Like every night since the kids had left Grimmauld Place after Christmas, Sirius was sitting on the large couch by the fireplace, a piece of mirror placed on the table next to a glass of Firewhisky. Each day felt like a long torture, a living hell where he had been condemned for eternity. What had he done to deserve this? Hadn't he undergone enough unfair pain in Azkaban? Was it a kind of retaliation from his late parents?

He wanted to talk to Harry, he needed to. Especially after the shocking news of the Ministry's new rules at Hogwarts. How could his godson end up in Slytherin in the middle of his fifth year? He knew him well enough to imagine the humiliation and guilt he must have felt—and was certainly still feeling.

Sirius didn't react when his friend sat next to him on the couch. His eyes were absently glued to the flames dancing in front of him, like an intense hypnosis session. Remus placed his butter beer and a plate of biscuits on the table before tilting his head toward Sirius.

"What are you thinking about, Padfoot?" He asked with a low voice.

The man came back to reality at the sound of his voice. He looked at his tall and tired-looking friend and shook his head.

"Nothing—nothing." Sirius murmured.

Remus sighed. His best friend had been acting like this for a few months now; he had seemed lost in his mind since he had settled in this house. But a part of Remus worried that he'd been hiding in his head for fourteen years as his only way to cope with the trauma of Lily and James' deaths.

"Molly cooked some biscuits; she thinks you should eat more." Remus said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Molly was right: if someone needed to eat all of her food, it was Sirius—and Harry, of course. Sirius had lost half his weight in Azkaban, and while Remus had hoped that his freedom would have helped him regain some strength, he had never regained the healthy shape he had when he was younger. It had become worse after the graveyard event Harry had gone through. Sirius had become so worried for his godson that he had forgotten to take care of himself.

He handed the plate to the thin man, but the latter politely declined with a hand gesture. It was useless to insist, Remus knew him by heart. He put the plate back on the table, where he noticed the mirror.

"You're still waiting for Harry to talk to you?"

Sirius nodded. "I tried, you know—I thought the mirror would help us communicate easily, but every time I tried, I only saw my reflection. I think he didn't open it; he must have forgotten about it—"

Remus could hear the disappointment in his voice. Harry had become the most important person in Sirius' eyes since the day he was born. It was easy to imagine how painful it must have felt to be away from him, to not be able to take care of him when he needed it the most. Remus felt terrible too; he wanted to help the boy more, he wanted to make up for his absence during all these years, but he was failing miserably. With the ministry taking over the school, communicating with the kids had become strenuous; even Molly and Arthur struggled to get news from their children. They had learned about Harry's house change through the Daily Prophet like everybody else, and had never gotten the chance to talk to him and reassure him since then.

"He must be busy, life has surely become crazy at Hogwarts now…" he said, not convinced by his own guess.

Sirius sighed deeply.

"I just hope he's okay. I feel like I'm failing him once again…"

Remus laid his hand on the man's shoulder.

"You're doing what you can, Sirius, and he knows it."

"I'm not doing enough."

"Why don't you try to talk to him again?" "Maybe it will work this time," Remus encouraged him.

They heard voices coming from the kitchen, Molly and Arthur seemed to be in a tense conversation, like they tended to have more and more frequently these past few days. The two marauders were secretly wondering why the Weasleys spent so much time at Grimmauld Place when they could live more comfortably at the Burrow, but the couple didn't appear to share the same opinion. They wanted to be close to the Order, and Remus suspected Molly was trying to keep an eye on Sirius and make sure he was not making any plans that could put Harry and himself in danger. Sirius seemed to have understood as well; his relationship with the matron was deteriorating with each passing day.

Remus was constantly swinging between both sides, as he understood their respective motivations and feelings. It was something he had experienced all his life—being in the middle, trying constantly to dampen down the conflicts—and he was actually good at it, even though there were moments when he would rather be far from these childish arguments.

Sirius rose to his feet, grabbed his drink, and finished it in one sip.

"I tried to use it earlier, but it's useless. I should go to bed." He muttered.

"Try again," Remus insisted.

But Sirius wasn't listening. With a sigh, he walked toward the stairs, when a familiar voice he hadn't heard for too long made him swivel.

"Sirius…?"

It was Harry's voice.

Remus, who was still sitting on the couch, turned his attention to the mirror right next to him, where he spotted the familiar green eyes that made his heart twinge every time. As soon as Sirius understood what was happening, he rushed to the coffee table and crouched down next to Remus' legs.

"Harry! Is that you?" He asked with a sudden energy that Remus had not witnessed for a long time.

Harry's face nodded with a frown; he seemed lost, confused; his face was oddly pale; and his eyes were slightly red. He looked exhausted.

(***)

Harry rushed outside the Slytherin common room, with absolutely no idea where to go next. The long corridor facing him was plunged into gloomy darkness. He absently pressed his album against him with a deep sigh. The flames consuming the picture of his smiling parents were still dancing in front of his eyes, as they were destroying one of the only tangible memories he had of them. He would never forgive what Blaise did—never. And the idea of sharing his room with him for the rest of the year, or perhaps even for the rest of his education, made him feel sick. He had never thought he could hate a student more than Malfoy, but Blaise has definitely succeeded in the impossible.

Well, Malfoy still almost got Buckbeak executed and Hagrid fired…

Maybe he still despised the blond teenager more; however, he had the intuition that it would not last long before Blaise surpassed him.

Harry withdrew his cloak from his robe's pocket and hid under it. He had to go somewhere; he couldn't stay in the corridor all night, especially on this cold and uncomfortable stone floor. The room of requirement would have been the best option if Umbridge hadn't banned it the previous week. It was now fully protected by spells and Filch, preventing anyone from using it anymore. Unfortunately for him, the Owlery remained the only place where he could have peace. He silently walked in the direction of the high tower, already dreading the freezing wind he would have to bear the whole night as there were no windows in the Owlery.

"Such a bad idea…" he whispered to himself.

The closer he was to the tower, the more skeptical he felt. A part of him knew he had to find another place to spend the night, somewhere warmer in this wintery weather.

"I just want to be in my room…"

That was it! The Gryffindor common room! He would not be able to walk up to the fifth year bedroom, but he could perhaps sit somewhere downstairs with his cloak hiding him. He checked in his pocket to see if he still had the password paper that Hermione had made for him. It was still there; he had luckily not emptied his pockets for a few days. He unfolded it, whispered "I want to go home", and a word appeared on the blankness of the parchment:

"Glumbumble"

He quickly wondered if anyone in possession of this paper could read the password or if it only appeared for him. He should definitely ask Hermione, in case one of his roommates gets his hands on it.

The portrait of the fat lady finally came into view, and he felt like it had been an eternity since he had stepped inside this door—whereas it had only been a few days.

"Who's there?" The fat lady suddenly asked before he could even pronounce the password. She was frowning, her painted eyes scanning the empty stairs. Harry approached a bit closer and whispered:

"Glumbumble"

She jumped out of surprise when she heard a voice coming from nowhere.

"I don't like this kind of trickery, but I have no choice." She muttered as the door slowly opened.

Harry slipped inside as quickly and quietly as possible before ending up in one of his favorite places at Hogwarts. There were still some small flames in the fireplace as evidence of recent activity. He craved the sight of the comfortable red couch, where he used to sit almost every night, but he feared to fall asleep and not wake up before students would get up in the morning. So he opted for a hidden window sill where he knew nobody would try to sit, and he attempted to settle comfortably on the freezing stone. It's still better than the Owlery, he thought.

He placed the photo album and shattered mirror at his feet delicately before leaning against the wall. The cloak prevented the wind coming through the thin glass from seeping in, but he still felt like he could never fall asleep there.

"I guess it's better that way."

He still cast a muffliato charm around him just to be sure, then tried to relax. His eyes were wandering between the brown leather covering the large book and the black fabric that covered the pieces of mirror. He had vowed he would never open that present, but once again, the Slytherin had made sure to ruin everything. He frowned at the object, highly tempted to discover it now that it was open—and broken.

A mirror? For what? He had expected something way different, like a potion or a mysterious object. But certainly not a mere mirror. He extended his arms and delicately took the largest piece of the mirror.

"Lumos," he whispered, as he couldn't see anything in the dark room.

The tip of his wand produced a halo of light that reflected in the mirror and dazzled him for a second. He was staring at nothing but his reflection.

It was just a mirror.

Harry sighed, wishing he could see something more exciting than himself. Perhaps the object didn't work anymore? He went to cast a mending charm when he thought he saw something appear—something vaguely familiar, like a ceiling he had already seen somewhere.

There was only one way to know. He frowned at his reflection and murmured:

"Sirius?"

Nothing. Maybe he should try a little louder? But as soon as he reopened his mouth, Lupin's face replaced his tired face, making him slightly startled. He had not expected to see his former teacher, and this turn of events prevented him from saying anything.

"Harry, is that you?"

It was Sirius' voice. Harry's heart started beating with excitement, and Lupin was soon joined by his godfather, who kneeled before him and grabbed the mirror.

Harry took a moment to fully realize what was happening: the two people he had wanted to talk to were finally here, right in front of him, through a means of communication that Umbridge had no hold on.

"Sirius... Professor Lupin... What… " The young teenager babbled, unable to finish his thoughts.

"Please call me Remus, Harry." Lupin chuckled.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, old habit..." He apologized.

Sirius would have normally joked and teased Remus for this very serious nickname, but he seemed way too preoccupied to pay attention.

"Harry, where are you?" The thin man frowned at his godson, scanning every single detail of his pale face. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded, but he knew he couldn't fool them; he could feel the blood leaving his face to escape from his opened cut, as well as his heavy dark circles and puffy eyes due to some tears of rage he had shed on his way out of the Slytherin room.

"Harry, where are you?" Sirius asked again.

"Hum, Slytherin common room." Harry lied.

He was lucky they could only see a gray stone wall behind him, making them unable to identify the Gryffindor common room.

"Why are you still up so late? Is everything alright?"

The worry in Sirius' voice was making Harry regret his hopes of talking to him. His godfather was clearly too anxious for him, he had lost weight and looked almost as tired as himself.

"I'm okay, Sirius; I just couldn't sleep. Crabbe snores a lot," he said with a fake smile.

None of the marauders seemed to buy his excuse, but they remained silent for a few seconds, until Lupin asked:

"How is it going for you? How are you holding up?"

Harry shrugged,

"It's okay."

—Except that Blaise just burned my favorite picture of my parents.

"It could be worse, I guess." He added instead.

"What about Umbridge, and Snape? How are they treating you?"

"I haven't seen Snape yet; I have class with him tomorrow morning." Harry explained, "And Umbridge... well, she's still the same."

The intense itching in his forearm said otherwise.

Sirius sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.

"I know how you feel, Harry; I know you feel humiliated, and I wouldn't risk much if I said you felt guilty too."

Harry lowered his eyes.

"But I need to remind you that nobody is judging you—not Remus, not the Weasleys, not your friends, not me, and most importantly, not your parents." "They would have never judged you for wearing a green uniform, you hear me?"

"Don't listen to that stupid newspaper." Remus summarized his friend's advice.

The young boy absently loosened his green tie with one hand, as if it would keep the color away from his skin.

"Harry, it's important that you understand what I'm saying; we're all here for you, and it doesn't affect anything about who you are." Sirius insisted, his voice almost breaking with emotion.

Lupin laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and took over.

"The order thinks it's a trap from the ministry to get you isolated and more vulnerable. There's also a strong possibility you-know-who is trying to get you closer to him by passing by the Slytherin house."

Goosebumps went through Harry's body.

"You need to keep your mind closed as much as you can, and don't trust anyone that is not your friend; don't get close to any of your roommates, alright?" Lupin had rarely looked that serious.

"I know we shouldn't label all Slytherins as vile, but as long as we don't exactly know the Ministry's and Voldemort's plans, we can't take any risks; don't trust them, don't let them get close to you, and don't let them squeeze anything out of you!"

Harry nodded; it's not as if he craved a friendship with Blaise, Malfoy, or any other roommates.

"But on the other hand," Sirius spoke again, "you absolutely need to hold on to your real friends; you have to talk to them, trust them, and most importantly, don't isolate yourself! We think it's what Umbridge expects you'll do, and it's what Voldemort is trying to do. Don't give them what they want; don't make it easier for them."

"Ok ok…"

Harry hesitated. He cast a glance at his parents' friends, their reassuring smiles reaching him like a small beam of light in his own darkness.

"You know," he started after a deep breath, "in my first year, when I got sorted for the first time, the hat said I would do great in Slytherin...

The two men didn't answer directly; Lupin looked down at his friend for a second before they focused back on Harry, then Sirius sighed,

"Harry, you are not a Slytherin. The hat can see many different potentials in children, simply because humans are more than just one thing; we are not just clever, brave, ambitious, or loyal. We are complex beings; we evolve, change, and choose which paths to follow and which to leave behind. This is exactly why the students' choices are so important. You had an ambition the sorting hat felt, but you chose to follow something else, something you were willing to explore and prove. You ended up in Gryffindor because it was the house where you would thrive the most."

"You know, Lily told me one day that the hat had really struggled to place her," Remus added with a smile.

"Same for me," Sirius said.

Both Remus and Harry stared at him with a curious look.

"It's no secret that my entire family was Slytherin. I'm fairly certain I didn't end up in the same house because I deeply wanted to be different." He chuckled.

"I—I had no idea," Harry stammered.

"It's the choices we make, Harry; that's what we truly are."

The young boy nodded. He suddenly felt way better.

"In any case, the Ministry's decision doesn't make any sense. The sorting hat has always taken the students' preferences into account. It's certainly not because they want to straighten the school or whatever they say." Lupin said.

A feminine voice came from behind the two wizards, who swiftly turned around to answer the voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are leaving soon; we should let you go before Molly notices you're still up."

Harry wanted to ask why the Weasleys were at Grimmauld Place, but Sirius didn't let him speak.

"We'll talk to you very soon." "Keep the mirror close to you, and remember, don't isolate yourself."

"And stay vigilant." Remus added before they both disappeared from Harry's sight. The teenager sighed as he put down the mirror. He could have talked to them all night, but here he was, alone again, with nothing but his pessimistic thoughts.

(***)

Harry hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until a warm ray of sunlight streamed through the wide window he was leaning against and scorched his closed eyelids, turning the deep blackness in which he was dozing into an orange-red color. He slowly opened his eyes, letting the warm, noisy common room appear in his field of vision. A wave of students of all ages were rushing in small groups towards the exit door, talking and laughing out loud, as if nothing could affect their peaceful lives. It took Harry a long time to remember that he had no business being here and that this wasn't his common room anymore. He quickly checked that his feet and belongings were well concealed under his cloak and curled up silently, holding his breath as if he could make himself heard in the din. He waited patiently for the room to empty; he saw Ginny come down from her room with one of her flatmates, then he saw Fred and George in a very serious discussion, which was quite rare.

Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ron finally appeared much later. His best friend motioned for them to leave without him, and he waited at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall like he used to do with Harry when they were waiting for Hermione. She appeared soon after, and the vision of his two best friends so close to him yet so far away hurt him. He thought back to what Sirius had told him the night before—he shouldn't isolate himself. But the idea of sharing with them his torture sessions, his continual humiliations, and his emotions in general made him sick. The fact that he wasn't strong enough to endure these detentions, the fact that he hadn't been quick enough to save his parents' picture, the fact that he wasn't imposing enough to gain respect in his new room—it was all too humiliating.

His two friends finally left the common room, leaving him alone. He had to get out of there; he wanted to take a shower and had to get ready for class. He jumped nimbly from the window sill, his cloak still on him. As he grabbed the photo album and the mirror, he wondered where he should put them. It was unimaginable to take them back to the Slytherin room, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he should keep every personal belonging away from their grasps. He walked past the stairs leading to his former bedroom and wondered if he could use it to store his things. There was no reason not to do it; he had access to the passwords, he trusted the people who slept in this room, and with a little luck, they hadn't removed his bed and nightstand.

He climbed the stairs to the wooden door, which he opened gently. Nothing had changed in the room; it almost looked like he had never left. His four-poster bed was still there, perfectly made, with the little nightstand beside it. He slipped the album into the top drawer, then stared at the broken mirror. Should he leave it there? or keep it in his pocket?

"I should keep it."

He put the pieces of the mirror on his bed.

"Reparo!"

The pieces were instantly reassembled, leaving a beautiful, square mirror.

"Reducio," he said, knowing it wouldn't fit in his pocket.

Once he was done with the Gryffindor room, Harry headed back to the Slytherin one, where his class books were waiting for him. The room was empty, as expected. He first rushed to the bathroom to clean his uniform, which was stained with blood, took a quick shower, and applied some essence he had hidden in a cupboard before he headed to his trunk. It was still open on the floor, between his bed and Malfoy's. A piece of paper with unrefined handwriting lay in the middle of his crumpled clothes. He kneeled before the trunk and took the paper.

"Your books went for a little flight this night. See you in potion class. PS: You never should have hit me."

Harry threw the paper on the floor as he dug into his trunk to find his books. Nothing. Only his clothes and various useless items.

"So it's never going to end."

He sat in defeat on the cold floor, a muggle shirt in his hand. He felt tired, even after the full night of sleep he just had, which, from what he remembered, had been mostly invaded by dreams—nightmares—of his parents. The desire to spend just one peaceful day free of childish humiliations was lingering in his mind. Unfortunately for him, Blaise seemed to make sure he would suffer until the end of the year.

(***)

Harry was late. Late and without his potion book. After a deep breath, the boy knocked on the door he hated so much, only to hear a voice he hated even more. He slipped inside the classroom under all the stares from the Slytherin and Gryffindor students and the deep glare of Snape at the back of the room.

"You are late, Potter. I see you still have a take for remarkable entrances." The greasy-haired man growled, "You work today in groups of three; please join Miss Greengrass and Miss Roper."

Harry scanned the Slytherin tables until he spotted two girls behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's table. He walked past his Gryffindor fellows without looking too much at them and sat next to the girls he had never talked to before.

"Hi…" He murmured, trying to stay polite to his potentially not-too-despicable Slytherin classmates. He didn't even remember their names, and it apparently showed on his face.

"I'm Daphe Greengrass," said the first girl.

"And Sophie Roper" added the second one.

Harry almost introduced himself until he realized how useless it was. He nodded with a timid smile while staring at the cauldron in the middle of the table.

"Open your book to page 265. I expect each group to provide me with a flask of Blood-Replenishing potion. I suppose you can explain the function of this potion, Potter?" Snape inquired as he stood in front of Harry's table.

The boy stared at Daphne's open page and immediately recognized the potion.

"It's to regenerate blood in your body." He was almost proud of himself for finally responding in potion class.

"Where is your book, Potter?" The teacher inquired, completely ignoring Harry's correct response.

Harry heard the Slytherins sneer behind him, but he tried to stay calm. "I lost it."

"Lost it?" Snape repeated with his eyebrows raised. "Don't even think being in my house will prevent you from losing points, Mr. Potter, or give you any new special treatment. You'll…"

Snape couldn't finish his sentence when someone knocked at the door. The whole class once again turned around to stare at the noise source, and the intruder violently opened the door without even waiting for an invitation. Filch was standing on the threshold, a stack of books in his hands, with Umbridge right behind him. Harry's heart stopped. He immediately grasped what was happening.

"Can I help you?" Snape said as he approached his table. Filch headed clumsily to the teacher's desk, blinded by the books dangerously swinging in front of his eyes.

"Some students and myself found these class books belonging to Mr. Potter scattered on the courtyard and in very poor condition." He explained as he loudly dropped the books on Snape's table, crushing the teacher's belongings in the process. Snape refrained from saying anything by pursing his lips.

"May I know the reason?" He then asked as he turned toward Harry, who was staring at his damaged books.

"I…"

"I believe Mr. Potter is attempting to draw attention yet again," Umbridge interrupted. She slowly approached the teenager's table, clasping hands and wearing a vile smile on her face.

"I—I didn't do it, why would I throw my bo—"

"Enough." The small woman snapped. "It also reached my ears that Mr. Zabini was violently attacked last night; is that right, Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise nodded under Harry's baffled stare. He had those same victimized puppy eyes that Malfoy always had in front of teachers—this look that signaled their triumph and Harry's defeat.

"Who did this to you, my dear?"

The whole room seemed captivated by the tense discussion. Even Snape was observing the scene with deep interest.

"Potter—Potter hit me, headmistress."

He looked pathetic, Harry thought. The way he succeeded perfectly in passing for a victim when, less than ten hours earlier, he had burned Harry's picture with an evil smile

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Zabini, we will discuss this in depth after your class; please come directly to my office." Umbridge declared.

She turned around, followed closely by Filch, when Snape raised his hand.

"Actually, headmistress, as the head of Slytherin house, I think I should hold this conversation with my two students."

Umbridge considered the offer for a moment, then nodded briefly.

"Very well, Professor Snape, I trust you to handle the situation."

Once she left the office with the caretaker, the classroom was filled with whispers and insistent stares toward Harry and Blaise. The latter had already given up his victim costume and was giggling with Pike, while Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione and Ron. They both seemed utterly worried by the events; their frowns and pinched lips reminded Harry that he was definitely in big trouble.
Snape levitated Harry's books and dropped them in front of the student before calling for silence and focus.

Potion class passed tremendously slowly; Harry was unable to focus on anything, which made his two classmates frustrated, as they were not the best in potion either. His group ended up having one of the worst results, right after Seamus, Dean, and Parvati, who, because of Seamus' insistent experiments, melted their cauldron halfway through the process. Neville and Crabbe, who had the same poor level in Potion, had both been saved by their group members: Hermione for Neville and Malfoy for Crabbe.

Blaise and Harry waited for the classroom to empty, both standing in front of their respective tables. Harry could feel his enemy's stare and his satisfied grin provoking him, but he opted to avoid him by observing the stone floor, his hand distractedly scratching his injured forearm. Snape took the time to empty all the cauldrons and clean the room before finally focusing on the two students.

"Very well, who would have the goodness to explain to me what happened between you two?" The teacher asked, placing his hands on the table.

"Potter punched me in the face yesterday night, professor. We tried our best to stop him, but he was completely crazy," Blaise explained as he put on his sad mask.

Harry watched him talk with disgust, the urge to punch him again gradually rising in his chest.

"Do you have anything to explain Potter?" Snape turned his attention to the quiet boy.

Harry looked into his teacher's black, emotionless eyes.

"Blaise provoked me." He explained calmly.

"And what kind of provocation justified disfiguring him?"

Harry hesitated. Was it worth detailing the event at the risk of being ridiculed and not taken seriously?

"Answer when I ask a question," Snape insisted.

"He burned a picture of my parents." Harry automatically responded, unable to find a false excuse.

Snape raised his brows. It wasn't clear what he was thinking in this moment, but he averted his eyes from Harry to refocus on Blaise.

"It was an accident," the boy rushed to explain, even before the teacher opened his mouth.

"Twenty points from Slytherin, and a week of detention for both of you, starting tomorrow night in this classroom."

"But... tomorrow is Saturday!" Blaise complained,

"Starting tomorrow." Snape repeated.

"It's not fair; I didn't do anything wrong!"

The professor straightened from his desk, his eyes still on the outraged Blaise. "You can dispose; I'll have a small talk with Potter." He said, completely ignoring the boy's complaints.

The two young students exchanged glares; Blaise seemed on the verge of jumping on Harry and strangling him, but he finally left the room, his bag thrown over his shoulder. Snape waited a few seconds after the boy had disappeared to be sure he was far enough away, then refocused on the remaining student.

"A picture, Potter?" "You disfigured this boy for a picture?"

He sounded exasperated, like he usually was with Harry.

"Yes. One of the only pictures I had of my parents." The boy answered with the same accusatory tone. "I know you're probably delighted at the idea of watching a picture of my father and mother burning, but for me, it means a lot."

Snape looked taken aback. While it looked obvious that he didn't think of any of this, Harry despised him too much to see anything other than coldness on his face.

"Potter. If this kind of childish provocation is enough to make you lose all of your temper, it's going to be child's play for the dark lord. I'm not going to warn you forever, Potter; the world has changed, and your life as well. Put your nostalgia and feelings aside and grow stronger than this."

With a sigh, the head of Slytherin house turned away from Harry. The tension was gradually growing between the two rivals, Harry's cheeks were burning with shame and rage. He was doing his best to be strong, and it was hard—too hard—but he still tried. And hearing this reproach from this despicable man, who had always taken his frustrations out on Harry, who always seemed to confuse him for his late father, and who had called his mother a mugblood, was too ironic. This man would never understand and empathize.

Snape eventually turned around to look at him.

"Was it Zabini who threw your books?" He asked.

Harry nodded quietly. He just wanted to leave and not be late for his next class; he was sick of being the center of attention because of others.

"Slytherins are known to be resentful and take vengeance very seriously. Don't provoke your roommates; keep a cool head and don't play their games."

"I'm not provoking them," Harry retorted, which made his teacher raise an eyebrow.

"So what were the quidditch tryouts about?"

Harry had not expected that. He went to reply but was out of words. He had accepted the tryout because he wanted to fly. But he knew deep down that he had also wanted to remind Malfoy and his team that he was a better player than them. He wasn't proud of this feeling, but his pride had pushed him to prove himself.

"I…"

"You can leave; it would be embarrassing to be late again for your next class." Snape interrupted him as he started arranging his potion flasks on a large table.

It was even more humiliating than letting him try to justify himself. Harry went to grab his books when Snape cast a spell, making them all disappear except for his Care of Magical Creatures' one.

"I sent your books to your room; hurry up now." The man said, without even looking away from his potions.

Harry didn't thank him; he shoved his book in his empty bag and rushed outside of the room, his cheeks as red as the uniform he dreamed to wear right now.