Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: none :)
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As the rest of the class filtered out, chairs scraping and bags slinging over shoulders, Harry moved to follow — but McGonagall's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Potter, a moment, if you please."
He froze. Turned slowly.
Hermione gave him a worried glance on her way out, but didn't linger.
When the door shut behind the last student, the room felt too big. Too quiet.
McGonagall didn't speak right away. She looked at him for a long moment, as though trying to read something hidden between the lines of his face.
"I've noticed," she said gently, "that you've been rather… distracted, of late."
Harry said nothing. Just stared somewhere just left of her shoulder.
"I just wanted to remind you that if you ever feel the need to speak with someone — myself, or the Headmaster — we are always available. You are not alone, Mr. Potter. Even if it feels that way."
Her words were kind. Sincere. And somehow, they made him feel worse.
"Thank you, Professor," he said softly, eyes still fixed on the floor.
She didn't say anything else. Just nodded, once, and let him go.
~~
The History of Magic classroom was as cold and drab as ever. Harry sat hunched over his desk, chin propped on his hand, staring blankly ahead. He barely registered Binns floating down the rows, passing back essays. The monotone drone of his voice faded into a dull hum at the back of his mind. His parchment landed on the desk with a soft thwack. Binns gave him a pointed look before moving on.
Harry didn't need to see his grade to know he'd done poorly. He could feel it in the weight of the parchment, the paltry word count, the lacklustre effort he barely remembered giving.
Scrawled at the top of the parchment in faded red ink:
D
Lacks structure. Sources underused. You can do better than this, Mr. Potter.
He folded the parchment without a word and stuffed it into his bag.
Hermione glanced at him, concern flickering in her eyes, but he kept his expression blank. Kept staring straight ahead.
There was no point explaining that he'd tried. That he'd sat at his desk for hours, the words refusing to come. That eventually, he'd just written anything, just to fill the space.
~~
By the time double Potions rolled around, the ache behind Harry's eyes had bloomed into something blinding. He felt exhausted. Empty. Like someone had opened him up and scraped out his insides.
Snape started the lesson with a flick of his wand and a list of instructions scrawled across the board. They were brewing a Calming Draught – which felt like a cruel joke.
Harry moved mechanically. Chopping roots. Measuring out ingredients. Trying to stay in sync with Hermione beside him, but lagging by a few steps.
His hands were shaking by the time he reached for the powdered valerian root. A single tremor – and half the jar spilled into the cauldron.
The mixture turned brown.
Then black.
It let out a high-pitched whine and began to smoke.
Snape was there in seconds, wand raised, casting a swift spell to douse the brew before it could explode.
The entire class turned.
"Are you deliberately sabotaging your own work, Potter, or is this level of ineptitude truly natural?"
Harry heard Malfoy and his cronies sniggering behind him.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said coldly. "For endangering your classmates. Again."
Harry said nothing.
He didn't argue. Didn't flinch. Just cleaned up the mess and sat in silence for the rest of the lesson, jaw clenched.
He was up and out the door the second the class ended.
~~
Back in the common room, the noise buzzed at the edge of Harry's mind — laughter, chess pieces bickering, Ginny and Seamus arguing over a game of Exploding Snap. Normally, the chaos of the common room felt comforting – now, though, it was just irritating.
He sat by the window, knees pulled to his chest, looking out over the Quidditch pitch. Outside, the sky was pale blue and cloudless. He could see the Gryffindor team circling the pitch, scarlet robes bright against the sky.
Their cheers didn't reach him, but he could see them smiling, laughing, weaving through the air like it was second nature.
He missed it. Not just flying — but that feeling. Of being part of something. Of belonging. Up there, everything had always felt smaller. Simpler.
Down here, it just hurt.
Behind him, Crookshanks leapt up onto the window seat, curling momentarily beside him. Harry reached out, fingers brushing gently against the soft fur.
But the cat stood, tail flicking once, and hopped down without a sound.
Gone.
Harry stared at the empty spot beside him. It wasn't a big thing. Not really. But it made the hollow in his chest feel colossal.
It's funny how you can be in a room surrounded by friends, yet still feel so alone.
~~
The Great Hall was alive with the usual hum of clinking cutlery and low conversation. Platters of roast chicken and golden roast potatoes steamed gently beneath floating candles, casting warm flickers over the long house tables.
Snape sat at the staff table, a half-finished plate of food in front of him, untouched for the better part of ten minutes. His eyes kept drifting toward the Gryffindor table — scanning, searching.
Potter wasn't there.
He hadn't been there at lunch either. And from what Snape had seen in Potions – the shaking hands, the hollow eyes, the silence – it wasn't hard to guess why.
He told himself he was being paranoid. Overreacting. But the unease in his gut had only grown since class, and it twisted now like something cold and live.
Without a word, Snape stood, ignoring the raised eyebrow from McGonagall. He swept from the hall, black robes trailing behind him like smoke.
Something was wrong.
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