Saturday took far longer to arrive than it should have. The people who used to be his friends had felt more like irritating bees, their incessant buzzing a constant reminder of their once welcome presence. Ron's boisterous laughter, Hermione's incessant questions, Ginny's fiery temper – The very things that had once drawn him to these people were now the very same things that seemed to push him away. He felt more distant from his friends than ever, and the only person he seemed to be able to tolerate was Snape. He thought he would only say something like that when hell froze over and pigs could fly which, at the present moment, it had seemed both of those things had happened.

Snape no longer tortured Harry in class, but instead ignored him entirely, which Harry had no problem with. They had even started Occlumency lessons again, after a very serious talk that involved Harry promising not to invade Snape's privacy.

He was currently in DADA, again. Harry found his mind wandering, Snape's monotonous drone on nonverbal spells and wandless casting disappearing into a background hum. Both of which he had long since mastered. The DA, however, still had a long way to go, their clumsy attempts at the spells almost amusing in their naivety. Harry had passed on the leadership of the DA to Neville, a decision that had been met with surprise by some but ultimately accepted. Neville had grown, his once shaky confidence solidifying into a strong, unwavering resolve. Harry was proud of how far the boy had come.

He was tuning Snape out, as usual. It was nearing the end of the lesson anyways, and he needed to save his brain juice for the taxing Occlumency lesson that was bound to come later. Surprisingly, after his lessons with Snape, he actually felt tired when he headed to bed right after, instead of wired like he used to, and he wondered if the tea that Snape always offered him at the end of the lesson(which Harry thought was very out of character for him. Snape. Serving him TEA.) was laced with some kind of dreamless sleep.

Before he knew it, the room was clearing out, Ron and Hermione muttering under their breaths to each other about how weird Harry was acting. Harry ignored them. If they couldn't talk to him to his face, he wasn't going to humor their backhanded concern. He had no obligation to entertain their disguised worry. He sat still, as the room emptied, his eyes fixed on the empty parchment in front of him. Their whispers, their glances – he could feel them all. But he chose not to engage. The room fell silent as the last of the students shuffled out. Neville, however, stayed. His presence was comforting- a silent reassurance, a reminder that he was not entirely alone in this fight. His unwavering support – it was more than Harry could've asked for. He turned his head to look at Neville. The look in his eyes was far from pity, but rather understanding, as if he too had his own demons to battle. "Thanks, Neville," Harry finally said, his voice barely a whisper. The room felt empty, but Harry didn't feel alone. It was a bitter-sweet realization, but it was enough for him to know he wasn't completely alone in his struggle.

Neville merely nodded, his response as silent as the understanding between them. Their shared silence was a strange comfort. One that Harry greatly appreciated. But eventually, Neville left, because they all do, leaving him alone with Snape. The teacher was clearing his desk, clearly waiting for Harry. Harry quickly packed his things, not wanting to leave the other man waiting. Patience was not Snape's strong suit.

Snape's usually stern and unreadable face softened slightly when he saw Harry's expression, his gaze probing. "Potter," he drawled, his voice barely above a whisper, "Are you alright?" Harry's heart skipped a beat. Snape's unexpected concern felt like an alien occurrence, a ripple in the steady rhythm of their usual barely civil exchanges. Harry managed a shaky nod, his voice a mere croak when he finally found it. "Yeah… yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he managed a shaky grin, but just barely, his friends' aloofness must really be getting to him.

But the way Snape's eyes narrowed at him suggested that he saw right through the lie. There was a silence, tension building like a storm cloud in the room, until Snape finally broke it, "If you need to speak..." Snape trailed off, his sentence hanging in the air like an unfinished thought. It wasn't an open invitation, nor was it a promise of support, but in Snape's own gruff way, it was an acknowledgement, a small concession, that perhaps he was willing to listen. For a moment, Harry was tempted. But he shook his head, a thin smile gracing his lips. "I'll be okay, Prof," he said, and for the first time, he believed it himself. Snape merely nodded in response, turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room. Harry took that as his cue to follow. Snape led them to his private quarters, which had remained unchanged since Harry's last visit. Harry could feel the privacy wards close in around them, effectively preventing any eavesdropping. The room was filled with a deafening silence as he positioned himself across from Harry, his black eyes boring into Harry's green ones. "Clear your mind, Potter," he said, his voice echoing ominously in the empty room. Harry took a deep breath, trying to push away the day's events, Ron and Hermione's coldness, and the whispers. He focused instead on the sound of his own breath, inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly.

Snape, his face as impassive as always, raised his wand and softly uttered, "Legilimens." Images, sounds, feelings rushed through Harry's mind like a violent storm. His parents' death, his time with the Dursleys, his first day at Hogwarts, the battles he had fought, Voldemort's return, Cedric's death, and so many more. Each memory tried to pull him in, tried to evoke a response from him, but he fought back.

He imagined a wall, strong and sturdy, blocking each memory as they surged forward. He reminded himself they were just memories, shadows of the past that couldn't hurt him. Yet, one memory managed to slip through his defenses. Sirius, his godfather, his family, falling into the veil with that goddamned sad smile on his handsome face. The guilt, the pain, the loss swelled inside him, threatening to spill over.

He was on the floor.

"Come on Potter, you can do better than that!" Snape yelled.

Snape's words.

Snape's.

Not Sirius's.

He was spiraling, it was the Department of Mysteries all over again.

Nice one, James.

No.

"Come on, you can do better than that!"

Stop.

Sirius's last words.

He couldn't breathe. His ears were ringing, he could just barely hear Snape's voice in the backround yelling at him to calm down and breathe.

"Accio calming drought!"

He barely registered what he had just heard before his magic had decided that it was a threat. His magic(which was getting quite annoying by now, doing things without his permission) sent a powerful shockwave through the room, sending Snape flying towards a desk.

He was hyperventilating, struggling to regain control of himself. His hands went to his hair, tugging at the strands, trying to distract himself from the pain. He still couldn't BREATHE. He felt like there was an elephant on his chest, preventing him from taking a breath. It reminded him of that one time he had fallen back alseep after having a nightmare, and he had gotten sleep paralysis. It was like that but a million times worse. Before he could put any more thought into what had just happened, a hard, cool surface was pressed against his lower lip and an arm was wrapped around his shoulders, coaxing him to sit up and lean forward.

"Drink, Harry," a hushed, calm voice commanded, puffs of warm breath from the gentle words ghosting over his ear. Harry obeyed, letting his eyes fall shut again as he swallowed the cool, bitter liquid already beginning to fill his mouth. The moment it slid down his throat and into his stomach, his pain began to fade, his taut muscles loosening as a clenched breath made its way past his lips. Once he realized he could, he sucked in deep, gasping breaths, oxygen never having smelled sweeter. He took a few more shaky breaths before opening his eyes once more. The hard black orbs of his Potions Master locked with his own, which at this proximity he realized were not completely black, but had flecks of amber and brown, which flickered in the firelight. The contact grounded him, bringing him back to the present. His first thought was:

God, he must think I'm so weak.

His second was:

Wait, when have I ever cared what Snape thought?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, letting himself fall back onto the soft carpet. "Shit I… Shit. I'm a mess.

That was the worst one yet.

He must have looked worse than he thought if Snape hadn't even reprimanded him for his language.

Harry tried to speak again, but he was soon rendered mute as another potion vial was placed to his mouth, its contents tipping forward. He drank it down, shuddering at its strong acidic flavor and grainy texture. Harry had no clue what this potion's purpose was, as his pain had already ceased after drinking the last one, but he did feel a curious warmth spread throughout his whole body only seconds after swallowing it, his arms and legs tingling with sensation.

"Now lie back," Snape instructed, his tone still bearing that same uncharacteristic softness. "That last potion I gave you is a restorative draught. It will help renew your strength and help with your insomnia, but only if you rest."

Harry nodded, letting his head fall back onto the cushion that had seemingly appeared from thin air. The fabric covering it was pilled and worn, but the stuffing within was malleable, melding to his head and shoulders as if cradling it. Had the circumstances been different, he might have been tempted to lose himself in its comfort and softness, maybe even allowing himself to close his eyes and give in to his exhaustion and weakness, permitting sleep to take him. But as it were, any chance of sleep or even restful relaxation was impossible. He felt completely on edge and bewildered, his mind racing from what had just happened.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, calm down and stop thinking so hard!" Snape admonished, a bit of his usual irritation leaking through the stern words. The man brought a hand up to his face, running long fingers through his greasy, lank hair before sighing heavily, dark eyes downcast and brow deeply furrowed. After a moment, he looked back up, those ebony orbs radiating a kind of warmth Harry had never seen in them before, especially not when directed at him. They also seemed to emanate quite a bit of nervousness and something else.

Was it concern?

"Potter..." he began, but then paused, lips clamping shut into a taut, rigid line. After a beat, those lips parted once more, their owner seemingly struggling to find words while seconds ticked by amid a still, stifling tension, "We'll continue tomorrow,"

With that, he swiftly stood up and left the room, robes billowing behind him, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts, to soon to fall into a surprisingly restful, dreamless sleep.