harry rolled his head to the ceiling and blew air up at his fringe. He was lucky he had escaped Snape taking points, but now he had to deal with a double dose of the man, first in detention, and then with the man poking around his head in his Occlumency lesson. Ugh. Harry stuffed his notebook back in his bag then made his way to the Library, even though he no longer was in the mood to work on his essay.

*****

Snape ended up setting Harry the detention of scrubbing cauldrons that evening. Harry couldn't help himself from wondering if these cauldrons were all from potions Snape had been brewing himself, or if the man had requested Slughorn send him cauldrons from his class for Harry to clean. Harry shrugged to himself. There weren't that many cauldrons for him to scrub, so Harry suspected these were leftovers from Snape's own personal brewing that he had saved for Harry to do.

Once he had finished the last of the cauldrons, Harry approached Snape and with a clearing of his throat he pointed to the drying cauldrons.

Snape looked up at Harry, then his eyes darted to the cauldrons as he set his quill down.

“Let me confirm they are all clean to my satisfaction,” Snape declared as he swept over to inspect the cauldrons.

Harry sighed, then inspected his fingernails as he waited for Snape to return. After a few seconds he heard the clanging of the cauldrons magically being returned to their cupboards and Snape had returned to his office.

“Take your seat Potter,” Snape commanded as he returned to stand behind his desk and with a flick of his wand stacked the papers he had just been perusing at the corner of his desk.

Once that was done, Snape turned the corner of his desk so he was looking at Harry. He appeared to be analyzing Harry for longer than normal, causing Harry to squirm in his seat at his gaze.

“You seemed to recover from your illness remarkably quickly if you felt well enough to attend classes today and still are able to breeze through cleaning a significant amount of cauldrons in such a short time. I would think someone recovering from such illness would tire out from the arduous labor of cauldron scrubbing, but you, Mr. Potter, don’t look the least bit worn out from such activity.”

Harry forced another quiet cough, then made a show of stretching his hands and fingers in front of him, pretending his muscles were sore when they really weren’t exerted that badly.

“I think you weren’t really sick yesterday,” Snape started in a low voice. “I think you wanted to skive off on your lessons so you had time to run amok in the castle, getting into mischief while no one was watching. Just what were you up to yesterday, Potter?”

Harry frantically shook his head. Great, now Snape believed he faked being sick yesterday to get into trouble somewhere in the castle. Harry quickly pulled his notebook out of his bag and wrote:

I really was sick yesterday, sir. You can check with the Fat Lady or anyone in Gryffindor, I didn’t leave the Tower all day.

Harry pushed his notebook towards Snape, his eyebrows raising in what he was trying to convey was his most earnest expression.

Snape read what Harry had written and only narrowed his eyebrows further as he whipped out his wand. He aimed it at Harry and Harry braced himself, ready for the invasion of his mind to come, but it never did. After a few seconds Harry looked up at Snape curiously, willing him to explain what he had just done.

“Diagnostic spell,” Snape announced, as he read through the list of floating words and numbers that were hovering in between him and Harry. “And will you look at that - no high temperature, no lingering congestion, irritation, or other ailments for Harry Potter to note,” Snape sneered. “Seeing as you are perfectly healthy without the slightest hint of any lasting illness today - and yes Potter if you had an illness yesterday it would still show up on a diagnostic spell today - I suggest you come clean about why you skipped all your lessons yesterday. And what it was you were up to in the castle yesterday when you were claiming to be asleep in Gryffindor Tower,” Snape finished icily.

Harry glared back for a moment before sighing and grabbing his notebook back to write.

I wasn’t really ‘sick’ yesterday, but I had a nightmare and felt too ill after it to attend my lessons. So I stayed in the Tower the entire day. That’s the truth.

Harry pushed his notebook back to Snape, this time unable to hide the annoyance that crept into his expression at being forced to reveal to Snape that his nightmares were so bad he had to skip class.

As Snape read what he had written, his expression was as inscrutable as ever. There was a beat and Harry was trying to figure out if the man was going to rage at him for skipping class when he wasn’t really sick or berate him for getting so worked up over something as insignificant as a nightmare. What he said next took Harry by complete surprise.

“The night before you had this nightmare - did you practice clearing your head?” Snape said slowly, as if he was talking to a first year with minimal comprehension skills.

Harry instantly felt his cheeks heat up as he shook his head no.

“Potter, how many times must we keep doing this dance? I ask you to practice, you nod and promise you will, and then you don’t, even though clearing your head before bed is one of the most effective ways to ensure a peaceful sleep cycle. You could stop your nightmares from plaguing you by practicing the Occlumency you swore you were going to,” Snape said, the disgust evident in his voice.

Snape placed his hands on the table in front of Harry to stare him down.

“We will start today’s lesson with thirty minutes of clearing your mind. Wand on the desk and palms flat on the desk.” Snape watched as Harry did what he was instructed as he swept back behind his desk to sit down. “Concentrate on ridding yourself of excess thoughts. Clear your mind and focus on your breathing.”

Clear his mind of excess thoughts? That was awfully hard when he was terrified of seeing another nightmare of his friends dying. What if he fell asleep and had a nightmare in front of Snape when he was supposed to just be focusing on his breathing. No, he couldn’t fall asleep, Harry thought to himself as he squirmed in his chair.

“I can practically hear your thoughts they are being so loud,” Snape said, annoyed by Harry’s pitiful attempt in front of him.

Harry’s jaw dropped as he opened his eyes. Snape could hear his thoughts even when his eyes were closed? He looked at Snape and furrowed his brow in concern as he gestured from his eyes to Snape’s with his hand.

“No you idiotic child I am not able to actually hear your thoughts when your eyes are closed. It was an expression to remark on what a terrible job you were doing on clearing your head when I could tell by your fidgeting your mind was anything but clear,” Snape snarled.

“Now eyes closed and clear your mind,” Snape instructed.

Focus, focus, Harry repeated to himself. His mind kept drifting to his annoyance with Snape, first that the man didn’t believe him that he was sick yesterday (okay he wasn’t, but still), and then the fact that he had broken him out of his concentration moments ago to call him stupid for the fact that his mind wandered when he was supposed to be concentrating. It was hard to prevent, Harry thought to himself, then immediately sighing because he realized he was doing it again. He forced himself to take regular, even breathes as he focused on nothing but his breathing. In and out, in and out, until he got lulled into the familiar cycle, and the only thought that occupied his mind was his breathing.

Although he was grounded in his chair and with his palms on the desk, he wasn’t focused on his sense of touch at all. He felt like he was weightless in the ocean, floating somewhere outside his body, except he didn’t have to worry about waves crashing over him or sun getting in his eyes. The calm and quiet was enveloping him, finally allowing his mind a break from his worries and the fear of his nightmares.

That was, until he was being pulled out of his dream-like state by the rough voice of his grumpy professor.

“Potter. Potter! Open your eyes now.” Harry looked up, blinking in Snape’s office that usually seemed so dim, but now seemed like the lights were brighter than ever. Harry wanted to grumble about being ripped out of his peaceful headspace so abruptly, but recognized that probably wasn’t a good idea to complain about that to Snape right now. He absentmindedly rubbed one of his eyes as he looked at Snape for further instruction.

“It seems you were more successful in this attempt than the previous, is that correct?” Snape questioned.

Harry nodded.

“That is what you should be doing every night before bed,” Snape said reproachfully. “Seeing as I have just witnessed you clear your mind in what appeared to be a successful manner, I expect you to be practicing this method every day now, yes?”

Harry looked up and nodded, even though inside he was doubting if he would be able to find that inner calm again in the hustle and bustle of Gryffindor Tower.

“Wand out. Prepare yourself,” Snape instructed.

Harry felt the apprehension spreading in his stomach. Just because he was able to clear his mind earlier during the absolute quiet of Snape’s office, didn’t mean he was going to be able to focus his attention on keeping the man out of his head when he was invading it.

And Harry’s nervousness clearly showed in his performance, as Snape sneered at him after many failed attempts to block off his mind that he was showing “abysmal progress”, and that he wanted him out of his sight for the rest of the evening.

*****

Chapter Text

Feeling freshly downhearted at still not being able to block Snape from his mind, which meant his mind wasn’t getting any closer to speaking, Harry kicked the floor his entire walk back to Gryffindor Tower.

When he got back he saw that Ron and Hermione were still in the Common Room working, along with a few other Gryffindors. Harry went over to where his friends were sitting side-by-side on the couch and sat down next to Ron and greeted his friends with a nod.

“Harry! How was your detention and extra lesson?” Hermione asked pointedly, knowing what sort of lesson Harry was really having but knew he wouldn’t want it shared out loud in the Common Room.

Harry shrugged as he pulled out his notebook and quill from his bag to write.

“The detention wasn’t bad, it was just cleaning cauldrons, but then he gave me an interrogation about if I was really sick or not.”

Harry showed his notebook to his friends with an eye roll.

Hermione gasped. “You seemed better yesterday evening so I just thought you got over the sickness quickly.” Hermione lowered her voice. “Were you not really sick?”

Harry added another line in his notebook:

“I wasn’t ‘technically’ ill, but I had a bad nightmare and didn’t feel well enough to attend classes.”

Harry saw the understanding grow on Hermione’s face and he realized that Ron hadn’t told her about his nightmare, he must’ve only told her that he was sick, which he appreciated.

“Well we’re glad you were able to get to classes today,” Hermione said finally. “And how was - erhm - your lesson,” she asked.

Harry debated how much he should share with his friends. He knew they wanted to hear that he was progressing, even though he was still having trouble guarding his mind. But they knew how hard the lessons were for him last year, so he ultimately decided to just tell them.

“I was able to clear my mind after Snape made me practice it for 30 minutes, but I still can’t stop the git from seeing my memories when he’s in my head.”

Harry turned his notebook to his friends, the annoyance evident on his face.

“Ugh, that stinks mate,” Ron said. “You still have to deal with him seeing your memories each lesson?”

Harry nodded glumly.

Ron wrinkled his nose. “The idea of that git poking around my head is enough to make me sick. I don’t know how you don’t vomit every time you have to have a lesson with him.”

Harry cracked a small smile as he shook his head.

“And he keeps giving me homework to ‘clear my head’ before bed, which I suck at.”

“Hmm, have you actually been practicing it, or just trying, then giving up when it doesn’t work in two minutes?” Hermione asked.

Harry scoffed and gave her a look.

“What!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I know you, and I know you tend to get discouraged if you don’t get something right away. It sounds like this clearing your mind work is going to take loads of practice before it’s going to come easily,” she said pragmatically.

Harry groaned and looked to Ron to see what he was thinking.

“She does kind of have a point you know,” Ron added sheepishly. “Maybe if you tried a little harder practicing what he told you it might help with your nightmares?”

“Thank you Ronald, for the vote of confidence,” Hermione said haughtily. “All I’m saying, Harry, is that maybe you should try a bit harder in your private lessons? I’ve been reading that Occlumency is near impossible to master if you don’t have a skilled instructor who already knows the art teaching you. You’re pretty lucky Professor Snape agreed to give you those lessons again, and you don’t want to anger him by showing up to lessons less than prepared.”

“Anger him?” Harry thought to himself as he pulled a face. His friends had no idea how infuriating it was to have Snape attack his mind, and pore through his memories lesson after lesson, insisting that that was the way to strengthen Harry’s mind. And that was supposed to be helping him speak again? Well then, Snape just kept proving what a crap teacher he was.

Seeing as this conversation had quickly turned on him, worsening his mood, Harry decided he didn’t want to be in the Common Room with his friends any longer. He had just had to deal with an evening of Snape, and now his friends seemed to be insulting his ability to practice.

He pointed up the stairs to signal he was going to bed.

“Oh, don’t go to bed yet, Harry, we didn’t mean to make you upset,” Hermione said with a small pout. “Do you want to go over each other’s Herbology essays?”

“Or how bout a game of Exploding Snap?” Ron suggested.

Harry shook his head, then pointed at his head and took two elaborate deep breaths, trying to show he was going to go work on clearing his mind.

He wasn’t sure if his friends believed he was actually going to practice his Occlumency, or if they could tell he was just miffed from how their conversation had just ended. Either way, they seemed to know Harry needed to be alone

“Oh right okay, night then mate.”

“Night Harry, we’ll probably be down here a little longer if you want to come back down.”

Harry nodded, then waved goodnight to his friends.

*****

Although it was still early - Snape had let him out well before curfew, and no one actually went to bed at curfew anyways - Harry thought he may as well try to clear his head tonight. Not worth giving Snape another reason to scold him next week if he couldn’t clear his mind again.

But no matter what Harry tried to do, he couldn’t achieve that level of calm and lightness that he had in Snape’s office earlier. He got up and turned off the lights and pulled the curtains around his bed, thinking maybe a darker environment would help connect him to the dim light of Snape’s office. But that didn’t work either.

Harry groaned and rolled to one side, then to his other side before he tried to focus on his breathing again. In and out, in and out, just focus on the breathing.

Only it got hard to focus on his breathing when he was met with a pain growing in his shoulder from the way he was slumped on his side. Harry flopped onto his back, and worked to refocus himself.

He tried to imagine he was in a body of water, weightless, letting waves move him back and forth. But he just kept imagining an ocean in his head, while he still felt physically laying down in his bed. How had he been able to achieve that calm so successfully earlier?

But this time, all he could focus on was the voices from the Common Room that drifted up to the stairs. Although it was many floors below him, Harry found himself getting distracted by the laughing and bits of conversations he was hearing.

Ugh! Harry slammed his hands on his bed. This wasn’t working. He got up to turn the lights on and took his Potions book out of his bag, thinking he may as well do some reading since he wasn’t making any progress on the clearing his mind front tonight.

*****

Chapter Text

Harry had to fight to stay awake in History of Magic. Last night he was up way too late perusing his Potions book, only to find out how late it had gotten when he started to see the first hints of daylight streaming through his dorm windows. When he realized he had been up all night reading, he hastily threw his book down and tried to force himself to fall asleep. Knowing he needed to lock in and try to get as many hours of sleep as he could before breakfast, he just went to sleep as he normally did, not bothering trying to occlude.

Harry jolted awake as his head fell off his hand which it was slumped on. As he stared as Professor Binns lecturing and writing paragraphs on the board without actually listening to any of what he said, he thought about how unhappy Snape was going to be that he didn’t practice his Occlumency before bed. Well… he did at least try, so hopefully Snape would give him that and not be too hard on him. Oh who was he kidding, the man would still be angry with him for not trying hard enough, or practicing to his standards. But he did have a few more days before his next lesson with the man, so hopefully he would be able to make more progress before then.

Harry eased his head back on his hand and let his eyes start to droop when he was met with a sharp poke to his abdomen.

Harry leapt out of his seat causing the chair to screech backwards as Binns stopped his writing and lecturing and turned to look at Harry, along with the entire class. Harry blushed furiously and waved his hand in front of him to try and convey to Binns that nothing was wrong. Seeing as no student seemed to have a question for him, Binns resumed what he was doing as Harry pulled his seat back in and rubbed his side grouchily.

Once he was back in his seat, he shot a glare at Hermione who was sitting next to him and gestured at her with his hands and wild eyes to convey “what the hell was that for?”

Hermione, not looking the least bit perplexed, whispered to him, “That was the second time you were about to fall off your chair because you were falling asleep! Professor Binns may not notice but you need to stop falling asleep in class before we get to Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape’s classes,” Hermione hissed. “You went up to bed so early last night, I thought you would at least have managed to get a few decent hours of sleep, even if you were practicing Occlumency for a while.”

Harry just stared at her. Sure, he could just sleep through the night, easy-peasy. It wasn’t like he had constant, horrifyingly realistic nightmares that shook him to his core nearly every night that made it difficult to fall back asleep or anything.

Harry picked up his quill and wrote:

“You do know I have nightmares like every single night, right?”

Harry turned his notebook to Hermione and watched her face as she read his note, jotted down a few things Binns said from his lecture in her own notebook, then turned to face Harry again.

“Yes Harry, I know and I feel bad that you have nightmares every night, truly,” Hermione said sympathetically. “But I also know you’re not really taking any steps to get better.”

Harry made an outraged expression and reached for his notebook again but Hermione hastily continued.

“I just mean that if your nightmares really are this bad every night, you probably need to tell an adult. Professor McGonagall probably would just send you to Madam Pomfrey, but Professor Snape might be able to help you if you tell him that you’ve been working on what he told you, but that Occlumency isn’t helping your nightmares.”

Harry pulled a face.

“Oh come on!” Hermione whispered to Harry, her eyes darting to Binns before she continued. “If he’s so good at the mental arts he might have some solutions for dealing with nightmares too.”

Harry wrote:

“I’m not asking the git for anything that I don’t have to. I’ll sort out my nightmares myself.”

“Oh Harry-” Hermione started, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, before she quickly closed her mouth as she noticed Binns had turned away from the board and was now lecturing directly to the class.

Harry could feel Hermione sneaking glances at him for the rest of the class, but as far as he was concerned, that conversation was finished and he didn’t feel like reopening it.

*****

After History of Magic, Harry didn’t feel like going back to the Common Room with his friends, so he flew out of the room as soon as Binns dismissed them so he could dash off before Ron and Hermione got ready to walk out with him.

He knew Hermione meant well, but he couldn’t stop himself from getting so annoyed with her. She had no clue how hard Occlumency actually was to learn in his lessons with Snape, and practicing Occlumency wasn’t as easy as studying for an exam or revising a paper. Harry was learning that studying for the mental arts took a whole other level of discipline and concentration, two subjects that frankly, Harry had never felt he was all that strong in.

He wanted to go somewhere where his friends wouldn’t immediately look for him, so he found himself in the Owlery. Harry carefully set his bag down on a clean section of the floor, then walked through the rest of the owls until he found Hedwig. She made a cooing noise when she spotted Harry, then held her head up so Harry could stroke her.

Harry felt a little stab in his heart when he realized he wished that he would say “Hey girl” to Hedwig as he had done every other time he had gone to see her in the Owlery, or when she was delivering something to him over the summer. Just another person who was affected by Harry’s muteness.

Trying to bury the guilt he felt at not being able to talk to Hedwig, Harry made sure to stroke Hedwig extra gently, and even spent some time brushing some soot off her feathers to make sure her snowy white coat was as radiant as ever.

As he stroked Hedwig, Harry looked out over the castle and sighed. He hadn’t thought about how much he missed speaking until he saw Hedwig just now and realized he couldn’t greet her the way he had been doing for years. All those summers locked up in his room at the Dursley’s he always felt like talking to Hedwig every day helped keep him sane, even if she couldn’t talk back to him. She was a great listener, but even now when Harry had nothing to say, her presence still felt comforting.

After what felt like a while Harry realized he had been in the Owlery long enough so he leaned down and gave Hedwig a nuzzle with his cheek, then one last caress as he headed down the stairs.

*****

Chapter Text

Weeks later.

As the beginning of the school year stretched into the fall months, Harry had had quite a few resumed Occlumency sessions with Snape under his belt, but he was making very slow progress with throwing the man out of his mind, and absolutely no progress on the speaking front.

And it was still hard for Harry to work on clearing his mind - Gryffindor Tower was never a quiet enough environment for him to calm his mind, and Snape seemed set in his ways that the only way to teach Harry was by launching attacks on his mind, much to Harry’s dismay. Ironic that the one time Harry had been able to clear his mind and find peace in Snape’s office, was when Snape had inflicted that as punishment towards Harry. For all the intelligence everyone claimed Snape had, the man didn’t seem to realize that Harry needed a few moments of peace and quiet to calm his thoughts before he cleared his mind.

But when Harry tried to write to Snape asking for a few minutes to calm his mind, Snape only jeered that the Dark Lord will not give him time to collect himself, so neither will he.

The man was so bloody stubborn, Harry thought to himself after another one of their lessons had ended, and not on the positive note Harry had hoped.

During his lessons after a few minutes passed of Snape seeing his memories, Harry was able to throw the man out of his mind with a nonverbal hex or defensive spell, and after he garnered all his mental concentration, he was able to kind of wall off his mind once he felt Snape’s presence in it.

Of course, this method was still weak, as Snape kept informing Harry. He should have his mental walls up before Snape entered his mind, but Harry had no clue of knowing if his mental walls were up or not when Snape wasn’t in his head. He felt like he was only able to slide a semblance of some mental wall up after he could already feel Snape in his head poking around.

Harry had hoped as his mental shields got stronger, his mind would get stronger, thus returning his ability to speak. But nothing had changed. Snape had told him that as he grew mentally stronger through Occlumency his voice should start to return, but Harry had tried multiple times to speak over the past few weeks, but nothing ever came out. He just ended up straining his neck and swallowing a lot trying to get words out but his vocal cords were refusing to do anything.

He didn’t get it. His mind was getting stronger. Sure, not exactly at the Occlumens level that Snape’s mind was at, but he was making improvements and growing much mentally stronger than where he was months ago when he lost his ability to speak.

It was incredibly frustrating not only for Harry, but he could tell for Snape too. After Snape had attacked his mind, he would quiz Harry on verbal incantations, demanding that Harry cast them out loud instead of in his head, which Harry couldn’t possibly do.

It made Harry want to pull his hair out. His magic was working properly and he could cast the spells Snape demanded non-verbally, but when Snape yelled at him to open his mouth and cast the spells verbally, it was just nothing.

These lessons kept ending on a sour note, with Snape insisting Harry’s mind should be strong enough to say things out loud by now, yet Harry was straining himself until he was red in the face trying to force words out when nothing would come.

Harry couldn’t figure out why Snape was getting bent out of shape at not seeing him speak yet. He was giving it his all, in each of their lessons, and did his best to practice whatever Snape said. And since he didn’t speak, he never smart-mouthed the man, so Harry didn’t know why he was still in such a mood during his lessons. Snape must’ve be able to tell that Harry had been putting in more effort this year than in their lessons the previous year, but for some reason that hard work wasn’t showing results.

But it confused Harry seeing Snape so frustrated by Harry’s lack of progress in his speech. The man’s frustration was different from his anger at Harry last year for not practicing Occlumency. He seemed so anxious for Harry to say something verbally, then couldn’t help but get cross when another of their lessons went by and Harry still couldn’t speak. His frustration almost had a touch of…could that be worry?

No it couldn’t be. Harry pushed the thought out of his head. The man was probably getting frustrated that he kept wasting his time going through Harry’s mind, only for Harry to still not talk.

After Snape would demand Harry say verbal incantations and Harry would fail, Snape’s brows would knit together and his lips would draw tight, as if he was holding his breath and hoping Harry would be successful in speaking this time. But it would only last so long before Snape’s signature sneer would appear and the man would berate him for another lackluster effort.

It wasn’t as if Snape actually cared about him getting better, right? He had just offered the resumed Occlumency lessons because Snape knew Dumbledore wouldn’t want to send Harry to St. Mungos.

But then why did Harry feel so disappointed in himself after each lesson, seeing how focused Snape was on him while he waited for Harry to speak but nothing came out? He had no clue why, but the end of each lesson where Harry hadn’t made any speech progress gave Harry that same pit in his stomach he got when Remus had caught him sneaking out of the castle with the Marauders' Map in third year.

*****

“Potter you’re not even trying! How are you still not any better at this?” Snape shouted as Harry hit him with a stinging hex, causing him to rub his arm and exit Harry’s mind.

Snape pointed his wand at his arm and murmured a spell to make the hex vanish. Although Harry had been able to get his mental shields up from time to time during their lessons, he was not feeling his best today, so he couldn’t muster up the mental energy to secure his shields. Instead, he just managed to cast a stinging hex to get Snape out of his mind.

Today his subconscious felt like plaguing him with wretched memories of the Dursleys and their awful behavior. As the film-show of his memories of his relatives treating him horribly went on and on, Harry tried desperately to push Snape out of his mind by putting up his mental walls as a proper Occlumens would, but he just couldn’t get them in place. He was tired and distracted, and getting a memory-refresher of a handful of his bad times with the Dursleys did not help.

After enough painful memories had gone by and Harry still couldn’t get enough energy to get his mental shield in place in his mind, he cast the nonverbal stinging hex at Snape to force the man out of his mind to give himself a reprieve.

Harry leaned back in his chair, as he held the arm rests and panted. He looked up angrily at Snape, before quickly looking back down after seeing the fury in the older man’s eyes.

Snape wasn’t angered by the stinging hex - Harry had cast quite a few on him previously to get the man out of his mind so he was familiar with the sensation - as he heard Snape mutter the counter so the pain should have vanished quickly, but he was dismayed by another poor performance from Harry. But he couldn’t help it, he tried to get his mental shields in place, he just didn’t have the energy for it. But Snape didn’t care if Harry tried, only if Harry accomplished what he was supposed to.

Harry picked up his quill and reached for his notebook, ready to write yet another apology explaining that he was trying his hardest, he just needed a short break to compose himself, when Snape suddenly snatched his notebook away from him. Harry looked up in shock.

“No more writing your little notes, Potter,” Snape ordered. “You’re a perfectly capable wizard! You have fought the Dark Lord time and time again and lived to tell the tale! How many other wizards do you think can say the same? That they’ve been able to best the Dark Lord more than once? Pull on that energy we both know you have, that strength I know you can draw out of yourself. You possessed the ability to speak for fifteen years and you are more than able to find that ability again! Focus, look within yourself, and find your voice.”

Harry jumped up from his seat and started to pace - making sure not to walk in the direction of the door so Snape didn’t think he was leaving and yell at him. Harry was pacing back and forth, pressing on his eyebrows before lightly hitting his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He turned to Snape on more than one occasion to open his mouth, expecting to say something, but nothing came out, making Harry grow more frustrated. Surprisingly, Snape didn’t say anything, only watched curiously to see if he would finally speak.

Wordlessly, Snape conjured a glass of water and slid it across the desk, meeting Harry’s eye and gesturing for him to take it. Harry accepted it with a hesitant nod, took a few sips, then resumed his pacing and opening and closing his mouth.

After probably the dozenth time Harry opened his mouth and nothing came out, he set his glass down and collapsed back in his chair, holding his head in his hands for a few beats as Snape watched him silently.

Harry was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally after dealing with unpleasant memories of the Dursleys all evening, and now having to wrestle with how he felt having Snape watch him try to speak and fail multiple times.

Snape had even given him the closest thing to a compliment the man was probably capable of by calling him a perfectly capable wizard. And Snape was right, he had fought Voldemort a handful of times already and lived to tell the tale, so why couldn’t he do something as simple as talking? He had been able to do it for so many years, and now the ability had vanished. He was weak. He couldn’t save Cedric, couldn’t save Sirius, and now couldn’t even make himself talk like a normal person again. So much for being the great Boy Who Lived everyone thought he was. Harry had to blink rapidly for a few seconds to prevent tears from spilling over.

When Harry picked his head up, he saw that Snape was still watching him, and still holding Harry’s notebook. Harry very quickly wiped his nose and used his wand to transfigure a tiny paper scrap on the desk into a small bit of parchment and grabbed his quill to write.

“I think it’s time to face the fact that I can’t be fixed. Thank you Professor for these lessons but I do not wish to continue them anymore.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Harry passed his note to Snape, then grabbed his bag and started walking towards the door.

“Potter!” Snape called out, an odd tone of confusion evident in his voice.

With his hand on the door Harry turned around to face Snape, averted direct eye contact, and only shook his head sadly before leaving.

*****

Chapter Text

Harry pulled Snape’s door shut and rushed through the dungeon hallways back up to the Tower. Realistically, he knew Snape wasn’t going to chase him through the halls when other students were still walking about, but he needed to put distance between himself and Snape as quickly as he could.

What was wrong with him? Weeks and weeks of having an accomplished Legimens poke around in his head couldn’t cure him. Couldn’t restore his ability to speak. Couldn’t make him normal again. Harry took his sleeve and wiped it across his nose and realized that he could feel his cheeks heating up, and now his nose was probably red as well. He cast a weak cooling charm around his face and felt his cheeks start to cool down slightly, and hoped they weren’t so obviously red. Harry wiped any wetness from his eyes then ruffled his hair up, doing his best to return his appearance to what it normally was.

All these weeks letting Snape back into his head, for nothing. And these past few weeks had been brutal. Not only did Harry have to put up with Snape viewing his awful Dursley memories, but he had to deal with Snape invading his few private memories of Sirius that kept haunting him. Now every time he thought of a memory with Sirius, there was a nagging voice that told him Snape had seen it too.

Harry paused as he was about to round the corner to the Common Room entrance. He stood off to the side of the hallway as he smoothed his hair and canceled the cooling charm, hoping his face had returned to its normal color by now. Harry fanned his eyes with his hands a few times for good measure, and with a deep breath continued on.

As he approached the entrance he pulled out the small paper slip he had written the password on and waved his hand to get The Fat Lady’s attention before holding his hand with the password still above his head so she could see.

“Oh hello dear, go right in,” The Fat Lady said, as she swung the door open for Harry as she continued her vocal exercises. Harry forced a smile in what he thought was an appreciative way.

Harry was grateful that McGonagall had taken him privately to The Fat Lady at the start of term and explained that Harry would be providing her the password to the Tower on a piece of parchment written down this year instead of giving the password verbally, and that he was the only student allowed this exception. When The Fat Lady started to protest that she had never let students into the Tower with a written password before, McGonagall let her know in no uncertain terms that if she found out she was not admitting Harry into the Tower when he had the password written, she would inform Dumbledore and have her portrait moved to a storage closet in the dungeons. Which caused The Fat Lady to back down and immediately agree to let Harry in, so long as he could provide the password written down. At the time Harry had grinned, grateful for how intimidating McGonagall could be when she wanted to.

Harry took another deep breath, then walked through the portrait door.

The Common Room was moderately packed with some doing their schoolwork, while others ignored their open books in front of them in favor of chatting with their friends or playing games of Exploding Snap. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione tucked cozily together onto one end of the couch, with Hermione writing something at light speed, while Ron was writing at a much slower speed, very obviously reading what Hermione was writing before he would write, but Hermione didn’t seem bothered by that as she made no effort to hide her work from him.

Harry approached his friends at the side of the couch and waved his hand to get their attention. Hermione noticed him first, turning her head to greet him with a smile, before nudging Ron who was still reading Hermione’s essay and gesturing towards Harry.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “How was your lesson?”

Although it was an innocent question, Harry felt an instant pang of regret at mentioning his private lessons with Snape to his friends in the first place. He didn’t want to have to admit that weeks of his one-on-one lessons with Snape had been utter failures, and he hadn’t been the least bit successful in making any progress towards keeping Snape out of his mind, let alone speaking again.

It hurt Harry even more to see Ron and Hermione’s eager faces looking up at him, hoping for good news. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them of his failure tonight.

Harry gave what he thought was a nonchalant shrug in response to Hermione’s question, and then looked hopefully at the door to the stairs, wondering if he could escape before any more questions.

No such luck. Right as his eyes darted to the stairs, Ron said with a frown, “Did you catch a cold from the old bat in the dungeons? Your face is looking awfully red.”

Harry brought the back of his hand up to feel his cheeks and was mortified to feel that they were warm to the touch. His body temperature had apparently heated up again after he ended the cooling charm. He couldn’t get a good enough look at his own eyes in any reflective surfaces in the Common Room, but he bet that if his cheeks were still red, his red eyes must’ve made it pretty clear that he had been crying.

Harry took a hand and waved it exaggeratedly at his face as he attempted to shrug nonchalantly and crack a smile at his friends, but he felt his lip quiver as he tried to turn his lips up.

Hermione’s brows knitted together as she picked up on Harry’s microexpression. “Harry what is it?”

Harry tried to shrug again and lift his hands in an “it’s nothing” expression, but Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, so he was crouching right on the edge of the couch.

“Did Professor Snape make you do something you didn’t want to do?” Hermione lowered her voice. “Did he hurt you?”

Harry looked into Hermione’s big concerned eyes and couldn’t help but feel his lip tremble as he blinked quickly to keep the tears from spilling. What would people think of him if he burst into tears for seemingly no reason in the middle of the Common Room? As if people didn’t think he was mental enough.

He shook his head to answer Hermione’s questions, assuring her that Snape hadn’t done any of the horrible things she was probably thinking of.

Hermione glanced around the crowded Common Room and seemed to realize that wasn’t the best place to deal with whatever Harry was going through. She released Harry’s arm to close her books and notebook, did the same to Ron’s, then stacked their schoolwork on the floor on the side of the couch.

She grabbed Ron’s hand then gestured for Harry to follow as she began walking out the portrait door, “Come on you two, let’s go somewhere more private,” she said quietly.

After the three of them were in the hallway Hermione kept one hand in Ron’s then hooked her other arm through Harry’s elbow.

“There’s an empty classroom just ‘round here,” Hermione said, pulling both boys in tow. She ushered them into the room and said, “Ron there’s some parchment and a quill in the cupboard just above the sink, can you get them for Harry?” Hermione said as she peeked out the door to make sure they weren’t followed. Satisfied they were alone, Hermione locked the door with her wand and cast a silencing spell around the three of them as she turned two chairs around so she and Ron could sit facing Harry with a desk between them.

“Here, mate,” Ron said as he put a bit of parchment, a quill and some ink in front of Harry. Harry nodded numbly.

“Harry, can you tell us what happened in your lesson with Professor Snape?” Hermione asked gently. “Did he make you see something awful? Or did he-” Hermione’s voice got really quiet, “threaten you?”

Harry shook his head and wiped at his nose. Seeing the expectant faces on his friends in front of him, he realized he needed to explain what had happened to get him into such a state.

“Snape took my notebook away and told me I should be able to talk by now. So I tried to talk until I was purple in the face, but it still didn’t work. Then I told Snape I no longer wanted to do lessons with him and left. And got a little worked up on the walk back up here.”

Harry turned the parchment around to his friends and watched as they read it, Hermione’s eyes widening a few seconds before Ron’s did as she reached the end.

“Why would he take your notebook away before you actually talked out loud!” Ron said incredulously. “Is he mad?”

Harry shrugged then added below his previous sentences:

“He said at this point I should be able to ‘find my voice’ to talk again. But he doesn’t get how hard it is…”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said softly. “I know it’s frustrating but you should go back and apologize to Snape for storming out on him.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and Ron jumped in to express his feelings towards Hermione’s suggestion.

“Why should Harry have to apologize to that git? He’s the one who’s been wasting Harry’s time for weeks poking around in his head, probably making him relive bad memories and feel awful about it. He should be apologizing to Harry for being a bloody no good teacher,” Ron said defensively.

Harry nodded in response, feeling grateful that Ron at least understood how rough Occlumency lessons had been going

Hermione sighed. “I’ve been doing some reading about the mental arts as well as magical remedies to head and nervous system injuries, you know.” Harry quirked a brow at her to which Hermione said, “Yes I know what happened to you isn’t quite an ‘injury’ but it was the closest thing I could find in the library. And well, there’s not a whole lot of studies out about how to heal those types of injuries magically, and very little written about using Occlumency as a healing method.”

Harry heaved a frustrated sigh.

“However,” Hermione continued, “Everything I’ve been reading reaffirms the idea that there is no ‘one-size-fits-all cure’ for a head injury, or other kind of magical injury caused by stress, trauma, or PTSD.”

Harry winced, realizing he probably fell into all those categories of stressed out, traumatized, and having PTSD.

“But that just means that even Professor Snape doesn’t know exactly what’s going to ‘cure’ Harry,” she said, giving air quotes around the word cure. “He may be an accomplished Legimens, but Harry’s case is unique, so Snape is also going into it blind. I bet he was probably doing everything he could think to help you, but he is human too and had to be getting frustrated when he saw you still couldn’t speak after he gave up his evenings to teach you.”

“Yeah but only once a week,” Ron argued. “The man is so used to hosting students in the evenings for the many detentions he gives out, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world for him to allocate one of his evenings a week for Harry, especially if Dumbledore probably would’ve made him do it anyways if Harry had asked.”

Dumbledore! Harry dropped his head into his hands and groaned as he realized what no more lessons with Snape meant. Snape was for sure going to tell Dumbledore that Harry had walked out on their lessons, and was going to make Dumbledore send him to St. Mungo’s. His life at Hogwarts and his life as he knew it was over.

“What is it, Harry? Was it something I said?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head then wrote:

“Snape said in cases like mine, the two options are either do Occlumency lessons with him, or get shipped to St. Mungo’s to live in the mental ward. And since I just ended lessons, Snape is going to tell Dumbledore to send me off.”

Ron and Hermione both gasped, looked at each other, then looked back at Harry.

“No, he can’t do that!” Ron exclaimed.

Harry shrugged helplessly.

“He must’ve been trying to scare you, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to be the voice of reason. “All the years we’ve been at Hogwarts I’ve never heard of Dumbledore sending a student to St. Mungo’s, no matter what their issue was.”

“And besides,” she continued, “With Voldemort back I doubt Dumbledore would want you alone in some unfamiliar hospital wing, that’s probably a million times more dangerous than Hogwarts is. Think about how easy it would be for a Death Eater to sneak into a hospital in some disguise and get to you? Hogwarts is set with countless wards and enchantments to keep all its students safe. If he keeps you here - even against Snape’s wishes - he’s able to keep an eye on you and have other teachers keep an eye on you, and prevent Voldemort from getting to you - well, physically at least.”

“You really think so?” Harry wrote.

“Well no, not for sure,” Hermione admitted, as she tucked her hair behind her ear, “But I think Dumbledore ought to know the safest place for you is at Hogwarts, and even if Snape wanted to send you away, I don’t think Dumbeldore would actually let that happen. Dumbledore is probably more understanding that your voice isn’t going to just return after a few sessions with Snape.”

“Yeah, cause even if Snape says he wants to ship you off to the mental ward, it doesn’t mean Dumbledore actually has to listen to what he says. Dumbledore has the final say in what happens to students at this school, not Snape,” Ron said.

Harry lifted his head and took a shaky breath. The back of his head was still nagging with worry that Snape had more sway over Dumbledore than he knew and would be able to send him away, but he mostly felt overcome with a feeling of relief he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

“And we’d never let him send you out of Hogwarts,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Yeah, he’d have to get through us first!” Ron added as he puffed up his chest and grinned.

Harry smiled back at his friends. He was so absorbed in feeling bad for himself and focusing so much of his attention on dealing with his lessons with Snape, he forgot how good it felt to know his friends had his back. Even though he didn’t initially want to tell them about ending his lessons with Snape, they didn’t judge him too harshly for his decision. In fact, they reassured him that his fear about Snape making Dumbledore send him to St. Mungo's was just an idea that wouldn't be followed through on.

And if he hadn’t told them about Snape’s threat, he would’ve been a jumpy mess the next couple of days, just waiting for the moment when Snape would swoop in and tell him it was time for him to leave Hogwarts. Well, a part of him was still worried that was going to happen, but his friends had calmed most of those nerves down so he was ninety-five percent sure he would get to stay at Hogwarts.

“Thanks guys. That means a lot, truly,” Harry wrote.

*****

Chapter Text

Severus stared at the door that had just closed, expecting the boy to return wild-eyed and apologetic any second. Perhaps offer up a bow in apology or show real remorse on his face for storming out of their lesson.

Severus had decided that he wouldn’t immediately harp on the boy when he returned, but he would give him back his notebook so he could pen a thoughtful apology note. One that would be groveling enough for Severus’s standards. Where Potter would promise that he was going to work even harder than he already had been, and throw himself completely into his lessons with Severus. The apology had to be at least a foot long when Potter would present it to Severus, or he would demand the boy keep writing until it made an impression. And only after Severus had read his apology note and kept the boy on his toes wondering if it would be accepted or not, then would Severus allow him the grace to continue with their lesson. But that didn’t happen. His door stayed closed, and eventually Severus had to look away and turn his attention back to his office.

He straightened the chair Potter jumped out of while shaking his head, thinking about how impulsive the boy was, then realized Potter had not asked for his notebook back before he stormed off, leaving it in his possession. If he didn’t think it was important enough to return to collect, the boy obviously wouldn’t mind Severus leafing through it then.

Severus flicked his wand to lock his office door then took Potter’s notebook into his own chambers. He tossed the boy’s notebook onto the worn green sofa, then hung up his outer cloak by the door. Normally Severus would remove his frock coat as well as soon as he entered his personal chambers, but a small voice in the back of his head kept telling him that Potter would be returning, even though the other part of him was sure the boy would not come back. So he kept his frock coat on, only allowing himself to undo the top button to loosen the fabric around his neck.

As he rolled his head, relishing in the slight freedom his neck felt in no longer being so constricted, Severus crossed his living room to reach his bar cart and poured himself two fingers of firewhiskey. He turned to bring it over to the couch when he thought better of it and threw it back right there. As the amber liquor warmed inside of him, he poured himself another two fingers then brought it over to where he had tossed the boy’s notebook on the couch. The notebook was still folded open to the last page where Potter had written his feeble excuses about how he was trying his hardest, just as he did every lesson.

He flipped back a few pages to see what else the boy had been up to, and found an interesting exchange Potter had been writing - presumably to his little friends - that he was still having nightmares, but the line “I’m not asking the git for anything that I don’t have to. I’ll sort out my nightmares myself” was what caught his attention. Snape raised an eyebrow at this.

So Potter was still having nightmares, and bad ones at that if the topic of them warranted a conversation with his friends about how he was managing them. Severus wondered, despite himself, if Potter had confided in Albus about his nightmares, and the fact that he was still having them, even when he was supposed to be working on his Occlumency. Probably not, given that the boy was so arrogant he thought he could do everything himself.

Despite what he wanted to believe, Severus knew that the source of Potter’s nightmares was greatly linked to his connection to the Dark Lord. Severus rubbed his temples, thinking about his own experiences during Death Eater meetings when the Dark Lord had used Legilimency on him to go poking through his head. He never found anything, of course; Severus knew how to guard his memories well enough with his Occlumency shields to fool even the greatest dark wizard of all time. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable having the Dark Lord riffle through his memories like a - like a - a film show. That was the word Potter had thrown at him during their Occlumency lessons last year, claiming that it wasn’t helpful for him having to feel Severus viewing his own memories like a film show.

With a groan, Severus realized that was exactly what he had been doing in their resumed lessons this year. Since he had believed he and Potter had both come to an understanding since their disastrous lessons last year, he had hoped that would mean their lessons would have been more successful this year, especially since they had a more concrete goal - restoring Potter’s voice.

But an understanding between the two of them meant nothing if Potter’s feeble mind still couldn’t grasp the concept of Occlumency. Severus sighed. He knew Potter’s mind struggled with the concept of Occlumency last year, why did he think the boy would be able to grasp it better this year, after his mind had been dealing with PTSD and trauma for the past few months? The stress of those factors in his mind didn’t make learning Occlumency any easier, actually the opposite.

He would never admit it, but he realized he was remiss in his method of instructing Potter to try to get his voice back. He knew that Occlumency had been used to help others recover from serious injuries, but he should have expected that Potter would be a special case, as he often was.

Severus flipped through the rest of Potter’s notebook, getting bored when he found that most of what else he had written related to his schoolwork with notes like “Where were the majority of vampires living in the 1880s?” or “What tropical plants are we supposed to be comparing gillyweed to?” Severus was even surprised to see what looked like some Potions notes where the boy had written things like “You need to cut those into smaller pieces, they’ll never melt if they’re that big” or “The textbook says three drops of dragon blood, I think you only added two. Add another or it won’t come out right.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at the Potions instructions Potter was giving to one of his friends, presumably Weasley, to not mess up their potion. Since when was Potter the one correcting others on what went into their potions? All his years instructing the boy in Potions and he had to correct him numerous times on simple things, or watch as Miss Granger whispered corrections in his ear when she thought he wasn’t looking. Despite seeing into his head for weeks, Severus realized he didn’t know the boy at all.

Potter’s notebook contained no interesting information, so Severus closed it and set it on the coffee table. Potter had Defense with him in the morning, so he figured he would return it to him if the boy was able to approach him and ask for it.

He made another note that he needed to tell Albus that Potter had requested they end their Occlumency lessons, so it was time to send him to St. Mungo’s. The headmaster was hesitant when Severus had brought up sending Potter to St. Mungo’s earlier in the school year, but the old man had to see that if Severus was unable to ‘cure’ Potter through Occlumency, that would mean that the boy required a stronger, more professional touch of a Mind Healer in the mental ward. Even if it wasn’t ideal, the boy needed to regain his ability to speak, and work past his trauma, if he even stood a chance of facing the Dark Lord the next time he attacked.

Unfortunately, Albus was out of the castle tonight, dealing with ‘business in London’ was all he made Severus privy to, so he could not inform the man of this new development. It frustrated Severus to all ends that Albus was more and more frequently leaving the castle this year on secret business that he refused to share the nature of with him. Severus had been relaying sensitive information to Albus on Death Eater meetings since the Dark Lord’s return and had been nothing but a loyal member of the Order for years. And yet this was the thanks he got from Albus, still being kept in the dark about what the Headmaster was planning. Severus slammed his glass on the coffee table with more force than necessary.

He called a house elf and had it pop into the Headmaster’s office to leave a note on his desk that he wished to speak with him as soon as he had returned.

*****

Chapter Text

Even though he had barely fallen asleep, Harry found himself deep in a nightmare. He was standing in a dimly lit hospital room, the sterile smell of St. Mungo’s filling his nostrils, yet everything felt wrong. In front of him, Remus was frantically trying to pull Sirius from the veil - his hands shaking as he reached through the dark mist, his face a mask of determination.

"Sirius, hold on! We're going to get you out of here," Remus shouted, desperation evident in his voice.

Harry wanted to shout, to run forward and help, but his legs felt heavy, as though the ground beneath him was sucking him down. He struggled, but his feet wouldn't move.

With a groan, Remus pulled Sirius’s limp body out of the veil and hoisted one arm under his armpits, while the other pulled Sirius’s shirt away from his neck.

"Sirius!" Harry cried, but no sound came out. His mouth was open in agony, yet no words left him.

“He’s still got a pulse!” Remus said. “Harry, get on his other side. We have to get him to St. Mungo’s right away. If we’re quick, it may not be too late…”

Just as Harry felt the hope growing in his chest, the room around him shifted. Remus, Sirius, and even the veil were now gone. In his place, a locked door appeared in front of Harry, and through the narrow gap, he could hear the muffled sound of voices - distant and uncaring.

He pounded on the door with his fists, his breath ragged, but no one was there. He didn’t have his wand. He couldn’t get out. His heart hammered in his chest as panic set in.

“Let me out!” he screamed with everything he had, but the words didn’t come out.

Harry banged harder, but it was as though the walls themselves were pushing him back, sealing him inside. The silence pressed in from all sides, and Harry felt the crushing weight of isolation, of being trapped in his own mind, unable to escape. There were faceless people walking right past his door, yet no one stopped to open the door or so much as look at him.

And then, just when he thought he might suffocate, Harry woke up with a start, panting with an extremely dry throat from attempting to scream all night. Harry was so spooked after that dream that he found his cheeks wet and his heart racing. Luckily, he didn’t wake up any of his dormmates, so he silently wiped his face and worked on getting his breathing under control. Knowing he would never be able to fall back asleep, Harry reached for his Herbology book that was on top of his trunk and brought it up to the top of his bed so he could read it in the dim sliver of moonlight from the window, not wanting to light his wand for fear of waking someone up. Even though his mind wasn’t retaining any of what he was reading, moving his eyes from left to right and occasionally turning the page gave him something to do so he wouldn’t fall back asleep.

*****

At breakfast that morning, the lack of sleep was obviously affecting Harry, as his heavy eyes watched his spoon push oatmeal around his bowl. Harry couldn’t muster the energy to lift his spoon to his mouth - it felt like too much effort. He knew he must look miserable (or more miserable than he normally looked), but by now, people had the good sense not to ask him about it, and Ron and Hermione already knew the source of his bad mood, so they didn’t seem like they were going to prod him on it either. Which Harry was thankful for, as he didn’t feel like sharing that his mood was made even worse by his nightmare last night and then the resulting lack of sleep.

Ron and Hermione continued their usual breakfast chattering around him, but Harry wasn’t even listening to anything they said as his head kept dropping to his chest as he nodded off before jerking himself back awake. After seeing this happen a few times, Ron nudged Harry’s arm and pushed a bowl of blueberries towards him.

“They’re really fresh, the house-elves must’ve taken all the mushy ones out of the mix today,” Ron offered, as he stabbed a few berries on his own plate and brought them up to his mouth.

Harry didn’t even feel like eating the oatmeal he had, let alone adding blueberries to it, but Hermione, also wanting to encourage Harry to eat so he wouldn’t keep falling asleep, added, “They’re a really good source of antioxidants and fiber, so they’ll give you a bit more energy throughout the day. We do have Defense with Professor Snape today, so I don’t think you’ll want to be falling asleep in his class, especially after, well, you know.”

Harry groaned, then looked towards the Head Table. Dumbledore’s seat was still empty, but he saw Snape up there, sipping a cup of coffee as he listened to whatever Professor Sprout was talking quite animatedly to him about.

So, at least Snape couldn’t send him away today, not yet anyway, while Dumbledore was still out of the castle. So, he had that going for him today. That inevitable discussion was postponed a little longer.

But Hermione was right, he really couldn’t afford to fall asleep in Defense today, not when he was sure Snape would be paying extra attention to his every move, either hoping Harry would embarrass himself or show the rest of the class that he was as messed up in the head as Snape kept claiming.

Snape’s head began to turn away from Sprout, so Harry looked back at his oatmeal and proceeded to dump an absurd amount of blueberries into his bowl.

*****

It turned out, Harry couldn’t have been more surprised by how their Defense lesson unfolded. He made sure he, Ron, and Hermione got there early so they could take their seats and get their notes ready, hoping to avoid giving Snape any immediate reason to take points from them, especially not from Harry.

But Snape didn’t say anything to Harry the entire class. Harry felt the man’s eyes linger on him a few seconds longer than usual as he took attendance, but there was no snide remark slipped in, which Harry found shocking. After attendance, Snape ignored him completely throughout the lesson - which was fine by Harry. Although he wasn’t as sleepy as he’d been before breakfast, he now had just enough energy to worry about confronting Snape after class to retrieve his notebook.

When the lesson ended and Snape dismissed them, Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and pointed at Snape, signaling that he needed to speak with him. He waved goodbye to his friends, then pretended to pack his bag extra slowly.

Harry tried to approach Snape as quietly as possible while the rest of the students filed out, but Snape’s hawk-like eyes were on him as soon as he started walking up the aisle.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Snape said lazily.

Harry turned his other notebook around to show Snape as he closed the space between them.

“Can I have my notebook back, sir? You kept it after our lesson yesterday.”

“Ah, so I did,” Snape said, pulling out Harry’s notebook and rifling through the pages as Harry watched. At that moment, Harry realized Snape had probably read through every page of his notebook yesterday. While most of the notes were about schoolwork or innocent comments to his friends, Harry knew he’d also written a few about Snape himself. And knowing how nosy Snape was, the man had almost certainly read them.

Harry made a move to grab his notebook, but Snape held it further behind his desk. Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

“I had assumed you would return to my office yesterday to retrieve it after you came to your senses following your little… tantrum. You weren’t serious about wanting to end our lessons, were you?”

Harry locked eyes with the man, feeling the anger rise in his chest. But he forced himself to nod, and attempted to look confident, even though the pit of his stomach twisted.

“What. A. Pity,” Snape sneered, dragging out each word, savoring Harry’s discomfort. “You are aware that I will be informing the Headmaster, yes?”

Harry nodded again, figuring that if Dumbledore tried to send him to St. Mungo’s, his odds were pretty good of appealing to the old man’s softer side. Although Dumbledore was one of the smartest wizards of all time, Harry knew the older wizard cared deeply for him. And if Harry told him he’d be happier at Hogwarts than in St. Mungo’s, Dumbledore would probably let him stay. At least, that’s what Harry hoped. And he had the reassurance from Ron and Hermione that Dumbledore wouldn’t actually send him to the mental ward, where he’d be vulnerable to Voldemort. He’d be safer at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s care.

Snape set Harry’s notebook down in front of him, and Harry quickly snatched it up, clutching it to his chest as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You may have noticed that the Headmaster has not been at meals recently,” Snape said coldly. “However, do not assume his absence means this discussion is finished. I will be informing him as soon as he returns, and then the next... course of action may begin,” he finished, his upper lip curling in disdain.

Harry sighed and dropped his head, not wanting to look at Snape’s wicked face right now. That man was so determined to ship him off to the mental ward, even though it wasn’t what Harry wanted, and it wasn’t something he thought Dumbledore would approve of. But he would have to wait until Dumbledore’s return to find out what the man thought.

Not feeling like digging through his bag for a quill in front of Snape, Harry lifted his head just to see if Snape was watching him, then pointed to the door, silently asking if he could leave.

Snape studied him for a moment before he said, “Disappointing, as always, Potter. But you’ve made your bed. Now you must lie in it.”

*****

After the rest of his classes that day, there was still no sign of Dumbledore at lunch or dinner. Even though he was just postponing the inevitable, Harry was glad he didn’t have to face his failure with Snape last night, then be confronted with it again with Dumbledore today. Or so he thought. When he returned to his room after dinner he saw a white envelope on his bed with his name written in red ink. He snatched it up and turned it over in his hands, looking at the red wax seal with a phoenix in it. The Headmaster’s stationery. Harry could take one guess what this letter was going to be about.

Harry,

Professor Snape has informed me that you requested to end your private lessons. I would like you to join me in my office after lunch tomorrow to discuss. Professor Snape will be joining us as well.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy cherry chews

Harry tossed Dumbeldore’s letter down at the foot of his bed as he lay diagonally on his stomach across his bed, with his feet hanging off. Still holding the envelope Dumbledore’s letter came in, Harry traced the wax seal of the phoenix with his finger.

He found himself wishing he could be a phoenix, die a couple times, then come back stronger and better than ever. Nothing would be able to stop him, not even his grief. It was like a part of him died when Sirius died, except that no part of him was reborn. If anything, the opposite.

Needing to stop himself from thinking of Sirius before the tears started to flow, Harry turned his attention to analyzing Dumbledore’s letter.

Dumbledore had requested him in his office in the middle of the day tomorrow, which was a promising sign that he wasn’t giving in to Snape’s recommendation to St. Mungo’s. Because if he actually was going to send him away, he wouldn’t wait until tomorrow what could be done today, and he certainly wouldn’t do it in the middle of the day, where his classmates would realize Harry was missing if he didn’t show up in afternoon lessons, right?

So it couldn’t be that bad whatever Dumbledore had to say to him, Harry surmised. Not great that Snape was going to be in attendance there too, butting in and arguing whenever Harry tried to stick up for himself or Dumbledore would say something kind to him.

But it ultimately was his choice to resume Occlumency lessons again, so the Headmaster and Snape should be at least somewhat understanding of the fact that he decided on his own he didn’t feel the need to continue with them anymore. Even though Harry knew deep down Dumbledore was probably unhappy he had ended his Occlumency lessons, even if he wouldn’t show it.

But there was still a gnawing voice inside of Harry that was insisting Snape had more sway over Dumbledore than he knew, and that Dumbledore may very well ship Harry off to St. Mungo’s. He hated how stressed the idea of that made him, so he tried to push it to the back of his mind, but it wouldn’t stay down.

Harry tried to convince himself the meeting tomorrow wouldn’t be that bad. But deep down, Harry knew that Dumbledore’s decision might already be made. And with Snape there, Harry felt like he might be walking into a trap he couldn’t see.

*****

Chapter Text

Severus felt overcome with a sense of déjà vu, watching Potter leave his classroom but yet strangely anticipating that the boy would be back. He shook off the feeling. Potter and his dunderhead classmates were finally gone and Severus now had a short moment of peace with a free period.

He glanced around the classroom, his eyes scanning the desks for any forgotten items, or a stray textbook forgotten to be put away. Finding nothing out of place, he turned his attention to the scattered piles of homework assignments the students had delivered to his desk. With methodical precision, he began to stack them together, one by one, making sure they were all neatly aligned. The sound of parchment rustling filled the silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the ancient wooden floorboards as he shifted his gait. Once the last assignment was in place, he flicked his wand and levitated the stack of papers, watching them float gently towards through the adjoining door to his quarters. He appreciated that the castle’s magic allowed his classroom, his office, and his personal quarters all to be connected, even though the official entrance to his office and personal quarters was still in the dungeons. Couldn’t be too far from his Slytherins, of course. Severus may have been promoted to a brighter classroom on a higher floor when he got the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but he would be remiss in his Head of House duties if he wasn’t still accessible to his snakes.

Severus felt determined to put the issue of Potter out of his mind until Albus returned. He finally had some free time, and he did not want to waste it dwelling any further on the brat. The boy didn’t want to be helped? Fine by him. But no point in wasting more of his energy thinking about ‘The Boy Who Lived Who Could Not Speak’.

Unfortunately for Severus, when he returned to his personal quarters, he immediately noticed something out of place. A white envelope lay on his coffee table, its starkness standing out against the otherwise dimly lit room. His brow furrowed in suspicion as he approached it, his boots clicking softly on the stone floor. The inescapable scent of potions ingredients and parchment lingered in the air, but it was the envelope that seemed to command all his attention now. As he drew nearer, he could make out the unmistakable script on the front - S. Snape - written in elegant red ink.

Severus picked up the envelope, not bothering to hide the surprised expression that took over his face. Red ink. That could only mean one thing: Albus was back in the castle and had seen the note Severus had the house-elf leave in his office the previous day. He certainly didn’t expect Albus back in the castle already, and thought he would have a few more days before he had to discuss ‘the Potter issue’ with the older man.

As Severus tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside, the scent of parchment with a hint of lemon filled his nostrils.

Severus,

I’m back in the castle and received your note about how Harry requested an end to his private lessons. I would like to discuss the matter with you now that I have returned. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience.

P.S. I enjoy cherry chews

Severus sighed and tossed the note back on the coffee table, realizing that he was now going to have to give up his free period immediately after Potter’s class to go discuss Potter with the Headmaster. However did he get so lucky?

With a glance at the students’ homework assignments that would have to be left until later, Severus exited through his classroom door, as that exit was closer to the Headmaster’s office, of course. He swept through the hallways, muttered the blasted ‘cherry chews’ to the gargoyle, and proceeded up the stairs to Albus’s office.

Although he must’ve known Severus had arrived when he gave the password at the gargoyle, Albus was turned away from the door, appearing to place brown sticks of some sort of food in Fawkes’s open cage while the phoenix was perched on a ledge in the Headmaster’s ceiling.

Severus knocked twice on the open door at the top of the stairs and gave a curt “Hello, Albus,” to draw the Headmaster’s attention away from his phoenix’s cage.

“Ah Severus!” Albus exclaimed as he placed the last brown stick in Fawkes’s cage, then proceeded to brush his hands off whatever residue the sticks had. “Come in, come in,” he directed as Severus pulled the door shut and slowly approached Albus’s desk while his eyes remained fixated on what Albus was doing in Fawkes’s cage.

Albus met Severus’s eyes which had been looking curiously at the brown sticks. “Protein sticks,” Albus said, as he pulled his sleeves down and sat at his desk, gesturing for Severus to take a seat in front of him. “I picked some up in my travels - apparently they’re enriched with amino-acids to strengthen phoenix feathers, and lead them to healthier, longer lives. I guess we’ll have to see how effective they end up being,” Albus said, as he paused to glance up at Fawkes affectionately.

“Yes, very interesting, Headmaster,” Severus said rather stiffly, impatient for Albus to address the real reason he was there.

“Well, enough chit-chat, I suppose we should move to the more pressing matter at hand, mmm?”

Severus sat up straighter, ready to dive right in. “As you’ve read in my note, Potter stormed out of my office and demanded that we put an end to our Occlumency lessons. He wrote that he ‘can’t be fixed’,” Snape said, giving sarcastic air quotes at the end. “The boy himself admitted that my help isn’t getting him anywhere, which means he must be sent to St. Mungo’s and be admitted in the mental ward there, Albus. If weeks of Occlumency lessons haven’t made a dent in that boy’s thick skull, it’s obvious he needs a more… professional hand to oversee his progress.”

Albus held up a hand to signal that Severus could stop. “Severus, you yourself know how difficult Occlumency is to learn. Young Harry had months of lessons with you last year - and yes I do remember how poorly those turned out before you remind me - and he still was not able to make significant progress with shielding his mind from you after all those lessons. And now he’s had what? Mere weeks of you employing the same painful methods of entering his mind and making him relive his memories, while he’s still in the throes of grief and PTSD?” Dumbledore tilted his head and looked earnestly at Severus over his half-moon spectacles.

“I wish you weren’t so quick with your irritation towards Harry for his inability to pick up Occlumency, Severus,” Albus admonished gently.

“It wasn’t my irritation that stopped the lessons!” Severus bit out, frustration growing. “The spoiled brat demanded we stop them, not the least bit grateful for all the time and evenings I had to give up to instruct him. And for what? Him to not make the least bit of progress! Albus, the boy does not have the mental capacity for Occlumency or quite frankly any mental arts that I would teach him. I have reached my wits end with him. There’s nothing else I can do for him inside the castle.”

Albus sighed and leaned back in his chair. As he did Fawkes flew down to perch on the armrest of the Headmaster’s chair and a moment later Albus lifted his arm to gently stroke the orange bird.

“We must be patient with Harry, Severus. I did not expect you and him to resolve your animosity towards each other - although an old man can hope - so quickly, nor to resolve the issue of Harry’s speech in just a few weeks either. These things take time and repetition in order for progress to be made.”

“When you taught your NEWT-level Potions students, I would wager quite a decent amount of them were not exceptionally-gifted in the art of Potions in their first lesson as first-years. Some of them it probably took years to become comfortable with your teaching style and methods,” Albus continued with a small laugh as Severus frowned. “But those students kept at it. They had the benefit of a consistent teacher who was willing to push them and offer them constructive criticism as they were learning. Has Harry had that from you? Or have you just been relentlessly pushing him over and over, in the same methods that were part of what led to his failures from last year?”

Severus looked away from the Headmaster’s eyes and rubbed at a potions stain on his middle finger; even though he knew it wouldn’t make it go away, the motion gave him something to look at.

After a few seconds of silence had passed Severus forced himself to look back at Albus. “Are you going to send the boy to St. Mungo’s to receive the help he so desperately needs?” Snape ground out.

“Not at this time no,” Albus answered evenly, and his nonchalance nearly made Severus let out a bitter laugh.

“And might I ask why not?”

Albus simply stroked Fawkes for a minute before he spoke. “The safest place for Harry remains Hogwarts,” Albus said confidently. “Even though St. Mungo’s has its own set of magical enchantments and wards, they are not nearly as old nor as powerful as the ones embedded deep inside the Hogwarts castle. Not to mention that it would be far easier for Tom if one of his followers were to get word that Harry was in St. Mungo’s, then plan an attempt to harm Harry or extract him from the hospital. While at Hogwarts, I like to believe I am already aware of any Death Eaters in the castle,” Albus said with a playful twinkle in his eyes as he met Severus’s own eyes, which were narrowed as his scowl deepened.

“The boy may never talk again!” Severus exclaimed loudly with a broad gesture of his hand. “How will that help anyone? Everything we’ve worked for will be gone if the boy is too far gone inside his own head to speak in regular sentences, let alone cast spells that will be required of him during a war!”

Severus’s voice wavered slightly as he continued, “You know better than anyone how fragile the mind can be. How easily it can break. I - I've seen it before. People, innocent people, ruined by trauma. And Potter... he’s no different. His mind is shattered, Albus. In ways neither of us has the capacity to adequately deal with. And if we don’t do something soon, there may be nothing left of him.” His hands clenched into fists on the armrests of his chair.

“Why Severus, don’t tell me you’re concerned about the boy’s emotional welfare?” Albus asked with a jovial raise of his eyebrows.

Severus scoffed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling dismissively. “I couldn’t care less about the boy’s emotional welfare - he has you, Poppy, and Minerva to see to that. I am concerned that the wizarding world is going to look towards the Boy Who Lived for advice, speeches, and support as the Dark Lord’s power grows, only to find that he is a mute shell of himself who is so stuck in his own grief he is unable to string a few words together. I am concerned that when he does meet the Dark Lord again - which we both know is inevitable at this point - that he will not last a single minute in battle with him! Even though the boy can still cast spells nonverbally, if he cannot speak out loud, that means he is damaged internally, and until he is repaired his magic will not stand a chance against the greatest Dark wizard that ever lived!”

Severus collapsed back into his chair, belatedly realizing that he had begun to half-stand out of his chair the more animated he got throughout his rant.

Albus met Severus’s eyes, his gaze softening. “I understand your concern, Severus,” he said quietly. “I do not pretend that Harry’s situation is without its challenges. And yes, I know that every day counts in this war. But Harry’s mind is wounded in a way that cannot be fixed by simply pushing him to progress. Not yet.” He paused, as if weighing the weight of his own words. “We must be patient, but we must also be wise in how we move forward.”

“I have faith in Harry’s abilities,” Albus said calmly, then gave Severus a look when he snorted.

“We are only a few weeks into the school year, and Harry has only had a few months to grieve the loss of his godfather and deal with the trauma of that as well as deal with the aftereffects of being possessed by Tom in the Department of Mysteries. Mere months ago! We must be resolute, my boy, and offer Harry all the support we possibly can here at Hogwarts.”

Severus crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. This was not going how he thought it would.

“And speaking of supporting Harry, I really would like you to continue your lessons with him,” Albus said earnestly.

Severus froze, his mind racing. Was he really prepared to go through more disastrous Occlumency lessons with the brat? Of enduring Potter’s resistance, his sullen silence, and his refusal to make progress? It wasn’t fair, but who was he kidding? Nothing about this war was fair. And yet, despite his every instinct urging him to throw his hands up in defeat, something gnawed at him. Would Albus be asking this if it were anyone else? Or was he one of the few people the Headmaster trusted enough for this task?

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Albus held up a hand to silence him.

“Although I do not agree with your suggestion of sending Harry to St. Mungo’s, I do believe Harry needs to be receiving one-on-one sessions with a professor I trust to enter his mind and attempt to root out what is causing the source of his muteness.”

“Wouldn’t Poppy be more equipped to deal with this injury to the boy’s brain? Or perhaps you, Headmaster, as the boy would certainly feel more at ease with you poking around in his head than he would me,” Severus said helplessly, already anticipating Albus’s answers.

“While extremely qualified in her own regard, Poppy has limited training on dealing with injuries like this where a student has lost the ability to speak, when they’ve had it previously. I know you also have limited training on this, Severus, but you are extremely well-equipped in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. As I’m sure you are aware these are mental arts, and mentally is where I believe Harry requires the most support. And I will be out of the castle much of this year on travels, so I simply will not have the time to spend in lessons with Harry.”

“Travels?” Severus asked, unable to shield his curiosity in a detail the Headmaster had failed to indulge him in.

Albus’s eyes flickered briefly, a glint of something Severus couldn’t quite place before he masked it with a gentle smile. “Ah, yes. Travels. You know, Severus, there’s still much to be done before the storm hits. I must gather more intelligence, see to matters that cannot wait.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, his tone shifting, slightly colder, more cryptic. “Some things are better left undisclosed, for now.”

Severus gave the older man his best unimpressed face and was unable to hide the way his shoulders slumped in annoyance at the fact that there was something important to Albus that he was being kept in the dark about.

But Albus paid no mind to Severus’s sullen attitude and continued on. “And you and Harry already have an Occlumency student/teacher relationship, Severus, even if it’s not on the warmest of terms. He is used to having you in his mind, and you are used to what you see in there, and how he responds to your spells. It would be in both of your best interests to continue this relationship, rather than cutting it off completely. Harry needs time and attention, and I know he’s frustrated, but a few failed lessons in as many weeks is not the end of the world.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. “You really believe that this is the best way?” he asked, his voice low, almost questioning himself. “You’re asking me to continue down this road, Albus... to try again, even though I know there is a high chance it will only end in failure. For both parties. Again. So I ask, why me? Why not someone else?”

Albus met Severus's gaze with quiet intensity, his voice softer but firm. "Because, Severus, you are the only one who can understand the depth of Harry's pain, truly understand it. Not through sympathy, but through lived experience. Through loss. Through guilt. Through the same kind of wounds he carries now.”

Severus flinched almost imperceptibly, but Albus saw it. He pressed on, his voice gaining strength.

“You are the only one who has the strength to navigate the darkness that clouds his mind. You’ve done it before. You’ve survived it. That’s not something that can be taught - it’s something forged in fire. No one else, not even I, can offer him what you can. Harry may resist your methods, but deep down, he knows that you are the one who can reach him when no one else can. And that, my dear boy, is why it has to be you."

He paused, watching Severus carefully as the younger man was rubbing the fingers on one hand together. "I know it is a heavy burden to bear, but you are far more capable than you give yourself credit for. Your methods, your understanding of the mind, are exactly what Harry needs, even if he cannot yet see it himself."

Severus’s brow furrowed even deeper, his thoughts spiraling as he replayed Albus’s words. His fingers stopped their movements, and for a moment, silence hung in the air, thick and heavy between them. Severus had no clue what he was supposed to say in response to all that.

“I will talk to Harry soon and request he take up his lessons with you again. I will also reassure him that I have no intention of sending him to St. Mungo’s,” Albus gave Severus a mild glare, “But that I would appreciate him putting forth his best effort in his lessons with you, with the understanding that progress takes time and endurance, from both sides.”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest as he absorbed Albus’s words. He met the Headmaster’s gaze, the unspoken pressure between them hanging heavily in the air. A small part of him wanted to protest, to deny Albus this one request, but for some reason he didn’t. Instead, he nodded stiffly.

“I.. would appreciate that, Headmaster,” Severus said slowly, for lack of knowing what else to say.

Albus nodded back, apparently satisfied with Severus’s response.

“Now then, I would like to tell you about something I learned from a traveling group of Muggles in Geneva. I do think it may be worthwhile for you to attempt this with Harry…”

*****

Chapter Text

“Harrrrrry Potter”

“Harrrrrry Potter.”

Harry tossed in his bed at the voice beckoning to him from somewhere that didn’t seem too far.

Before he could even register it, his feet began to move of their own accord, bare against the cool stones of what looked like an ornate dining hall - or perhaps a ballroom. A large green snake slithered beside him, its eyes glinting in the candlelight..

“Lucius, please, go on.”

Lucius Malfoy looked back up at him with eyes wide before nodding quickly and murmuring, “Yes, my Lord.”

“As Severus has informed us, Dumbledore is making more and more frequent trips out of the castle. Because of this, he has forgotten to renew the enchantments surrounding the castle that make it impenetrable to outsiders. Draco is aware of this, of course, and has been hard at work to complete his task.”

“And how are you so sure of this, Lucius?” Harry heard himself ask, except the voice that was sharp and dry with amusement wasn’t Harry’s. “Did Dumbledore himself tell you?”

Lucius flinched, his eyes darting briefly to the snake curled at Harry’s - his - feet before snapping back upward.

“Of course not, my Lord,” he said quickly, breath catching. “I would never presume to speak to Dumbledore myself.” His voice trembled, though he tried to steady it. “I’ve been in careful communication with Draco, in discreet, coded messages. No one has caught on to him. He’s been observing Dumbledore’s habits. Draco says Dumbledore misses meals almost daily now. Entire evenings go by without anyone catching sight of him.”

Lucius hesitated, gauging the reaction on the face before him, then pressed on.

“At first, I thought it was meaningless - a side effect of his age, perhaps. But then I looked deeper, into the castle’s protections, its history. I combed through old Ministry records, obscure magical treaties. When the Headmaster is absent for prolonged periods, the enchantments falter. Not vanish, but weaken - just enough. Enough for someone… skilled… to slip through. With the right timing. With the right support. This is the moment, my Lord. The one we’ve been waiting for. Draco and I have a plan to enter Hogwarts soon, now that the wards have been weakened. Soon we will be able to enter and capture Harry Potter.”

*****

"Capture Harry Potter..." The words hung in the air like a death sentence. His throat tightened, and the snake beside him seemed to hiss with approval. Harry took a step back, his thoughts racing. How could they know this? How could they plan so openly in front of him? He was their target.

Lucius took a slow step forward, his eyes darkening as he spoke again. “It’s only a matter of time now. Once we breach Hogwarts, it won’t be long before we have him... And then the rest of the wizarding world will fall into place.”

The snake’s emerald eyes glowed in the dim light, watching Harry intently. He could feel the cold, venomous gaze penetrating his very soul. But something inside him stirred - a warning, a force that pushed back against the dark energy in the room.

“No…” Harry whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to himself or to the figure in front of him. “No, this isn’t right.”

The snake seemed to tilt its head, as if amused by his resistance. “You cannot stop this, Harry Potter,” it hissed, its voice both inside his mind and echoing through the cavernous room. “You will be ours.”

The room collapsed into blackness, the floor vanishing beneath him. A void opened wide, dragging at his senses - until - he gasped awake, chest heaving.

As though a weight had lifted, Harry’s vision cleared. He was no longer in the dark stone room, no longer walking alongside the snake. The dream-like fog was fading, and he was back in his bed, drenched in sweat. His legs felt trapped, and as he kicked them he realized he had completely tangled himself in his own bed sheets through all his thrashing.

"Harrrrrry Potter," the voice called again, but this time, it was not from the dream. Harry’s eyes snapped open, and his head craned to look all around his dormitory. All the other boys were still sleeping soundly and he couldn’t see anyone in the room that wasn’t supposed to be there. But then who said his name?

The room was now silent. Harry’s heart raced as he sat straight up in the darkness, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he tried to replay his dream in his head. Was it a vision? A nightmare? It sure didn’t feel like his regular nightmares. No, this felt… real. Too real. It felt like he was… seeing from eyes that weren’t his. Harry reached up to rub his scar, which was throbbing, and winced in pain.

He hadn’t just seen things - he had been there. Felt things. Thought horrible things. As if he were seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. And the voice… low, hissing, cruel… It hadn’t been his voice. It hadn’t been him. But it was like he was there. And he knew he wasn’t. Harry dropped his hand from his scar so he could press the heels of his hands into his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. He pressed on his eyes so hard until the blue and purple circles appeared in his vision and he was no longer in complete darkness. After a few moments his eyes started to feel weird though, and he removed his hands and blinked to try and re-acclimate his vision to the dark room.

A chill passed over him, and he glanced again around the room, half-expecting something - or someone - to be there, watching. But everything was just as it should be. Quiet. Still. Normal. And yet, nothing about this moment felt normal. He drew his knees to his chest, heart still thudding, mind still racing.

What if it wasn’t just a dream? He knew he and Voldemort were connected - that’s why Dumbledore had insisted on Occlumency lessons last year - but this dream felt different. And he knew why: because he had just listened in on Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort planning to snatch him right from Hogwarts.

He threw off his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he put on his glasses. Sleep wasn’t coming back tonight. Not after that. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, as if the shadows themselves were pressing in closer. He sat frozen on the edge of his bed, his breath shallow, hands trembling in his lap. The more he tried to convince himself it had just been a nightmare, the more the feeling in his chest told him otherwise. That cold, slithering dread - it hadn’t come from nowhere.

It was Voldemort. Coming for him. A chill ran down Harry’s spine.

This couldn’t wait until morning, Harry decided. He pulled on a sweatshirt and robe - hoping the layers would stop his shivers - and took his invisibility cloak as well for good measure. He had to tell Dumbledore right away. If the wards around the school had been weakened because Dumbledore had been leaving Hogwarts so much, he needed Dumbledore to repair them, and desperately if Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort were planning an attack at this very moment while the wards were weak.

Stuffing his feet into shoes, Harry grabbed his wand and tore out of Gryffindor Tower. As the portrait door swung shut behind him, Harry jumped, then winced when he realized how loud the door closing was. He pulled his invisibility cloak around him, doing his best to conceal his body as he sprinted through the corridors. Every shadow looked like it was watching him. Every turn felt like he would run straight into Voldemort himself.

He took a sharp turn past the library and nearly lost his footing on the stone floor. His heart hammered as he raced past a row of tall windows, the moonlight cutting through and illuminating his path. Dumbledore, he thought. I just need to get to Dumbledore.

Just as he rounded another corner Harry felt his cloak brush against something warm and soft, something that couldn’t be the stone of the castle. Harry cringed - he had run into a professor, and with his luck, there was only one professor it could be.

“What the - ? Who’s there?” Snape said suspiciously, waving his lit wand inches away from Harry’s face. Nervously, Harry backed up, pulling the cloak tighter around him. But as he did that, the cloak lifted just slightly off the ground, revealing his worn sneakers to Snape.

“Potter!” Snape snarled, clearly having put two and two together about which student could manage to make his body invisible, and also which student he already knew had proclivity or being out after curfew.

Harry’s eyes widened behind the cloak as he hurriedly dropped it over his shoes, obscuring his body completely from Snape. Was it too much to hope that if he didn’t reveal himself, Snape would just think he was imagining things? He tried to back away as slowly and quietly as he could before he heard an exasperated snort and footsteps behind him.

“The entire castle is asleep and your footsteps are the only sound to be heard,” Snape said snidely, as his footsteps resumed in the same direction Harry was heading. “Stop this foolishness at once, Potter and turn around, back to Gryffindor Tower.”

Not gonna happen, Harry thought as he continued on his trek to Dumbledore’s office, refusing to stop for Snape. He was trying to place his feet down as quietly as possible, and in doing this was causing his cloak to swish against its own fabric, unfortunately creating a noise that made Harry wince.

“I did give you a choice, remember that Potter,” Snape said, and just as Harry was weighing what he could’ve meant by that he heard it. “Petrificus totalus.”

The bind snapped around him instantly, freezing his body and stopping his next footsteps before they could occur. Since he was mid-step, his one foot didn’t have the balance to hold the rest of his body up, and Harry started to fall to the floor. Just before he hit it though, he heard Snape utter a cushioning charm, so Harry was met with marshmallow-y softness instead of face-planting into the hard, stone floor.

As he lay face down in the marshmallow-y cushion, he heard Snape’s boots clacking on the floor as he approached him. Just cancel the bloody body-bind! Harry wanted to yell at the git as the cool corridor air sent a chill through his body, but the bind prevented him from shivering. But of course, the man went for his cloak first, reaching through the air until he found Harry’s body, then once he got a grasp of fabric he pulled the cloak completely off Harry and dropped it to the side of him.

“Finite incantatem,” Snape said lazily, causing the hex to release and a moment later the cushion deflated to just the cold, stone floor. Harry pushed himself up, bunching his cloak under his armpit as he turned around to face Snape, who was scowling at him and holding his lit wand level.

Harry just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How was it that the old bat alway found him when he was in the hallways after curfew? You would think he was Harry’s number one fan the way he seemed to be stalking him in the hallways at night. Or maybe Snape had his own personal Marauders' Map that showed him where Harry was in the castle at all times. Harry shuddered at the thought.

And then the lecture started. “Potter I thought you had put this frivolous behavior of traipsing throughout the castle after curfew behind you! And yet here we are, yet another evening where I find you-”

Annoyed, Harry exhaled through his nose. He didn’t have time for this, he needed to make Snape understand his urgency and for the man to stop talking. With both hands Harry waved them in front of Snape’s eyes - which then glared at him dangerously - before he pointed at his head then at Snape’s, then back and forth.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing waving your hands in front of my face, Potter? Do you have any idea how blatant your disrespect for professors of this school is? First, wasting my valuable time making a mockery again of Occlumency lessons. And now trying to run away even when I caught you waltzing about the halls after curfew..”

Harry sighed - his professor could be awfully thick sometimes. He shook his head to try to get Snape to stop talking, then - with exaggerated emphasis - pointed repeatedly at his head, then at Snape’s wand, then locked eye contact with Snape and gestured between their eyes.

Snape furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you… asking me to perform Legilimency on you? There’s something you want me to see?”

Harry threw his hands up in relief and nodded frantically.

“There is something in your mind you want me to see - which is the reason you are running through the halls in the middle of the night?” Snape said, the pieces slowly clicking into place for him.

Harry nodded quickly, then continued staring Snape right in the eyes and gestured between his eyes and Snape’s rapidly with his finger.

Snape looked him up and down, then looked down the hall past Harry. “You are positive you want me to do this?” Snape asked slowly, surprising Harry that the man was so insistent for Harry’s consent.

Again, Harry nodded, desperate for Snape to just cast the spell already and figure out what Voldemort had in store.

Snape put out the light on his wand and lowered it slightly, waving for Harry to follow him as he moved out of the center of the corridor and towards a wall.

“Just in case Peeves fancies a glide through the corridors in the middle of the night, we should stay out of the center.” Then with a grimace he added, “And we both know you should be sitting down while I perform this spell, but against the wall will have to do.”

Harry looked expectantly at Snape, his impatience growing as he was forced to maintain eye contact with the man.

“Legilimens!”

*****

Harry slumped back on the wall clutching his head, which was now throbbing again as Snape ended the spell and withdrew from his mind, breathless at having experienced what he saw again.

For a long, terrifying moment, Snape just stared at him. Then, finally, he turned with a swirl of his cloak.

“We must inform the Headmaster at once,” Snape said seriously as he motioned for Harry to follow him.

Annoyed because that’s what he was already planning on doing, Harry gestured for Snape to lead the way as they both sprint-walked to Dumbledore’s office.

At the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, Snape brought his light up to a painting in the wall to wake the sleeping occupant, and then murmured something to her so quietly that Harry couldn’t quite catch it. He could only watch as she retreated further back into her painting. A few moments later the door to Dumbledore’s office began to open and Snape began to climb, beckoning for Harry to follow.

Belatedly, Harry he realized that it was actually a good thing that Snape had intercepted him on his way to Dumbledore’s office, because he didn’t even think far enough ahead of how he was planning to get in Dumbledore’s office in the middle of the night, let alone figure out how he was going to send word to his personal chambers that he needed to speak to him in the middle of the night.

After Snape unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, he waited for Harry to join him on the stop step, then put a hand between Harry’s shoulder blades and shoved him in. Harry, uncertain about entering the Headmaster’s office when the man was probably still in his personal quarters, stumbled in, then whirled around to glare at Snape. Snape, pretending to ignore Harry’s look of disdain, merely closed the door behind him then walked over to inspect Dumbledore’s fireplace. Harry dropped into the nearest chair across from the Headmaster’s empty desk, wrapping his arms around himself as another round of shivers wrecked through his body.

Minutes slipped by in near silence, broken only by the pacing of Snape’s boots on the floor and the occasional light snores of former headmasters and headmistresses in their portraits sleeping. That is, until Snape suddenly broke the silence to ask, “Why did you not wake up Professor McGonagall or Mr. Weasley to escort you to the Headmaster in the middle of the night? What in Merlin’s name were you thinking leaving Gryffindor Tower alone in the middle of the night to walk all the way to the Headmaster’s office? Especially if the castle had been compromised by Lucius Malfoy or the Dark Lord tonight,” Snape finished incredulously.

Harry gave a shrug that he hoped Snape recognized by now was his ‘I genuinely don’t know’ shrug, rather than one of his shrugs when he just didn’t want to answer. Because he really didn’t know what he was thinking running out of Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night to the Headmaster’s office. Now that he was sitting down and his heart rate had somewhat slowed down, he realized he probably should have woken up Ron or Professor McGonagall and at least tried to explain why he needed to go right to Dumbledore.

“Idiot boy,” Snape muttered, and looked like he wanted to lay into Harry some more when, without warning, a hidden door behind the Headmaster’s chair - almost indistinguishable from the wall - creaked open. The faint scent of lemon drifted into the room as Albus Dumbledore stepped through. He looked every bit the image of someone roused too early from bed. His long silver hair and beard were in wild disarray, strands sticking out in multiple directions, slightly tangled from his pillow. For a brief moment, Harry found himself thinking that Dumbledore looked less like the powerful, all-knowing Headmaster of a magical school and more like a kindly grandfather, awoken in the middle of the night by his grandchildren. He was cinching a long, flowing silver robe over deep purple pajamas adorned with faint star patterns. With a steady hand, he pulled back the chair behind his desk and sat down slowly, folding his hands before him and glancing between the two waiting figures, fully alert now despite his disheveled appearance.

Dumbledore's gaze moved quickly between them, his eyes sharp with concern despite the weariness lingering in his features. “Severus - Harry, what is it?” he asked, his voice low and slightly confused. His eyes searched their faces, clearly trying to piece together what could have driven both Harry and Snape to his office at such an hour.

Harry opened his mouth, instinctively about to explain - before remembering, with a jolt of frustration, that no words would come. The moment his lips parted, the silence mocked him, and he quickly shut his mouth again. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he caught the way both Dumbledore and Snape were watching him, having clearly noticed the failed attempt. Embarrassment churned in his chest, and he dropped his gaze, wrapping his arms tightly around himself again.

A soft sound of flames catching wood filled the air, and Harry felt a gentle warmth at his back. He turned slightly to see that Dumbledore had silently lit the fireplace with a flick of his wand, casting a golden glow across the stone walls and pushing back the room’s chill. Without a word, the Headmaster then summoned a tea set from a side table with another wave of his hand. It floated gracefully through the air before settling on the desk. With a quiet tap of his wand on the kettle, the water inside began to heat, steam already curling up from the spout.

“Severus, if you please,” Dumbledore said calmly, gesturing to the empty chair beside Harry. His voice was polite, but there was a firmness beneath the words that made it clear the request was not optional. By the look on Snape’s face it was quite obvious that the idea of sitting next to Harry did not please him, as his dark eyes flicked to the seat, then to Harry, and back again. With a sweep of his robes Snape occupied the chair next to Harry, making sure to cross one long leg over the other to turn his body away from Harry.

As Snape shifted in his seat, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the tea set. With a careful hand, he poured steaming tea into three delicate porcelain cups, the scent of chamomile and something faintly sweet rising into the air. Harry took his gratefully with a nod of thanks to the Headmaster. His mouth was dry, and the warmth of the cup between his hands was a small but welcome comfort. He cradled it tightly, letting the heat soak into his cold fingers. Snape, on the other hand, accepted his cup with an imperceptible nod, holding it only long enough to make the exchange polite before setting it aside at the far edge of Dumbledore’s desk. He made no move to drink, clearly uninterested in tea in the middle of the night.

Once the last cup was filled, Dumbledore eased back in his chair with a soft sigh and brought his own tea to his lips. He took a slow, measured sip, the lines around his eyes deepening slightly as he studied the two figures seated before him. When he lowered the cup, it was clear he was waiting for the story to be told.

“Now then you two, who wants to explain the meaning for this late night rendezvous?”

Harry and Snape turned to look at each other the exact moment Dumbledore said that, then Snape turned away first and began filling in the older man about how he had been patrolling the corridors when he spotted Harry racing through the halls, their brief interaction, and what Snape had seen in Harry’s mind.

Harry wasn’t really paying attention - he had just experienced it, he didn’t need to hear it again - instead deciding to focus on warming different parts of his hands around his teacup. But when Snape mentioned that Harry had asked him to perform Legilimency in the corridor, Harry felt Dumbledore’s gaze settle on him. That subtle weight of attention drew him briefly back into the present. Without looking up, Harry gave a small nod of confirmation, then quickly ducked his head again and took a slow sip of his tea.

In truth, Harry had been dreading the idea of trying to explain the dream to Dumbledore himself. His plan, if one could even call it that, had involved hastily scrawling something vague on a scrap of parchment - just enough to convey the warning without having to confront the weight of it. Something along the lines of: Had a dream. Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy might be coming to attack Hogwarts. Urgent. The idea of asking the Headmaster to perform Legilimency on him never really occurred to him like asking Snape to perform it did.

But now, with Snape doing the talking, laying out the vision with calm urgency and his usual cold precision, Harry felt an unexpected relief. It was easier this way. And with the way Dumbledore trusted Snape, it meant the message would carry weight. Dumbledore had to take it seriously if it came from Snape, regardless of how strange or unbelievable the dream might seem. That, more than anything, reassured Harry.

When Snape finally finished speaking, his voice tapering off into the still air of the office, a long silence followed. The only sounds were the quiet crackling of the fire and the faint clink of china as Dumbledore set his teacup down with deliberate care.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned his full attention to Harry, studying him with that same piercing, unreadable gaze that always seemed to see far more than Harry was ever comfortable with. The weight of it made Harry shift slightly in his seat, fingers tightening around the now-lukewarm teacup.

After the silence stretched long enough Dumbeldore finally asked, “Severus if I may have a minute with Harry alone? Perhaps you could alleviate some of our concerns and confirm if the young Mr. Malfoy is asleep in his dormitory?” Dumbledore aimed his wand at his fireplace and the flames turned green. “The floo has been activated to the Slytherin Common Room. I’ll call you back when we are ready for you to return.”

Snape looked at Harry, then back to Dumbledore with a nod and exited through the floo. As Snape left, Dumbledore got up and began whispering urgently to the portraits on his wall, seemingly giving them all tasks to do as they all walked out of their portraits so Harry could no longer see them. When the final portrait had vacated their frame, Dumbledore took his seat again and turned to face Harry, who was looking curiously at the blank portraits.

“The former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts all played a part in fortifying the enchantments of Hogwarts,” Dumbeldore began. “I informed them all about what you believe you heard Lucius Malfoy say in your dream.” Believe you heard? Harry didn’t miss Dumbledore’s very deliberate word choice there. He slumped further back in his chair, one hand lightly holding his abandoned teacup in his lap. Dumbledore didn’t believe him.

“They, as well as myself, have never heard of the castle’s fortifications being “worn down” simply because the Headmaster has been leaving the castle frequently,” Dumbledore said with a frown. “Nevertheless, the events of this dream are not to be taken lightly. The headmasters and headmistresses have left this office to confer with fellow portraits in the castle and elsewhere to find out anything they know about the wards of Hogwarts being weakened. And as you just heard, Professor Snape is going down to the Slytherin dormitories to check that Draco Malfoy is asleep in bed, not out opening a door to his father and Lord Voldemort. But, Harry, you know as well as I do that these dreams don’t always have merit to them,” Dumbledore said lightly.

Harry knew without a doubt Dumbledore was also thinking of Sirius then and ducked his head as he felt his cheeks heat up. His fault. Everything was always his fault.

“But until the headmasters and headmistresses return to their portraits and until Professor Snape returns, let’s not dwell on what hasn’t happened yet. Instead - there is another matter I would like to discuss with you, Harry.”

Harry looked up, curious what else Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about in the middle of the night.

“Harry my boy, I must admit I was quite pleased when I learned that you and Professor Snape has resumed Occlumency lessons this term,” Dumbledore said lightly. “I know the lessons the two of you shared last year did not occur under the ah - smoothest of circumstances, but Occlumency is an important skill not only to have for working to get your voice back, but for strengthening your mind from any false messages Lord Voldemort tries to pass on to you.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing where this conversation was now going. Occlumency. And his absolute utter failure to grasp it. Obviously, Snape had already complained to the headmaster and was going to try to force him to go to St. Mungo’s. He gnawed on his lip. Hermione and Ron had made him feel a little better that Dumbeldore wouldn’t actually send him away, but there was still a trickle of nervousness coursing through him when the subject came up.

“So you can imagine my disappointment when Professor Snape informed me that you walked out of his office after requesting to end your lessons with him,” Dumbledore continued. “May I ask why you chose to end them?” Dumbledore asked as he held out a quill and parchment to Harry.

Harry sighed and accepted the offered materials as he started to write.

“Because it wasn’t working. I wasn’t making any progress in my lessons and it just got too frustrating having him in my head all that time.”

Dumbledore’s face betrayed nothing as he read what Harry wrote, only stroked his chin as he said “Hmm.”

“I have discussed with Professor Snape the material of your lessons, and I have to agree,” Dumbledore said, much to Harry’s surprise.

“I don’t think the manner of Occlumency Professor Snape has been using in your lessons is the best solution for the process of attempting to restore one’s voice to themselves. While this method has been effective in others recovering from great trauma, I do not believe it was effective on you because your trauma is not contained to one isolated incident,” Dumbledore said gently.

“Although please do not fault Professor Snape for this method being unsuccessful,” Dumbledore said. “He had no way of knowing that it would prove to be virtually ineffective on you, while it has worked on others. As always, you continue to be the exception, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a sad twinkle in his eye.

Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dumbledore to continue, because he could sense this conversation was not yet at the end.

“Alas, I have spoken at great length with Professor Snape, and we have agreed upon an, ahem, different approach moving forward - one that I truly believe is more catered to your unique circumstances.”

Harry tensed - this was it, Hogwarts or St. Mungo’s. Harry looked at Dumbledore expectantly, waiting for him to tell him what this new approach was, but when Dumbledore didn’t say anything Harry grabbed the parchment and quill.

“Is this new approach sending me to St. Mungo’s?” Harry wrote.

“No no, nothing of that sort,” Dumbledore assured him, and Harry felt his body consciously relax. “But it is something different that Professor Snape and I have spoken at length about,” he said cryptically.

“And what’s this new approach, sir?”

“I will leave that to Professor Snape to explain, on the condition that you allow him to resume your lessons with him and that you truly give your best to this new approach.”

Harry crossed his arms in annoyance as he stared at Dumbledore. Really? He had just ended his private lessons with Snape mere days ago, and Dumbledore was already trying to usher him back into Snape’s office?

“Harry, I’m sure you know I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t important. We all want to help you speak again, and Professor Snape and I agree that this new method is worth a try.”

Harry sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. With his luck, he should’ve known better than to walk out of his lessons with Snape in the first place, but it just got so frustrating to keep failing.

And his frustration must’ve been evident on his face because Dumbledore said, slightly chiding, “You’re not usually one to admit defeat before you’ve exhausted all possible opportunities, Harry. This is another opportunity to learn and grow and thrive in the middle of difficulty, as I’ve seen you do time and time again. Do I have your word that you will resume your lessons with Professor Snape?”

Reluctantly, Harry nodded, sensing there was no easy way out of this conversation. Great.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together as a small smile began to spread across his face. “Good, good. I will call on Professor Snape to rejoin us from the Slytherin dormitories.

As Dumbeldore went to go stick his head in the fire to call Snape, Harry put his teacup on the Headmaster’s desk and twisted his fingers together. Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort plotting to kidnap him, Dumbledore thinking he was being sent false dreams again, and now resumed Occlumency lessons with Snape. Could his night get any worse?

After removing himself from the fireplace, Dumbledore began to talk in murmured tones to a few of the occupants of the portraits, who had returned to their frames with information to share with the Headmaster.

Moments later, Snape emerged from the fireplace, dusting soot off his robes as he walked towards the seat he had occupied earlier that night. “Mr. Malfoy is sound asleep in his bed. There is no evidence to suggest he has been outside the dormitory after curfew tonight,” he announced with a pointed look to Harry. “Nor any evidence to suggest that anyone from Slytherin House was outside their dormitory after curfew,” he said, as if anticipating that Harry was just about to suggest Malfoy could have recruited Crabbe or Goyle or Pansy to do his dirty work for him in the middle of the night.

“The portraits have begun returning to their frames,” Dumbeldore announced. “They’ve spread out through the castle as I asked, and they report nothing unusual - no disturbances, no strange magical activity. Nothing… apart from the handful who saw you two sprinting through the corridors earlier tonight.”

“To the best of their knowledge,” he continued, “No one within these walls has ever heard of such a phenomenon - the castle’s magic being weakened simply because the Headmaster is not present. As real and terrifying as it may have felt to you, Harry… I fear this may have been yet another false dream. A misdirection crafted by Voldemort.”

Harry didn’t respond. He sat hunched forward in his chair, elbows digging into his knees, his hands tangled in his hair. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.

“No… no, no, no…” he thought, each word more desperate than the last. His fingers clenched tightly. He knew it wasn’t another trick from Voldemort. He was there, he knew Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy were plotting to kidnap him, even if the evidence didn’t show it.

“How could I be wrong about this?” Harry finally wrote, before weakly handing the parchment to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore read his writing then returned the parchment to Harry, his expression unreadable. “Because even the strongest minds, Harry, can be deceived - especially when the deceiver knows exactly what to show them.”

A thought jumped into Harry’s head. If Dumbledore could confirm this, then maybe he would feel assured that it was just another false dream from Voldemort meant to stress him. “I thought Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban?” Harry wrote.

Dumbledore shared a look with Snape before Harry angrily slammed a hand on his parchment to make Dumbledore look at him again.

“Harry…” Dumbledore started hesitantly, making Harry sure he was not going to like whatever it was he had to say. “Lucius Malfoy escaped Azkaban last week.”

Harry gasped and instantly clapped a hand over his mouth in horror. His dream.. His vision… he knew it wasn’t a trick dream. Lucius and Voldemort really were out to get him. Harry looked over at Snape to gauge the man’s reaction but he gave absolutely nothing away - he presumably already knew this.

“Why did you not tell me he escaped???”

“Because we didn’t want to worry you, Harry -” Dumbledore began but was interrupted when Harry scoffed and shook his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“Potter,” Snape said sharply. “Mind your manners.”

Harry felt an overwhelming urge to stick his tongue out at Snape just for that, but settled for shooting a glare at the Potions Master before crossing his arms and directing his attention to Dumbledore again.

“Lucius Malfoy’s escape from Azkaban is being kept extremely under wraps, you have to understand. The Aurors are afraid that if news gets out that Azkaban isn’t as impenetrable as people assume, that there will be more attacks and prison-breaks to get other Death Eaters out,” Dumbledore said.

“If Lucius Malfoy is out of Azkaban that’s even more proof that my dream was actually a vision that is going to come true!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore started gently, “Lucius only just escaped Azkaban. He would have no time to reunite with Voldemort, find a way to communicate discreetly with Draco, and craft some plan to kidnap you from Hogwarts.”

Seeing that Harry still wasn’t convinced Dumbledore turned to Snape. “Severus, you’ve known Lucius for many years. Do you think that plot sounds like something he would do?”

By how serious Snape seemed after he performed Legilimency on Harry in the halls, Harry thought Snape believed that his dream was a real concern. But the next words out of Snape’s mouth said otherwise.

“Lucius bides his time very deliberately, and a plan like that doesn’t sound like something he would do,” Snape said slowly, speaking very carefully in regards to how much he chose to reveal about Draco’s father in front of Harry. “His style is very much slow and methodical, waiting for just the perfect set of circumstances that would guarantee his ventures to be successful.”

Harry bit his lip, feeling like an absolute idiot. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, nothing else to say. His dream that felt so real, like an attack was being carried out on him this very moment, was nothing more than a false projection from Voldemort. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to force his thoughts into some kind of order, but they scattered every time he reached for them. All he could feel was the echo of his own doubt, and Voldemort’s voice - somewhere in the shadows of his mind - laughing.

Harry slouched in his chair and rubbed his scar, feeling overwhelmingly tired.

Both sets of eyes also in the room noticed this immediately.

“Harry, is your scar hurting again? Is it another vision from Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked urgently.

Harry dropped his hand, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He wrote, “No sir, it’s just a mild headache, nothing else.”

After studying him for a few moments Dumbledore seemed to accept that answer.

“Severus, will you walk Harry back to Gryffindor Tower tonight? I do think the storm has passed for now, but if there are any developments regarding the wards of the castle I will let you both know. Harry and I also talked briefly about your Occlumency lessons which you both agreed upon to continue.”

Snape nodded in agreement before sweeping over the door. He only offered a curt, “Come, Potter,” to rouse Harry out of his seat before they began their descent.

“And Severus,” Dumbledore called, waiting for Snape - and Harry - to turn around before he continued. “Please do continue to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy. Even if the content of Harry’s dream may be false, there is still a good chance Lucius may try to contact his son somehow. Draco needs to be kept under a very close watch.”

Continue to keep an eye on Draco? So Malfoy was up to something? Or did Dumbledore and Snape just think he was, and Snape was trying to figure out what it was.

“Of course, Headmaster. You will be kept up-to-date with any new developments. Good night,” Snape said, bidding the Headmaster farewell as began to exit the older man’s office.

Harry was itching to ask if Snape believed him. He saw the man’s face after he cast Legilimency and saw the dream in Harry’s own head. It sure looked like Snape believed there was a credible threat from Lucius and Voldemort. But what was there to do when the facts didn’t support his dream?

They walked the entirety of the way back to Gryffindor in silence, much to Harry’s surprise. He was fully expecting another lecture for being out after curfew, or a scolding for wasting his and the Headmaster’s time with the worries of one of his silly little dreams, but none came. The only time Snape acknowledged his presence was after he shined his wand at the Fat Lady to rouse her, then spoke the password - slightly surprising Harry that the man knew the Gryffindor password - so the door swung open. “Seven o’clock tomorrow. My office. Don’t be late.” And with that he was gone, leaving a very confused Harry standing in the portrait-hole listening to his professor’s footsteps fade away.

*****