"Hide," Severus said, whispered.
The urgency in his voice was almost tangible despite the low volume, and the hair on Harry's neck stood up. To his credit, he didn't panic. Okay, he did, but not that much. His first impulse was to shuffle around, unable to decide in which direction he should run. He must have looked comical, pacing around with his extended hands when his brain short-circuited, except the situation was too dire for laughs and giggles.
Severus left the kitchen as quickly as he entered it, walking around the hallway in a similarly panicking manner Harry did, but with much more grace.
"Now!" He hissed when Harry remained in the kitchen two seconds after the first command came.
There's nowhere to hide though! Harry thought feverishly.
He scanned his surroundings, eyeing one of the kitchen cupboards - and briskly ruled it out. His fifteen-year-old body would hardly fit there.
"Potter!" Severus harshly called from somewhere further away, probably in his study room. Harry briskly scrambled in that direction, legs trembling under his weight. He vaguely noticed what Severus called him. Not "Harry" like he usually did, which only served as further proof of how distressed the man was.
The moment Harry entered Severus's study room, his wrist was grabbed and pulled forward.
"They'll be here in moments. Now, remember, no sound. Don't move. If possible, don't even breathe. Don't come out until I come for you. Is that clear?" Severus gave him good old-and-known instructions while he unceremoniously shoved Harry's tall frame into his wardrobe. Then he covered him with the invisibility cloak he summoned from Harry's room.
"The chances of them coming into this room are slim, nevertheless, it is not safe, not in the slightest, so don't even think about-"
"I know!" Harry snapped back at him. "We've been over this like a thousand times, Severus. I know."
Severus grunted in response and then closed the wardrobe's doors, successfully trapping Harry in the small space.
Harry was crouching in an uncomfortable position, knees drawn up to his chest, walls of the wardrobe pressing on him from all directions. It was going to be a long hour. Or several hours, Harry didn't know. But he hoped it would pass by quickly, in a blink of an eye.
Since the summer started, the threat of other Death Eaters visiting hung above their heads like a guillotine. But it didn't happen until now, until the middle of August, when the school year was nearing, and both occupants of Spinner's End left their guards down.
They prepared for what would happen should anyone from the dark circles pop them a visit, but the execution of their plan was flawed at best.
Right after school ended, right after Voldemort came back from that dreadful graveyard, Harry suggested that he could stay over at Grimmauld's place for the time being.
Severus became a spy for Dumbledore and it was too risky for Harry to stay with him over the summer. A lot was at stake, both their lives and Severus's safety, yet the man wanted to hear none of Harry staying away.
He insisted that Harry needed stability, and was willingly putting his neck on the line just so that Harry could stay at home over the next two months.
It was the kindest thing anybody ever did for Harry, and every time he thought about it, a warm feeling flooded his stomach.
And therefore, the least he could do in return was to hide for a few hours in an old piece of furniture, surrounded by the musty smell of worm-eaten wood and dust. Yes, it was the very least he could do for his guardian. The very, very least.
If only the pressure of a small, enclosed space did not give Harry that nauseously suffocating feeling. The image of being nine again haunted his vision, memories of being locked up in a cupboard at Dursleys, hungry, thirsty, sick…
Harry forced himself to take deep breaths and remain calm. As calm as possible. It was going to be a long run, a marathon of waiting, and he had to pace himself. If he started panicking right at the beginning, he could get them both killed. Severus already did so much for him. He took Harry in, taught him Occlumency, he was helping him cope with grief after Cedric died… Cedric.
Don't go in there, Harry. He scolded himself, forcing his mind to turn elsewhere, and not look back at the incident from several weeks ago.
The point in the case was; one sound from Harry, one wrong move, and not only he was a dead man, but Severus was too. The man placed trust in Harry, trust Harry did not know how he earned. But he was going to cherish and protect it, and some stupid claustrophobia would not stand in his way.
The first twenty minutes passed by quickly. As quickly as it was possible, given that Harry counted each second, chanting numbers in his head. Once he got to 1302, he heard rustling outside and his heart sped up.
Was Severus back to retrieve him already? Was it a short visit?
The glimmer of hope Harry got at that moment made him realize how much his skin was crawling with a need to be let out. He stopped counting, forgetting all about the importance of maintaining his fragile mental stability as he waited in anticipation for the wardrobe to open.
One beat. Two beats. Three beats.
Nothing.
Harry's heart was hammering in his chest wildly, his eyes squinting in the dark, hoping to see something through the non-existent gap between the double wing doors. Still nothing.
The rustling stopped, and so did Harry's breathing. His ears were straining in hopes he would hear something, anything again. He knew Snape's steps by now, he would recognise his walk even half asleep. But Harry neither heard Severus enter the room nor his familiar voice.
From that point onwards, it all went downhill.
Harry could not get his nerves under control. He freaked out, slowly but surely spiralling down the path to a panic attack. It started with him tearing the skin on his thumb with his index finger. He nibbled it until he managed to scratch himself enough to pull the outer layer off.
Progressively, the small wound got bigger and more painful with each stab of his nail until Harry started using his teeth to rip off larger and thicker pieces. Once he did a number on his right thumb, feeling a metallic taste when he licked the tattered skin around his nail, Harry went for his other finger.
He lost track of time. He didn't know how long it took him to abuse his thumbs. It felt like hours but it just as well could have been minutes. That was the moment panic truly seeped into his veins. It mixed with his blood, got into his system, and slowly took over his whole body, controlling him.
In the stillness of the wardrobe, Harry's heartbeat became a deafening drum, drowning out rational thoughts. His palms grew sweaty, and he struggled to find a purchase on the smooth surface of the wardrobe's interior. His eyes, wide and darting, sought an escape, a reprieve from the suffocating darkness.
The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, a reminder of the self-inflicted wounds on his thumbs. The pain offered a twisted distraction, a focal point for his swirling thoughts. He couldn't let the panic win, not now.
For a moment, Harry remembered Occlumency and all the teachings Severus wrestled into his brain with great difficulty. He tried to conjure memories of happier times – he tried to occlude and keep his feelings in check, an art he had not yet mastered. Harry imagined moments at Hogwarts, laughter with Ron and Hermione, the warmth of the Gryffindor common room.
He tried to pretend he was simply dozing off back at the school, as he had countless times before, but the panic was a relentless adversary, drowning out the flickers of joy with ease. All attempts at Occlumency ceased after that.
Harry felt powerless, more than ever before, more than when he first faced Voldemort through Quirrel, or when he had an encounter with the Dementors, not even when he was back at the graveyard…
This time, Harry was a prisoner of his own mind, and there was no place to run away from his fear. He was at Severus's mercy, completely dependent on the man to save him.
The irony of it was laughable because Harry was never the type who could just sit still and wait patiently until the problem resolved itself. That was simply not the fate of the hero of the wizarding world.
Harry always had to save himself, with occasional help from others. And therefore, waiting for his guardian to come and get him felt like an endless nightmare.
Time ticked away.
Harry fell deeper and deeper into the hollow space of his mind. His ragged breathing was loud, too loud he realized feverishly, but there was nothing that could quiet him down.
Severus did tell him that ideally, Harry should not even breathe while in hiding, but that was beyond impossible. As Harry realized with mortification, he had to keep himself from sobbing.
At some point, he forgot why he was in the wardrobe altogether. His body got so worked up that each breath was progressively more and more shallow, the air around him thick and stiffening and so hot.
He needed out.
But going out meant death for all he knew. Lucius Malfoy could barge in, Wormtail could stumble upon him, maybe even Voldemort himself, and the thought of betraying Severus, the image of his disapproving and hateful expression kept Harry inside, suffering continuous torment of his fears.
He didn't hear the door to Severus's study room creak open. He didn't hear those familiar footsteps.
Harry was lightheaded, throat raw and achy, every breath scratching his already sore flesh. His body went limp, arms resting against the wardrobe's floor, head on his knees. He was dizzy despite sitting down and staying still. His vision was already dark but Harry could feel it blacken further.
If I pass out, will it make a lot of noise? Will it make the time go by faster?
Before he could think about an answer to those questions, the wardrobe's door swung open.
If Harry hadn't closed his eyes, a bright light would surely blind him. As he was, only a fresh and crisp air rushed into the small space, engulfing Harry in its chilliness, and making him tremble even more than he already was.
He immediately bolted out - or tried to, but his shaky legs refused to carry him. He ungraciously fell to the floor instead, his left shoulder making a painful impact with the wooden planks.
A grunt of anguish escaped his mouth, but the sensation was almost welcoming as it proved it was all real. He managed to get out of that damned space, at last.
Relief surged in his veins, making his body relax further. Harry tried to get up from the floor, using his hands for support but he slumped back weakly, as his body was still shaking.
"What on God's green earth are you doing?" A familiarly nasal voice sounded right above his head.
Right. Harry forgot that Severus was in the room with him. The man's shoes came into his blurred vision, and a moment later, a pair of strong hands wrestled him upright.
"Wait, don't-"
Harry tried to protest, his voice a mere whisper. He was far from recovered from his panic attack, mind hazy, vision clouded. There was little strength in his legs and once Severus did manage to pull him more-or-less to his feet, Harry went limp again.
Severus caught him before he could lose balance completely and brought him close to his chest. Harry could not see his surprised expression but he could tell the man was alarmed by the way his touches changed to gentler ones.
"What in Merlin's name transpired? Why were you on the floor?" He asked, each word dripping with more concern.
Harry didn't reply at first. His face was against Severus's clothes, and he was focused on inhaling his scent, on the familiarity and the sense of home it brought him. He managed to shake his head slightly, trying to convey that he'd answer later.
"I'm fine, Severus," he muttered at last against the black fabric, a feeble attempt to calm his guardian down.
He hadn't mentioned his claustrophobia to the man. Severus did know about the cupboard situation at Dursleys, but not the extent of the trauma Harry carried.
Snape was clearly unconvinced. "You expect me to believe that after witnessing this spectacle? You can't even stand upright! Explain yourself, at once."
Harry sighed, not wanting to reveal too much. "I just... had a moment. It's nothing, really." A moment of total meltdown.
Severus scowled, his impatience showing. "A moment? Potter, don't even start with your vague nonsense. Spit it out."
"It's not important. Just drop it," Harry muttered, feeling a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. He wasn't ready to talk about it, not when his body was still shaking and the wardrobe, the embodiment of his fears, a mere step away.
"You will not dictate the importance of matters in this household. Tell me, or the only thing I might drop is your limp body." Severus said sternly, his words an empty threat as his grip on Harry became firmer, but not harsh.
"I—" Harry began and was quickly interrupted.
"Oh, for god's sake," Snape cursed when Harry's legs became particularly wobbly after he attempted to push the man away. He wanted to prove that he was alright and could indeed stand on his two feet without help. Too bad Harry demonstrated the exact opposite.
"Hold on," he heard Severus say, which sounded funny because Harry could certainly not hold onto anything in his current condition.
Nevertheless, it came as a great surprise when his feet suddenly weren't touching the ground anymore, not because he was falling again, but because he was being picked up.
In his fifteen years of life, Harry was never carried and old enough to remember it. He saw Dudley experience it, every time his cousin fell asleep on the sofa when they were kids, Uncle Vernon carried him upstairs.
Harry never had such luxury. Until now. Ten years too late, Severus Snape was carrying Harry's tall body through their home until they reached Severus's bedroom down the hallway.
There, Harry was carefully set down on a soft double bed. Slowly, his mind was beginning to clear up, heartbeat toning down to a merciful seventy beats a minute.
His breathing evened out, and his vision was no longer blurry. It helped that the room, the bed, and the sheets smelled like Severus, it calmed Harry down further.
"Are you coherent enough to speak now?" Severus asked, having sat on a chair he drew close to the bed. He must have noticed how Harry's expression relaxed.
Harry nodded but didn't reply verbally. He didn't trust his voice just yet.
"Here, drink. It's just water." Severus handed him a glass as if he could read his thoughts. It occurred to Harry that he could, but Harry would certainly know if the man slipped into his mind.
He accepted the glass, noting that his fingers were still trembling slightly.
"Thank you," he croaked after taking a generous sip.
Severus was watching him closely. Too closely. Harry knew they had a conversation ahead, but he did not feel like explaining at all.
"Are they gone?" He asked instead, referring to the Death Eaters. Maybe a change of topic would do them good, and Severus would not ask about Harry's strange condition at all.
"Of course not," Snape drawled, a deadly serious expression on his face. "Lucius Malfoy is just in the kitchen having some tea, Pettigrew rushed to the store for some biscuits and we are expecting the Dark Lord himself in just a couple of minutes."
Harry gifted him an unimpressed stare.
"Naturally, they are gone, you dimwit," Severus scolded him with a sardonic tone. "Now, are you going to explain what has happened on your own or do I have to ask detailed questions to wrestle the information out of your prideful brain?"
He's mad. Harry realized with bemusement. Dread settled in his gut, making him worry about what could have happened to set Severus off like this.
"What did they say? Did something happen? Is it Voldem-"
"Don't say his name," Severus interrupted him with a hiss.
Harry frowned but complied. "Something with You-Know-Who?" He finished his question with remorse.
"Yes, something did happen," Severus snapped, and Harry's stomach twisted further, waiting for the shoe to drop.
Was someone hurt? Did Voldemort find out about me staying at Spinner's end? Was someone killed-
"I leave you in a hideout for a mere hour and when I come back, what do I find? A teenager going into a fit so strong he can't even stand up properly!"
The man snapped.
"I need you to start making sense. What exactly occurred in that wardrobe, and why were you panicking like a rabbit caught in a trap?"
Oh, Snape was furious. At Harry. Because of Harry. For Harry? It was hard to tell, and Harry was still not proficient in reading Severus's outbursts.
"You are exaggerating," he said in his defence, embarrassment clouding his cheeks. "I was hardly having a fit-"
"Potter, I asked you why such a thing happened. I didn't tell you to argue with me," Severus snapped.
"Harry."
It slipped out of Harry's mouth before he could bite it back.
"Call me Harry, not Potter…" he mumbled, owning up to his slip-up when he noticed Snape's confused expression.
Well, that was childish. I can go fetch a shovel from the shed outside and dig my grave. The sign above should read: "Here resides Harry Potter, deceased due to extreme embarrassment."
Harry couldn't read Severus well, but there was one thing he mastered over the two years he was in his care. Snape called him "Potter" when he was distressed. Angrily distressed, panicky distressed, or worse, concernedly distressed.
And Harry knew, he knew this was the third case.
Snape was fuming because he was anxious. The last time Harry saw it like this was right after the graveyard when Harry returned to Hogwarts via portkey.
But compared to that, this situation was nothing. Harry didn't want Snape to freak out this much just because of Harry's irrational fear of enclosed spaces.
"I'm fine," Harry insisted when the man didn't reply or comment on his demand. "I just freaked out a little bit," he mumbled quietly.
"You already said as much. For the last time, I'm asking you, what happened?" Snape repeated, but his voice was milder now. He still looked impatient, though.
Just say it. Harry prompted himself, preparing to tell his guardian about the issue.
He still hesitated briefly, glancing away, but Severus's patience suddenly wore thin.
"Out with it," he demanded, his voice authoritative.
"I have claustrophobia, alright?" Harry finally spoke through his teeth, his hand coming up to comb through his unruly hair. Upon touch, Harry noticed they were still damp with sweat.
Severus looked at him with creased brows, an expression that spoke volumes.
"Oh, that's when somebody is not fond of small spaces-"
"I know what claustrophobia is, Pot- Harry." He breathed out, and it seemed that with that exhale, all his anger evaporated too.
"Why didn't you tell me? We agreed that the wardrobe would be your hiding spot should a situation like this occur."
"Err… yes, well…"
When did we discuss such a thing? Harry wondered.
Severus noticed his confused expression and sighed again.
"Had I known before, we could have found a better arrangement, preferably one that would not make you a sobbing mess."
The man shook his head in disbelief.
Harry opened his mouth to protest loudly against such an untruthful accusation, but Severus's outstretched hand silenced him.
Snape's thumb swiped gently on Harry's cheek, and Harry could feel the accumulated moisture on his skin.
Oh god.
He pulled back and hastily wiped his half-dried tears into the back of his palms, falling into new depths of mortification. So that's why his vision was blurred earlier. He didn't even notice he was crying.
What he did notice was Severus's eyes widening.
"What's this?" He heard him ask and then Snape's long fingers encircled Harry's wrists, bringing it forth and closer to the man's face.
Harry didn't realize what Severus was referring to until it was too late. When he pulled his hands back eventually, hiding them in his long and baggy sleeves, Severus had already seen the damage wrought by Harry's previous panic.
The torn skin around Harry's nails looked far worse than what it felt like, exposed bloodied patches of flesh scattered on the length of his thumbs.
"Stay here."
Snape ordered harshly and then stood up, disappearing into his adjacent bathroom. Harry sighed, not intending to go anywhere. He let himself relax further until he was fully lying down on the bed, Severus's pillow under his head.
Despite everything, it felt nice. Like a loving embrace, so intimate and cosy.
For as long as he could remember, Harry yearned for the warmth of sleeping in his parents' bed. It was a simple desire, one that every child should experience. However, life had dealt him a different hand—no loving parents, no comforting embraces. Because life wasn't fair, and Harry could not have everything.
Yet here he was, in Severus's bed, feeling a sense of belonging that he had never known.
Harry knew Dudley sometimes sneaked into Aunt Petunia's bed at night when he was a kid, whether he felt sick or just had a bad dream. Harry himself tried it once.
When he was around four, he woke up from a rather vicious nightmare. It was one of his earliest memories, mainly because of the havoc Uncle Vernon caused when he found Harry shaking Aunt Petunia awake. He wasn't fed for three days as a punishment.
This was different. Snape would sooner enter a marriage with Sirius than he would leave Harry starving for so long. Moreover, it was Severus who willingly placed Harry in his bed, solidifying the level of familial relationship they had.
Harry briefly closed his eyes and imagined he was young again, in his parents' bed. Except his parent was Severus now, and despite how twisted and wrong it should've felt, it felt right.
It felt so right that Harry didn't bother to open his eyes when he heard Severus come back. He didn't feel a surge of panic that he'd be thrown out and punished. He was safe, he was home.
"Don't sleep yet," Severus ordered him mildly. "Give me your hands."
Harry hesitated, his fingers twitching nervously, still clammy with the aftermath of his episode. Slowly, he extended his hands toward Severus.
The room was silent, filled only with the soft sounds of breathing and the distant creaking of the house settling.
Harry's eyelids flickered open just in time to see Severus apply a gracious amount of balm to the torn skin around Harry's nails. The cool touch brought him instant relief.
Snape's hands worked with practised care, and the gentle ministrations further reinforced the sense of security that enveloped Harry.
"There," Severus murmured, finally capping the jar. "This should help with the damage. You should refrain from picking at your skin."
Harry nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for causing such concern. "Thank you."
Severus gave him a curt nod, his expression softening just a fraction. "Now, drink this." He handed Harry a small vial containing a potion with a calming lavender hue. "It should help you relax. You're in a dreadful state."
"Sorry," Harry mumbled, propping himself up on his elbows and downing the potion. Its effects were almost immediate; a wave of tranquillity washed over him, soothing the remaining frayed edges of his nerves.
Severus settled back into the chair, eyeing Harry with a mixture of annoyance and genuine worry. "You really should have told me about your aversion to confined spaces earlier. We could have devised a more suitable plan."
"I didn't think it would be an issue," Harry admitted, avoiding Severus's piercing gaze.
"Clearly, you were mistaken," Severus remarked dryly. "This is not the first time you've underestimated the potential consequences of keeping crucial information to yourself."
"I know, and I'm sorry," Harry apologized, his voice sincere. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. I didn't mean to cause you trouble."
Severus sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Your appreciation doesn't excuse your lack of communication. We'll discuss this later. For now, get some rest. You look like you've been through a war."
Harry shifted on the bed, suddenly painfully aware he was still occupying Severus's personal space. "I should go back to my room. I didn't mean to intrude."
He promised himself he'd store the memory of this in a mental box for all of his most treasured experiences. And however good he felt in Severus's bed, there were limits to how much he could take from the man.
"You're not intruding."
Severus raised an eyebrow at Harry's attempt to distance himself.
"Besides, I'm in no mood to levitate you upstairs, given your legs can't carry you. Stay put."
Harry's cheeks flushed with fresh embarrassment for the hundredth time that afternoon. "I can walk." He insisted, trying to ignore the memory of Snape picking him up not long ago. He wondered why the man didn't use a levitating charm back then.
"Harry," Severus spoke, drawing his attention again. "Rest."
"I don't mean to be a burden," Harry admitted out of the blue, a self-deprecating expression on his face.
Because that's what he was, wasn't he? A burden. A luggage Severus was straddled with and forced to carry.
Severus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The long look he bestowed Harry made the boy eventually squirm. Harry averted his eyes at last, fearing Snape was going to read his mind again, feeling exposed.
"You're not a burden, Harry."
Right. Severus needed not to read his thoughts, it was probably written all over Harry's face.
Harry idly wondered how much more mortification he was capable of suffering in one afternoon before he needed to go and fetch that shovel from the shed.
"You're simply... a complicated enigma. I've dealt with worse," Snape added.
Harry couldn't contain the weak chuckle that escaped his throat. "Worse than me?"
"Indeed," Severus replied, a wry smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. "Now, enough self-pity. Get some sleep. We'll talk after you wake up."
He stood and moved towards the door, but before leaving, he cast a warming charm on the room. The soft glow enveloped Harry in a cocoon of comfort.
"Will you stay?" Harry blurted out, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. Severus was already outside the room when he called after him.
The man turned around and Harry could see the hesitation on his face, the silence stretching between them. Finally, he gave Harry a curt nod. The admission seemed to carry more weight than mere agreement.
"I suppose I can," he muttered, as if the acknowledgement was a begrudging concession to some unspoken understanding.
"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, feeling a warmth he never expected.
Snape merely hummed in response, settling into a chair beside the bed once more. "Don't get used to it," He warned, a subtle reminder that vulnerability, once exposed, needed careful handling.
"You said you've dealt with worse," Harry grinned, the weariness in his eyes softened by the glimmer of humour.
Yes, I said that. It was not meant to prompt you to turn it into a competition," Severus remarked dryly, with a sardonic edge to his voice. The corner of his mouth twitched in a fleeting smirk.
"You're forgetting I'm a Gryffindor. Everything's a competition," Harry mumbled, voice growing weak.
"Merlin help me."
He heard Snape lament but it was coming from far away
"Trust me, Potter, forgetting that you're a Gryffindor is the last thing I'll ever live to do."
Harry wanted to laugh at that comment, but his consciousness was already half gone.
As the boy succumbed to the embrace of sleep, Severus sighed—a mixture of exasperation and something that felt oddly like affection. He watched over the slumbering figure, a complicated enigma indeed. For a moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift. Gently, he reached out, taking the teen's glasses off his face, preventing them from being mercilessly crushed in Harry's sleep.
"Sleep well, Harry," he whispered, knowing the boy could no longer hear him.
