The events of that day kept replaying in Harry's mind. Lying in his dormitory bed, he just couldn't sleep. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't relax enough to rest. The thought of returning to the Dursleys much sooner than expected only added to his anxiety and multiplied his worries.

It was bad enough being forced to return to his awful relatives each summer, but at least he usually had months to prepare.

He understood why he had to go back to that house—the blood wards offered powerful protection against Voldemort. But understanding why he needed to go there every summer didn't mean he had to like it.

He couldn't close his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. His mind kept flashing back to Umbridge's smug look of satisfaction and the total triumph in Snape's eyes.

He wondered what his classmates would think of him, wondering if those few who hadn't turned their backs on him when Voldemort returned would still believe him.

He knew he could rely on Ron and Hermione's support, even if they couldn't fully understand how much he dreaded going back to the Dursleys.Sure, they knew he didn't get along with his relatives, but nothing more. Sometimes, he wondered if Hermione, with her intelligence and perception, had figured out more.

He remembered that they'd waited for him when he returned to the common room. He'd been too upset to explain anything, so he reassured them by saying he'd tell them everything the next day.

Another frustrated sigh—the umpteenth one that night—escaped his lips.

Realizing he wouldn't accomplish anything by lying there and knowing that he wasn't going to find rest, he quietly grabbed a quill and some parchment. Writing to Sirius would help pass the time, and just as he was drying the ink with a spell, he heard the first sounds of movement around him.

He quickly gathered up the letter and dressed. He planned to take the letter to the owlery first, then stop by the hospital wing; much as he hated going there, it wouldn't help to go back to the Dursleys already injured.

He entered the hospital wing and waited for Madam Pomfrey to appear. All the beds were empty except for one, and he curiously wondered who was in it. As he moved closer, he mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner that it was the student from the previous day. Before he could go any further, a deep voice stopped him.

"Come to gloat, Potter?" Harry turned to find himself face-to-face with the man who seemed determined to make his life miserable. Merlin, that man was everywhere.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he could blurt out something insulting. Instead, he responded in an even tone, "I came to see Madam Pomfrey."

Snape sneered. "For what purpose, Potter? An impassioned plea to convince her to say you weren't the one who put Mr. Travis in this state? Or are you here to do something else to the student you already injured?"

Harry stood there, uncertain and somewhat stunned. He had never done anything to deserve this treatment from Snape and couldn't remember anything that justified Snape's suspicions about him.

Snape didn't wait for a response, continuing in the same malicious tone. "I won't let you disturb Mr. Travis or give you the chance to hurt him further. I take the health of my Slytherins seriously, and right now, you are a threat." With that, he roughly escorted Harry out of the hospital wing, with no sign of Madam Pomfrey.

"Don't come back here to bother my Slytherin, Potter. If I see you here again, you'll be dealing with me, and you'll regret it so much you'll be begging for expulsion instead."

With that final threat and a look of pure hatred, Snape shut the door in Harry's face—literally. If Harry hadn't moved at the last second, he would have ended up with a broken nose, at the very least.

Harry was in shock, completely. He'd have to go back to his relatives without even being in good health. A fresh wave of simmering hatred for his professor surged through him—Snape had no right.

He angrily marched toward Gryffindor Tower. There was still no one around. Once past the portrait of the Fat Lady, he found his two best friends waiting.

They were sitting on a couch by the fireplace, deep in conversation, and hadn't noticed Harry enter.He sat down with a thump to get their attention, and Ron and Hermione stopped talking immediately. They had been arguing a lot lately. Harry decided to get straight to the point; there was no point beating around the bush, and he wanted to share the weight he was carrying.

"Umbridge suspended me." There were two audible gasps and a stifled curse from Ron. "… or rather, she wanted to expel me, but thanks to McGonagall, it didn't happen."

He then launched into a detailed explanation of the evening, listening to Ron's angry exclamations and Hermione's quieter but passionate responses. Hermione was more reasonable, thinking that although the situation was unpleasant, it would resolve itself.

"So, you have to go back to the Dursleys?" Ron asked cautiously, exchanging an uncertain look with Hermione.

Harry knew from that look that his two friends had talked about this before—perhaps Hermione's worry had come up. He hadn't said much to them about it, but she surely must have picked up on something.

Harry felt his heart racing with anxiety and tried to change the subject. "Yes, but it's not a problem. According to McGonagall, this will be sorted out soon. Besides, I want to talk to you. We don't have much time left before I leave."

Hermione gave him a knowing look, understanding he was changing the subject, but fortunately, she let it drop. Harry's heart calmed. He didn't know why he didn't want to talk about it with them—they were his best friends; they knew everything. Still, maybe this was one part of his life he wanted to keep hidden.

Time flew by, and before he realized it, Professor McGonagall entered the common room looking for him.

During the entire trip, Harry felt his anxiety grow. McGonagall said almost nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was clear she didn't want this to happen. Soon, they reached the gates of Hogwarts, and she took out a Portkey. Seeing his confusion, she explained, "For your safety, Mr. Potter, we'll be taking a Portkey. The other methods of travel aren't safe under the circumstances."

Harry didn't have much to say; his stomach felt knotted, so he simply nodded and took the Portkey, and they both disappeared. The disorienting sensation of the Portkey was something he would never get used to. It took several moments before he could focus on his surroundings. Grateful he hadn't eaten anything that morning, he found himself facing his personal nightmare.

They walked the path to Number 4 and stopped on the sidewalk in front of the house. Harry felt his legs turn to jelly; he couldn't move. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped in surprise.

"Everything will be all right, Harry. You'll see—it will all work out." He was surprised; McGonagall was a strict teacher and rarely showed this side of herself. He smiled gently at her, unable not to return the tight smile she gave him.

She accompanied him to the door, and as he walked the last steps, he felt the urge to ask McGonagall to take him as far away as possible. Of course, he didn't say anything and continued on autopilot.

The time between the sound of the doorbell and the door opening was far too brief for his liking. When the door opened, he found himself face-to-face with the person who starred in most of his nightmares.

Hi everyone, here's another chapter. I'd love to hear what you think!