Harry couldn't believe it.

Snape used magic on him. He forcibly brought him to Dumbledore. Levitated him like some kind of prisoner.

On their protracted journey up to the Headmaster's study, Harry prepared his lengthy speech. He was willing to lie, to deny anything and everything, and most of all, to get Snape back for what he did to him. Hell, he was able to claim Snape was the one who inflicted the wounds on his arms if he needed to.

But it wasn't necessary at all. Dumbledore's office was vacant.

In fact, as they soon found out, Dumbledore wasn't within the castle walls at all. Snape located a small note, presumably addressed to him, as he read it in seconds and then furiously set it on fire.

Harry was unstunned only after Snape healed his most recent cuts on both arms, while Harry bestowed on him his most piercing stare, unable to express his protests. He felt the cooling sensation wash over his forearms, taking away weeks of pain he didn't even know was there anymore. The stinging sensation became a part of Harry's daily life, part of his very being. It was relieving and distressing not to feel his skin burn with every passing breath once Snape cast the last healing spell.

As Harry's mobility returned to him and he stood more-or-less steady on his feet again, the anger suffocating his chest became hard to contain. Harry felt himself being overtaken by the feeling, readying to lash out at Snape. He did not exactly prepare a speech for him, but the amount of fury rising within his veins was going to do the job for him.

"How dare you?! Using magic on students—not even Umbridge went that far!" he spat out heatedly, his murderous expression dimming his face.

Snape's eyes flashed with… something(was it offense?), but his reply was stripped of any emotion, his voice calm and even.

"No, I suppose not. She only outright tortured her students; I think we've already established your preferences earlier tonight, Potter." Snape's gaze briefly turned to Harry's newly scarred skin and then back to maintaining eye contact. "I only did what they'd do to you if you were at St. Mungo's."

As if on cue, Harry started rubbing and scratching his forearms, trying to ease the burning sensation Snape's glare evoked. He needed to feel the pain before he lost his reason. He had to start atoning again.

"Last time I checked, we were still at Hogwarts," Harry snapped back, his words sharp and his voice raspy.

"Yes, and why are we still here?" the professor baited. Harry got the impression he played into his trap, which made him hesitate with his next words.

"We're here because I discovered you." Snape clarified when Harry kept quiet. "Were it any other staff member, you would've already been at the hospital wing, witnessing Madam Pomphrey fire-calling St. Mungo's!"

The words were harsher than a slap for Harry. Mostly because it was the truth. Were it anyone else, teacher or student, Harry's only option would be to somehow obliviate them (wand still forgotten on his nightstand) if he wanted to avoid being forcibly loaded into a wizarding psychiatric ward.

In retrospect, it was beyond foolish to leave his wand in the dorms, but Harry wasn't thinking straight back then. He was in an especially desperate spot that night, barely able to wait until everyone fell asleep. His forearms were itching, the mirror in his hand begging to be used, and his thoughts were clouded with Sirius.

Snape was right; they were still at Hogwarts because Harry was fortunate (hah!) enough that it was he who discovered him. The fact made Harry feel puzzled. It did sound as if Snape was protecting him and preventing the inevitable hell from breaking loose. There was a sour taste in Harry's mouth, the thought of Snape doing him a favour was disgusting at best.

"You were just about to serve me to Dumbledore like I was some wanted convict," he pointed out heatedly. "I don't think you finding me is any better. Besides, nobody would dare use a stunning spell on me! Attacking an unarmed, weaker student—how can you even call yourself a professor?! Weren't you spouting something about caring for my well-being? And then you proceeded to restrain me? You're a hypocrite, Snape."

"Potter!" the professor seethed, his face twisted in anger. "You pose harm not only to yourself but potentially to others! Leaving you roaming the castle with a weapon in your hand is the last thing anyone would do!"

Harry's voice trembled with a mix of fury and hurt as he retorted, "Oh, and what harm have I caused? Have I endangered anyone with my own pain? Or is it just convenient for you to play the concerned guardian while you relish in my suffering?"

"Enough."

Snape stopped him, a dark expression on his face.

"I'm done reasoning with you. You are to calmly return to your dorm without any detour and in silence. And do not presume this incident won't have consequences."

The tone was void of any emotions, sounding formal and detached.

Harry took a breath, getting ready to argue, when Snape beat him to it.

"Speak, and I'll personally deliver you to your room and put you to bed."

"My mirror." Harry spoke firmly despite the terrifying threat, prioritizing his most prized possession. He hadn't forgotten that it was still somewhere in the professor's clutches.

"Tomorrow," Snape hissed, "now leave."

Harry stood still, rooting himself to the ground. The mirror was his everything. It was his safety net, his lifeline, and his only chance at salvation. He would rather give up on his life then and there than leave that small shard behind. Couldn't Snape see it?

"Potter!"

Another warning.

"I can't. I really can't, professor. I need the mirror," Harry confessed truthfully, hating how pathetically weak he sounded. "You can wake everyone in the castle; get me to St. Mungo's if you must, but I won't stop fighting until I get the mirror back."

"You do realize the only reason I haven't disposed of the stupid and dangeroeus object is because I believe your sanity would deplete further. However, keep pushing my boundaries, and I might as well just stop caring all together," Snape finally threatened.

A cold dread washed over Harry, leaving goosebumps behind. He never considered Snape could vanish the mirror. Of course he could. And he just stated that he would if Harry didn't stop.

No. Sirius would never forgive me.

"No… Please, don't. Please."

The plea slipped out of Harry's mouth so quietly that he almost didn't hear it, but Snape certainly did as he shifted on his feet uncomfortably in response.

"Tomorrow, my office. We will sort it out then, in the presence of the Headmaster," the professor repeated and Harry found himself nodding in utter defeat.

He was too scared to act defiant now that his last chance at salvation was at stake.

Once the mirror is in my possession again, I'll make him pay. Harry thought resolutely on his way back.

Snape never stated the time of their meeting, which Harry realized once he reached the common room.

An internal battle ensued. Harry was torn between the desire to confront Snape about the arrangement and the overwhelming temptation to surrender to the cozy armchair near the crackling fireplace. In the end, exhaustion won over curiosity. After all, with no specified time, Harry could justify his early morning intrusion into Snape's office without the risk of reprimand.

Despite knowing he'd be reunited with his mirror within a few short hours, Harry couldn't shake off the restlessness that gnawed at him. The plush sofa beckoned him, the flickering flames offering warmth and comfort, and yet... a sense of unease lingered, refusing to be ignored.

His gaze fell upon his forearms, no longer marred by fresh wounds. It was an eerie sight. It felt wrong. The scars of weeks' worth of struggle had vanished with a mere flick of a wand. But the inner turmoil within Harry remained, far from dissipating in a similarly simple manner.

Why was it so effortlessly easy to mend his physical wounds, yet devastatingly impossible to bring Sirius back? Why did his mental state resemble a shattered glass, but no simple 'Reparo' could fix it? Why did his unseen wounds deepen with each passing breath, invisible blood spilling everywhere, overflowing and draining Harry's well of an unlived future, and nobody noticed? Why? Why? Why?

The questions echoed in his mind, reverberating through the hollow chambers of his soul and intensifying his sense of helplessness and frustration. The atmosphere thickened with a palpable sense of despair, Harry's urge to harm himself magnifying each second.

Unable to be still, he shot up to his feet, blinking away dark spots around the edge of his vision caused by the abrupt movement. He began pacing around the common room, between the chairs and tables, going in small circles.

Harry's senses were overwhelmed; the cacophony of thoughts in his head loud, his breaths shallow, his skin too healed... He desperately willed his tense muscles to relax, cursing under his breath. The act of his nails digging into his flesh offered little solace; the sting was laughable in comparison to the agony inflicted by the mirror. In a frenzy, Harry frantically scanned the dim surroundings, squinting his eyes, searching for anything sharp within his grasp. He needed more. He needed the world to be silent again. He needed his heart to stop beating so madly. He needed not to feel...

Calm down, goddamn.

Easier thought than done.

Harry's search proved futile.

The room remained as tidy as ever, devoid of even a blunt knife. The house elves carried out their duties with their usual attentiveness. Harry briefly considered summoning Dobby and requesting food and cutlery, but swiftly dismissed the idea. The resulting commotion would only invite unwanted attention, potentially rousing a fellow Gryffindor from their sleep. At this moment, Harry couldn't bear being in the presence of another soul, teetering on the edge of crumbling and spiralling into a full-blown panic attack.

Continuing to torment his own skin, Harry resumed his restless pacing, stealing occasional glances at a nearby clock. Its steady ticking provided a mere modicum of relief for his frayed nerves.

2:45 am.

2:48 am.

2:53 am.

Time sluggishly marched forward, each passing second eroding the remaining shreds of Harry's sanity. It was destined to be a long, harrowing night.

5:56 am.

Harry's gaze remained fixed on the clock, his eyes growing slightly watery from the strain of not blinking. Only four more minutes stood between him and the self-imposed deadline. Two hundred and forty seconds held him captive, restraining Harry from darting off to Snape's office.

Six a.m.—that was the time Harry had settled on approximately two hours ago, when his impatience reached its peak. It granted him a sense of calm, knowing he had a clear goal and a designated time to strive towards.

5:57 am.

Harry's back straightened, cracking unpleasantly from prolonged crouching. Making a circle around the common room one last time, he headed towards the bathroom in an attempt to freshen up. Cold water couldn't wash away his tiredness, but the cooling sensation did wake up his dazed mind a bit.

Stealing a glimpse at the mirror, Harry saw a poor reflection of himself: hollow cheeks, glassy eyes, and dark circles. His complexion was sickly pale, but he attributed it to the bad lightning. Tearing his gaze from the unflattering sight, Harry left the bathroom in a hurry. The clock read a minute before six.

He pondered about fetching his wand. Going to Snape defenseless again was outright idiotic, but sneaking back into the dorm room wasn't without a risk either. If one of the boys woke up and started asking questions, Harry had no answers to offer. And sure, he could always brush them off, but they'd become curious.

The last thing Harry wanted was attention, contrary to Snape's popular belief. He berated himself for not thinking about the wand sooner, during the night when he circled the common room like a caged animal. But what was done was done, and Harry, with a heavy heart, abandoned the thought of retrieving his wand.

As much as he hated to admit it, he stood little chance against Snape, with or without a way to offence. The mirror took priority, and Harry needed it. Now.

With the clock signalling six am sharp, Harry bolted out through the Fat Lady portrait, rushing down the stairs in a brisk jog. The school was still quiet and empty; the portraits were just waking up and murmuring displeasure when Harry's loud and quick steps interrupted their morning slumber.

Harry halted once he reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, his breath coming in short gasps. Steeling his resolve, he opened the door robustly, heading to the office. Snape didn't deserve his knocking or respect.

He must have been expected; the second door opened to him before Harry reached for the doorknob.

Inside the office, Snape was seated behind his table with a quill in his hand. He didn't lift his eyes when Harry entered the room.

Harry found himself disappointed by the realization that he had not woken the man. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to disturb Snape in every way possible, make him pay back for the way the man treated him before. But no, Snape was calm and infuriatingly composed. As always.

Harry wished for nothing more but to break that composition of his, to see that blank expression fall apart.

The silence in the room was eerie, and the storm was seconds away from breaking loose.

Harry wanted to say something; there were thousands of words he wished to yell at the professor, one harsher than the other. He'd been thinking all night about what to say to Snape, but now that he was facing him, his calm demeanour and almost domestic setting, Harry's throat became dry and his mind became empty. So he just stood there, waiting for something to break the fragile stillness.

"You've held on longer than I expected."

Snape finally cut through the tension, his voice sharp.

Harry furrowed at the accusation (?),words forming in his mouth to whip back, but Snape bested him.

"It's not everyday you exceed my expectations, Potter. My estimate was around three in the morning."

The man continued speaking in his little riddles, although Harry was slowly beginning to understand.

"Would you prefer if I came sooner?" Harry asked, bewildered.

Is he serious? Did I spend all night waiting for nothing?!

Snape finally looked at him, his dark eyes piercing right through Harry's skull.

"No. I was just wondering how precious your little mirror is that it took you hours to come claim it," he commented nonchalantly, as the shard suddenly appeared in his hand.

Harry saw red.

His throat contracted from all the suppressed screams he'd ever held back, the sudden urge to shout until he turned mute overcoming him. Stripped of all words, Harry only wanted to yell and yell and yell until his burning insides turned into ashes and he became nothing more than dust.

This was simply ludicrous.

"Give it back."

Harry managed to rasp out, his tone fiery enough to scathe anything nearby—anything except Snape's impassive expression.

One second, two seconds.

"Snape. Give it back."

Harry repeated himself roughly when the man didn't respond, his eyes fixated on the mirror. He considered wrestling Snape for it, barely noticing the sense of deja vu.

"Potter, you are in no position to demand anything from me, much less a confiscated weapon."

Snape finally turned to him, letting his hand holding the mirror shard fall into his lap.

"You told me you'd give it to me today. Being a hypocrite again, huh?" Harry argued, murdering the man with his look.

The sharp intake of breath was the only indication he hit the mark.

"I clearly stated we would solve the problem today with the Headmaster present. I never implied you'd receive your prized possession back! And do tell, do you see the Headmaster anywhere in the room?"

Dumbledore wasn't there; Harry knew it without having to take a theatrical look around. He did so anyway, just to compose himself a little bit. Snape was being insufferable, as always, and they were going in circles, as always.

It was always circles when it came to Harry's life. Never a straight line, but endless curves that tangled up and created a chaos so big that Harry could only stand back and watch.

Harry didn't want to relive their nightly conversation; he knew he had to choose a different, more drastic approach. There was no way he would leave the office without the mirror in his hand. He could not survive a day without it, those few sleepless hours during the night proved as much.

He could feel the exhaustion swaying him, and his mental capacity and energy to have a prolonged argument with the man were quickly diminishing. Harry needed the mirror before his emotional state became uncontrollable. And judging by the way his skin was prickling and aching, his mind creating images of his ravaged forearms, blood spilling everywhere, Harry didn't have much time left.

The moment Harry decided to fight Snape for the mirror, the man spoke.

"Do it, and you'll find yourself petrified until the Headmaster comes," he drawled, throwing Harry a challenging look. Snape's wand was at ready, aiming at him.

Harry felt the little time he had before losing his mind just halved.

"Just give it to me!" He yelled, his frustration piling up.

In his anger, Harry briefly thought about his wand. He knew why he left it in the dorm, why he didn't risk sneaking in, and he knew he couldn't defeat Snape... Yet his crawling insides were screaming at him for not even trying.

Another bullet point to add to my endless list of regrets.

"Potter, you barge into my office at six in the morning, and all you do is cause havoc. I made myself clear before: your weapon is confiscated. That means, since you're unfamiliar with the term, it will not leave this room unless I deem it so. The only thing that I require to vacate this space is your presence."

"Could you act any more confusing?!" Harry finally exploded. "You tell me to come see you without giving me a specific time, then berate me for not coming sooner. Now you require me to leave all together. You know about my feelings and my…" Harry fumbles, searching for the right word, "…my struggles. You caught me red-handed, and what did you do? Openly ridiculed me, just to snatch the mirror from me the next moment; the act of a concerned professor taking place. What do you want, Snape? What's this all about?!"

The last sentence barely left Harry's mouth when he realized he knew the answer. His stomach dropped with dread, feeling as if it were filled with ice.

He knows.

Harry stood frozen still, terrified.

He knows the mirror belonged to Sirius.

The nausea that hit his throat was so sudden that Harry was saved from any embarrassment solely due to his empty stomach. He lightly swayed on his feet.

He's never going to give it back.

Snape watched him impassively, his eyes narrowing.

"I want you to stop causing a scene and cease the hysterics, Potter! You are way too emotional for us to have a civil conversation right now!"

"Please… please." Harry found himself whispering. He vaguely realized his body was trembling, probably due to exhaustion, a lack of proper food in recent days, and the distress he was experiencing.

Snape looked at him with a complicated expression, studying him like a puzzle.

"You know my stance." He said at last, his voice toneless.

That did it. The very last thread snapped inside Harry. His remaining energy came to the surface and fueled his anger, igniting a fire that was too blazing for Harry to control. He just let it burn.

"But why?! For fuck's sake, WHY DO YOU CARE, SNAPE?! He's already dead; you won! You don't have to hold hostage the very last thing he left me! I can't - I can't lose it, he'd never forgive me, he already won't ever forgive me, so just WHY?! Are you really that twisted to see me suffering so much?! It would not matter to you if I jumped off the astronomy tower, so why the hell are you doing this to me now?! HE'S ALREADY DEAD!"

Harry screamed and screamed at Snape, and it felt good. It also felt terrible, as his throat was scratched and raw and his eyes were stinging. His mouth tasted like ashes, his chest felt like ashes, his brain was ashes. The fire finally burned everything to dust. It felt liberating.

There was something akin to a sob that left Harry's mouth after that, leaving him absolutely mortified. He really was going insane.

With shaking hands, Harry took off his glasses, pressing palms into his eyes to stop the tears from falling.

"Potter, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?!" Snape's voice cut through the string of Harry's quiet sobs. "I'm keeping the mirror for the sake of your well-being! And what? The Astronomy Tower?"

If Harry looked at Snape, he'd see how confused and distressed he became with his sudden screaming outburst. His expression was one of pure shock mixed with something... something.

But Harry didn't look at him, his head hidden in his palms, breathing ragged.

"He's dead…" a voice kept whispering into the silence, and it took Harry a while to realize it belonged to him.

Snape inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath as if trying to compose himself. Then he stood up, his face a mask of impeccable stillness, and approached Harry.

"Calm down."

He said with a leveled voice, the previous irritation completely gone.

Harry's body flinched on impulse, and he finally tore his palms away from his face, looking up at Snape. The professor was only a step away from him, his posture rigid and his lips pursed together.

"Breathe," Snape told him, making Harry realize how severely his lungs needed oxygen.

Despite wanting to do the opposite and never breathe again just to spite the man, Harry's body forced him to take an uneven and shaky breath. And then another. And another.

"Good, that's it," the professor mumbled in a quiet, almost coaxing voice.

Harry closed his eyes and wiped the remains of his tears away, not even pondering how strange this whole ordeal was. He felt too tired all of a sudden, his breakdown costing every last bit of energy.

He didn't notice how unbalanced his body was until a pair of strong arms grasped his shoulders, steadying him.

"Sit down."

It seemed like Snape decided to speak in simple sentences, and Harry was mildly grateful; his brain was too sluggish to comprehend more than two-word commands.

Harry felt himself being led to a chair and then relaxed into the comfortable cushion. A cup of water appeared in his hand moment later.

"Drink."

Another monotonous order. Harry complied.

Couldn't he stay like this forever? He didn't want to think about anything anymore. He'd just live on autopilot until the end of his short days.

The cold water rushing down his parched throat was like soothing balm for a throbbing wound. It was heaven.

If Harry wasn't so busy relishing the feeling, he'd notice how closely Snape was watching him.

Every move, every flinch of a muscle, was carefully observed by the man's dark and studious gaze. He stood a mere half a step away from Harry's chair, his arms crossed on his chest. Confusion mixed with contemplation was delicately hidden behind his blank expression, and the wheels in Snape's mind were spinning restlessly.

"Now," the man said, drawing Harry's attention to him.

"I think we are due to have a talk."

Snape said as he circled his table and sat down in his own chair. The next moment, he took out the mirror shard and placed it on the desk.

Harry's breath hitched as he spotted it. His hand twitched to snatch it, but Snape was still partially holding it, probably for the very same reason.

"It has come to my attention that this is an item of… high value to you." Snape spoke slowly and somehow cautiously, but there was no irritation or sarcasm in his voice.

Harry gripped the glass of water in his hands tighter and then nodded slightly. He had no idea where Snape was going with this and, therefore, didn't know if he should dread his next words or not.

"And the reason for it to be of such importance to you is… sentimental nature." Snape said again, articulating softly.

Harry frowned. Just what on earth was Snape trying to say? Was he hinting at Sirius? Harry's stomach crunched.

"Will you give it back, then?" he asked, his voice hoarse and raw, carefully avoiding the topic about Sirius. A glimmer of hope sparkled in his eyes.

Snape didn't reply. Instead, he pulled out his wand, pointing it at the mirror.

Harry could only bark out a strangled "No!" as he jumped to his feet, the cup in his hands slipping down and shattering on the ground. He reached for the piece of mirror, but he was too late, as Snape had already chanted the spell.

Harry's blood ran cold, and he felt his heart stop. His eyes dimmed, and the hand that reached out for the mirror went limp, lifelessly falling to his side. "No…" he whispered inaudibly.

The next moment he blinked, the mirror shard appeared in his vision, resting on Snape's pale palm. It was the piece Sirius gifted him, but it looked… different; the edges of the mirror were smooth now. Harry frowned and looked up to greet Snape's face when the men spoke first.

Harry's heart began to beat again as he realized the memento wasn't lost yet. Snape didn't vanish it. His body sagged with relief.

"I'll return it to you under one condition." Snape's silky voice hummed.

"And that is?" Harry drawled, his hand already reaching for the mirror again.

Instead of speaking, Snape grasped Harry's extended wrist and pulled it close, aiming his wand at Harry's right forearm.

"What are you-" Harry's complaints were cut off as he struggled against Snape's touch when he felt a burning sensation prickling his skin. He yelped in surprise and pain, pulling his hand back sharply, this time successfully yanking it from Snape's iron grip.

Harry inspected his tingling skin, the sensation disappearing as abruptly as it came. He rubbed the place gently, inspecting what Snape could've possibly done to him, noticing a few red marks.

"What did you do?" Harry fumbled, studying the wound closely. It almost looked like red ink lines. Did Snape tattooed me just now?

Then he noticed the shape of the lines. A pattern of a flower. A lily. Lily.

"What's the meaning of this?" He asked again, bewildered, when Snape didn't reply the first time. Harry's eyes met his, but the man's expression gave nothing away.

"That's my condition, Potter," Snape finally said, returning Sirius's mirror to him. "You carry this mark, and this… token can stay with you."

"What's it for?" Harry asked cautiously, but only after storing the mirror safely away in his pocket. His eyes darted to Snape's forearm, where he bore his Death Eater mark. "Did you just use dark magic on me?"

Snape's expression darkened. "No, I did not," he hissed through gritted teeth. "It is a common charm used in magical psychiatric wards, designated to prevent people from self-harming."

"Yes, but what does it do?" Harry asked, still rubbing the mark, while a sense of uneasiness settled in his stomach. It felt somehow wrong; his sixth sense was screaming at him to get rid of the tattoo as soon as possible. The fact that it was in the shape of a lily was only adding fuel to the growing dread.

Is this one of Snape's mind games again? Harry wondered as his hand squeezed the mirror in his pocket tightly. The smooth edges did not bite into his skin, and there was no trace of the comfortable sting he usually felt.

"As long as you don't reverse the charm I placed on your prized possession and won't go indulge in your little hobby again, you don't need to know the details. In fact, should I find out you harmed yourself intentionally again, the mirror will be confiscated. Do you understand?" Snape asked, each word being spoken with more irritation as he reverted back to his old self.

Harry frowned more, if that was even possible, but then nodded reluctantly. "Should I find out…". So all I have to do is to make sure he does not ever find out.

"And do not misunderstand." The man spoke again, his tone stern. "This matter is far from closed. These are just temporary measures I've been forced to take until Headmaster comes back and sorts this out." Snape clarified.

"Yes, well, that's lovely." Harry heard himself say, his old, sarcastic self coming back to him. "So I got myself a tattoo and a modified possession of mine as a temporary measure-"

"Potter-" Snape cut in, but Harry didn't let him take the steering wheel.

"So, when is Dumbledore coming back?" He finished his sentence, unbothered. Now that he had the mirror again, his confidence and calmness were slowly returning to even out his previously disturbed emotional balance.

"Professor Dumbledore." Snape glared at him. "In case you have not noticed throughout the last six years that you've been attending this school, I do not teach Divination. And even if I were, there's only so much that can be predicted, and Headmaster's plans are not of that nature."

"Is it so difficult for you to say a simple 'I don't know?'" Harry retorted.

"Is it so challenging for you to comprehend sentences that consist of more than three syllables?" Snape whipped back, and yet, his ire was much less scathing than usual. Harry didn't find enough anger inside him to muster a snappy response.

"Now. You've taken enough of my peaceful morning, Potter." Snape began to dismiss him, and Harry took the olive branch, already itching to leave the man's company.

"Yes, sir." He agreed eagerly and took his first step to leave the office.

He barely put his weight on his foot when he felt a sharp stab of pain and yelped in surprise, his knees buckling and making him fall to the ground.

Snape's body sprung up from his chair, and he was by Harry's side in a heartbeat, kneeling beside him.

"What harm did you manage to encounter now?!" Snape growled angrily, noticing the shards of the previously shattered cup of water splattered on the floor.

Harry hissed in pain as he felt more of the glass penetrating his shoe and he struggled to stand back up.

"Don't move," Snape ordered him, and then he proceeded to vanish all of the sharp pieces, including those that were sticking out of Harry's skin.

He mumbled a healing spell next, making the small wounds coating Harry's sole disappear.

Harry didn't have time to even react when a pair of hands helped him to his feet.

"Err, thank you." He spoke to the man awkwardly, taking a cautious step away from him.

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose, his expression suddenly very exhausted. "Just leave before anything more happens. I've had quite enough and the day hasn't even started yet." He waved his hand dismissively.

Harry happily obliged. His cheeks were burning from embarrassment.

"Potter." Snape called out to him as Harry reached the door. He turned around to face the man, green eyes meeting brown.

"Remember our agreement." Snape reminded him sternly.

Harry nodded once, and then he was gone.

Harry broke the agreement the very same day.

A/N: Whops, long time no see. Better late than never, huh? The story will probably have 4 chapters as I can't keep things at appropriate length.

(It's currently 5:25am, I haven't slept yet as I instead decided to edit and post this for you. If you see any errors, I apologize, I'll get back to them later. Night!)