"Potter, stay behind," Snape's command echoed through the classroom.

I'd rather not, thank you. Harry fought back the words of refusal that welled inside him. But he knew better than to openly challenge Snape, especially after the incident that had taken place just two days prior.

The memory of it still burned on Harry's cheeks, a lingering mark of humiliation. Thankfully, no one had mentioned it since then, and there were no peculiar rumours circulating about Harry stealing Peeves' job and wandering the dungeons in his pyjamas at night. Yet, despite the lack of gossip, Harry couldn't help but wonder what Snape could possibly want from him now, if not to reminisce about their previous confrontation.

Hermione mouthed the words, "We'll wait for you," as she and Ron left the classroom. Harry almost followed suit, but Snape's stern gaze held him rooted to his seat. The professor clearly anticipated Harry's disobedience, which was the sole reason for Harry to stay behind.

The room quickly emptied as students hurriedly departed, not even Malfoy lingering behind when it came to potions. Harry's throat tightened with worry as Snape glided towards him, his expression unreadable.

A purple vial materialized on Harry's desk, Snape placing it on the table with a resounding thud. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension.

"Administer half a dose at bedtime," Snape stated grimly, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance. Immediately, Harry made up his mind that he would never drink the potion presented to him. Not after Snape suggested Veritaserum the night Harry became a champion.

Raising his gaze to meet Snape's eyes, Harry had a "why are you giving me this?" written across his face. He hoped that the professor would provide an answer without needing to be prompted.

"Dismissed," Snape declared abruptly instead, already retreating to his front desk. Harry's hopes for an explanation were dashed.

There was nothing else to do but leave the classroom. Any prolonged conversation with the Potions Master was highly undesirable – Harry would rather go his whole life without knowing what the potion was than ask Snape directly. It was an open invitation to be ridiculed, should Harry ask him.

Carelessly tucking the vial into his book bag, he had no intention of consuming its contents at bedtime—or ever.

Harry kept his sleepwalking incident to himself, deciding not to disclose it to Hermione and Ron. At first, he had intended to share the harrowing experience, given the dire consequences of his previous disregard for such matters, but as the morning sun cast its warm rays, the incident felt strangely mortifying in the light of day. It all seemed less serious when Harry regained control of his body. It was as if it had been nothing more than a dream, a fleeting illusion, if only he could forget the vivid conversation he had had with the headmaster.

Harry knew deep down that his dismissal of the sleepwalking episode was foolish – if not downright stupid. But how was he supposed to take care of the issue? Tie himself to the bed frame to prevent his body from wandering around the castle? Or barricade the bedroom while trying to reason with other boys why he needed the big wardrobe to block their only path of escape?

Harry shrugged, once again convincing himself that his new night habit wasn't a significant concern. After all, weren't there more pressing matters demanding his attention? The second task loomed ahead, mere weeks away, and all he had to go on was Cedric's bizarre advice about taking a bath. Sleepwalking, in Harry's mind, slid down the list of priorities, fading into the background as he focused on the challenges awaiting ahead.

I can't ignore the golden egg much longer, Harry's inner voice nagged him, resembling Hermione a bit too much. It served as a distraction and Harry got through the day without fearing the night-time.

But as evening descended and Harry's troubled mind settled down, not making the slightest progress with the second task puzzle during his classes, a wave of mild indifference washed over Harry's tired consciousness.

Fed up with constant worrying about something that could potentially harm him, Harry gave in to the temptation to believe that with enough disregard, the problems he had would simply vanish on their own.

Harry laid down that evening in a strange haze of apathy – Snape's potion forgotten somewhere alongside his bags. The quietude enveloped him, his closed eyes shut off from the world.

The graveyard was oddly familiar.

Harry had never encountered such a terrifying place before, which intensified the sinister undertones of familiarity. Shivers coursed through his veins as the air thickened with an ominous presence, wrapping around him like a suffocating cloak.

Blackness blanketed the surroundings, casting ominous shadows that loomed in the night. The feeble moonlight struggled to penetrate the dense darkness, leaving Harry to navigate blindly through a maze of uncertainty. The chilling wind cut through his clothes, prickling his skin with a cold that hinted at the horrors lurking nearby.

The place was unwelcoming, to say the least.

As Harry ventured deeper into the heart of this macabre sanctuary, he found himself inexplicably drawn towards a particular grave. It stood out with its needless extravagance and unsettling malevolence, a terrifying monument that defied its intended purpose of merely decorating the grave.

The presence of the stone statue seemed to amplify the already bloodcurdling atmosphere. The hooded figure tightly clutched a glistening sickle, its significance not lost on Harry as he laid his eyes upon it. He knew, instinctively, that he was not meant to be there. The grim symbol, an emblem of death, bore down heavily upon Harry's unconscious mind.

He had to get away from there, but his body wasn't listening.

Driven by an unseen force, his legs moved of their own accord, pulling him inexorably toward the heart of the graveyard, towards the haunting monument. The ground beneath him gave way, the damp soil yielding beneath his bare heels. He fought against the compulsion, a futile struggle against an invisible grip.

Harry drew closer, a mere two steps away from the grave that instilled despair within him. The statue seemed to observe him closely, despite lacking a face and eyes. Harry could feel its gaze, a sudden helplessness squeezing his chest, a strong grip suffocating his very essence. Time seemed to stretch thin as the statue moved, opening its arms in a menacing embrace.

Harry's body jolted when his shoulders were grasped tightly, picking him up from the ground. He was pulled towards the face of the statue despite his continuous attempts to squirm away from the touch.

Desperate to shout for help, he discovered his voice had vanished. The shadows were watching him with sick curiosity and in that moment, Harry realized he was trapped, trapped in this nightmarish realm, where he was forced to look into the abyss the statue's face had become.

Darkness consumed Harry from all directions, slowly eating him alive. It crawled within him through his eyes, and soon, he could hear the fear around him and smell screams of hopeless victims, he was looking eye-to-eye with Death and he was trapped, trapped, trapped…

When light fought its way under his eyelids, Harry was beyond relieved. He felt his consciousness untangle from the horrors his mind had conjured, distinguishing between reality and twisted illusions. It was a dream—a nightmare, Harry concluded groggily, hoping to shake off the remnants of the haunting visions.

But as the light morphed into Snape's pale face etched with apprehension, and the grip on his shoulders tightened rather than eased, Harry's hope for a reprieve dwindled. Maybe sanity was too much to ask for.

Nightmare within a nightmare? Give me a break!

"…Can you hear me, Potter?!" Snape's voice pierced through the thick haze surrounding Harry's mind, carrying a tone of urgency that seemed foreign coming from the Potions Master. It was almost as if he had a sliver of genuine concern hidden beneath the layers of disdain.

Struggling to process the situation, Harry winced as Snape's fingers dug into his skin and anchored him in the disorienting reality. Vaguely, Harry felt that the touch, painful as it was, was also strangely… grounding. It didn't allow Harry's consciousness to slip back into the realm of sleep.

"Mmm...?" Harry managed to croak in response, his voice weak and unfamiliar to his own ears. His throat felt parched, as if he had swallowed a handful of sand in his sleep.

Snape's grip tightened further, and with a sudden jolt, Harry's drowsy state shattered. His body shot upright, breaths coming in ragged gasps, sweat glistening on his forehead. Confusion mingled with the lingering fear that had gripped him during the nightmare.

"What... What's going on?" Harry stammered. His eyes darted around the lit hallway, searching for any clues to explain his disoriented state.

Snape's gaze hardened, and any remaining signs of concern were wiped clean. "That is precisely what I would like to know. Do you have any memory of what had transpired?"

Harry's brain assessed the situation quickly despite being fully awake for mere seconds. He had a pretty good idea of what had transpired, getting used to gaining consciousness in the weirdest sleepwalked again, after two nights of peace, and Snape found him in the corridors, again. It hit Harry like a well-aimed Buldger to the stomach.

Please, tell me I'm still dreaming, he pleaded. Returning to the graveyard in his nightmare was suddenly almost desirable.

"Explain, Potter. Now. Why did I find you wandering the Grand Staircase at this time of night?" Snape pressed when Harry didn't respond right away. The unspoken "again" hung heavily in the air.

Harry blinked once, twice, trying to stall for the time each time his eyelids met. There was a lot of explaining he could do, but no words he wanted to say. However, he couldn't keep quiet. Not giving an answer would result in aggravating Snape to new heights – the man had mastered the art of angering himself without being provoked.

Harry didn't want to repeat the visit to Dumbledore's office twice in one week. More than Snape or nightmares, Harry feared the look the headmaster would bestow him.

"I... I don't remember, professor. It's all a blur. Maybe I was just... disoriented, or something," Harry said lamely, shrugging his shoulders lightly. The movement made him aware of Snape's hands still grasping his arms.

The man seemed to realize it as well as he let go the next instant, freeing Harry of the touch.

Snape's eyes narrowed, his suspicion evident. "You don't remember," he echoed nasally, clearly unimpressed. "Shall we add amnesia to the ever-expanding list of your extraordinary talents?" he drawled, anger scratching his voice.

Snape disliked vague answers the most, but Harry had nothing else to offer to the hated professor.

"Sure, another useful capability of mine," he muttered under his breath.

The nightmare had already put him into a sour mood and Snape's presence elevated it further. The professor wasn't the only one who had the right to be constantly annoyed.

Snape obviously heard him, Harry judged by the way he drew a deep breath, undoubtedly preparing to reprimand Harry further. But then, he didn't.

"Have you consumed the potion I provided? Exactly half a dose?" Snape abruptly inquired, causing Harry to wish he was receiving a lengthy lecture instead. Interrogations were never his preferred pastime. The question caught him off guard, as he had momentarily forgotten about the purple vial and had to restrain himself from blurting out, "What potion?" in order to prevent Snape from throwing a fit.

The long pause was a sufficient answer for the professor.

"How very predictable," Snape hissed nasally, his nostrils flaring in evident fury, his black eyes drilling into Harry mercilessly. The tension in the air was palpable, and Harry could practically feel the mounting anger radiating from the Potions Master.

"Your well-being had never been a concern of mine and yet, I find myself curious, is it the inflated pride of yours or just sheer stupidity that would make you refuse assistance even on your deathbed?" Snape spat, his tone cutting through the air like a whip.

A frown creased Harry's face when he was splashed with sudden and intense animosity.

Why's he getting angry over some stupid potion? He almost looks offended. Maybe it really was some lethal poison.

"I haven't refused any form of assistance, moreover, I've never asked for any. And what's my pride have to do with all this?"

Harry retorted, resisting the urge to ask "What's your deal?". He wasn't that interested and doubted Snape would provide an answer anyway.

"Haven't refused?" Snape echoed mockingly. "Then how else would you describe your complete neglect of the solution I provided to aid your affliction, Potter? Perhaps you enjoy your nocturnal sleepwalking around the castle, irresponsibly roaming the corridors while being oblivious to your surroundings. Indeed, your aptitude for attracting danger is only surpassed by your lack of intellect," Snape's voice dripped with condescension, words calculated to sting.

"What are you-? I haven't sleepwalked-! And what solution? You meant to tell me the potion was a solution for… this?"

Harry gestured aimlessly, struggling to articulate his jumbled thoughts. Snape had bombarded him with new information, and the mention of his sleepwalking problem, spoken aloud by the professor, filled him with an odd sense of horror. It meant that his feeble attempts to hide this embarrassing habit had been futile.

"Embodiment of eloquence," Snape insulted him impatiently. "What else would it be for?"

"Well..." Harry paused, contemplating whether responding with "for making me suffer a painful death" would be an acceptable answer. Probably not. "I don't know! You handed me a vial without any explanation, as if I'm supposed to be a mind reader!" Resentment toward the professor surged within him, fueling a defiant response. However, Harry also felt foolish. If only he had known that drinking the potion could have prevented this entire encounter. The thought of having one less meeting with Snape in his life sounded heavenly.

No, it's not my fault. He never explained what the bloody potion was for, and I'm not careless enough to consume something unknown, especially if it's from Snape.

Snape's lip curled into a contemptuous sneer. "Ah, so it's my fault now, is it, Potter?" he asked, as if he truly was a mind reader.

"Heavens, spare me for not spoon-feeding our shining star every bit of information," the professor's voice dripped with scorn, relishing the opportunity to belittle Harry further. "The potion was Dreamless Sleep, a remedy that might have spared you from your own mind's twisted machinations. Next time, I suggest you utilize the remaining brain cells you possess to ask for clarification when your limited knowledge is challenged instead of wallowing in your illiteracy. Although, given your track record, I won't hold my breath."

Wallowing in my illiteracy?! I've never seen the potion before!

Harry imagined calling out to Snape when he first received the vial and asking about it. He knew there was only one possible outcome.

"You wouldn't have answered me anyway," he muttered angrily to himself. Harry's vast knowledge would have been criticized, leading to his dismissal.

Snape's eyes bore into Harry's, his expression unreadable. After a tense moment, he spoke formally, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Thirty points from Gryffindor for being outside your dorms after curfew. And should I find you wandering the castle one more time, you'll not only hinder your House's chances of winning the House Cup but also face one month's worth of detention. Is that clear, Potter?"

The weight of anger caused Harry's expression to crumble. What?! Snape's selective hearing was grating Harry's nerves. He drew a breath, prepared to unleash his fury onto the professor when he was interrupted.

"One. Word. If I hear one more word from you tonight, we'll start the detention immediately. Now, I believe you're capable enough to find your way back to your common room without mistaking it for a broom cupboard. Dismissed."

Harry lay in his bed, consumed by fury. The anger refused to dissipate even hours after his encounter with Snape. It felt incredibly unjust, almost to the point where he wanted to scream into his pillows upon returning to the dormitory. The sense of injustice tightened his chest, and Harry couldn't help but regret not giving Snape a piece of his mind.

Unfair. Unfair. It was utterly and infuriatingly unfair.

"I can't believe you haven't told us sooner," Hermione reproached, acting insulted.

Harry decided it was time to come clean about his night adventures to his friends. He wouldn't make the mistake of keeping quiet twice.

"Ron knew about it," Harry offered weakly in defence.

"Something could have happened to you! People died sleepwalking. What if you reached the astronomy tower and fell?" Hermione whipped out the most catastrophic scenario possible and splashed it on both boys.

"I'd prefer that over bumping into Snape one more time."

"Harry!"

"Hermione, let him eat breakfast in peace. Can't you see he's been through enough?" Ron, always quick to support his best friend, interjected. Harry shot him a grateful look and took a bite of the pancakes in front of him.

Maybe it wasn't the best topic to discuss over breakfast.

Hermione's frustration didn't waver as she turned her attention to Ron. "And you, Ron. How can you dismiss the problem so casually? It could be disastrous!"

"Being caught by Snape is already a disaster. Harry needs our help, not your scolding. He must have endured enough lecturing from that git last night," Ron retorted, taking Harry's side.

Reluctantly, Hermione conceded, putting a halt to her continuous speech. "Alright. I'll head to the library during our free period. There must be spells or remedies to prevent sleepwalking or at least protect sleepwalkers from danger. But if I can't find anything useful, we'll go to Madam Pomfrey."

"Why would I go to the hospital wing? I'm not sick," Harry objected, resisting the idea of seeking medical help. "All I need is a Snape-repelling spell to keep him away from me."

A snicker escaped Ron's lips while Hermione frowned in disagreement.

"When will you two take it seriously? It's not funny."

"I already have a potion of questionable nature that is supposed to prevent these episodes," Harry admitted the existence of a small purple vial in his possession. "I just need you to check if it's safe, Hermione."

Curiosity tinged with concern flickered in Hermione's eyes as she questioned, "What kind of potion? Where did you get it? Harry, if you perhaps stole it –"

Cutting her off, Harry quickly responded, "Snape gave it to me. It's called Dreamless Sleep."

Ron's voice rose with worry, "Snape? You can't drink that, mate."

Hermione's glare shifted to Ron, her voice stern. "If a professor gave it to you, Harry, then I'm sure it's safe to consume."

Harry sighed, feeling caught between his friends' differing opinions. He couldn't side with Ron despite sharing the same sentiment, but he did want Hermione to check the potion before he drank it. The safest option was to change the subject. He could always show the potion to Hermione later.

"There's another thing I haven't told you yet," Harry stated mysteriously, catching their attention. "It's regarding the Tournament. Before the Yule Ball ended, Cedric pulled me aside and mentioned I should take the golden egg and take a bath. He even told me the password to the prefects' bathroom."

Ron's eyes widened with excitement. "Cedric has given you a clue?"

Nodding, Harry continued, "Yeah, apparently as a payback for telling him about the dragons."

"And? How did it go?" Hermione couldn't contain her impatience as she pressed.

"How did what go?" Confusion clouded Harry's face.

"You mean to tell me you've known for weeks about a hint that could possibly help you crack the golden egg mystery, and you haven't acted on it yet?"

Harry squirmed under Hermione's burning gaze. He suddenly felt a little guilty about neglecting the Tournament for so long.

"I've been busy with other things," he offered softly.

"No matter, we can just go today," Ron suggested.

"We?" Harry echoed. He never accounted for his friends going with him. "I was thinking of going alone sometime during the night," he confessed, seeing Ron's face dim down. "I can't go during the day and risk someone walking in on me. Cedric never mentioned how many people have access to the bathroom. It would be easier to sneak around using the cloak if I'm alone," Harry said apologetically.

Understanding dawned on Hermione's face, and she joined in, "Harry's right. Besides, it's easier to explain one boy taking a bath in the middle of the night than two. There are still rumours circulating about you after that amazing Yule Ball dance, Ron." her teasing tone left Ron looking pale as a ghost. "Lavender has been particularly impressed."

Ron abandoned the idea of accompanying Harry after Hermione's remark. They decided that Harry would take the bath the same night, under the cover of darkness when most of the castle was asleep. Hermione and Ron couldn't resist their curiosity and agreed to wait for him, knowing sleep would elude them anyway.

As the day carried on, Harry's anticipation grew. He couldn't shake the feeling that this midnight excursion would be a turning point in the Tournament, possibly unravelling crucial information about the task laying ahead. The mixture of nerves and excitement coursed through his veins, and he eagerly awaited the arrival of nightfall.