Desiderium Intimum

by arielgobuss

One of the most popular Snarry ffs, translated into several languages. A complex 70-chapters story about Harry, who drinks a potion called Desideria Intima, unleashing his deepest desire which is no other than the Potions Master. A story about obsession and unhealthy toxic relationship between the dark cruel Death Eater and The Chosen One, who tries to break through his walls...

52. Haunted by the Shadow

51. Haunted by the Shadow

---

Long lost words whisper to me

Still can't find what keeps me here

When all this time I've been so hollow inside

Watching me, Wanting me

I can feel you pull me down

Fearing you, Loving you

I won't let you pull me down

Hunting you

I can smell you

Alive

Your heart pounding in my head*

---

If I stand all alone will the shadows

hide the colors of my heart

blue for tears, black for the night

I don't wanna talk about it

How you broke my heart**

---

On Tuesday morning, Harry went down to breakfast with Ron. After his outburst yesterday, right after Hermione left, he buried himself in the bed, pulled the covers over his head and hid in the safety of the darkness. When Ron entered the dormitory, Harry pretended to be asleep. Only this morning was he forced to 'reveal the whole truth about his girlfriend.' Ron was a little offended at him for not telling him about her earlier and didn't understand why he was so ashamed. He thought that even though she was from Slytherin, she was 'quite a hottie.'

Harry tried not to deny or confirm his suspicions. He barely spoke at all. He just nodded from time to time. He had no appetite at all, but he went with him to breakfast, trying not to think about anything on the way.

It was the best solution. Just not to think about it all. If he doesn't think, he won't remember and maybe he'll survive the day somehow.

Unfortunately, this assumption was verified immediately after Harry crossed the threshold of the Great Hall. He raised his head and stopped abruptly, and his startled gaze ran straight towards the teachers' table.

Snape was at breakfast.

He didn't look in his direction. He was just there. But it was enough to make Harry's heart sink to his stomach. He was sitting at the table, straight and proud, as if he had swallowed a fucking stick, a black blur sucking all the space and light into itself. Hasn't anyone else seen this?

"Dude, what's got you so frozen?" Ron asked, leaning over his shoulder. "Get in, people want to get through."

Harry moved forward, even though his feet felt like they were stuck to the floor. He lowered his head and stared at the shiny floor.

No, he won't look at the man. He does not exist to him!

He somehow managed to reach the table and sit at it, with his back to the staff table. And then he felt it. It felt like electricity was flowing through his body and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. And he knew exactly what that meant.

No, he won't turn around!

He swallowed and looked at the newspaper that Hermione was holding, sitting on the other side of the table. The headline on the front page read:

ANOTHER BESTIAL ATTACK BY YOU-KNOW-WHO

Harry didn't read any further. He looked down at his empty plate. He could still feel the stinging gaze on the back of his neck, making him unhinge.

He had to- He couldn't just- He had to forget. Focus on something else.

His gaze returned to the Prophet. His eyes slid lower to the photo of the burning building.

Yes, that was the answer. He had it right in front of his nose. All the time. He just didn't want to see it before. Too absorbed in himself and his 'problems'. Too blinded to notice that the world is still turning. Too obsessed with his selfish infatuation...

He was staring at the photo, feeling a cold creep into his heart and his lungs fill with something sticky that made it hard for him to breathe. His stomach felt like it was turning to stone as the tarry substance called the inevitable began to fill his mind again. Something he almost managed to forget about for a few beautiful months, during which he even allowed himself to do something as audacious as making plans for the future...

There was no future. Not for him. He had a job to do. He was going to defeat Voldemort. This is what everyone expects from him. This is his path, his life goal. Not getting into an affair and chasing the unattainable. He doesn't need unrequited love. He had already wasted enough time on Snape.

How could he ever hope that anyone would care about him? Especially someone like Snape? A fucking Death Eater with no feelings? What a pathetic loser he was!

In his mind's eye, he imagined students with "Potter is a loser" badges attached to their chests.

Now it's over, though! He would never let anyone hurt him again. Snape won't come near him again. Harry won't let that happen. Now he will do what the entire wizarding world expects of him. He will go to the library after school, study diligently, and never once think about how hurt he was... how broken he felt inside...

No, he won't even think about it!

He raised his head and looked at his friends sitting across the table.

"I think I'll go to the library after the classes. I... I have a lot to study."

Hermione lowered the newspaper, peering past it, and regarded him inquisitively for a moment.

"Okay," she said. "If that's what you need..."

"Yes," Harry replied. Probably a little too fast. Hermione didn't say anything else and Harry was grateful.

---

Concentrating on lessons wasn't easy, but on the other hand it kept his thoughts perfectly occupied. When he emerged from Greenhouse Five, covered in mud, and headed for the showers with the other students, he was a little disappointed that classes were already over.

"These pimpled spitters are awesome, aren't they?" Ron chattered as they walked back to school together through one of those narrow corridors that connected different parts of the castle. "I could make it spit into Zabini's pumpkin juice. Hahaha, he wouldn't be able to get rid of the pimples for a month."

Harry didn't answer. He walked forward with his eyes fixed on the floor, watching the feet of the students walking in front of him disappear under their robes. He didn't know what made him suddenly raise his head halfway down the corridor. But as he did so, his heart sank and he almost tripped over his own clothes.

Snape.

He was walking straight at them.

He hasn't seen them yet. He carried a thick stack of parchments in his arms, leafing through them as he went.

Harry's legs suddenly felt both too heavy and too weak to lift him. He slowed down, staring at the tall, dark figure moving through the corridor. The students ran sideways to avoid bumping into him, and Harry should have done the same, but somehow he couldn't make a move. He just kept walking forward.

Snape was getting closer. He finally lifted his head, and before Harry quickly lowered his, he saw for a split second the man's eyes widen slightly.

Harry didn't see it, but he sensed that Snape had slowed down too.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

They'll just pass each other. It's nothing terrible. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing, except that his heart would most likely burst out of his chest.

Snape was only a few meters away from him. Harry lifted his eyes and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw black shoes and a black robe flowing softly around the man's legs. He felt it again. Hair rising on the back of his neck.

He stared even more intensely at the stone slabs under his feet. He was only a meter away.

A step away.

A few centimeters away, when the black, flowing cape brushed against his hand and Harry felt shivers run through his entire body and he almost jumped back and bumped into Ron, but luckily he stopped himself at the last moment and simply closed his eyes and... sighed.

At last. It was over. The threat has passed.

So why was his heart still unable to calm down?

"Dude, did you see the way he was staring at you?" Ron's shocked voice reached him as if from behind the glass. Harry continued to listen to the retreating footsteps. He lifted his head and looked at his friend in bewilderment.

"What?"

"Snape. Don't say you didn't see it."

Harry shook his head, feeling that instead of calming down, his heart only accelerated.

"That was weird," Ron muttered. "Maybe he's still in shock from the way you... you know."

"Can we not talk about it?" Harry asked. Perhaps a little too harshly, because Ron's ears suddenly turned red.

"Sure. Sorry. Maybe we can play Exploding Snap when we get back to the tower?"

"No. I'm going to the library. Have you forgotten?" Harry replied. He was tired of his company. Tired and angry. At himself. For being such a complete loser that he can't even pass that greasy-haired asshole in the school hallway without feeling some kind of sensation. "See you at dinner" he said and ran forward, wanting to get away from here as quickly as possible. Get away as quickly as possible from this herbal smell floating in ribbons throughout the corridor.

---

He had no idea where to start. He knew that Mrs. Pince would not let him into the Restricted Section ever, so he was only left with the section with books for Defense Against the Dark Arts. For now. He was planning a night out to pick up a few restricted textbooks anyway, but now he could search the publicly available ones as well. He chose several books with moderately interesting titles, such as "Advanced Magical Defense Techniques", "Surprise Attack: How to Avoid It and How to Repel It", "Surprise Your Enemy Before He Surprises You", and "Defense Systems in Famous Battles".

Well, he probably wasn't going to take part in a big battle, but maybe he'd find something useful. He sat down at a table in the very corner of the library and delved into the books, hoping to find something there that would help him.

Before he knew it, eight o'clock had passed. He missed dinner. Well, he wasn't hungry anyway. He felt like his stomach had been in knots since yesterday afternoon and he was refusing to take in any food.

He found little in the books. A few interesting protection spells, a few techniques more useful as a spy, a few defensive fighting strategies, but nothing really powerful that could effectively stop and injure any Death Eater. Not to mention getting them out of the way permanently.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

If only someone had told him where to start, which direction to go, if he had any starting point...

He won't give up. He would come back here tomorrow, and he would come back the day after tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and every day after that, until he found something that would give him any chance against Voldemort.

---

The next day Snape showed up for breakfast again. Which made Harry lose his appetite even more effectively. He was just sitting at the table, digging into scrambled eggs with a fork and trying to convince himself that the hairs on the back of his neck didn't stand up every now and then, and that that dark figure across the room was just his mean Potions teacher with whom he had nothing in common, whom he never had anything in common and whom he hated as much as he had hated for the last five years.

Only one of these statements was true.

He felt that painful tightness in his chest again. He thought he was already rid of it. Yesterday, as he was sitting in the library, he could barely feel it. But today, as soon as he entered the Great Hall and saw the dark shadow at the staff table out of the corner of his eye, something began to hurt in his chest again. Even stronger.

No, he decided to ignore him. Severus has no longer existed, Harry has to keep repeating that to himself. Now there is only "Professor Snape".

Professor Snape, who he should go to for detention today. But he won't go. He will never go again. Harry had asked him to transfer his detentions to another teacher, but no one has contacted him yet. He suspected Snape hadn't informed anyone about this, but it didn't bother him at all. He already knew where he would spend his time on Monday and Wednesday evenings and what he would do.

Feeling Hermione's expectant gaze on him, he took two bites of the now cold scrambled eggs. His friend kept nagging him that he should eat, so for peace of mind he preferred to eat something from time to time, otherwise she was ready to send him to Madam Pomfrey.

They haven't talked about 'this topic' since Monday. Harry suspected that Hermione probably needed to digest everything she had learned. They hardly spoke to each other at all. Only from time to time the boy felt her thoughtful gaze on him, but whenever he glanced at her, she immediately turned her head away or hid behind a book or newspaper.

It irritated him a bit, but on the other hand he was glad that she wasn't trying to 'talk' to him a second time, which he didn't want to do at all. He was still ashamed of the outburst she had witnessed, and if he could, he would turn back time and prevent it from happening. What could she be thinking of him now? That he is an emotionally unstable teenager who allowed himself to be wrapped in the sticky hands of an experienced man who did it just to take advantage of him? Yes, he suspected that was how she saw it. But she didn't say it out loud, and he was grateful for that. And for apparently deciding to keep the whole thing to herself. She knew he was in pain, and if she tried to publicize it or tell anyone about it, he would probably suffer even more. After all, she was his friend. Even if now she looked at him as if he had turned into a stranger. Someone she thought she knew, and suddenly it turned out that what she knew about him was just the tip of the iceberg, and the rest was hidden deep under the water and she would have to dive really deep to understand certain things. She wasn't prepared for this. Harry suspected she needed time to come to terms with the situation, and he didn't blame her at all. For now... she accepted it. And that was enough. Maybe one day she herself will be able to dive deep enough to... understand.

---

After the classes, Harry went to the library. He took down several thick volumes from the shelves that didn't look very appealing, but he hoped that maybe he could find something useful in so many pages. He put them on a table in the corner of the library and began leafing through them.

Time was passing. Students were coming in and out. He heard whispered conversations and occasional admonitions from Madame Pince. He put aside "Spells for All Occasions" and reached for "Counterspells: What is it and what does it go with?" when his attention was caught by a dark spot moving at the edge of his vision. Involuntarily he turned his head towards the door and froze.

Snape entered the library.

Harry quickly lowered his head, staring at the dusty volume in front of him.

What is he doing here? Is he following him?

No, he has to stop. He's acting paranoid. After all, teachers have the right to come to the library.

He swallowed and opened the book, trying to ignore the sparks crawling across his skin. He tried to focus on the table of contents, but something was bothering him. There's some tension in the air. At first he couldn't figure out what it was, but when he read the table of contents for the third time and couldn't remember a single word, he was struck by a sudden understanding.

That's why he felt the tingling on the back of his neck. That's why he felt like the air was getting thicker.

Snape was watching him.

He moved his head a little, glancing to the side with the corner of his eye. He spotted him. A black shadow lurking behind the shelf.

He didn't like it. Why was Snape following him? Why was he looking at him? Why didn't he want to leave him alone? Everywhere he saw the man, whether in the corridor or in the Great Hall, he immediately felt that tingling gaze. As if those black eyes were moving in tiny steps over his skin, driving him crazy.

He rubbed his eyelids and sighed deeply. He looked over the table of contents again and finally decided that it didn't make any sense. He was so angry that he couldn't concentrate at all. He needed to look for something more specific, but how could he do that when Snape was still standing there? What if he approached Harry? He's going to tell him to fuck off. That's it. He wasn't going to let this bastard to intimidate him with his presence!

He stood up and moved among the shelves, still feeling the eyes following him. He walked along the shelves, scanning the titles and hearing his own heartbeat. He found a thin book with the intriguing title "To the battle with a Wand." He took it off the shelf and walked back to the table. Snape was still standing in the same place. He had a book in his hands, but he wasn't reading it at all. Harry saw two shining eyes in the darkness, glaring straight at him. He swallowed and lowered his head.

He sat down at the table, his mind completely confused. And yet Snape didn't approach him. If he wanted something from him, he would follow him. He didn't do it, though.

What did he want from him? Did he decide to torment Harry with his presence alone? To stare at him until Harry completely loses his mind?

It was like him.

Harry won't let him do that! He has to pretend he's not there. Just ignore him until he finally goes away.

He opened the book, rested his head on the hand, turning his face slightly towards the window so as not to see the shadow lurking behind him even out of the corner of his eye, frowned in great concentration and began to read.

It wasn't easy, but at least every now and then he managed to forget about that annoying tingling on the back of his neck for a moment. Snape couldn't stand there forever, after all. He has to-

Bang!

Something hit the table with such force that it shook the tabletop. Harry jumped up so suddenly that he almost fell out of his chair. With his heart beating in his throat, he turned and looked straight into the face of... Hermione.

"There you are," she sighed, pushing aside the books she had just thrown on the table and which almost made Harry have a heart attack. "Would you mind if I keep you company? You rarely wanted to come here with me, so it will be nice to study together, don't you think?"

Harry nodded, a bit dazed. Was it just his imagination or did he hear retreating footsteps?

He looked around. Snape disappeared. He saw a black cloak disappearing through the exit door.

Hermione followed his gaze and frowned, but before she could open her mouth and ask anything, Harry beat her to it, pointing to the textbook lying at the very top of the stack of books she had brought.

"History of Magic? Don't tell me Binns told us to write an essay again."

Hermione looked at him and put on a slight smile, tinged with concern.

"No, I wanted to take notes for tomorrow's class. And... I wanted to spend some time with you. If you don't mind."

Why should he?

"Of course not. That's... nice of you," he stammered.

Hermione sighed and sat down next to him, looking at the books in front of him. Then she looked at him.

Harry bit his lip and looked away.

"Do you need help?" she asked quietly. He nodded. He was grateful that she didn't ask questions. That she didn't want to know why he was looking through these books and what he was looking for in them. She probably guessed anyway.

She just... was here, with him. Just like during all their years together, when she always helped him selflessly. But he kept lying to her constantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as Hermione reached for the heavy volume and held it closer. She didn't raise her head, but he noticed that she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

"No, I am sorry," she said after a long moment and turned the thick, rustling page.

And that was it. But nothing more was needed.

---

After dinner, he returned to the library, checked out a few volumes he hadn't yet read through, and loaded them down, heading up the seventh floor to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach the trolls ballet. He stopped at the far wall, walked back and forth three times, thinking hard about the best place of seclusion for the rest of the evening, and then a door appeared in the wall.

He opened it, entered the Room of Requirement and... stopped abruptly when he saw the room he knew so well. A wave of heat flooded his entire body and his heart beat faster.

Good evening, Severus.

Sit down, Potter.

The words echoed in his head and he felt a painful pressure in his chest. He looked wide-eyed towards the cabinet.

But there was no one there.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Please, make this room disappear, please, please," he repeated like a mantra, afraid to open his eyes. However, after a few minutes, he opened his eyes and saw the same familiar cabinet, bookcase, fireplace, table, green armchair...

He moved his gaze slightly to the side and swallowed. There was no second chair.

He breathed heavily and slowly moved into the room. He put his books on the table and sat down in a green armchair, looking at the logs crackling in the fireplace. Only after a while was he able to reach for the book. As he opened it, he noticed how badly his fingers were shaking. He clenched his hands into fists and stretched his fingers several times, but it didn't help much. This room... he felt the memories attacking him from all sides, and he was unable to fight them.

Every fragment of this room, every single thing in it, wore the mark of a life that no longer existed. Which was no longer his.

The shelves filled with books which ended up on the floor with every major argument. The door he had been pushed into so many times. The walls that were soaked with his moans and screams. That green armchair where he and Sn- And the cabinet where-

The cabinet!

Harry put the book aside, walked to the cabinet and opened it, peering carefully inside.

They were there. Standing in a neat row. Bottles of the best drinks. Empty.

He cursed and closed the cabinet. He wanted to drink something so badly. Maybe then he would be able to forget. For a moment. For one little moment. Was it too much to ask?

He sighed and returned to the chair. He sank into it and stared into the flames.

Enough of this! He had a resolution! Snape no longer existed for him! Now Harry had a different goal. And that's what he should focus on. Fuck where he was! Fuck what happened here! Fuck how many things he'd experienced here!

He moved and reached for the book. He pulled his legs up, resting his feet on the edge of the chair, and placed the book on his bent knees. He stared at the text and began to read, frowning in concentration and never once letting his eyes move away from the black letters and wander in any direction. Not even once.

---

On Thursday morning, Harry woke up to the wind pounding the dormitory windows. He opened his sleepy eyes, feeling that something strange was happening to him. Waves of heat was flowing through his entire body. All the muscles were tense. He must have dreamed something. Something pleasant. Something... exciting. He tried to force his sleepy mind to work and remember what it was, but he couldn't. All he remembered was a whisper.

He lifted his eyes and looked down. Under the covers, near his hips, there was quite a large bulge. He pulled back the blanket and looked under it.

Damn it!

He had an erection. A hard, painful erection that he had to do something about. He knew it wouldn't go away on its own. He felt a very obvious tension that needed release. He bit his lip and put his hand inside his pajama pants, wrapping his hand around his erect cock.

He was thinking about nothing as he stroked his dick, staring at the canopy of the bed. It hurt a little as the dry hand ran over the sensitive skin, but he had to do it. He needed to relieve himself.

A bit more. Almost...

His hand sped up. He gritted his teeth, focusing on moving his hand.

Oh yes, that's right!

He tensed as his balls twitched and a bit of sticky fluid shot out of his cock, settling on his fingers.

And that was it. A single wave of heat followed by a wave of cold, a moment of irritating tickling in the lower abdomen, and an erection throbbing in his hand. That's all. No pleasure.

Emptiness.

He sighed and pulled his hand out of his pants.

It wasn't a good start of the day.

---

Harry placed his books on a table in the corner of the library and sat down at it. This time he decided to look up something about camouflage and hiding.

He started looking through the thickest book. He leafed through the first chapter but found nothing interesting. He didn't need any camouflage spells, he had an invisibility cloak after all. He reached for the second one. About the invisibility potions. His hand hovered over the book.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the unwanted images. It didn't help.

He opened his eyes and looked out the window, resting his head on his hand.

He didn't want this. Couldn't he even study in peace? Could his memories stop haunting him at every step? Did everything have to constantly remind him of-?

He had received Outstanding back then. He remembered his own shock. He'd gotten an Outstanding in Potions for the first time ever. And he remembered even more clearly what happened next... The blackboard set on fire, 'erection' instead of 'reaction' and 'ingredients under the desks'... And the 'punishment' after the lesson.

He swallowed. These were not pleasant memories at all. They hurt. Pleasant memories shouldn't hurt. They should not make your throat tighten or your mouth become bitter.

Snow was falling outside the window. Small flakes were slowly flowing from the sky, landing softly on the windowsill. There was something calming about this view. Something that took Harry's thoughts away from those dark areas he definitely shouldn't have ventured into. He was watching them. He was watching as flake after flake fell onto the pile of snow, making it bigger. They were soft, fragile and very small. But there were so many of them that they almost couldn't stay on the windowsill anymore. Who would have thought that such small things could create something like this? They could fall and fall unnoticed until the window sill overflows and everything... collapses. Straight to the bottom.

Just like him.

He shook himself, feeling a familiar tingling sensation. He had felt it for some time, but he was too lost in his thoughts and staring out the window to notice.

But this time the tingling didn't travel up his neck, but down his arm and cheek. He lowered the hand he was propping his chin with and didn't even have to move his head to see him.

Snape. He was standing between the shelves, just a few meters to his left, partially hidden by the books. Tall and dark. Even the shadow around him seemed faded next to him.

He must have been watching him for some time.

Why was he doing this to him? Why couldn't he leave Harry alone? What did he wanted from him? What was he playing at?

He knew Snape wasn't looking for contact with him. There must be something else going on here...

How could Harry forget about him when he felt his gaze constantly? How could he forget when Snape has almost become his shadow?

He bit his lip and stared at the open book.

No, he cannot be defeated! He won't be intimidated by him! He won't run away or hide, even though that would be the simplest solution. He will show Snape that he can follow him as much as he wants, he can stare at him as long as he wants, but Harry will not give way. Not this time!

He took a deep breath, quickly flipped through the chapter on invisibility potions, and reached the chapter about the appearance-changing spells. He leaned over the book and began to read.

Snape isn't here, he repeated to himself from time to time. Snape isn't here.

He was though. All the time. Hidden behind the shelves. He didn't move. He just watched him.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

He decided it would be better to study in the Room of Requirement. It's too... noisy in here. Yes, too loud. He can't concentrate. And too bright.

He stood up, grabbed his books, and, without looking at the figure hidden in the shadows even once, he headed straight for Madam Pince's desk. He borrowed books and left the library, followed by black eyes following him.

Once he was in the hallway, he allowed himself a deep sigh.

He immediately felt better. There was much more air here...

He took another breath and headed straight for the seventh floor.

---

Snape wasn't at Friday's dinner. Hermione neither, as she had announced earlier that she wouldn't come because she had to write an extremely difficult Numerology essay. Harry was sitting bent over his plate and tried to swallow at least a small piece of roast chicken. He didn't succeed. He was too scared of what awaited him after dinner...

"Harry, this is for you."

The boy turned from the table where he and Ron were eating dinner and looked in surprise at Luna standing behind him. The girl held out a small, turquoise stone towards him.

Harry hesitated, but accepted the gift. He turned the pebble in his fingers, but it didn't look anything special.

"What is this?" He asked.

"An opal," Luna replied, as if that explained everything. Harry looked at her expectantly. The girl rolled her eyes. "This is opal," she repeated. "You look at it when you don't feel like looking at anything else.

Harry opened his mouth to say 'What?' when suddenly something clicked in his mind.

Potions were to be held right after lunch. His first Potions since that lesson... Just thinking about it made his throat tighten so much that he couldn't swallow, and his stomach was doing somersaults.

And now Luna brought him a pebble to... what to do with it? To make Harry look at it during the lesson? How is that supposed to help him? It made absolutely no sense.

"Thanks," he muttered and slipped the gift into his pants pocket.

"Dad always told me that if you don't feel like looking at something, find something else to look at. And it's such a pretty color, right?" she smiled.

"Yes. Thanks, Luna," Harry repeated again and turned to his plate.

"Good luck" the Ravenclaw said and walked away to her table.

"She's weird," Ron muttered as he swallowed an exceptionally large potato. "What wouldn't you like to look at?"

Harry didn't answer. He just shrugged. He looked at the blowsy chicken and decided that if he didn't leave soon, he would throw up everything he ate.

"Let's go," he said and stood up. He felt as if he was going into some sort of a battle.

And it wasn't far from the truth.

---

Harry took out the books, the brass scales, the tin cauldron and ink, the quill and the stack of blank parchments and placed everything on the bench, trying not to tremble inside so much. Snape wasn't there yet. That's why all eyes were on him.

What were they thinking? That he's about to burst into tears again? He was already nervous enough, he didn't need their long stares yet! Even Neville looked at him with concern.

"Harry, if you crumple your parchments, you won't have anything to take notes on, and I won't lend them to you because I have the last one," Ron's voice reached him and Harry only now realized that he was squeezing the parchments in his hands so much that they were almost not suitable for writing anymore. Ron looked around the classroom and, seeing the stupid smiles on the faces of the Slytherins staring at Harry, growled at them: "What are you looking at?!"

"Leave them alone," Hermione muttered. "You know they're doing it on purpose, just to annoy us. Here you go, Harry." The girl placed a few clean parchments in front of him.

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling extremely stupid. He sat down at the bench and looked warily at the "Advanced Potion-Making" book which was lying on the table.

He was afraid of this lesson. More than he tried to tell himself. He could expect anything from Snape, and that was the worst.

He just wanted to go through this lesson somehow. He didn't ask for much after all.

He had already decided that whatever Snape did or said, he would not be provoked this time. He will ignore him. He wasn't even going to look at him. It was the most sensible solution. In fact, probably the only one he had.

The door burst open and the classroom, filled with the noise of chattering students, fell suddenly silent. Harry took a deep breath and stared even harder at his textbook.

He heard the long, sweeping steps of the Potions Master gliding through the room. Snape stopped in the middle of the room and, as Harry guessed, most likely glared at the students. He was sure when he felt the hairs tickling on his forearms and a tingling sensation crawling across his skin. Fortunately, it didn't last too long.

"Put your books away," Snape said. Harry's heard his voice for the first time since Monday. It was still the same low, deep and... slightly hoarse? Strangely enough, the man's voice was usually loud and confident during the classes. "You're going to write a short test. We will check what do you remember from the last lessons."

Harry knew exactly what they remembered.

For a moment, the room was filled with noise as students put their textbooks into their bags.

"The questions are on the board. You have twenty minutes."

Harry sighed. He had no choice. He finally had to lift his head. Fortunately, the blackboard was located some distance from the teacher's desk. He saw the man out of the corner of his eye anyway, but he tried to only look, not to see.

As he suspected, he didn't know the answer to any question. He hasn't learned Potions at all lately. It became his least favorite lesson again. He had to write something though. Anything. He sighed again and leaned over the parchment.

And then he felt the tingle again. Only for a moment, but it was enough to make him lose the plot completely. He felt it four more times before the test was over. And how many more times will he feel them by the end of the class?

"Accio tests," Snape muttered when they finished writing. He placed the parchments on his desk and pointed his wand at the board, where the questions disappeared and a list of ingredients for the new potion appeared. "Who can tell me what this potion is?" he asked, looking around the classroom. Harry saw Hermione's hand twitch involuntarily next to him, but she didn't raise it. She glanced at him furtively. He was grateful that she refrained from answering for once so as not to attract Snape's glare, although he knew it must have cost her a lot. But it didn't help much. After some time, the gaze of black eyes landed on their bench anyway. "Miss Granger perhaps?"

Hermione straightened up and cleared her throat.

"Black wormwood tincture indicates some kind of intoxicating elixir, but dried nails of the Grindylow are usually used in elixirs that weaken blood circulation. At the other hand, a decoction of tarantula venom effectively paralyzes the nerves. So I suspect it must be some kind of anesthesia potion. The salamander's blood gives the final effect, which is a coma that lasts several hours. So it's probably Morpheus' Potion."

There was silence in the class for a moment.

"Perfectly comprehensive answer, Miss Granger. Yes, Morpheus Potion. Used in particularly severe cases after being hit by Dark Arts curses or after extremely dangerous magical or Muggle accidents. Your task in today's lesson is to prepare this mixture. I hope you will do better than in the previous classes. Let's get to work." With these words, Snape turned around and sat down at his desk. Hermione looked at Harry with surprise on her face. Harry could hear the surprised whispers of the students behind him, and Ron looked as if he had been struck by a lightning.

For the first time, Snape praised Hermione. It was the first time he had praised anyone from Gryffindor. This event needed to be commemorated in a History of Hogwarts.

Harry heard Ron whisper in utter disbelief: "He's gotten crazy. Or he must have gotten a severe lecture for what he did in the last class. There is no other explanation."

Neither Hermione nor Harry answered him. They just looked at each other and started writing down the list of ingredients for Morpheus' Potion. Ron shrugged and followed them.

Despite its purpose, the potion didn't seem complicated. They worked in silence, occasionally going to the storeroom for some ingredients. Everything would have been perfectly fine, if it weren't for the fact that Harry felt Snape's eyes on him throughout the lesson. It never lingered on him for more than a few seconds, but the momentary hot flashes it caused were enough to completely distract him and prevent him from working in peace.

Halfway through the lesson, Snape stood up and made his customary rounds of the classroom to check on the progress so far. The increased tension was immediately palpable as the students huddled around their cauldrons, preparing for the teacher's snarky comments. Imagine their surprise when Snape simply looked into the cauldrons and moved on without a word. He didn't even utter a single mocking comment. Not a single insulting word. Nothing.

As the teacher kept passing them by, they looked at each other with growing disbelief. Harry didn't see it though. He was too busy listening to his own heartbeat as he thought about how Snape was about to reach him and look into his cauldron as well. At this stage his potion should be dark purple but it looked more like some kind of a brown mush. He wondered what kind of storm would come his way this time. He expected everything after the last lesson.

The Potions Master stopped by Lavender and looked into her cauldron. Seeing the rotten green, huge bubble on the surface of the potion, he raised an eyebrow and this time he probably couldn't leave it without comment. As he opened his mouth, Lavender quickly looked down at her cauldron, waiting for his tirade.

"Next time, try to put only one Grindylow nail at first and only when you see that it starts to dissolve, put in the rest, so you will be sure that the temperature is appropriate."

Ignoring Lavender's open mouth in shock, he moved on. He passed Seamus, Dean and the rest of the Gryffindors' cauldrons without a word. He didn't even tell Neville anything. Probably for the first time ever. And apparently this completely disturbed Neville, because as soon as Snape left his desk, the Gryffindor nudged and dropped a bottle of salamander blood onto the floor. The teacher turned and looked at him. Neville rushed to clean up, muttering apologies, and everyone gasped as Snape reached into his robes and pulled out his wand.

"Reparo," he muttered, aiming at the broken bottle. And that's all. He didn't say a word to Neville. He just turned around and moved on.

Harry could sense subcutaneously that the shock of all the students in the class was beginning to exceed the acceptable level.

Snape acted like... a normal teacher. He didn't yell, he didn't make sarcastic comments, he gave advice, and even-

He stopped at Ron's cauldron and looked inside. The pink potion bubbled so loudly it looked like it was about to explode. The Potions Master frowned and drew his wand again, lowering the fire under the cauldron with it.

"Salamander blood is added before the potion begins to boil," he muttered and moved to Hermione's cauldron. He looked at it, didn't say a word, and walked over to Harry's station.

The boy tensed up, seeing rustling black robes just half a meter away from him out of the corner of his eye. At his fingertips. He swallowed and began to stare even more intently at the knot on the bench.

Go away, he pleaded in his mind. Just look inside and go.

Snape didn't leave though. He stood by him for a moment, as if he was thinking about something. And after a moment, when Harry thought he was about to go crazy with the herbal scent floating around him, the man moved and... slipped his slender, pale hand from his robes. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as the hand began to approach him, and his fists rested on the bench clenched so tightly that his nails almost dug into his skin. Snape's hand was heading straight for his right hand.

What is he doing? He wasn't going to-? Oh sweet Merlin!

Just as Harry was considering removing his hands from the bench, he realized that Snape's hand was moving... more to the right. Towards the bowl of dried nails lying next to him. Long fingers dipped into the bowl and pulled out a handful of nails. Then they hovered over the cauldron and dropped ten dried nails into the broth, then poured the rest back into the bowl.

Harry's ears were ringing.

Snape wiped his hand on his robe and moved on without a word.

W-what was that? What was that supposed to mean? What was he playing?

Trying to calm his pounding heart, Harry swallowed and stretched his trembling fingers. There was absolute silence in the classroom. Everyone seemed to be as shocked by Snape's behavior as Harry was.

He not only gave advice, but also... helped.

"Maybe someone replaced him?" Ron's whisper reached Harry. "Or maybe they cast Imperius on him?"

Harry didn't care about Ron's guesses. He just wanted this lesson to be over. So that he could just get away and he wouldn't have to endure the presence, the smell, and the voice of Severus Snape anymore.

The Potions Master returned to his desk, sat down and bent over the stack of parchments. The students slowly returned to their work, occasionally exchanging incredulous whispers among themselves.

Harry took a few breaths, trying to ignore Hermione who was constantly glancing at him, and looked at the next ingredient on the list he had made, which also included seven dried nails of Grindylow. Out of curiosity, he glanced at the board.

Yeah. He made a mistake while transcribing. There were seventeen on the board. Damn it! Damn it! How could Snape notice this? How did he know that Harry made a mistake? Did he only guess it by the color of the potion, or did he look at Harry so carefully throughout the lesson?

Now he wanted to get out of here even more. As soon as possible!

He returned to work, but if he had problems concentrating before, he was now so distracted that he had to read each sentence of the instructions several times to understand them.

His thoughts were swirling frantically, trying to understand Snape's behavior. The bastard did it on purpose! He was following him on purpose, staring at him on purpose! He was deliberately trying to drive him crazy! But why? Did he enjoy it? Did he want to torment him even more? Prove something?

No! Harry can't let him do this! He needs to get himself together! He must somehow free himself from this shadow that constantly follows him!

"Fill the vials, sign them, leave them on my desk and you can leave," Snape said as the bell in the corridor announced the end of classes. The students were relieved that the teacher seemed to have no intention of walking around the classroom and commenting on their work, as he usually did at the end of each lesson. It wasn't like him, but the joy that classes were over and they had the weekend ahead of them was too great for anyone except Harry, and maybe Hermione, to notice. Both Gryffindors and Slytherins jumped up and hurriedly started packing, meanwhile filling their vials with different colored versions of theoretically the same potion.

Harry felt clearly nervous at the thought of having to go to Snape's desk and leave his vial there, but he couldn't show him that he was afraid of him and ask Ron or Hermione to do it for him, like some coward. He put his supplies and textbook in his bag, reached for the glass vial in his kit, and poured some of the black, cloudy substance into it. And just as he was about to follow Ron and Hermione towards the line of students gathered at the teacher's desk, the vial slipped from his hand somehow, as if something had tugged at it, and landed on the floor, shattering. He blinked, completely surprised by this turn of events. Fortunately, he hadn't had time to empty his cauldron yet. He reached into his bag for another vial, but found that he had not brought any others. Silently cursing his thoughtlessness (even though he was sure he had taken the entire set), he moved to the small cupboard at the far end of the room to grab one of the school's vials. Before he could return and refill it, the classroom was almost empty, with only a few students left at the desk. Great, looks like he will be the last one.

He took a deep breath and - trying to force his slightly too fast heart to work calmly - moved towards the desk, stopping at the very end of the tiny queue consisting of Neville and two Slytherin girls. Ron and Hermione had already returned to their desks and started packing.

He tried to look in every direction but not straight ahead. Just not towards that dark silhouette, looming on the edge of vision.

He wasn't going to look at him. Not at all. He'll just leave the vial and go away. He doesn't have to look at him to do this. The Slytherin girls left their potions and ran to the benches to get their bags. Only Neville remained. And Harry.

Neville set the vial on the dark desk with a trembling hand and, with his head down, turned and walked away.

Now. This is the moment. There was nothing between them anymore. Just a desk. And Harry felt as if he was naked. As if there was nothing left to shield him from that piercing gaze. It felt as if absolutely every hair on his body was raising up this time.

Staring stubbornly at the dusty jar on one of the shelves, he reached out and set his vial on the counter. And just as he was about to withdraw it, Snape moved violently and Harry froze, feeling long, cool fingers wrap around his hand that was clutching the vial. Completely surprised, he turned his head and looked straight into those black eyes. Eyes that looked at him in such a way that it made him feel dizzy and weak in his knees. There was not even a hint of contempt, lust, fire or anything equally intense in that look. No. There was something about them... something he had only seen a few times. Gentleness.

And then Snape did something that sent shivers through Harry's tense body so intensely that he felt them all the way down to his toes. He stroked his hand tenderly. It felt like Harry's skin was covered with sparks where Snape's cool fingers touched it.

No! Enough of that! This time he won't fall for his tricks!

He pulled his hand away and turned away from him, wanting to get away from here as quickly as possible and silence his racing heart. In a few steps he found his friends still packing their things, grabbed his bag and ran out into the corridor.

How dare he? How dare he touch him? How did he even think he could touch him? After everything?

This one small gesture caused a reaction in him that resembled a drop of water falling on hot oil. He was seething with nervousness and felt completely broken.

He wanted to hide somewhere. He had to hide somewhere. Now.

On the opposite side of the corridor he saw the door to the bathroom. Ignoring the astonished looks of the students going in all directions, he rushed inside and slammed the door with all his might.

The bathroom was deserted. Harry ran through it and into the first cabin at the edge, locking himself inside. He threw his bag on the floor, sat on the closed flap, took off his glasses and hid his face in his hands.

He didn't know why, but Snape's behavior in the classroom had completely unnerved him. Thoughts were swirling madly in his head, and his pounding heart couldn't calm down.

He just wanted to forget. He just wanted to hate him. But Snape wouldn't let him do that. It would be much easier for him if he didn't feel that piercing gaze on him all the time, if he didn't meet him at every step, if Snape behaved as he always did. Like the mean, cruel, unfair asshole he'd been for all these years. It would be so much easier if Snape taunted him, took away points, made fun of Neville, mocked Gryffindors... Harry could've looked at him with disgust and thought about how much he hated him and how glad he was that it was already over.

He remembered how Snape had wordlessly avoided completely botched potions, how he had advised and helped the students, how he hadn't yelled at Neville for destroying an ingredient... and he knew he should've felt disgust and dislike for him, but all he felt was growing nervousness and anger that spread throughout his body like venom because he knew what Snape was trying to achieve and what he wanted to achieve with such behavior. This sneaky, calculating bastard did all this on purpose because he knew well it would work. He tried to calm down the situation and quiet down the storm he had caused. He was like a wolf who put on sheep's clothing so that he could get close enough to his anxious prey. He was a predator on the hunt. He crept slowly, step by step, accustoming Harry to his presence, so that at the right moment... he could attack and drag him back into his hole.

Harry rubbed his eyes.

If Snape was going to act like this forever, in every, literally every lesson... he had no idea how he could handle it. Or whether he could handle it at all.

He can't let him do this. He can't let Snape think for even a second that what he's doing means anything to Harry, that it has any influence on him. He must show him, prove that he wants nothing to do with him, that his efforts are ineffective, that Harry will not let him lead Harry by the nose and that he knows exactly what Snape is trying to achieve.

Did that bastard really think that it would be enough? That all it takes is a few glances, a few gestures and Harry will run to him like a longing puppy? Definitely not! It certainly won't happen. He won't let... he won't let be dragged into this mess a second time!

He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at the door as if it was his worst enemy. Anger bubbled within him, but he pushed it to the bottom of his stomach, deciding to wait until it had etched into something sharp and hard, and only when he needed it would he release it.

But now he had to go. He didn't know how much time had passed, he guessed about ten or fifteen minutes, but he didn't want Ron and Hermione to start looking for him and asking where he had been for so long. He bent down to his bag and pulled out the invisibility cloak. Better put it on. He was in the dungeons after all. He didn't feel like wandering around alone, especially near the Potions classroom.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, left the cabin, and walked to the door. There was silence outside. He sighed and carefully pressed the doorknob. The door opened with a quiet creak, but the sound echoed far through the corridors. Harry grimaced and pushed the door harder, stepping outside, but he stopped abruptly mid-step, as if hit by a paralyzing spell. Snape was standing across the hall. He had his hand on the door handle to the Potions classroom, which he seemed about to close, and he was staring wide-eyed at the place where Harry was standing.

Even at Hogwarts, the doors opening by themselves were not something common.

Damn it! He's always, always been so fucking unlucky! He had to leave right now! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

Harry was standing motionless, mentally cursing everything he could think of and hearing his own heart beating wildly. The bathroom door was wide open, but he couldn't close it now. He couldn't make any move. He was afraid that even the slightest rustle might betray his presence.

He saw Snape's eyes narrow and look inquisitively at the door. Harry's heart leaped into his throat every time the black eyes landed on him, and he was almost certain that Snape saw him, that he sensed his presence, that he knew...

No, that was stupid. He needs to calm down. He couldn't see him after all. Maybe he'll just think it's a draft... Yeah, a draft that can open a tightly closed door?

After a short while, Snape turned back to the Potions classroom and Harry almost fainted with relief. The man closed the door to the hall, turned the key in the lock and hid it in his robes, and then, to Harry's horror, he turned around and headed straight for him. The boy jumped aside at the same moment the man reached for the doorknob to close the unruly bathroom door. And then several things happened at once. Snape stilled, his nostrils moved as he inhaled deeply the sweet scent of vanilla filling the air, and his eyes closed for a moment as if he had just experienced a strange pleasure. Harry pressed himself against the wall, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. His heart was already beating so fast and hard that he felt as if it could be heard perfectly throughout the corridor.

His scent. Snape smelled him. His damn smell!

The man lifted his eyelids and his eyes moved sideways for a split second, heading straight to where Harry was standing, piercing him with a gaze that made him weak in his sweaty knees.

And that was it. Snape didn't say anything. He didn't turn his head. He made no gesture. He simply closed the door, straightened up and - without looking at the place where Harry was almost trying to blend into the wall - he moved forward down the hall. The boy was staring at the black, flowing cloak until Snape disappeared around the corner of the corridor, and only then did he dare to release the breath he had been holding. He slid down the wall and landed on the floor, still feeling strange sensations in his stomach.

It was close. Very, very close...

He took a deep, shaky breath. He won't go to the library today. He had had enough. He was fed up with this lesson, this tension, and most of all, he was fed up with Snape. He didn't want to feel that intrusive gaze on him again. He just wanted to rest. And think about what to do to survive another week like this...

---

Harry spent the entire Saturday in the dormitory and in the Common Room. He didn't want to come across Snape. In fact, he didn't want to see him at all, even from the distance that separated the Gryffindor table from the staff table. Ron brought him breakfast and Dobby brought him lunch. He didn't feel like having dinner. He used the free time to catch up on several classes. Except for Potions. Ron was a little mad at him after Harry refused to play Exploding Snap, so the redhead went to play with Neville. Hermione was spending the afternoon in the library, leaving Harry completely alone. Doomed to the suddenly attacking thoughts and memories lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and attack him at any moment. He tried his best to shoo them away with learning, but they continued to wander around his subconscious, completely oblivious to his efforts.

At least he had one day of relative peace. One day where he wasn't followed by those black eyes and the figure lurking behind the shelf, hidden in the shadows. Yes, sitting here in the warm twilight of the Common Room, surrounded by books and chattering students, he could hate Snape with all his soul. It was much easier than when he was there, a dark figure constantly hovering somewhere on the edge of his vision. Here he could hate him as much as he wanted. Maybe he shouldn't have left this place at all?

In the evening, when he had done all his homework, learned all the spells, read all the assigned chapters and even a few ahead, he finally had to give up and go to bed. Ron was already snoring when Harry pulled the covers up to his chin and stared at the shadows dancing on the walls. He tried not to think about anything as he fell asleep. Not about what he would do tomorrow, not about the fact that he would probably prefer to spend the day in the Common Room again, not about the fact that he had hardly talked to Ron at all today and had no desire to do so. He really tried not to think about anything. Unfortunately, his subconscious had been doing it for him all the time. That's probably why he saw black, shiny eyes as soon as he lowered his eyelids, even though he hadn't thought about them for several hours.

No! No! No! Go away! - he kept repeating in his head, recalling the image of a map showing the position of the Andromeda constellation towards Mercury in the third trimester of Aquarius' reign, which he had drawn just before going to bed. It helped. At least it was so boring that he fell asleep almost immediately.

However, in his subconscious there was still a loud and clear "No!"

---

"Crucio!"

Pain tore through him. So terrifying, so excruciating, as if someone was tearing the skin off his body alive and taking his nerves with it.

"Crucio! Crucio!"

Someone was screaming horribly, and it took him a moment to realize that the terrible sound was coming from his own throat. He had a vague feeling that he was throwing himself spasmodically on some hard, icy floor, but he couldn't be sure because he felt almost nothing except for the pain. Blinding, stripping him from his humanity. He was growling, wheezing and screaming, but it didn't help.

Finally the spell was broken. For a brief moment, but it was enough for him to open his burning eyes and look around with erratic eyes. He saw silhouettes in the black robes, hoods and white masks, surrounding him. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew they were smiling mockingly at his suffering. And they wanted to see even more. They wanted to see him bleeding and begging for mercy, they wanted to feast their eyes on the sight before-

His wandering gaze fell on the tall figure standing above him and the reptilian face looking at him with red eyes. On the lipless lips was a terrifying smile filled with such unearthly satisfaction that it seemed like the devil's equivalent of an orgasm. Those lips were now stretched even further, revealing a row of sharp yellow teeth, and what came out was like the hiss of a snake: "You are mine... for the whole eternity. Crucio!"

The pain returned with even greater force, and with it the high-pitched, mind-shattering laughter. He felt as if a lightning was flowing through his nerve endings, piercing his body through and through, making it convulse uncontrollably. All he could hear in his ears was the deafening cacophony of his own screams, echoing around him with laughter and... and something else. When the pain subsided for a brief moment, he managed to fish that distinctive sound out of the lake of noise and clutch at it like a drowning man. It was also a scream. But a bit different. The scream of someone who decided not to give the torturers the satisfaction of looking at the suffering. A scream full of spluttering, muffled by teeth clenched to the point of breaking and wheezing in a swollen throat.

Harry turned his head to the side, and what he saw made him forget everything in an instant. Absolutely everything.

About a meter away from him, on the same icy floor... Severus was laying. His slim body, tense like a string and convulsing, was hitting the floor silently, his black, scattered hair was sticky with sweat dripping down his forehead. His teeth were bared and his eyelids were shut tightly, and his face was covered with a network of deep wrinkles, so deep that it seemed as if it was about to implode just to cut himself off from the suffering.

The sight made Harry feel a pain deep inside him, so intense that even the strongest Cruciatus couldn't compare to it. It was a pain that penetrated all the muscles and cells of the body, a pain that reached far beyond the boundaries of consciousness, cutting through the mind, tearing the soul and tearing the heart.

"Nooooo!"

And at the same moment that this heartbreaking scream escaped his throat, another spell fell on his battered body: "Lacrima!"

His skin exploded. Something cut it open like a scalpel and began to tear it away, and this time he knew it wasn't just a sensation anymore. But he didn't close his eyes. He was still staring at Severus. There were also cuts on the man's skin. Blood was gushing out, leaving red marks on the pale arms and covering them with an intricate network resembling a network of veins torn from the body. And Harry knew that the same thing was happening to his body at that moment, but the pain was too terrible for anyone to bear, so his consciousness capitulated and threw him to the other side, away from the suffering, to a place only one step away from eternal darkness. Everything stopped mattering. The only thing that mattered was Severus. Severus, who turned his head towards him and barely opened his eyes. Harry saw a fading glow in them that told him he was still trying to fight, but he knew he couldn't win this one battle.

With a last effort of will, Harry moved his hand and extended it towards Severus. He wanted to touch him. This one, last time. Just this once.

The body didn't want to listen to him. He saw blood flowing down his skin, and his eyes blurred. He gritted his teeth and tried to move his hand even further, in a superhuman effort to reach, to touch... He moved his fingers desperately. Just a few more centimeters, just a few more...

He has to touch him. He has to! He can't watch him... fade away... Anything but this! No! No! No!

"Nooooo!"

"Harry, calm down!"

He jumped up into a sitting position. It was like emerging from an ocean of pain and fear. Air rushed into his lungs and his outstretched hand grabbed the curtain surrounding the bed. He looked around with erratic eyes.

Where has Severus gone? Where's Voldemort? Where were the Death Eaters? Where's the blood?

Only Ron was standing next to the bed.

"Everything's all right?" he asked in a concerned, scared voice. "You had a bad dream, Harry."

Harry blinked. Streams of sweat were running down his body and his heart was pounding in his chest so hard it felt like it was going to break his ribs.

"A dream?" he asked in a hoarse voice, feeling weak with relief. "Yes, a dream," he corrected himself quickly, seeing Ron's expression. Neville's terrified head was sticking out from the next bed. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm fine. I just had a... bad dream. Sorry. It's nothing. Let's go to sleep," he muttered, even though he would rather run to the bathroom and vomit.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked uncertainly. "You screamed as if they were torturing you."

Harry swore in his mind. He forgot to cast a silencing spell on himself before going to sleep. Although it's possible that if it weren't for Ron... No! Nothing would happen! It was just a dream! Some terrible, sick dream!

His thoughts wandered to the Marauder's Map lying under his pillow.

He has to check it out. He needs to check if-

"I'm really fine. I dreamed that... I was attacked by dementors. Sometimes I have dreams like that. Everything's fine, Ron."

His friend stared at him in fear for a moment longer, then grunted, "Goodnight, then," and shuffled off to bed. Harry closed the curtains and, with still shaking hands, reached under the pillow, pulling out a map and a wand. He tapped the parchment, whispered the rule and stared at the lines appearing on the paper. He quickly found the right page and... closed his eyes, feeling a huge relief flowing coldly down his back.

Severus was safe. He was lying on the bed in his bedroom, obviously sleeping. He was in no danger.

Harry took a shallow, shaky breath and lowered the map to his lap. He looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. He knew he wouldn't sleep again. There was no way. He was as agitated as if he had just played the most important Quidditch match of his life. He knew what to do. He knew what he wanted, what he had to do. He'll just wait until his friends are asleep and then-

---

There was a velvety silence in the castle as Harry charmed the door to the library open. He winced when they creaked slightly. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He wore an invisibility cloak and a footstep-silencing charm. Without hesitation, he went straight to the Restricted Section.

He was determined. He's put it off too long. He spent too long trying to find something useful in these worthless books. After all, it was obvious that these truly powerful spells would certainly not be available to everyone. They had to be hidden from unauthorized eyes. But he will find them. He will find them and do everything he can to learn them. He will do anything to never see... what he saw in his dream.

A cold chill ran through his body from his feet to the ends of his hair. No, he couldn't let the images attack him. He can't let the screams echo in his mind. He must shut it up very, very deeply, wiped it, throw it away.

His hand was shaking, and the tip of his wand made irregular circles in the air as he raised it higher to illuminate the path between the shelves. His knees buckled beneath him as he was taking each new, cautious step. The body was shivering from the piercing cold, but it didn't come from outside. It emanated from the depths of his soul. It was the coldness of terror, a primal, overwhelming fear that weighed on his stomach like a block of ice.

What if it wasn't just a dream? If it was some kind of vision? A vision like the one he experienced in his fifth year?

He turned into a side alley and stopped in front of the entrance to the Restricted Section. He looked into the dusty shelves stretching on both sides, disappearing in the darkness. The silence was ringing in his ears. And the echo of a wheezing moan escaping from thin lips.

He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to sigh, but it was more like a dry sob. The pressure became even greater and colder. He opened his eyes and looked into the darkness.

This was the moment. The most important decision in his life. He was going to learn the Dark Arts.

He was scared. He was so afraid of what he had seen in his dream and what he was about to do that he felt as if he tried to take a step and the darkness would swallow him up and never let him out. It felt like the darkness was pressing down on him and the shelves were leaning over him, trying to close over his head.

But he had to do it. It was the only way out. He had no other choice. This was what the goal he was striving for all the time. He wanted to do this long time ago when he asked Snape to teach him the Dark Arts. He was convinced that if he didn't do this, this dream, this 'vision'... might turn out to be a reality.

He squeezed his eyes shut again and sighed deeply.

If the only way to defeat the darkness was to fight it with its own weapon, even if that meant he could cross that fine line and end up on the side of the darkness itself, then... he would do it.

He opened his eyes and entered the darkness.

The books were restless. He could feel the magic flowing from them. Yes, this was where the power lay, and he was going to reach for it.

He walked along one of the shelves. Several books moved restlessly. He knew this part. He was here in his first year. No, it had to be further. He turned into another alley. If they keep really dangerous books here, they will definitely be in the most inaccessible place. He continued walking, looking at the volumes vibrating with anticipation. Almost all of them had black covers with silver inscriptions carved on them. Some glowed blood red as he brought his wand closer to them. He kept walking. He finally found himself in a place he had never been before. Dust covered the floor. The same goes for the books on the shelves. There was an unpleasant aura in the air. He suspected that even Madam Pince rarely came here. He wasn't surprised at all. He wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible. He shone his wand and, tilting his head, began to read the titles. The most frequently used words were black magic, curses, torture, pain, sacrifice and death.

He narrowed his eyes. All the books looked equally terrifying. However, he suspected that whichever one he chose, he would find much more useful things in it than in all the books he had read so far combined. He reached onto the shelf for a volume titled "Kill, Crush, Pulverize: The Most Deadly Curses," when his eye caught a gleaming gold book a few rows up. He frowned, stood on his tiptoes, and reached for it. He took it off the shelf and looked at the now faded and time-worn cover. The book looked very old, but the title could still be read:

"Mind Control - Gateway To Power"

His heart beat faster. He opened the thick volume and looked at the table of contents. His eye was drawn to the title of chapter five, written in an inconspicuous font:

"Legilimens Evocis"

That was it. He had something in his hands that could help him much more than any curses that could easily be repelled. He still remembered Tonks' words. He still remembered the fear he felt when he imagined what that spell could do.

Staring at the book as if hypnotized, he retreated to the opposite wall and slid down it, sitting on the floor. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and, shining his wand, opened the volume to the first chapter, which concerned the history and foundations of all mind-controlling spells, including Imperius, Legilimens, and a whole host of other minor spells, and then he immersed himself in the reading.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he reached chapter five, which was devoted to the most dangerous spell in existence, apart from the Unforgivable Curses, of course. All he knew was that when he started reading, he felt as if something very mobile had entered his stomach. He read and read, devouring every word like a thirsty man that feels the purest water falling on his tongue, and his eyes widened more and more.

Only one can counter this spell who has mastered the art of using it against others. Thus "counter" is a huge understatement. Knowledge of the spell provides a slight chance of preventing the victim from completely desecrating his mind. However, completely countering this spell is impossible and will be impossible in perpetuity.

That didn't sound optimistic at all... Although Tonks had already mentioned that it was impossible to break the spell, but he hoped that there was at least a slight chance...

Mastering this spell is even more difficult than casting a killing curse by a person with the purest soul, and is often beyond the reach of ordinary wizards and witches. The first known way to overcome the barriers of the mind and not get lost in their whirlwind is a very strong desire to know what the caster wants to know. However, he must desire this more than his life. The second way is to completely control your own mind, bringing it to a state where even Imperius will not be able to threaten it, but few people on Earth can do this. Subduing your own mind is the hardest thing, as is controlling every emotion, every sense, and being able to reduce that control at the right moments.

Harry became lost in thought. This meant that you were either a great, or even outstanding Occlumens, or you wanted to find out the truth so much that you would even give your own life for it. Of course, he hoped it was only metaphorical. He just needed to want it as much as... as... as much as he wanted to kill Voldemort.

Another, equally important feature of Legilimens Evocis is control over your own thoughts and memories, because this spell is not only used to use it on others. With the same opportunity with which you can recall all memories and thoughts on a given subject from the victim's mind, you can also use your own memories and, what seems impossible, thoughts. You can bring out all your thoughts and hide them in the Pensieve. However, these will not be the same silver ribbons with which memories are wrapped - the ribbons of thoughts are golden in color, even if along with them you also woven out memories from your head.

Harry blinked. Gold. Golden ribbons in the Pensieve. In the Pensieve located in Snape's secret laboratory. These were his thoughts and memories, removed from his head with Legilimens Evocis!

He didn't know why, but this discovery completely shocked him. Until now, he had thought that the Pensieve was only for straining out excess memories to look at them in a later time. He didn't know that you could also hide your thoughts there! How is that even... how is that even possible? After all, thoughts are not something you can just take out and throw into the pot. They appear suddenly, at any time. So many of them can appear in a split second that it wouldn't take an entire book to write them all down. So what happens when someone deletes too many of them?

And most importantly - how perfect an Occlumens does Snape have to be if he can do something like this? Probably better than Harry had ever suspected.

This can only be done by those who are familiar with this spell in all aspects, because they have used it many times and in all ways, and they can control their own mind like few others. There are known incidents when a spell cast incorrectly wreaked so much havoc on their minds that they were unable to find their own selves and return to them.

Harry stopped reading again.

So those who tried to do it and couldn't fully control their minds... went crazy. The prospect was downright terrifying, and Harry once again felt a surge of icy admiration for Snape. He couldn't imagine how he could delete his thoughts and then... What if he accidentally deleted the knowledge of how to put those thoughts back into his head? It was a bit like playing with those little wooden blocks arranged in a tower. If you pull out the wrong block, everything will fall down.

Although he didn't like the part about using the spell so many times and in every possible way...

However, all thoughts on a given topic, even if there are so many of them that they could hardly fit in the Pensieve, but if removed carefully, skillfully and for a short period of time, should not make any major changes in the mind. In fact, for a certain period of time, one completely removes undesirable thoughts, associations and memories from one's vast memory, leaving only those that are accurate. You can also replace true thoughts with false ones, but this is very risky and requires talent and years of preparation. However, if you are curious how to do this, you can read about it on page two hundred and fifty-three.

Harry agitatedly flipped through the stiff pages and found... the remains of several torn pages. His eyes widened in surprise. Someone must have torn out these pages on purpose, so that no one would find out how to falsify the thoughts. The book was so old that it could have been done by anyone dating back at least a hundred years. Or two hundred. But why did this person do it? Surely there were other copies somewhere? And what if not? If this one was the only one? And only this one person now knows (or knew) that such a thing can be done at all? Tonks hadn't told them anything about it.

Harry rubbed his eyes. He was already tired. The floor was cold and hard, and everything hurt him from sitting on it for several hours. He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, staring into the darkness in front of him. He was moved by everything he had learned, and there were still so many questions he still didn't know the answers to...

The silence was ringing in his ears. If only... if only he had someone to talk to about it. If he could ask... yes, if he could ask Snape all the details that were bothering him. If he could... tell him about his dream... If he could... sit in his chambers now, and not on this icy floor in the darkest corner of the library, surrounded only by the depressing aura emanating from countless books devoted to evil. Completely alone. On his own. In a place that was completely foreign to him. He still remembered the image of slowly fading black eyes from his dream, and all he wanted to do was bury his head in his arms and scream until his throat was torn.

He lowered his head and rested his forehead on his knees, wrapping his arms around them, closing his eyes tightly and fighting against the fear, doubt and... emptiness creeping into his heart again. He felt so terribly, unspeakably alone.

It's been a week. A week since he and Snape- A week of learning to live again, alone. A week filled with no sound, no smell, no touch... He thought he'd be fine. That if he really wanted it, he would forget about everything. He thought that what Snape was doing now... didn't matter to him at all.

He was wrong.

And only now, as he was sitting here alone in the dark... only now did he feel the full immensity of this... this loneliness. A solitude filled only with learning, many hours of rehearsals, preparations for the inevitable, and the goal. Because he had a goal. He saw it in front of him quite clearly. Oh, what he would give to be buried again somewhere in the darkness of the future...

Although deep down he knew that he would give even more to have someone next to him... who would blind him to that goal again and prevent him from ever having to see it again.

---

Harry shuffled his way to breakfast, staring at the floor. He had a headache and his eyes were watery from reading all night and not getting enough sleep. He read so much that he only just realized that it was already morning and that he should go to breakfast. He hoped Ron didn't raise the alarm when he saw he wasn't in bed. Maybe he thought that Harry just got up early and left. He didn't really feel like going out to eat, but he had already skipped dinner last night and he knew that if he didn't eat something, he would probably lose his strength completely.

He entered the Great Hall, filled with the bustle of hundreds of students, and without looking at the teachers' table, he went straight to the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione were sitting next to each other and as Harry got closer he noticed that his usual seat was taken and he would obviously have to sit on the other side of the table. He walked around it and sat down on the bench, opposite his friends, but - what was worst of all - in front of the teachers' table.

"Hi," he murmured indistinctly, pulling the plate closer and never looking up. Somewhere in the distance, at the edge of his vision, there was a dark silhouette, but Harry tried not to notice it at all.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Where have you been? We were worried!"

"I was walking," Harry replied in a wooden voice, reaching for a platter of steaming toast. He felt Hermione's appraising gaze on him.

"Dude, you look terrible." Ron pushed the half-eaten sandwich away from his mouth. "As if you haven't slept all night. Are you okay?"

"Ron said you had a nightmare." Hermione whispered, leaning towards him. "You know, if it had anything to do with-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry replied dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. "It was just a nightmare. I don't want to dwell on this."

Hermione pursed her lips and moved away. "Well, if you think it's best for you..."

"Yes, I think so," Harry said, putting some scrambled eggs on a plate. "I'm just fed up with you trying to discuss and comment on my every move. I don't walk around telling everyone about Ron talking in his sleep and I don't try to figure out what it could mean that the spiders made him tap dance." Ron's ears burned an angry red. "So I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone."

The friends exchanged knowing glances. Ron looked embarrassed and Hermione looked uneasy by his outburst, but he had to tell them this eventually. He was fed up with their constant meddling in everything.

He took a bite of scrambled eggs and, avoiding their gazes, looked around the Great Hall. His gaze, as if drawn by some mysterious magnet, went straight to the teachers' table.

Snape looked at him.

Harry's eyes immediately flashed an image of a face contorted in pain, and black eyes slowly fading, and something turned in his stomach.

No! He cannot recall this! It was just a dream! Only a fucking dream!

He looked down at the table, trying to calm his shaking heart, but his skin still burned, which could only mean one thing - Snape hadn't stopped looking at him at all. Harry even had a strange feeling that the gaze had become even more intense now.

He lost all appetite. He pushed the plate away from him and muttered: "I'm not hungry. I'm going to the library."

"But you didn't eat almost anyth- ouch!" Ron started, hissed in pain, and then looked reproachfully at Hermione.

Harry paid them no attention. He was too busy fighting his own demons.

Why did he look at him? Why did he do it? It was like scratching a freshly sealed wound and blood was oozing out again. He had to do something to stop it, and the only way to do that was to go back to learning. He had to go to the library. He had to study and learn and learn... so that what he saw in his dream would never come true.

---

Harry opened his eyes and stared determinedly at the book in front of him. The letters were dancing in front of his eyes. He tried to read something, but he couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept wandering to the book he had been reading that night, and in particular to the spell Legilimens Evocis. He learned everything he needed to learn this spell yesterday. Fortunately, no one tore out the pages with detailed instructions on how to learn it and how to throw it. But theory alone was not enough. He had to practice. And that's a lot of practice, if the book are to be believed. But how was he supposed to do it? He can't practice on himself.

This problem bothered him so much that he couldn't concentrate on anything else. His head hurt more and more and his eyes kept closing. He was sitting alone in the corner of the library. It was still too early to see any student here.

What about other spells? He had also briefly looked through the volume on the deadliest curses yesterday, and the descriptions alone were enough to make him feel sick. He couldn't imagine trying a skin-melting spell on someone. He couldn't even throw it at a bug, let alone a human being. But how can he learn anything without practicing? He was fed up with theory, he wanted practice.

He looked again at the text on binding spells. The letters were blurring in front of his eyes and his head felt like a stone. He placed his arm on the counter and rested his head on it, squinting and trying to focus on the description of how to cast a spell that would bind the victim's legs and arms.

Before he knew it, his eyelids drooped and he fell into a deep, restless sleep.

---

"Harry!"

Harry's consciousness slowly returned to his body. A herbal and spicy aroma enveloped him. He knew that smell. It was Severus' scent. He felt it every time the man hugged him. Or when Harry lay in his bed. Or when he was just close.

He didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to get up yet. He felt so good. Severus... was next to him, so close...

"Harry!"

Harry opened one eye. Something was pressed against his cheek, and his neck hurt. He opened his other eye and saw letters arranged in neat rows in front of him. A book. And then a wooden countertop.

What was happening? After all, he was in Severus' chambers just a moment ago...

He blinked and struggled to lift his head. In the distance he saw shelves full of books. The library. He was in the library. Yeah.

But... but something didn't fit. The library smelled of Severus. It shouldn't smell like that. Usually it smelled only of dust and old parchments. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply into his nostrils this familiar, extremely strong spicy scent, enjoying it and feeling his whole body relax involuntarily.

His heart beat faster as he suddenly realized something. This smell... was too intense. He wouldn't have smelled it from a distance. Snape had to... had to be standing right next to him!

He opened his eyes abruptly and looked around. Hermione was standing next to him. She looked at him in surprise. Harry swallowed, feeling both relieved and... something like disappointment. He couldn't calm down though. He looked around the entire library. His eyes were wandering from shelf to shelf, searching for the dark shadow hidden behind one of them, but he didn't see him.

It was impossible. Snape had to be here. He felt his scent with every cell in his body. He must have been here a moment ago! Somewhere nearby, very close! He must have approached him while he was sleeping! The thought made his heart beat even faster. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath of the air filled with the man's scent.

Oh god, what happened to him? He had no idea that the smell itself could trigger such a reaction in him... He felt like he was going to slide down in his chair and-

"Harry, are you feeling okay?" Hermione asked uncertainly. She was clutching several books in her hands.

"Yes," the boy muttered, feeling dizzy. "I was just reading and... I fell asleep."

"Can I take a seat?" she asked. When Harry nodded, the girl beamed, placed a stack of books on the counter, and sat down next to him. She looked at Harry for a moment, as if she were fighting with herself, and then she said, "I saw Snape just now. He was leaving the library. I noticed he's been coming here a lot lately." She was looking at Harry closely as she said this. "I saw him here yesterday too. He went in for a moment, looked around and left. Three times throughout the afternoon."

Harry couldn't show how her words affected him. He felt a wave of icy fear wash over him.

So he was right after all! Snape must have come to him! He must have stood right next to him and watched Harry sleep... And he was looking for him here yesterday.

Damn it!

Trying to keep his face neutral, he shrugged.

"Teachers have the right to come to the library."

Hermione made no comment on this. She was still looking at him with that appraising look that he hated so much. As if she was trying to take him apart and see what was inside.

"You know... I think he regrets what he did," she finally said, quietly and uncertainly, as if she was trying to gauge whether the ice she was walking on would break beneath her feet in a moment. Harry didn't answer. He was staring at the book in front of him, but he couldn't see any letters. Just blurry black. "Harry..." Hermione paused, as if weighing each word carefully. "I know you want us to leave you alone, but-" she swallowed, "-I'm worried about you. I can't watch you suffer. I see it. In your every look. In every word, gesture. Don't deny it," she added quickly as Harry opened his mouth to do so. "You know, I was in that lesson too. I saw how he'd behaved. I saw the way he'd... looked at you." Every word seemed to be very difficult for her, but she decided to say it at all costs. "This is not the behavior of someone who... hates you." Harry bit his lip, feeling something heavy sink to the bottom of his stomach. "You know, I've been thinking about all this for a long time and... I just... want you to be happy. And seeing the state you're in... I can't stand it. I can't stand to see you struggling and I just wanted to let you know that I've noticed some changes in his behavior. And I think you should think about it. I think... that-" She trailed off again, as if what she was about to say couldn't come out of her throat. "That he cares about you after all."

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. He swallowed hard through his painful throat.

She didn't know anything. She had no idea about anything. She didn't know about the torture, the insults, the blood on the Death Eater's robes, the satisfaction derived from inflicting pain... She only saw what Snape wanted to show, and she naively fell for his trap. Harry knew she was trying to comfort him, but her words didn't resonate with him because they would never be completely objective. She didn't know Snape like he did. She could only watch the performance on stage, but she would never know what was really happening behind the scenes. But Harry knew. He knew Snape didn't care about anyone.

The letters in front of his eyes sharpened.

"Do you think that if you make a few more circles with the wand, the bonds will become longer or stronger?" he asked, staring at the engraving showing how to cast the spell.

Hermione spoke only after a long moment. "I think it depends on what you want."

Harry continued to stare at the engraving, but he could no longer see it. He closed his eyes and once again absorbed the slowly dissipating scent.

"I don't know."

---

Harry didn't want to go to sleep. He couldn't imagine that he could calmly put his head on the pillow after what he had recently dreamed. No, that was out of the question at all. He preferred to use this time more productively and spent the second night in a row in the Restricted Section, devouring the contents of Dark Arts textbooks. In the morning he fell asleep for a few hours, too tired from constant reading, and woke up on the floor, cold and overtired. He made it back to the dormitory before anyone else was up, laid down in bed, and pretended to stay there all night. Ron, of course, did not fail to point out to him during breakfast that it looked as if a herd of Erumpents had run over him, but Harry ignored it. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed increasingly concerned about his appearance and even suggested he should go to Madam Pomfrey, but one bloodshot glance he gave her was enough for her to not mention it again.

Lessons... somehow he managed to survive them. Divination was as vague as usual, in History of Magic he managed to doze off a bit, and in Transfiguration they repeated spells for transforming animals into various objects. He was surprisingly quick at turning the newt into a pillow. He preferred not to wonder why.

To his surprise, McGonagall approached him after class and asked if he was feeling okay because he looked like walking death. Harry explained that he had just been studying a lot lately and was a bit tired. She didn't seem to believe him, judging by her raised eyebrows, but fortunately she didn't pursue it any further.

Only Potions was left. Harry hoped that Snape wasn't going to re-enact the same drama he had performed on them last lesson.

It was even worse.

From the moment he entered the classroom, Harry felt the man's appraising gaze on himself. Determined not to let the man unhinge him this time, he started preparing the ingredients. But it wasn't Snape's stares that kept him from focusing on his work. More like the man's behavior. It was... even weirder than the last time. Snape seemed to be deep in thoughts all the time. He didn't say a word to them during the entire lesson, except for "Reducing potion. The ingredients are on the board. Let's get to work," and then he sat down at his desk, leaned over the parchments and only looked up from them every now and then, moving his gaze around the entire class, lingering on Harry for the longest time, then turning his head towards the wall and just staring into space for several long moments.

It was... discouraging. Even Lavender and Parvati began to whisper among themselves, and from time to time Harry heard snippets of their conversation, in which one word kept repeating: 'Snape'.

Harry's head, which had been aching practically non-stop since the morning, was now almost throbbing. It felt like something was growing inside it and trying to tear it apart. As if someone was hitting it with a hammer from the inside.

He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes a few times, and put them back on. Almost immediately he felt the Potions Master's burning gaze on him, but when he looked up, the man turned his head to the wall. Harry noticed that Snape was turning the quill between his fingers all the time, apparently completely unconsciously, and that he was doing it with increasing nervousness.

Hermione asked several times if he was sure he was okay, as he stopped working more and more often to rub his eyes or massage his temples. The pain was becoming unbearable. He guessed he'd really need to get some good sleep after all. He couldn't keep on going like that much longer.

The lesson was conducted in complete silence, except for one incident. Neville's cauldron exploded. It wasn't a big surprise, he's already destroyed three this year. Snape's reaction was a much bigger surprise. He only reacted when all the students looked at him expectantly. Especially the Slytherins, who loved watching the Head of their House lacing into 'that pathetic Longbottom'. But Snape didn't look like he was going to drag anyone through the mud. He looked more like someone who had come back from some distant place. He took his eyes off the wall, looked around the classroom and casually waved his wand at the destroyed cauldron, removing the spilled potion and shells, and then wordlessly returned to what he had interrupted, which was staring at the wall.

Neville looked around in surprise, as if looking for some clue as to what he should do next. Finally he sat down, packed up and just waited for the bell, still looking as if he couldn't believe that a shark that by all rights should have eaten him had simply wagged its tail and swam away.

Harry couldn't help himself. He looked at Snape as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life. He could do it without fear because everyone was now looking at the teacher. The whispers between the students subsided after a few minutes and everyone slowly returned to work. Everyone except for Harry. He continued to stare at Snape's face turned towards the wall. Suddenly that face moved and turned towards him. Black eyes traveled across the classroom and locked in Harry's eyes. He couldn't look away from them.

And he couldn't silence the scream in his mind: Stop acting like that! Stop! Just stop!

After a moment, the man's eyebrows furrowed as if he saw something on Harry's face that surprised him. With the greatest effort, Harry tore his gaze away from the two, absorbing all light like black holes of irises, and lowered his head. The pain in his temples was throbbing almost as hard as his heart was beating. His hands were shaking as he reached for the vial containing the Bubotuber extract.

He needs to calm down!

It took him a few minutes to regain his composure, and he didn't look at Snape even once more until the teacher announced that the time for preparing the potion was over and once he received their samples and handed out the tests they had been writing at the last lesson, they would be allowed to leave the classroom.

This time Harry decided not to go to the desk. Let Snape think what he wants. He definitely won't come near him again. Not after what happened the last time. Especially not after the way Snape had behaved in today's lesson. He preferred not to take risks. He gave his vial to Hermione, packed up, and waited for everyone to return their samples to the teacher and return to their seats.

Snape waved his wand and the tests on his desk flew towards all the students. Parchment landed on Harry's desk. Almost clean. He knew he had failed the test, so he wasn't surprised by the Troll rating in the upper right corner. However, he was very surprised by what he found at the very bottom of his test. He unrolled it all the way and looked with wide eyes at the sentence written in red ink and in Snape's sharp, distinctive handwriting:

I understand why you punish me, but why do you punish yourself as well?

Harry's heart sank. He jerked his head up and looked straight into the dark eyes staring at him.

That... that was like a blow below the belt. Did Snape think this was some kind of punishment that he could serve out and then everything would be back to normal? How could he? How could he write something like that? How could he write that Harry was punishing himself? After all, he suffers because of him! Because of him! Only because of him! Because Snape is a fucking son of a bitch! Because he didn't have the decency to simply apologize to him for the suffering he had caused him! No, he preferred to finish him off! And now he's blaming it on Harry! Yes, that's very much his style! Vile, calculating bastard!

The rage that burned within him also emanated from his gaze, and after a moment Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently this wasn't the reaction he expected.

Harry was trembling. He vibrated with anger. He wanted to pull out his wand and curse the man. Making him squirm and moan and apologize to him for everything. Do something to make him disappear from his life once and for all and stop haunting him! Only after a while he realized that he had completely crumpled the parchment in his hands.

He wasn't going to stay here any longer! He grabbed his bag and headed for the exit, knocking over several students leaving the classroom who shouted after him in outrage, but Harry paid no attention to it. He just kept walking, wanting to get as far away from here as possible. As far away as possible from the only person in the world who could destroy or rebuild his entire world with one sentence.

A broken heart can be healed, but a heart that has been torn in half will not find peace until it finds again what was taken from it and which it cannot beat without. The other half.

---

Don't know what's going on

Don't know what went wrong

Feels like a hundred years

I still can't believe you're gone

So, I'll stay up all night

With these bloodshot eyes

While these walls surround me

With the story of our lives

I feel so much better

Now, that you're gone forever

I tell myself that I don't

Miss you at all

I'm not lying, denying

That I feel so much better now

That you're gone forever

Now, things are coming clear

And I don't need you here

And in this world around me

I'm glad you disappeared

First time you screamed at me

I should have made you leave

I should have known

It could be so much better

I hope you're missing me

I hope I've made you see

That I'm gone forever***

---

You take me down, further inside of me

Now I'm fading out, I can barely see

And hover

Can't think straight

Shutting me out - closing me out

Are you trying - hurting

Taking me out - leaving me out

Keeps me struggling

To see you leave again, it's over

And it kills me to watch you descend, to the end****

---

* "Haunted" by Evanescence

** "I don't wanna talk about it" by Alex Parks

*** "Gone forever" by Three Days Grace

**** "Hover" by Trust Company