A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Here's an extra long chapter!
CHAPTER – 16
Days of the week passed with Harry and his friends settling into a routine. Harry was still struggling with his nightmares and sometimes visions, but it wasn't new to him. He still stood up in the morning and that was a feat in itself. Harry was surprised at breakfast one day to find a note by his side.
"Who is the note from, Harry?" Hermione asked him as she poured herself some tea. Harry shrugged and picked it up, his eyes moving towards the Head Table. Dumbledore was talking to McGonagall and Snape was not visible. Harry frowned at that.
He opened the note and almost smiled at the handwriting. It was written on an old parchment with pencil. Harry could see the early onstage of spidery handwriting, similar to Snape's.
"Found yourself a girlfriend, mate?" Ron teased him from before him. Harry laughed at him comment and shook his head.
"No, no, just some normal business I need to take care of." He said and read the note again.
Dear Harry,
I have an art competition today, at school. Would you want to meet me after breakfast for a few minutes to wish me luck?
Dad wants me to tell you that we leave for school at 8:15 sharp, so you might want to get here by 8.
ES
Harry looked at his watch and saw that it was 7:50 right now. His first class was fortunately Defense Against the Dark Arts with Snape. He quickly stuffed the note into his bag and stood up.
"I'll meet you in class." He said to his friends.
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked him.
"Some urgent work, won't be long, promise." Harry said and was already halfway to the exit before Hermione or Ron could yell at him.
"He's extra secretive this year." Hermione said and buttered her toast.
"I've noticed. He doesn't know, but I see him, you know. At night, his nightmares are getting worse. He barely sleeps." Ron said around a mouthful of eggs.
"Barely eats, barely sleeps." Hermione adds with a sigh. "He'll run himself to the ground if he keeps this up."
"Sometimes, I don't even find him in bed at nights. He's out doing Merlin knows what." Ron said nonchalantly. Hermione's eyes widened.
"Ronald!" She gasped. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Ron shrugged. "If a guy wants some time to himself, you give it to him, Hermione. You don't go parading about it to everyone."
'Yes, but this is Harry we are talking about!" She chided. "If he's not in bed that means he's roaming about and that is hazardous for someone like him."
Ron gulped down his food and drank his juice. "I didn't think about that." He said sheepishly.
"Well, do you ever think, Ronald?" Hermione said angrily as she huffed.
"What do you reckon, then?"
Hermione shrugged as she sipped her tea. She had noticed Harry's erratic behavior once or twice. His sudden disappearances from their hangouts, and when he returned, he would be calm, more collected and more focused. She frowned to herself. He never told them where he went or what he did.
"We'll try to talk to him. And if that doesn't work, we'll find out one way or other what is going on with him." She said and Ron nodded.
"Well, now that that's taken care of, do you think I can take a look at your potions essay once?" Ron asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, Ron, I think Snape was better for you." She said and laughed at his horrified expression.
/
Harry knocked softly on the Snape's quarters. He didn't have to wait long before the door opened and Elle squealed in delight at seeing him. A sharp voice from inside subdued her excitement and she quickly took his hand and dragged him inside.
"Harry! I am so glad you came!" She said as she bounced in front of him. Harry grinned at her.
"Of course, I would come, Elle." He said and noticed her socks which were of different colors. "Elle, why are your socks one white and one black?"
Elle looked down and shrugged.
"Elle, come here!" She squealed again at her father's voice and ran inside the kitchen. Harry watched in amazement as Snape came out from her room dressed in his impeccable white shirt and grey trousers with a waistcoat. He had a smart grey muggle suit coat in his one hand and a black sock in his other hand.
"I do not have time for games, young lady. Morning, Potter." He said to him before storming inside the kitchen. A few seconds later he came out with a giggling Elle tucked under his arm and deposited her on the sofa.
"How's school, Elle?" Harry asked her as he watched Snape change the girl's socks and fold her long jeans a little at the end so the girl won't trip on it while walking.
"Oh, I love school, Harry!" She chirped as Snape summoned her backpack and a small black muggle puffer jacket which he helped her into. "And I love my friends! Jonah, Stacy and as much as I don't like the brat, Luke."
Snape snorted at her. "Put your shoes on." He commanded and Elle raced behind Harry where her small shoes were kept and proceeded to put them on.
"Muggle suit?" Harry asked as he saw Snape put on the suit jacket. He had to admit, it looked quite smart on him. The father and daughter pair, looked like they had just come out of some rich TV show.
"Another casualty of war, I'd say." Snape said with a sneer and Harry grinned.
Harry took out a chocolate bar which he knew Elle liked and kneeled before her. He picked up her school bag and helped put her hands in them.
"As good luck for your competition, I got you chocolate, I hope you will share it with your friends," Harry said and Elle rolled her eyes. As if. "I promise I'll give you a gift later on when you win."
Elle shook her head. "I don't need a gift, Harry." She said and threw her hands around his neck. He smiled and pulled her close. "You and Daddy, that's all I need."
Harry froze as she let him go and trotted over to her father. He stood up to see the equally frozen look on Snape's face and knew that the man had heard her.
"Well, Potter, I trust you can see yourself out," Snape said as he picked up the girl and walked towards the floo. "I'll see you in a few minutes. Please make sure that you and your peers not not cause mayhem in my classroom by then."
"Kind of a tough task." Harry grinned and winked at Elle. "See you tonight, Elle! You rock that competition, you hear me?"
"I will! Bye Harry!"
And with that, the pair disappeared with a flash of green. Harry sighed and looked around the empty room. His eyes suddenly fell on a small drawing on the mantle. He walked towards it and was surprised to find the drawing of Snape which he and Elle had drawn that day with small bats roaming around.
He grinned at the framed picture and picked it up, turning it around casually. A small note was written by Elle at the back.
To daddy,
From Elle and Harry
Suddenly Harry a strange feeling blossom in his chest. Snape – the man who hated him for the past 5 years – had cared enough to put this picture on the mantle. Even when his name was written on it. It felt…strange.
He quickly placed the picture back on the mantle and turned around and left the quarters, his mind again reeling with deciphering the enigma that Severus Snape was.
/
The next few days passed in a blur for Harry. His days were crammed with classes, endless homework, gruelling Occlumency and Defence lessons with Snape, and of course, his increasingly habitual smoking. On top of it all, he'd been made Quidditch captain, a responsibility he embraced quite seriously despite the extra burden. Gryffindor was set to play Ravenclaw in the upcoming weeks, and Harry had been leading rigorous practices to prepare.
Quidditch was his one escape—a shred of normalcy in a life otherwise overrun with chaos.
But the sleepless nights persisted. Harry occasionally obtained dreamless sleep potion from Madam Pomfrey, who, thankfully, didn't pry too deeply. He suspected Snape was keeping track of how much he used, so he rationed it carefully. The days between doses were torturous, marked by endless tossing, turning, and nightmares that left him gasping for breath.
His health was deteriorating. Meals had become a battleground—he barely touched breakfast, relying instead on the strongest coffee the house-elves could brew. At lunch, he forced down just enough to appease Hermione, only to slip away later and vomit it all back up most of the times. He wasn't sure why his body was rejecting food, but he knew it wasn't good.
He told himself he'd deal with it over Christmas break. The thought of spending time with Remus gave him a glimmer of hope, though he wasn't sure he could face Grimmauld Place again. Atleast he would have Remus by his side.
Amid all this, Harry still found time to meet Elle. Tuesdays and Thursdays had become the highlight of his week, though Snape occasionally engineered excuses for them to meet outside of those days—always at Elle's insistence, of course. She had slowly become an integral part of his life, her infectious cheer cutting through the gloom that surrounded him.
Which was how Harry found himself in Snape's office after a particularly gruelling duelling lesson. Elle had overheard Harry teasing Snape about cheering for Gryffindor in the upcoming match, and she was now determined to attend.
"But Dad, it's Harry's first match!" she whined, her small fists clenched for emphasis. She was kneeling on the chair beside Harry, her body draped over the table towards Snape as she put forth her arguments.
Snape snorted. "He's been playing for five years, Elle. It's hardly his first match."
Technically, itwaslike a first match for Harry after the ban Umbridge had imposed last year, but he wisely stayed out of the father-daughter exchange.
"But I've never seen him play!" Elle pouted, her wide eyes brimming with determination. "It's his second last year at Hogwarts—what if I never get to see him play at all?"
Harry suppressed a laugh, glancing at Snape, who shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him. If there was ever any doubt, Elle was undoubtedly her father's daughter.
"Enough," Snape said firmly, pointing toward the door. "Bed. Now. It's already fifteen minutes past your bedtime."
Elle's glare rivalled Snape's for a moment, but she softened as she turned to Harry. She hugged him tightly, whispering, "I'll be there at your game, Harry."
Harry grinned and nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He'd never discourage anyone giving Snape a headache.
As the door clicked shut behind Elle, Snape turned his piercing gaze on Harry. "If I find out you've had any hand in helping her, Potter, I'll see to it you're in detention until you graduate."
Harry leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You know I can't resist giving advice to anyone planning mischief, Professor."
Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I warned Dumbledore you'd corrupt her."
Harry chuckled. "I'd never put her in danger. But…what if we used my Invisibility Cloak to sneak her into the match?"
"That infernal cloak isnotgoing anywhere near my daughter," Snape snapped. "She cannot attend. That's final."
Harry's smile faded. He felt a pang of sympathy for Elle. She deserved to enjoy simple pleasures like Quidditch matches, but he knew better than to argue further. Maybe next year—if Voldemort was defeated by then.
Snape's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Potter, I think we need to have a chat."
Harry tensed, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. "About what?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.
"About you."
Harry's heart thudded in his chest. "Me? What about me?"
"Do you really think no one's noticed?" Snape said quietly, his dark eyes scrutinizing Harry's every move.
Harry's mouth went dry. "Noticed…what?"
Snape leaned forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. Harry's breathing quickened, and he fought to steady himself. He checked his Occlumency shields—they were intact, but his anxiety betrayed him. Also the fact that Snape was a hundred times better Occlumens than Harry and could break through his shields if he wanted to easily.
Snape exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Calm yourself, Potter." He wanted to have this conversation with him but didn't want to push the boy into a panic attack just yet.
"I-I'm fine." He said as she willed his racing heart to slow down. "What were you saying?"
"The Headmaster and your Head of House are concerned about you," he started. "As you spend a lot of time with Elle and…me, the Headmaster naturally conveyed his concerns to me and now I am obliged to ask you."
Harry frowned. "Ask what?"
"Potter, you don't eat, you look like you barely sleep. At this rate the Dark Lord will not even get a chance to have a go at you."
Harry snorted but didn't answer. He was fine. Just fine.
"Well, you can tell the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall that I am perfectly fine." He said sharply.
Severus raised his eyebrow. "I beg to differ. Is it the nightmares?"
Harry gulped and looked away. Severus got his answer.
"How frequent?" He asked.
Harry didn't answer at first but his resolve broke and he sighed. "Every day." He said softly.
"And how much sleep are you getting?"
Harry gave him a shrug and shook his head. "I don't know. An hour or two each night without the dreamless."
"The dreamless is not a solution. It is an addiction."
Don't I know it.
Harry nodded. "I know. But it's the truth. I can't sleep without it. When I do, I hardly sleep."
"And Occlumency isn't helping?" Severus asked him, frowning in bafflement. Occlumency always helped against nightmares. Even though in Harry's case it didn't help much in visions, but it should help in nightmares. Nightmares are nothing but bad thoughts of the mind after all.
Harry shook his head. "No. I don't know if I'm doing it wrong or what. But I go to sleep with my mind occluded and no thoughts at all, and suddenly I'm waking up to a green light, or something or the other."
"And you are taking Dreamless sleep how frequently?"
Harry shrugged. "3 days a week?"
Severus regarding him carefully before nodding. "Alternate days?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Let me speak with the headmaster and come up with a solution."
Harry snorted. "You can't talk to Dumbledore about my nightmares! They are not visions, they are normal dreams!"
"Potter, these dreams are not letting you sleep for nights on end. I hardly think they are 'normal'." Severus retorted.
"What, you think Voldemort is sending me these?" Harry blinked. "How is that possible?"
"I will speak with the headmaster," Severus repeated. "Until then, we need to see you don't go too far in your dreamless sleep consumption."
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was becoming tired of this conversation. He knew Snape was trying to help, but all he could hear was that he was hopeless and alone in his problems, with no one to help.
Harry was lying, obviously. His dreamless sleep consumption was far more than three days. It was four swallows for five days a week. He got extra from Madame Pomfrey and sometimes even asked Ron to get it for him under his name.
"And I would want to see you eating more than all of the four bites you manage in a meal." Harry rolled his eyes.
"You try to eat after no sleep for days and on the brink of exhaustion." He said weakly. "I had to give up my daily runs, my body can't sustain it."
Snape didn't answer. "You are feeling weak?"
"It's exhaustion, what else?" Harry said. "Look, I know the Headmaster and McGonagall are concerned," He eyed Snape as if he knew Snape was the one concerned. "But, I'm fine."
"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. Because you do not look fine at all." Snape said. "Exhaustion can also be a side effect of dreamless. Maybe you should discontinue taking – "
"No!" Harry jumped in his seat, panic lacing his voice. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
"I- I mean, it's the only thing that's keeping me standing." Harry covered. "Those three days I get enough sleep. I'm fine. But I think I should continue taking it."
Snape observed him for a minute. "Very well. But if I see you more dead on your feet than you already are, I will discontinue it. Understood?"
Harry nodded before standing up. "I should go."
"Come back here on Saturday," Snape said. "After breakfast."
"What for?"
"I will have an answer from the Headmaster by then, I presume." Snape said as he followed the boy. Harry nodded.
"It's war, you know." Harry said suddenly as he stepped out of the office and turned back slightly. "No one cares how much sleep I get, or how much I eat, or any other trivial things. All you should care about is me killing Voldemort."
"I do not care about the wizarding world and what they think. According to me, you do not need to be a perfect little warrior."
"Isn't that my life's purpose?" Harry asked with a short laugh.
"No, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly. "It is absolutely not."
Harry met his eyes for a few seconds before turning around and leaving. That blasted warm feeling in his chest growing again.
/
Harry hissed as he stubbed his toe on a small rock while crawling out of the Shrieking Shack. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he hurried out and onto the quiet streets of Hogsmeade. Navigating the familiar paths with ease, he soon found himself at the small, dimly lit shop. He rapped on the door three times.
The door creaked open, and a grizzled face peered out.
"Ahh, Dudley," Old Jack greeted with a low, gravelly chuckle, his lips curling into a sly smile. "Back fer more, eh?"
"How goes it, Jack?" Harry replied as he stepped into the cramped shop. "Two packs of the usual, please."
Jack nodded, turning away to rummage in a battered wooden box behind the counter. "Aye, can't complain," he said, his voice rasping like worn sandpaper. "With yer lot back in town, business's boomin'."
"Good for you," Harry muttered absently, watching as Jack slapped two packs of lights onto the counter. Harry slid a handful of coins toward him, already reaching for the cigarettes.
But before he could grab them, Jack's calloused hand clamped down on his wrist. "'Ang on there, lad," Jack said, his eyes narrowing. "Wasn't it you askin' me about some...green a while back?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You mean…yeah, yeah I did. Why? You got some?"
Jack smirked, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Mebbe," he drawled, disappearing into the back room.
When he returned a moment later, he dropped a neatly rolled joint onto the counter and nudged it toward Harry with a crooked finger.
Harry picked it up and sniffed the tip. A familiar, earthy scent filled his nostrils, and he smiled. "Thanks, Jack. How much do I owe you for this?"
Jack waved him off with a rough snort. "First one's free for my loyal customer, lad. Consider it a...sample. If yeh like it, yeh know where ter find me."
Harry nodded his thanks, relief washing over him. He didn't have enough on him to pay for the joint and the cigarettes. He slipped his purchases into a small bag and left, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he made his way back to the castle.
The journey felt agonizingly slow. Harry's mind buzzed with anticipation—finally, a chance to unwind. But tonight wasn't the night; it was well past 3 a.m. by the time he sneaked into the castle and slipped into bed.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come easy. Tonight was one of those hellish nights where even Occlumency couldn't shield him from his nightmares. They weren't the product of Voldemort's mind, but his own—a torment he couldn't escape.
When he woke two hours later, gasping for breath, the familiar weight of a panic attack pressed down on his chest. He clutched the blankets, trying to ground himself, willing his racing heart to slow.
It was routine by now. Harry closed his eyes again, resigned to the cycle, and prayed for the dawn to come quickly.
/
Hermione woke up that morning with a smile on her face. She stretched, feeling the warmth of her blankets and the rare sense of satisfaction that came from knowing she was ahead on her work. All her assignments for the week were complete, and she had even read ahead for the next. That meant—for the first time in what felt like ages—she had an entire weekend free to spend with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.
Maybe, just maybe, she and Ron could sneak away for a bit—to the Room of Requirement, perhaps. She blushed at the thought, biting her lip as she sat up. It wasn't as though she and Ron had doneanythingparticularly scandalous, but still… a little time alone would be nice.
She dressed quickly, still caught up in the pleasant plans forming in her mind, and made her way down to the common room—only for her optimism to shatter the moment she saw Harry descending the dormitory stairs.
His hair was an absolute mess—not unusual, but this wasworsethan normal, as if he hadn't even attempted to smooth it down. He was fiddling with his tie, his fingers shaking slightly as he tried to loop it around his neck. When he looked up to greet her, she took in the full picture—bloodshot eyes, deep, dark circles that hadn't faded in weeks, skin paler than usual, and a thinness to his face that made her stomach twist.
Without thinking, she stepped forward and plucked the tie from his hands."Let me."
Harry blinked but didn't argue, standing still as she tied it properly. He was too exhausted to protest, which worried her more than anything. As she adjusted the knot, she kept her voice light."There."She smoothed it down against his chest and met his eyes."Honestly, Harry, you need to take better care of yourself."
He gave her a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes."Thanks, Herms."
Hermione frowned at the nickname. He only used it when he was deflecting.
"Ready?" Harry asked just as Ron came bounding down the stairs behind him, already mid-complaint.
"—mental, really! Who assigns an eight-inch essay right before the weekend? We deserve a break!"
Hermione rolled her eyes."Maybe if you started your assignments earlier—"
"Not the point,"Ron said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they made their way out of the portrait hole.
She should have been distracted by Ron's usual dramatics, but her attention remained fixed on Harry. He walked slightly ahead of them, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders tense. His fingers twitched every so often, and he blinked too slowly, like someone forcing themselves to stay awake. And then there was that new habit—rubbing the back of his neck whenever he thought no one was looking.
Something was wrong.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, Hermione had made up her mind: she was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Harry Potter.
They took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry barely touched his breakfast, idly pushing scrambled eggs around his plate without taking a single bite.
"Not hungry?"Hermione asked casually, sipping her pumpkin juice.
"Nah, just tired,"Harry muttered.
Ron, already halfway through his plate, snorted."Honestly, mate, you could sleep through a troll attack and still be tired."
"Gee, thanks, Ron," Harry said dryly.
But Hermione wasn't amused. She placed her fork down, leveling him with a look."Harry, when was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
Harry hesitated, then shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, clearly stalling.
"Harry."
He sighed, swallowing."I dunno, Hermione. It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?"she repeated, incredulous."You look like you haven't slept in weeks. Do you think no one's noticed your eating habits? Or that you disappear on us more frequently than ever?"
Harry's jaw tightened. The same conversation—again. He'd just had it with Snape the day before, and hereallywasn't in the mood for it now.
"Hermione,"he gritted out, voice low,"I said I'm fine. Please, let it go."
But Hermione wasn't backing down."No, Harry. We let it go for a couple of weeks now. We are concerned—don't you get it?"
Harry clenched his fists under the table. His patience snapped.
He stood abruptly, grabbing his bag.
"Harry!"Hermione called after him, but he didn't look back. He needed tobreathe, needed some space."Come back!"
He ignored her and strode out of the Great Hall.
The moment he was in the corridor, he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as tension coiled in his muscles. His hands were still shaking.Merlin, he needed a smoke.
Twenty minutes until class.
That was enough time to get to the seventh floor.
/
When Harry arrived at Charms twenty minutes later, he saw that Hermione had saved a seat for him beside her and Ron. He quietly slipped into it, his gaze fixed straight ahead, shoulders stiff.
Hermione shot him a quick glance but didn't say anything—not yet. Instead, she slid a folded bit of parchment onto his desk, tapping it once with her finger.
Are you okay?
Harry didn't answer. He didn't even acknowledge the note, just kept his eyes on Professor Flitwick, who was enthusiastically demonstrating a complicated wand movement at the front of the class.
A minute later, another note appeared beside his elbow.
Please talk to me, Harry.
Again, he ignored it. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.
Hermione sighed softly beside him, clearly frustrated but unwilling to push him further in the middle of class.
Ron, on the other hand, made no attempt at notes or whispered concern. He just nudged Harry's arm once—his way of letting him knowI'm here—and then went back to his own parchment, scribbling down the lecture notes with his usual half-hearted effort.
By the time class ended, Harry was out the door first. He wove through the crowd of students, eager to get as much distance as possible before Hermione could corner him again. But he didn't make it far.
A strong hand grabbed his arm, firm but not forceful.
Harry turned, already scowling, only to see Ron standing there, his expression steady and unreadable.
Harry shook his arm free with a huff and resumed walking, this time at a slower pace.
Ron took the invitation for what it was and fell into step beside him.
"Harry, don't be mad at her," Ron said, his voice quieter than usual.
Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not mad."
Ron snorted. "Could've fooled me."
Harry didn't answer.
They walked in silence for a few more steps before a flood of first-years turned the corner, chattering loudly as they headed toward their next class. Without thinking, Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve and pulled him into an unused classroom before they got caught in the rush.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the noise from the corridor.
Ron leaned back against a dusty desk and crossed his arms. "Alright, talk to me then."
"There's nothing to talk about," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Ron gave him a flat look. "Yeah, sure. That's why you look like you haven't slept in a month and barely eat anything. That's why you stormed out of breakfast like Hermione had just accused you of murder."
Harry clenched his jaw. "She just—" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She doesn't get it, alright?"
"Then make her get it." Ron shrugged. "You know how she is—she's not gonna let this go. And I dunno, mate… maybe she shouldn't."
Harry looked away, jaw tightening.
Ron sighed, pushing off the desk. "Look, I know you're sick of people asking if you're okay. I get it. But you don't have to do this whole 'brooding loner' thing, you know? We're your friends. We actually give a damn."
Harry let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You have a funny way of showing it."
"Oh, shut up." Ron rolled his eyes. "You know I'm right. Just… stop shutting us out, yeah?"
Harry didn't respond for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled.
"Fine."
"And Harry?" Harry looked at the taller boy. "You're like my brother, mate. I'm here for you, and so is Hermione. I haven't told her about you getting those Dreamless Sleep under my name, but even I know it's not good for you to dose yourself up to eyeballs with that stuff. Whatever it is, just talk to me when you want to."
Harry gave him a small smile and nodded. "Thanks, Ron."
Ron clapped him on the shoulder, grinning."Brilliant. Now, let's get to Transfiguration before McGonagall threatens to transfigure us into a map and a watch again."
Harry let out a huff of laughter despite himself.
/
"It's addiction."
Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. He coughed violently, thumping his chest before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. When he finally managed to breathe properly again, he turned to Hermione with an exasperated look.
"Have you gone absolutely mental?" he hissed. "You're talking like he's on some dodgy potion or sneaking off to Knockturn Alley for dodgy dealings!"
Hermione scowled. "I'm serious, Ron!" She shot a quick glance down the Gryffindor table, where Harry sat a little further away with Neville, Seamus, and Dean. His posture was relaxed, laughing at something Seamus said, but she wasn't fooled.
Ron followed her gaze, frowning. "He looks fine to me."
"That's the problem, Ron!" Hermione whispered fiercely. "He's acting fine. But if you actually paid attention, you'd notice the signs."
Ron raised an eyebrow."Oh, right. And what signs would those be, Madam Healer?"
Hermione huffed. "He's barely eating, he disappears for stretches of time, and he's constantly exhausted. He's also beenagitatedlately. And—"she hesitated, lowering her voice even more,"—I know he's smoking."
Ron blinked. "Smoking? You mean, like… cigarettes?"
"Yes, Ron, what else would I mean? He's pants at Refreshing charms. Whenever he comes really close, you can smell the smoke lingering on his clothes. "
Ron scratched his head, looking thoroughly bewildered."Blimey. I always thought it's because he is with Seamus and Dean sometimes and they smoke. I didn't even know he knew how to smoke."
"Well, he definitely does," Hermione said grimly. "And it's only gotten worse."
Ron frowned again, sneaking another look at Harry. Now that Hermione had pointed it out, he did notice some things. The way Harry rubbed at his fingers absentmindedly, as if itching for something. The way his gaze flickered toward the exit now and then, as though calculating how long he'd have to sit here before he could leave. The faint, lingering scent of smoke that clung to his robes when he got too close.
Ron exhaled. "Alright. So let's say you're right. What do we do about it?"
Hermione chewed her lip. "We have to talk to him. Make him see how unhealthy this is. He's obviously using it to cope, and that's—"
Ron groaned. "Oh, come on, Hermione. We just got him to stop acting like a moody bat for five minutes. If we go at him now, he's just gonna shut us out again."
"So what, we just let him keep poisoning himself?" Hermione snapped.
"No, but maybe we wait for the right moment. He's not exactly known for handling confrontations well, you know."
Hermione pursed her lips but didn't argue.
Ron sighed, rubbing his face. "Look, we'll keep an eye on him, yeah? Try to figure out when he's sneaking off. If we catch him in the act, then we can talk to him."
Hermione still didn't look happy, but she nodded.
Just then, Harry looked up and caught them staring. His brows furrowed as he tilted his head in confusion.
Ron immediately grabbed a roll from the table and stuffed it into his mouth to look casual.
Hermione, on the other hand, gave Harry a tight-lipped smile before turning back to her plate.
Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously but didn't press.
But as he laughed at something Dean said a second later, his foot tapped restlessly against the floor. He needed a smoke.
And he needed it soon.
/
After dinner, Harry excused himself earlier than usual, stretching and mumbling something about getting some fresh air. Hermione and Ron shared a look but didn't stop him.
The moment he was out of sight, Hermione hissed ,"Come on, we're following him."
Ron groaned. "Hermione, we agreed—"
"No, you agreed to wait. I agreed to find out what's going on. Now move."
With that, she grabbed his wrist and all but dragged him out of the Great Hall.
They kept a safe distance as they followed Harry through the dimly lit corridors, careful not to let their footsteps echo too loudly. He was moving with purpose—quick, silent strides that spoke of routine. This wasn't something he was doing on impulse. He had a spot.
"Where's he going?" Ron whispered.
"No idea." Hermione whispered back, her heart pounding.
Harry rounded a corner, then stopped abruptly.
Ron and Hermione barely had time to duck behind a suit of armor before he glanced over his shoulder. He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning the corridor.
Then, apparently satisfied that no one was watching, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned three times in place. The door to the Room of Requirement materialized before him, and without hesitation, he stepped inside, but he left the door ajar.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance before silently following, the door melting away behind them.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, transformed into a quiet, private refuge. A single worn-out armchair sat in the middle, accompanied by a small wooden table covered in stray bits of ash. A window, though not real, showed a night sky over a darkened lake, its reflection shimmering in the still water. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and something deeper—grief, exhaustion, loneliness.
And there, hunched over in the chair, was Harry. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the tip glowing faintly as he inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few moments before exhaling a slow, steady stream. His eyes were half-lidded, staring unseeingly ahead. The glow illuminated the sharp lines of his face—cheeks hollowed from lack of sleep, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes, lips slightly chapped from the cold.
Hermione's heart twisted painfully. She had seen Harry battered, bleeding, and broken before. But this—this quiet destruction—was somehow worse.
Ron shifted uncomfortably beside her. He had seen Harry do reckless things before, but this? This wasn't adrenaline-fueled defiance or Gryffindor bravado. This was something darker. Something like surrender.
"You really don't know how to follow someone, you know." Harry said quietly.
"Harry," Hermione's voice was gentle, almost pleading."What are you doing?"
Harry sighed and leaned back into the chair, eyes flicking to them with an expression unreadable.
"Thought that was obvious." His voice was hoarse, rough like gravel.
Hermione stepped forward, arms crossed. "You said you were getting fresh air."
Harry huffed a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. Not much fresh air in here, is there?"
Ron frowned. "Mate… why?"
Harry regarded them for a long moment before looking away, bringing the cigarette to his lips again."Because it helps."
"Helps?" Hermione repeated, incredulous."Harry, how does this help?"
He took another drag, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like it was the only thing grounding him. His fingers trembled slightly.
"It keeps me sane," he muttered finally. "It quiets everything for a bit."
Hermione swallowed, blinking rapidly. "You don't have to do this alone, Harry."
Harry let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head."That's the thing, Hermione. I am alone. No one else has to wake up every night gasping for breath because of the nightmares. No one else has to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
Ron stepped closer, his voice softer now. "We're here, mate. We've always been here."
Harry looked at them then, really looked at them. At Hermione's eyes shining with unshed tears, at Ron's uncharacteristic solemnity. His throat tightened.
"I just need something to take the edge off," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Something I can control."
Hermione knelt in front of him, reaching for his free hand. He let her take it. "Then let us help. Please."
Harry swallowed hard. He didn't answer but shook off Hermione's hand. "You can't, Hermione." He said and looked into her eyes. "It's not that easy."
"Harry, mate, we are your family. You can trust us." Ron said from beside him. Harry shook his head and stood up, he took a puff of his cigarette before Hermione took it from his hands and waved her wand to banish it.
"Will you stop that?" She said angrily. "We are trying to talk to you!"
Harry exhaled sharply, his hand twitching at his side where the cigarette had been. He clenched it into a fist instead, his jaw tightening as he turned away.
"You think I don't know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained. "You think I don't know that you both care? That I have people who'd rather see me—see me whole?" He let out a bitter laugh. "But I can't be whole, Hermione. I can't just—fix this with a chat over dinner or a couple of reassuring words."
Hermione looked like she was barely holding back tears now, her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Then tell us how to help," she pleaded. "Tell us what we can do."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just beneath his skin. "You can't!" he snapped, then immediately regretted the way Hermione flinched. He exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't know how else to say it. This—this is mine to deal with."
"That's bollocks," Ron cut in, stepping forward. His face was set, determined. "Since when do we let each other go through shite alone, Harry?"
Harry laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "Since it became too much," he murmured, barely audible. He turned back to Hermione, his expression unreadable. "Since I realized that if I let you both in any more than I already have, it'll destroy you, too."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Hermione took a shaky breath, and Ron shifted on his feet, his fingers flexing like he was resisting the urge to shake Harry by the shoulders.
"You're already carrying too much," Hermione whispered, her voice breaking. "You don't have to do this alone."
Harry swallowed. He wished he could believe her.
But instead, he shook his head and turned toward the door. "I'll see you in the common room," he muttered, slipping past them.
Neither of them stopped him this time. They just watched him go, their unspoken worries lingering in the air like smoke.
/
The next morning, Harry didn't get up.
Ron tried shaking him awake, calling his name, even yanking the curtains of his four-poster bed. But the moment his fingers grazed the fabric, a surge of magic pushed him back, like an invisible barrier repelling him.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath, rubbing his fingers where they tingled from the force of the spell. Harry had sealed himself in.
Frustrated and worried, he stomped downstairs to the common room, where Hermione was pacing in front of the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked up the second she saw him.
"Well?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.
"He's shut himself in," Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Used some kind of barrier charm."
Hermione let out an exasperated noise, her grip tightening on her robes. "That's it. We need to go to Dumbledore."
Ron's eyes widened. "Are you mental?" he hissed. "We can't involve the teachers!"
"Why not?" Hermione demanded, her voice loud enough to make a few students glance their way.
Ron cursed under his breath and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the common room and into a nearby alcove. He rounded on her the moment they were out of earshot.
"Hermione, Harry will never forgive us if we rat him out to Dumbledore!" Ron's voice was fierce but low. "You know what he's like! He already thinks he has to handle everything on his own—if we go behind his back, we'll just be proving him right."
Hermione's expression was stormy. "This isn't some prank, Ron! This isn't sneaking out after curfew or skipping homework—this is serious!" Her voice cracked, her frustration barely hiding the fear underneath. "Smoking is dangerous. He's hurting himself, and if we just stand by and let him—"
"I'm not saying we stand by!" Ron cut in. "I'm saying we handle it ourselves, like we always do! If we tell Dumbledore, Harry will never trust us again. And I'm not sure what Dumbledore will do. He knows Harry hates going to the Dursleys, he knows something is wrong at that house, but he still makes him go! Harry comes back with bruises and weighing hardly more than a 10-year-old and he still doesn't care, Hermione! What do you think he will do when we tell him about this?"
Hermione clenched her jaw, her fingers trembling slightly. She took a deep breath, then said, "We're not equipped to handle this. But at least he can do something. We can't just—just sit here and watch him self-destruct!"
Ron hesitated, but before he could respond, Hermione continued, her voice breaking.
"I just—I can't lose him," she whispered.
"You won't."
The voice was quiet but firm. Both Ron and Hermione whirled around to see Harry standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked… better, but only slightly. There was a shadow under his eyes that even sleep couldn't erase, and his shoulders were still hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Harry exhaled and took a step forward.
"Look, I know you guys are worried," he said, his voice calm but tired. "But please—let me handle this. I—I can't tell Dumbledore. Not yet."
"Harry—" Hermione started, but he shook his head.
"I know you have questions," he said, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I promise I'll answer them. Just… not now." His voice dropped lower. "And believe me, I was worse this summer. I've gotten better."
A cold weight settled in Hermione's stomach. If this—what they were seeing now—was Harry better, then what had he been like before?
She exchanged a glance with Ron, who looked equally uneasy.
"You don't have to do this alone, mate," Ron said after a beat.
Harry gave him a small, tired smile. "I know," he said. "But I need you to trust me."
Hermione swallowed hard. She didn't trust this. She didn't trust him to handle this on his own. But looking into Harry's eyes, seeing the sheer exhaustion there, she realized pushing him too hard would only drive him further away.
She let out a slow breath. "Alright," she murmured. "For now."
Harry gave her a grateful nod. But in the back of her mind, Hermione knew this wasn't over.
It was only getting worse.
"Let's go down to breakfast." Hermione said. "We are a bit late for it, but it's a Saturday, so hopefully we could still get some toast."
"You guys head there." Harry said. "I need to go see Snape."
"Snape? What for? Isn't Tuesdays and Thursdays enough for that dungeon bat to torment you?" Ron said with a sour expression.
Harry smiled at him. "He wanted to discuss some occlumency thing. It'll only take up a while."
Hermione looked skeptically at him.
"I'm going to the dungeons, I promise!" He said and lifted his hands in surrender.
"Well, you should still eat something." Hermione said as they walked to the Great Hall.
"Nah, I'm good." Harry said and before Ron or Hermione could say anything, he slipped past them and went towards the dungeons entrance. "See you later!"
Harry knocked on Snape's office door and opened it. The office was empty. Maybe Snape was still having breakfast in the quarters with Elle. Just as Harry was about to sit on his usual chair, his eyes fell on a note in front of him.
Knock on the quarters' door, Potter.
Harry smiled and snatched the note, stuffing it into his pocket. Harry knocked twice on the inconspicuous "Cleaning Supplies" door, stuffing Snape's note into his pocket as he waited.
The door swung open to reveal Snape, standing there in his usual white shirt and black trousers—but the sight of the delicate, pink fairy teacup in his hand nearly made Harry snort.
Snape's glare told him he'd noticed the amusement.
"Come in, Potter," he said, turning around without another word.
Harry stepped inside, letting the familiar warmth of Snape's quarters settle over him. The scent of brewed coffee and something faintly sweet—probably whatever Elle had been eating—made the space feel oddly cozy.
Elle, seated cross-legged on the sofa near the coffee table, looked up with a bright smile.
"Morning, Harry!"
Harry smiled back. "Morning, Elle."
Snape handed her the fairy cup, giving her a pointed look. "Drink."
She obediently took a sip as Snape moved toward the kitchen. "Coffee, Potter?"
Harry hesitated for a second before nodding. "Um…yeah, thanks."
He sank down onto the couch beside Elle, glancing at the book open on her lap. "What you got there?"
Elle straightened with an excited little bounce. "Tales of Beedle the Bard!" she announced. "Which tale is your favorite, Harry?"
Harry bit his lip, hesitating. "I'm afraid I've never read it, Elle."
Elle gasped dramatically, her eyes going comically wide. "You've never read Tales of Beedle the Bard?!"
Harry shook his head, grinning at her reaction.
Elle turned to Snape, scandalized. "Daddy! Harry's never read Beedle the Bard!" she screeched, as though this was the greatest injustice the world had ever seen.
Snape didn't even look up from where he was pouring coffee. "Use your inside voice, Elara."
Elle clamped her hands over her mouth, eyes still huge. Then, with an exaggerated whisper, she repeated, "He's never read Beedle the Bard!"
Harry chuckled as Snape handed him a cup and rolled his eyes.
"Mr. Potter is simply playing with you," Snape said dryly, lowering himself into the armchair beside them. "Surely his relatives read it to him a million times when he was your age."
Harry's grip on his cup tightened. He stared down into the dark liquid, feeling his smile slip away.
"Um… actually, no," he admitted quietly. "I really haven't read it."
Silence.
Snape looked at him then—really looked at him.
Harry kept his gaze down, pretending to take a sip, trying to ignore the heavy pause that followed.
Then it clicked Snape. Harry relatives not just pushed him around, but there was something more deeper, more intense that went on in that house.
After a moment, Snape shifted slightly. Without a word, he reached for Elle's hand and gently guided her cup back to her lips.
"Drink," he murmured, softer this time.
Elle sipped, still watching Harry with a thoughtful expression. Then she put the book in his lap.
"Here, you can have my book and read it," she said decisively.
Harry blinked at her. "Thanks, Elle. That's really sweet of you." He said with a smile and ruffled her hair.
She then scooted closer to him and flipped the pages of the book to a particular story.
"This one is my favorite," Elle declared proudly as Harry read the title.
The Tale of the Three Brothers.
Harry glanced up at her, amused. "Oh yeah?"
Elle nodded, her curls bouncing. "Daddy does the voices, but I guess you'll have to do without that."
Harry shot a look at Snape, his lips twitching. "Professor Snape, doing voices? Now that I'd pay to see."
Snape barely spared him a glance, but one dark brow arched in challenge.
Harry smirked, convinced he saw the faintest flicker of amusement before Snape turned his attention back to his coffee.
Shaking his head, Harry opened the book properly. "Alright, I'll read it and see what all the fuss is about."
Elle grinned in satisfaction before hopping up from her spot on the couch. She turned to dart off, but before she could make it two steps, Severus caught her wrist with practiced ease.
"Your milk, young lady," he said sternly, retrieving the small, discarded fairy cup from the table and pressing it into her hands.
Elle pouted. "But I drank most of it!"
"Finish it."
She heaved a dramatic sigh but obediently downed the rest, then made a show of smacking her lips together loudly right in front of Snape's face.
"Disgusting brat," Snape muttered, but there was no real heat to his voice.
Elle just giggled and, before he could reprimand her further, she dashed off to her room.
Snape sighed, shaking his head as he flicked his wand to vanish the cup to the kitchen. Then, his dark eyes flickered toward Harry, and his usual sharp gaze softened just a fraction.
Harry was still holding Beedle the Bard open in his lap, but he wasn't looking at it. Instead, he was staring into the empty fireplace, his expression unreadable.
Something in the silence stretched—an invisible weight hanging in the air between them.
Snape leaned back in his chair, observing. "You look as though you've been obliviated, Potter."
Harry blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "What?"
Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. "You've been staring at the fireplace for the last two minutes. Either you're attempting to set it ablaze with your mind, or you're wallowing."
Harry let out a breathy chuckle, but there was no real amusement in it. "Right. Because that's why I came here—to be psychoanalyzed by my defense professor."
Snape didn't rise to the bait. He merely crossed his arms and studied him with an unreadable expression.
"So, Beedle the Bard sent you miles away in your mind?"
Harry shook his head, exhaling a small chuckle as he closed the book on his lap. "I really haven't read it, I wasn't joking. My relatives aren't exactly the bedtime story type."
That was putting it lightly.
They were bedtime story people—just not for him.
Harry could still remember Aunt Petunia's voice drifting through the walls, reading The Velveteen Rabbit or Peter Pan to Dudley, the warm glow of his cousin's nightlight spilling under the door. He had sat outside more than once, pressing his ear to the wood, pretending just for a moment that the stories were meant for him, too.
But they never were.
He wasn't even allowed toseethe books. Once, while dusting Dudley's room, curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had snuck a quick read of one. He might've gotten away with it—if Dudley hadn't caught him and ratted him out to Uncle Vernon.
Harry barely remembered what the book was about. He did remember the punishment.
That night, as he lay curled in his cupboard, aching and humiliated, he had decided books weren't worth the risk.
Snape snorted. "You mean to tell me your relatives never read you a single story? Hilarious, Potter."
Harry gave him a small, sad smile. If only you knew.
Snape caught the look and frowned slightly, his sharp eyes flickering with something that almost resembled curiosity.
"As I said," Harry murmured, "they weren't really the kind of people who did that. You know it, you saw it." He cleared his throat and glanced away, not wanting to dwell on the Dursleys—especially not in front of Snape. "Anyway, did you talk to Professor Dumbledore?"
Snape exhaled slowly and set his cup down on the table.
"Yes, I did," he said, steepling his hands in front of him. "The Headmaster does not believe these… dreams are coming from the Dark Lord. He feels they are merely projections of your mind."
Harry nodded. He had already figured as much. What he needed to know was how to stop them.
Snape studied him for a long moment before continuing, his voice carefully neutral. "And he believes that if Occlumency is proving ineffective, then…" He hesitated. "You should consider speaking to a Mind Healer."
Harry blinked.
Then snorted.
Then burst out laughing.
Snape's expression darkened.
"He thinks I've gone off the rocker!" Harry wheezed between laughs.
Snape did not look remotely amused. "Calm yourself, Potter. You are being hysterical."
Harry wiped at his eyes, still chuckling as he set his half-empty coffee down on the table. "I'm sorry, Professor, but the thought of me sitting down with a shrink just tickles me. What would I even say? Hello, my name is Harry, and I've had a mad Dark wizard trying to kill me since I was a baby?"
His laughter faded into a dry chuckle, then into silence. He shook his head. "It's just… crazy."
Snape's expression remained unreadable, but something in his gaze sharpened, like he was carefully picking apart Harry's words, turning them over in his mind.
After a long moment, he spoke, voice low and measured.
"Potter."
Harry glanced up at him.
"There is nothing crazy about struggling with what you have been through."
Harry stiffened slightly. He hadn't expected that.
Snape leaned back in his chair, his face once again impassive. "The Headmaster is not wrong. Occlumency is a powerful tool, but it is not a solution. It cannot erase what already lingers in your mind."
Harry swallowed, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.
"Would it be so unthinkable," Snape continued, "to speak with someone trained to help you?"
Harry let out a breathy laughed, shaking his head. "I don't know, Professor. It's just…" He gestured vaguely. "I'm not sure if I could ever do that. Talk to a stranger about my life."
Snape studied him for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he said, "That is rather the point, Potter."
Harry shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'll get through." He sighed.
"Your face tells me you haven't slept even yesterday." Snape said softly. "And I can bet 10 galleons you haven't had breakfast today."
"Am I that predictable?" Harry joked.
"This is not a joke, Potter." Severus snapped. "This is serious."
This is serious, Harry.
Hermione's words form last night echoed in Harry's mind. "I know. But as I said, I'm not laying my life in front of a total stranger. I just can't."
A tense silence stretched between them before Snape finally sighed, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. "Very well. I tried. But if you insist on self-destruction, I will not waste my breath attempting to dissuade you."
Harry forced a smirk. "What, no heartfelt speech about my untapped potential?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "I am not Dumbledore."
Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
No, Snape was definitely not Dumbledore.
"Why does it matter to you, though?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.
Snape didn't react right away. He simply picked up his cup, taking a measured sip before answering in a tone as dry as ever.
"My daughter is fond of you," he said smoothly. "I am hardly looking forward to consoling her when I have to inform her that you died due to your own reckless stupidity. She throws a very irritating fit."
Harry blinked.
Then, despite himself, he gave a small laugh.
"Right," he said, shaking his head. "So it's Elle I have to thank for your concern."
Snape arched a brow. "Obviously."
Harry smirked, but there was something in Snape's voice—not quite sarcasm, not quite sincerity—that made his stomach twist in a way he couldn't quite name.
Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't only about Elle.
But neither of them was about to say that out loud.
"Well, I guess that settles the issue." Harry said and stood up. "I'll leave you to your weekend plans."
He walked to the door but before he could open it, Snape's voice stopped him.
"I might have not seen it in the past five years, Potter, but…now I admit I was wrong," He said. "You have had a life full of tragedies. If not a mind healer, my door is open."
Harry smiled to himself and left without a reply.
A/N: Leave a review!