A/N: Hey everyone! So I finally, finally, got the chance to do a bit of writing over the weekend. The chapter isn't nearly as long as I had hoped it would be, but at least I was able to produce something. Once again, thank you for all of the tremendous support you have all shown this story, and I appreciate you bearing with me during this extremely busy time in my life. Enjoy! :)

Harry twisted his hands together nervously as he once again stood at the side of Snape's desk, unconsciously biting down on his lip as the professor scanned over the first few lines of his newly-rewritten essay. Unsure of where else to look, the boy stared down at the floor and at his worn-out shoes, as he anxiously awaited judgement.

There was a long, silent pause in the dungeon classroom. And to Harry, it seemed to go on forever. He fidgeted in the absolute quiet for several seconds before finally managing to muster up enough courage to raise his eyes just enough to peek through his fringe at the professor. But what he saw made him quickly avert his gaze once more.

The potions master had been staring at him intently, his eyes narrowed, and an unreadable expression settled across his features. But the man still didn't speak, and Harry was suddenly even more nervous than he had been before.

Another few seconds passed. And then Snape finally set the essay down on the desk.

Out of his peripheral vision, then, Harry saw one of Snape's arms move quickly, and the boy automatically flinched back, suddenly fearing that he was about to get hit.

Snape paused, a look of puzzlement flashing in his eyes for a brief moment as he stared curiously at the unruly mess of black hair that was the top of the golden boy's bent head. Several thoughts suddenly ran through his mind, but he pushed them aside for the time being, determined to continue with the task at hand. He resumed reaching across his desk, then, and took up the quill he had intended to pick up a moment before.

Harry held his breath as he heard the first sounds of the quill scratching against parchment. He considered it to be a good sign, at least, that the man hadn't simply tossed the essay back at him like he had with his previous attempts. Maybe that meant that he was finally improving. His chest swelled with hope at that thought.

"It is really quite amazing what difference a little effort can make in one's work, Mr. Potter," Snape eventually commented. "It would seem that you are indeed capable of producing a half-way decent essay."

Harry's head snapped up at those words to see that Snape was now holding his essay out to him.

The whole paper seemed to be covered with red ink now, where Snape had quickly scribbled out some comments. But that didn't change the fact that the man had just given Harry a compliment. Even if it had come out more like a stern rebuke.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly, reaching out to take the parchment in his own hands. It may not be the perfect essay yet. But at least it was an improvement.

Snape frowned as he watched the boy head back to his desk, then, and take a seat. "It is late, Potter. You should return to your common room now."

"But I still have to work on the essay," Harry protested, looking up from his parchment.

"You may work on it tomorrow," the professor answered.

"But sir, I improved… You said I could stay if I improved—"

"You have many more detentions ahead of you, Mr. Potter. You will have ample time to work on the essay, I assure you. But for now you are dismissed."

Harry sighed as he returned to his feet, rolling up his essay and staring longingly at the stack of supplemental materials on the desk. He didn't dare ask if he could borrow any of them, though. He knew Snape would never allow it.

He gathered up his bag then, and was just reaching for his potions textbook a moment later when it happened.

"Let me rip you…Let me tear you…"

Harry immediately dropped what he was holding and covered his ears with both hands.

The textbook hit the stone floor with a loud thud, but the boy didn't seem to notice. His eyes were screwed together tightly, and he soon began mumbling quietly to himself in the stillness of the dungeon classroom.

"Potter?" Snape called out, the alarm barely detectable in his voice. The man quickly rose to his feet then, and swept across the room.

He was in front of the boy within seconds, and he leaned forward to place both of his hands on the child's shoulders.

"Potter," he tried again, giving the boy a gentle shake. "Look at me."

But Harry just shook his head as the voice continued to scream at him from inside the walls.

"No…no…no" he whispered over and over again.

"Let me kill you," the voice hissed in his ear. "Let me KILL you!"

"No!" Harry suddenly shouted back, his eyes flying open.

And then all was silent.

And a small vial was being held to his lips.

"Drink," the potions master commanded.

And Harry swallowed automatically.

Almost immediately, Harry could feel himself relax. The tension drained away from his shoulders and the rest of his body, and his breathing evened out and became normal once more. It was a calming draught, Harry realized. Only this time, the potion didn't make him feel quite so strange. It was a much milder dose this time. A child's dose.

Then the world slowly came back into focus, and Harry suddenly remembered that Snape was there, glaring at him, and he attempted to take a step back.

Unfortunately, the man had a rather tight grip on his shoulders, and he didn't seem to be the least bit interested in relinquishing his hold.

"I thought you had informed me that you were not prone to panic attacks, Mr. Potter," Snape finally spoke, his voice silky and dangerous.

"I'm not—"

"Do not lie to me, Potter."

Harry ducked his head, and stared at the floor.

"Would you care to tell me what brought this one on?" the potions master prompted, when the boy did not respond.

"No," Harry thought to himself. "You'll think I've completely lost it."

"Mr. Potter?" the man persisted, clearly getting annoyed.

Harry shook his head, still staring at the floor. "Nothing, sir. It was nothing."

Snape sighed then, and finally removed his hands from the child's shoulders. "Come along then, Mr. Potter."

Harry's eyes widened as his head snapped up. "Sir?"

"You heard me, Potter," Snape replied, striding over to the classroom door and throwing it open.

"Where are we going, sir?" Harry asked quietly, taking a step back. He had a bad feeling about this.

"I will be escorting you to the hospital win—"

"No," Harry interrupted, shaking his head and backing up further until he ran into the back of his desk. He couldn't see Madam Pomfrey. What if she found out about the voice?

Snape took a moment to rub a hand over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"My patience is wearing thin, Potter. I will not tell you again. Now come along."

"But I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital wing," the boy protested weakly, even as his legs began to obey Snape and move slowly towards the door.

But the professor just ignored him, reaching out to grab his shoulder again as they exited the classroom.

The potions master didn't loosen his grip the entire walk to the hospital wing.

Harry sat on the side of the hospital bed, looking down at his lap and straining his ears to try to hear what Madam Pomfrey and Snape were talking about several feet away.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though one of the adults must have cast a muffling charm around the two of them, because Harry was unable to make out even a single word of what they were saying.

The seconds ticked away, and the longer Harry sat there, waiting for the mediwitch and Snape to finish their conversation, the more nervous he became. Were they already planning to ship him off to some mental hospital? Were they going to put him in a straitjacket and throw him in a small, dark room somewhere? Were they—

"Potter!" Snape's commanding voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, and Harry jumped nearly a foot off the bed as he looked up to see both adults suddenly standing in front of him, expectant expressions on both of their faces.

"What?" Harry said quickly, his heart suddenly racing as he waited to hear his fate.

"I asked if you have been sleeping well, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey responded kindly, looking the boy over with a critical eye.

Harry remained silent for a moment before slowly beginning to nod his head. But at the sudden dangerous look on the potions master's face, he let out a sigh and decided to tell the truth.

"No, ma'am. Not really."

"I see," the witch said, glancing over to Snape for a moment before turning back to her patient. "Professor Snape has informed me that you have had a couple of panic attacks recently."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered simply.

"And have there been any other incidents that we should be aware of?"

"No, ma'am."

"Potter…" Snape interjected, a warning tone in his voice.

"There haven't been!" Harry defended himself. "Those were the only two times!"

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "Do you know why you are having panic attacks?"

Harry sighed as he crossed his arms and looked down at the floor. "Filch just startled me that first time," he answered at last.

"And the second one?" Madam Pomfrey pressed.

Harry sighed and gave his shoulders a shrug. "I don't know."

The adults exchanged a look, and then Madam Pomfrey pulled out her wand.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked worriedly, pulling back and away from the tip of the wand.

"Nothing to worry about, dear. Just a basic diagnostic spell."

And with that, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over Harry's head and a piece of parchment popped into existence, just as it had when Snape had cast a diagnostic spell on Hedwig up in the owlery.

Harry was suddenly extremely nervous. Just how basic was this diagnostic spell? What exactly was it going to reveal? All of his bruises from the summer may have healed. But did that mean they wouldn't show up on the parchment? He couldn't be sure.

"Hmmm…" the mediwitch began, scanning through the report. "Well, it would appear that you are indeed sleep-deprived, child. Do you have any idea what is keeping you awake?"

Harry immediately shook his head.

"Verbal responses, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped impatiently.

"No, ma'am. I don't know."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Are you worried about your classes, perhaps? It's not uncommon for some students to feel stress while in school."

Harry gave another shrug. "I guess. Maybe."

Snape raised his eyebrows, a look of disbelief flashing in his eyes.

"Well, I am going to prescribe a potion that should help relax your mind before bed," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "We'll see if that helps at all."

Harry nodded as the mediwitch summoned a potion from the cabinet at the other end of the hospital wing.

"One swallow before bed every night for the next week, Mr. Potter," the healer instructed, handing him the small bottle of pale, pink liquid.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, getting to his feet. "I guess I should get going, then—"

"You are not finished, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted him, taking a long look at the parchment in Madam Pomfrey's hands.

"But I—" Harry began anxiously.

"Sit down," the man said firmly.

And suddenly, Harry knew that he was trapped.

What else did that parchment say?

A/N: So I hope this wasn't too bad of a cliffhanger, guys. But I will apologize anyway for having to leave it there.

Next chapter: We finish up the trip to the hospital wing and (of course) spend some more time with Snape and Harry.

Thanks for reading!

-Ailee17