Harry noticed that Snape had begun to stare at him as his first days back at Hogwarts drew on.
First, he felt something unusual at breakfast the day after their meeting in the dark corridors. Ever since the war, Harry had been especially sensitive to the sensation of being watched, and pinpointed the feeling as soon as the chill of observant eyes smoothed over the back of his neck like curious fingers.
Slowly looking around, Harry met an obsidian gaze. Snape was sat in his usual place at the end of the head table, a considering, neutral look on his face. They held each other's eyes for a considerable number of seconds, before Snape broke it and went back to glaring bitterly down at the amassed students; a look more suited to his usual morning demeanour.
The next time Snape's eyes found him, he was emerging from the dungeons with several abashed-looking Slytherin first years as Harry was on his way to lunch. Harry had heard that Snape had not been reinstated as head of Slytherin house for the time being, and he knew that most of all Snape's previous privileges were dependant on his impending trial. But he supposed that Snape still took on a certain amount of responsibility with his house.
As one of the scolded boys being herded by the ex-Potions Master exclaimed look, it's Harry Potter! Snape glanced up sharply and their eyes caught again. Harry couldn't help but slow down and stare, and Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement before snapping threateningly at the student and making off up the Grand Staircase, the boys loyally at heel with their heads bowed.
The third time happened during Transfiguration. Snape interrupted the lesson part way through, marching up the aisle between desks with his teaching cloak snapping around his ankles. He faltered ever so slightly upon arriving at McGonagall's desk, his feet slipping under him and the headmistress stood up in alarm, her high-backed chair screeching against the flagstones in her haste. The loud noise attracted the attention of entire the class, and Snape wasted no time in turning his hateful sneer upon the room after righting himself, even if he looked a little pallid with fatigue.
"Shouldn't you be working? I daresay the lot of you will have to retake the year again if your collective attention spans aren't more than that of the common Flobberworm!" he shouted, and it was scathing, bitter, and more like Snape than any of them cared to remember. McGonagall looked disapproving, but she didn't say a thing as she rushed to their Defence professor's side and ushered him into a quiet corner to talk, her face stricken with concern.
Harry had meant to get back to work, but hadn't been able to keep himself from looking at his two professors as they talked. He absently stroked the spines of his quill and studied the man's profile, considering McGonagall's frantic gestures and Snape's cool, distant air in response, his hands tucked neatly into the folds of his black robe. Harry wondered what Snape needed, wondered after McGonagall's frustrated but concerned attitude, and then finally wondered if all of this, whatever this was, could have been avoided if Snape had accepted Harry's help.
Snape said something brief to McGonagall, and she seemed to huff in dejected defeat, patting him solemnly on the arm as he inclined his head in some sort of acknowledgement, and then they parted ways. Snape made his way back down the aisle between desks, his urgency somewhat less than before, and then it happened again. Their eyes met, and Harry's fingers stilled on his quill.
Snape slowed his pace as he drew parallel with Harry, the same strangely neutral look shared between them twice that day on his sallow face. Harry raised his brow slightly in question, and Snape arched one of his own dismissively in return, an ambiguous but not unfriendly response. He then broke the stare once again, carrying straight on ahead and leaving Harry to follow his journey out of the door.
The fourth time happened the very next afternoon, in their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Wednesday was just as miserable as Monday, rain thundering against ancient window panes and striking up a nonsensical rhythm that could be heard throughout the castle. But it was soothing; the candles up in their various brackets had been lit to lighten the gloom, and the rain that danced from beyond Hogwarts' weathered walls seemed miles away from the warm cosiness of their classrooms.
Harry watched the rain as it blistered the windows high on the walls of their Defence class, but he felt anything but soothed; he felt keyed up and antsy, his foot tapping out a staccato beat against the floor below his desk.
He had attempted to seek Snape out throughout the day, curious over the looks they kept sharing, but as the day dragged listlessly on and Snape was nowhere to be seen, he had become more and more riled in anticipation for their first DADA lesson. He felt defensive for Snape, and was prepared to challenge anyone who made a fuss about their reinstated professor.
"You alright mate?" Ron murmured to Harry, turning in Harry's direction without taking his eyes off the front of the class. Snape stood there silently, facing away from the room with his hands clasped behind his back, observing his cursive script as it appeared wandlessly on the blackboard.
Harry jumped a little, blinking owlishly and turning to Ron. "Uh, yeah. Just a bit tired, been a long day… you?"
Ron seemed to consider the question for a while, never taking his eyes from their professor. "Just… never thought I'd see him again, you know? Especially there, teaching like nothing happened. Dunno how I feel about it."
"He deserves this chance more than anyone Ron. You know that..." Harry replied, that tense feeling he had dealt with for most of the day crawling reluctantly up his spine. He couldn't get angry with Ron, he knew that, but he was walking a fine rope that was liable to snap if tested.
"I know that. Chill out a bit, I can feel you vibrating from here!" Ron finally turned to him, concern wrinkling his forehead. Harry met his best friend's blue eyes and took a deep breath, calming and relaxing his ridged posture. Ron stepped softly on his bouncing foot under the desk, encouraging him to still.
"We'll uh, talk later? If you want I mean… if that's something you need," Ron assured awkwardly, and Harry couldn't help but grin reluctantly; even after everything that happened in the war, Ron was still Ron. He grinned back and turned back to the front of the class, but as soon as he did so, his eyes widened and he stilled.
"Ron…?" Harry asked, unsure. Ron promptly kicked him in the shin and motioned forward with his chin. Harry huffed and swore under his breath before turning to look.
Snape was pinning him with another look. This time, it was tempered with annoyance, but no less considering and curious. His arms were crossed over his slim chest, lank black hair framing his face as he continued seeking out Harry's green eyes intently.
His mother's green eyes.
Harry felt his stomach swoop as the thought occurred to him, and it must have shown on his face because Snape titled his head enquiringly in response, his arms dropping to his sides and a scowl rising in his eyes. Harry felt a nervous blush blotch his neck as his brow furrowed in consideration. He tore his eyes away and scrunched them shut; shielding him from Snape's confounded expression.
Was that why Snape continued to seek out his gaze?
Like an old film reel, the memories from that night slid jarringly across his mind, spooling and restarting; thick blood and dead eyes, icy fear and the stench of dittany, the taste of salty tears and the sound of Snape's last words escaping his cracked, slack lips.
You have your mother's eyes.
Suddenly, the world closed in and he couldn't breathe. The rain smashed more loudly than ever against the windows, the noise of students entering the class sounded like the thunderous march of an army, Ron's concerned voice at his shoulder warped into a razor-sharp whisper that promised world domination, and Snape's black eyes reflected even the darkest shadow of the Forbidden Forest, where he walked with ghosts to his demise.
And Harry knew it wasn't real, he knew the present was at his fingertips, as tangible as the chipped wood of the desk under his palm. But as the memories drew in, he blatantly had the sense to think please, not again.
Amidst seeing the faces of the dead and remembering that poisonous flash of green over and over and over, Harry absently felt strong hands close around his shoulders, hauling him upright.
The next time he came back to himself, hands were still gripping him firmly about the upper arms. He could hear a timbered voice mumbling soft-nothings close to his ear, but he couldn't make sense of them yet. He concentrated on the rhythm of the voice, the various nuances and intonations as they floated about his head, lifting the fog and calming his breathing.
When he finally thought to open his eyes, he found himself looking at the top button of a black tunic, pulled closed at a long, white neck. The murmured words became clear, and the first thing Harry heard was none other than Severus Snape instructing him to breathe.
Snape's face loomed into view as he bent to Harry's height, and the most surprising thing about it all is that he looked concerned.
"Another breath in, Potter, slowly. Then out through your nose," he instructed firmly, his eyes skipping around Harry's face in assessment. Harry did what he was told, taking in a long breath and releasing it slowly, the force of it tickling the ends of Snape's long hair where they were standing almost nose to nose.
Harry then took a look around. They were wedged into the Defence store cupboard, various quills, books and supplies stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. It reminded Harry of Snape's old Potions cupboard with the way it was so carefully managed and maintained.
"Potter," Snape called, and Harry slowly met the man's eyes once again. "Do we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey?" he asked quietly. It was straight to the point, no-nonsense and if you squinted, a little bit impatient. But his face remained a shade concerned, and Harry couldn't help but marvel over it.
"No… I'm, uh. It happens sometimes. It hasn't happened recently, so no, I'll be OK," Harry asserted firmly, looking away and hoping that his voice didn't belay his breathlessness. He shook where he stood, and Snape's hands tightened a little on his shoulders where they were still holding him upright.
"You must be entirely certain, Potter, because you needn't to make a scene of yourself in my class again. I'm sure many years of attention are enough to satisfy even your ego," Snape whispered silkily, and Harry suddenly felt antagonism spike through him, meeting Snape's eyes once again and glaring.
They faced off, Snape's hands convulsing minutely on Harry's upper arms, his expression firm and impenetrable. Harry in turn attempted to scrutinise Snape's motives, anger prickling under his skin and strangely enough, grounding him. He straightened and walked back as far as the cupboard would allow him, Snape's hands finally sliding down his upper arms and dropping away.
"Should you need to leave my class at any time, do come and ask me first. And should this happen again, you will go to see Madam Pomfrey, no arguments," Snape finished, tucking his hands back into his robe and looking down his nose at Harry, a clear indication that the conversation was over.
Harry continued staring at his professor, but his glare slid away as he did. Then he took a large, calming breath, and pushed his glasses up with his thumb and forefinger to rub at his eyes. "Sorry for disturbing your lesson, sir," he mumbled, dropping his hands to his sides and staring forlornly at Snape's scuffed teaching boots. Snape moved then, the scratchy fabric of his cloak brushing against Harry as he made towards the door.
Weak daylight sluiced into the cupboard, dust particles dancing in the grey rays as Snape moved around him and held the door open, waiting for him to emerge. Harry blinked for a few seconds before stealing himself and making his way past Snape, sliding past with his back to Snape's chest and into the quiet Defence classroom.
The room was empty. Stools were scattered haphazardly around the room as if their occupants had left in a rush, spare quills and parchment lying abandoned on barren worktables. There was not a single student in sight.
"Sir?" Harry turned to Snape as he shut the store cupboard with a snap and whirled around, pinning Harry with an impatient expression. "Where is everyone?" Harry finished, walking towards the man as he took a seat behind his desk, shuffling a stack of parchment with intent.
"While you were not… with yourself, I afforded your rancorous classmates a free lesson to concentrate on revision. You are all to reread the N.E.W.T level text Confronting the Faceless by our next session, where we will be engaging in a practical. Considering the… interruptions we've experienced these past years, there are a wealth of subjects we must catch up on if any of you have even a hope of meeting the required standard," Snape finished bitterly, finding the piece of parchment he'd been seeking and standing again.
Harry was taken aback, his mouth slack with surprise as he watched his professor make his way slowly around the desk.
Did Snape cancel the lesson for me? Or is this just a coincidence?
Surely enough as Harry turned to look, Snape's scrawl was still printed onto the blackboard at the front of the class, outlining their lesson plan for the day.
Before he could even think to ask, Snape abruptly grimaced in pain part way over to Harry, cupping his neck in the same way he had done on Monday night and letting a sharp breath out of his long nose. Harry rushed forward without a second thought this time, reaching out and touching the hand Snape had wrapped around his neck with feather-light, delicate fingers. He stepped closer, feeling his stomach roil at the pain etched into Snape's face and felt a not-so-alien rush of sympathy for the man before him.
"You talk about me seeing Pomfrey, but I don't think you should have even left, sir," Harry whispered, and Snape cracked one of his black eyes open to stare down at Harry once again, the continued considering look taking residence on his face, laced liberally with shock.
"Don't mean to assume what is good for me, Potter," Snape snarked back in a whisper, but he didn't attempt to move, his hand once again trembling curiously under Harry's soft touch.
"But you told me to –"
"I am your professor, I am responsible for you and I have the authority to tell you what to do!"
"It's a bit hypocritical –"
"Do NOT test me Potter!" Snape finally snapped loudly, stepping back and away from Harry's touch. He swiftly thrust the parchment into Harry's slackening hand as it fell from his face and turned his back, an irritated huff escaping him.
Harry couldn't help but grin slightly, folding up the parchment and slipping it into his trouser pocket. "Sorry sir… are you OK?" Harry said, unable to keep a hint of amusement from colouring his tone.
Snape glared moodily once more at Harry, offering a sharp yes before making his way back to his desk and sitting down heavily, pulling another stack of parchment toward him and seemingly becoming absorbed in his marking in a matter of ten seconds.
Dismissed, then.
Harry shrugged good-naturedly, making his way back to his desk and collecting his messenger bag. He then stopped on his way to the door, pivoting slowly on the spot and facing their ex-Potions Master once again.
"Thank you," he called over the room, causing Snape's quill to still where he had been scribbling through a line of handwriting with vicious vigour. Snape looked up, and they were subsequently caught in another one of their stares. Harry couldn't decipher these looks; he needed to ask Snape about it all at some point, but decided for that the time being, he would leave it be.
Their eyes continued resting upon each other, but this time Harry didn't feel uncomfortable. He allowed the sensation of being observed wash over him; one of the first and only times in a long while that staring hadn't felt edged with danger and invasion.
Then Snape inclined his head in acquiesce, flicking his writing quill back and forth between his fingers, looking for all the world like he wanted to snap back and only just resisting. Then he huffed in annoyance once again and shooed Harry with an impatient flick of his wrist.
"Sort yourself out before you try to help other people, Potter." Snape's murmur carried across the room as Harry turned again to leave, and he couldn't figure out if he was supposed to have heard it or not.
It was terribly hypocritical either way.
But he didn't bother picking on it and finally left, letting the door drift shut behind him with a click of finality.
Ron had accosted him as he made his way out of their Defence classroom, assaulting him with questions and concerns and altogether flapping over him like Hermione would. Harry had chased off the various concerns, assuring Ron he was OK now and that he would talk about it another time.
This seemed to placate his friend for the time being, but Ron continued to shoot wary glances at him for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, as if they were still living under the threat of Voldemort and Harry was liable to pass out or have a fit at any second.
Dinner was a standard affair; their allusive DADA professor was once again absent from the Great Hall and if Harry wasn't mistaken, McGonagall looked about to hit the roof over it, glancing back to Snape's seat every so often with an extremely cross look on her face.
When dinner was over they dragged their sorry-selves back to Gryffindor common room stuffed with chicken pie and apple crumble, claiming their favourite chairs by the fire and settling in to play exploding snap. Ron's concerned look had somewhat diminished in the face of their game, beyond amused that Harry was just as terrible at it as he was at wizard's chess.
Their classmates from Defence earlier that day didn't seem all that surprised by the events that had unfolded, and only offered him friendly greetings when they passed. At the end of the day, Harry was Harry, the Chosen One who over the years had often had funny little turns in inappropriate situations. He was grateful that their collective eighth year was so understanding, even if it was made up of various returning Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins alike.
Before long, a familiar head of bushy tawny-coloured hair appeared through the portrait hole, and Ron was up and out of his chair before Harry could blink. Harry watched with an embarrassed smile that scrunched up his nose as Ron picked Hermione up in his arms and twirled her joyously, her squealing all the way and shouting that he should put her down now!
Dropping her obediently, Ron leant in for a huge kiss, the sound of it carrying across the common room. A pretty blush crossed Hermione's nose as the Gryffindors amassed in the room wolf whistled at the pair, and Ron stared down at his girlfriend in naked admiration, smoothing her frizzy hair back from her face and saying something quiet and only meant for her.
After that moment, Hermione looked up and saw Harry, her eyes lighting up as she escaped Ron's embrace and ran over, a blush still flushing her happy face. Harry stood just in time to receive and armful of his other best friend, her hair tickling his nose as she squeezed him enthusiastically around the middle.
"Oh Harry! It's so good to see you, I've missed you so much!" Hermione talked into his neck, her face damp where it pressed into his skin. Harry felt his chest hitch in relief; his two best friends in the whole world were finally with him, here, very much alive and breathing. He felt like he could take on anything at with them at his side, and he squeezed Hermione a little tighter as the thought crossed his mind, muttering that he had missed her too into her hair.
Hermione reared back and framed his face with her small, feminine hands, caressing him just behind his ears and smiling. "How are you, Harry? I hope you've been alright, I'm so sorry we had to leave you to deal with coming back to school alone, I know how hard that was on you, I – "
"It's OK Hermione, don't worry about it, you both had important things to do. I've been fine," Harry interrupted softly, catching Ron's sceptical stare over her shoulder and giving him a look, one he knew Ron would understand.
Ron seemed to read it loud and clear, rolling his eyes and dropping into the closest armchair. He began rearranging the abandoned game of exploding snap, waiting for Hermione to finish fussing over Harry.
"Are you sure? I've been so worried… after I found my parents, it was hard… the counter spell took much longer and was a lot harder than I expected. I wanted to be back a week before this Harry, and we could have gone together," Hermione said, her eyes upset and her hands moving from his face and running down through his fringe, trying and failing to straighten it out.
"It's OK, really. Ron got here Monday night so I've had him since then, and besides, I can look after myself." Harry admonished softly, a smile on his face as he pulled Hermione's hands out of his hair and held them in his own, squeezing them in encouragement.
"I'll believe that the next time you defeat a dark lord without us," Hermione teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. Harry laughed low in his chest and released her hands, making to sit back in his armchair.
"Hopefully there will never be another dark lord Hermione, but fine, you're right, I'm useless without you. Happy?"
"Very," Hermione agreed, laughing and perching herself on the arm of Ron's armchair. She leant against his shoulder as one of his arms snaked across to rest innocently on her thigh, his fingers running carelessly across the material of her jeans.
They settled in then, talking, playing games and reading by the light of the fire for the rest of the evening. Harry felt like he could have purred; he was content, warm and felt safe in their presence. They discussed the week so far, updated Hermione on the various bits of homework they had received and then frantically reassured her that even though she was late back, she would be ahead of them in no time at all.
When it came time to update her on what he now dubbed as the Severus Snape Situation, they were surprised to hear that she already knew. She had owled McGonagall on her way back from Australia on Sunday evening to make the headmistress aware of her whereabouts, and by Wednesday morning Hermione had received a response, in the form of a nondescript Hogwarts owl waiting patiently for her on her parent's kitchen table.
McGonagall had gone to lengths to explain the situation in full as to save Hermione the shock of it on returning. Harry was a little envious that she had a heads up, but he couldn't blame their headmistress; McGonagall had already explained how her schedule had stopped her talking to them earlier on. At least one of them had been spared the surprise.
"Oh, I must go to see him. Maybe he'd like some help planning lessons?" Hermione suggested to them at one point, the common room now almost completely empty because of the late hour.
"He wouldn't take kindly to that, 'mione. I already offered him help and he lost it." Harry pointed out, dropping his copy of Confronting the Faceless to his lap and sighing in exhaustion. He had barely made it past the third chapter.
"When? You didn't tell me you offered to help him," Ron asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Harry just shrugged awkwardly, not really wanting to bring any of it up, and Ron understood the hint but took it with a little bit of bad grace as he eyed the book in Harry's lap.
"That why you're reading Snape's N.E.W.T stuff early? Trying to impress him or something?" Ron needled good-naturedly, and Harry gave him another annoyed look.
"Does it matter?" Harry demanded, and Ron just rolled his eyes again and relented with a huff, going back to skimming over his Cannons magazine for about the fifth time that week.
"What?! You didn't tell me we were supposed to be reading something for Snape!" Hermione accused suddenly, jumping up from where she had migrated to the floor between Ron's legs at some time during their evening. She walked over to Harry and sat on the arm of his chair, plucking the book from his lap and turning it over in her hands, observing it cover to cover.
"Oh yeah, sorry I forgot," Harry admitted and Hermione glared down at him, looking stricken at the idea that she might have been behind on something. Harry shoved his hand into his pocket before pulling out the parchment Snape had given him earlier.
"Here, I think he wrote it down. I haven't checked yet." Harry offered, handing Hermione the screwed up parchment. She looked affronted as she picked apart the folds, probably horrified that Harry treated instructions vital to their learning in such a callous way.
"Oh, there's one here for me! Here's yours Harry," she asserted, handing him back his book and a single piece of parchment, wandering away with one of her own. Her eyes had already started zipping across the page as she walked, taking the words in. Harry looked down at Snape's easily identifiable scrawl and noticed that the sheet Hermione had given him had his name at the top, alongside the sentence Eighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts: critical areas of study.
As Harry read, he recognised that every subject on the page was an area he had not touched on yet, or was seriously behind in because of the war. They were listed in category of difficulty and in what order they should be learned, while also mentioning the books required or practical means to learn about them alongside.
Snape had taken the time to personally outline what each student in his eighth year class needed to relearn, brush up on or learn from scratch to pass their delayed N.E. . By the look of it, he had tailored each of their requirements to the individual, instead of blanket instruction to suit all. Harry stilled in his chair, his fingers running along the crinkled edge of the parchment in wonder; this would have taken Snape a very long time.
Snape had obviously given Harry Hermione's guidelines in hope that Harry would pass them on when she finally arrived at the school. Harry scrutinised the first line of the page, holding the parchment closer to his nose to get a clearer look at Snape's handwriting:
Before moving onto a more personal area of study, all are required to read Confronting the Faceless. As a N.E.W.T level Defence Against the Dark Arts text, I expect every last student to know its contents back to front by the time we are prepared to address your shortcomings in my subject. To recap, you may also reread The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts, but this is not prerequisite, as this text is under your level of study.
Harry's eyes then wandered further down the list, taking in the various things Snape had decided that he needed to learn to pass his N.E.W.T. The sentence Combatting Inferius leapt out at him, and he couldn't help a small, sarcastic laugh; he had never learnt about defending himself against Inferius in theory in Defence, because he actually fought them in real life and almost died before he had a chance to.
If that was not a sad state of affairs, he didn't know what was.
Harry lowered the parchment to his lap and sighed dramatically; Hermione was already perched at the coffee table, furiously scribbling notes into a tattered old organiser, probably setting herself a reading/homework plan for the entire year, or something else entirely over the top. Ron had apparently begun to drift off, the Cannons magazine slipping slowly out of his hands and his head bowed, his chin gently coming to rest on his chest as he let out a loud snore.
At that, Harry decided to go to bed. He bid goodnight to his friends, Hermione echoing the sentiment and Ron grunting something unintelligible, and he packed up his things and made his way up the spiralling staircase to their dormitory.
On autopilot, he abruptly had to stop himself opening the wrong door on his way up; to accommodate the new eighth years, Hogwarts had automatically added extra rooms into all of their common rooms. As such, there was one more floor than usual, and Harry and his old roommates were situated on the newest level the top of the tower. It took some getting used of, and Harry made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he took the last few steps up to their dorm.
Pushing his way in and shutting the door with a soft thud, Harry leaned back against it and took a breath. Mere minutes earlier he had been content in the presence of his friends, but as soon as he was alone, he felt a pressing feeling settle on his chest like a vice; not a vicious and overwhelming sensation, but just enough to cause Harry to focus on the discomfort and dwell on it.
He tried to shake the feeling by busying himself for bed, and by the time the curtains were drawn and his quilt was pulled securely up to his chin, the same restless feeling he'd been experiencing all week at night took hold, and he shifted his legs uncomfortably against the horrid sensation.
Harry was at his wits end. Between worrying about Snape, facing the realties of his new, threat-free existence and adjusting to being back at Hogwarts after the war, he felt like his mind should have no reason or time to act the way it was. But he supposed years of neglecting his mental state (and not to mention Voldemort's soul taking residence up there) would catch up with him eventually.
He'd see Pomfrey about it. In time.
His thoughts suddenly brought him back to Snape and their interesting, albeit a little unsettling, staring matches. Harry rebuilt the scene in his mind from earlier today; Snape with his quill resting limply in his long, slender hand, his eyes meeting Harry's across the classroom and boring into them, the stare completely indistinguishable and full of possibility.
What does he want? Why does he keep doing that to me? Harry thought desperately, fighting another unusual urge to seek his professor out once again and demand to know why, if only to placate his reeling thoughts.
And why not...? His mind reasoned. Harry scrunched his brow at that, considering it as he shifted into a more comfortable position in the bed. He reminded himself of the first time, of Snape's anger and of the man lying on the floor, barely comprehending in the wake of his fall...
But that won't happen this time. This time it'll be different. This time I won't piss him off...
Harry blinked at that. Did he really want to seek Snape out again so soon? And for what?
To ask him why. To convince him to except my help. To talk like we never got the chance to. Harry sighed at the thought, all too aware that we was only trying to convince himself so he could get out of this room and away from the confines of his bed.
And to ask Snape why, his brain parried. At that, he made up his mind. He stared at the canvas over his head for close to thirty seconds, before huffing and pulling the blankets back in abject defeat. He stepped smartly out of bed, ignoring any part of him that wanted to reason with his decision any further. He'd always got by reacting on impulse, why stop now?
This time, he rooted around for his cloak and pulled it free from his messenger bag, shaking it out and dropping it neatly over his head. He wanted to be able to pass Ron and Hermione without incident; he didn't want them to worry over him.
He pulled the curtains around his bed shut and hoped Ron wouldn't have the sense to peek, and then as an afterthought, pulled his Marauders Map from his bag in case Snape wasn't in his quarters. He slipped his feet into his worn trainers and then set off out of the room and back down the stairs at a brisk walk, already feeling more upbeat in anticipation for the journey ahead.
He needn't have even used the cloak. When Harry arrived in the common room, he was welcomed by the sight of Ron and Hermione alone and entwined in each other; Hermione sat astride Ron's lap with his arms pulled tight around her waist, their eyes closed and kissing like they intended to steal the oxygen from each other's lungs.
Harry pulled a bit of a face at that, and continued quickly but quietly past his enamoured best friends until he reached the portrait hole, slinking out as silently as he could. He doubted they'd have even noticed if a herd of hippogriffs had charged though the room in that moment, but it was better safe than sorry in Harry's opinion.
As soon as he stepped out of their common room and into a quiet, dark alcove nearby, Harry pulled the Marauders Map from his pocket and whispered the usual incantation to get it to open. Belatedly, he wondered why he hadn't worn his hoodie out tonight and shivered as he pursued the map with a calloused finger, looking for that all too familiar name and glaring a little when he found that more of a challenge than he anticipated.
Finally, Severus Snape was hovering in the library, and Harry wondered if he was even surprised. Bracing himself by pulling in a huge, steadying breath, Harry made his feet move in the direction of the third floor.
Harry silently promised himself as he made his way down a hidden flight of stairs behind a tapestry that tonight, he would finally convince his professor to accept his help.
The man deserved as much, and asking one more time couldn't hurt, could it?
And I'll find out why he's been looking at me
TBC