The bathroom was silent except for the slow drip of a leaky faucet, the dim morning light filtering in through a high window. Harry stood before the cracked mirror, his breath steady as he pulled the bandages tight around his chest, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. His school robes lay folded on the sink beside him, his tie draped over the edge. He exhaled sharply, adjusting the wrappings, determined to get it right.
It was too early for anyone else to be awake, which was exactly why Harry had chosen this time. The castle was still steeped in quiet, the halls empty, the morning air cool against his skin. He had learned to be careful to plan around others, to avoid questions he wasn’t t ready to answer. The dormitory was too risky, the showers too open, and so he had settled on the solitude of the abandoned bathroom on the third floor. Here, at least, he could have a few moments to himself.
Harry had learned quickly that bandages were far from ideal, but they were the best he could do. A proper binder was out of the question, too expensive and too difficult to explain if found by someone like his aunt or uncle. Bandages, on the other hand, were easy to come by and easy to pass off as something innocuous. No one questioned a Quidditch player keeping them in his trunk. Still, he knew the risks. He felt it in the tightness of his ribs, the way his breathing sometimes came short after a long day. But the alternative walking through the halls, awkward in his own body, was worse. The discomfort was a small price to pay for the sense of normalcy, for the fleeting moments when he felt like he could be himself.
The door creaked open, and Harry froze, his breath caught in his throat. He didn't dare move, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t notice him standing by the farthest sink, his hands still awkwardly clutching the bandages. The soft shuffle of footsteps grew louder, but no one spoke, and Harry’s s heart raced in his chest, painfully loud in the silence.
The person stepped into view, and Harry's stomach dropped. It was Snape, his dark cloak sweeping silently behind him. His face, as always, was a mask, stern, unreadable, with sharp features and deep, calculating eyes. His presence was imposing, filling the space with an air of authority. Snape paused, his gaze locking onto Harry with an intensity that made the air feel heavier, his expression unreadable but not unobservant.
“Potter, what are you do-.“ Snape began, his voice laced with confusion, but the words faltered as his gaze shifted down to Harry’s hands, still resting awkwardly on his chest. The realization flickered across Snape’s face, a brief, silent moment of understanding before he quickly masked it with his usual coldness. “Oh,”he murmured quietly his expression quickly returned to its neutral, impassive state, though the weight of the silence between them lingered.
He looked back at Harry, a slight anger settling in his eyes. Harry couldn't tell what it was directed at, him, the situation, or something else. The emotion lingered there, unresolved, as Snape’s gaze held Harry’s, his expression still and unreadable, yet undeniably intense. The silence between them stretched on, charged with tension.
Snape’s gaze didn’t waver, but then, unexpectedly, he spoke. “If I am correct, you live with your aunt, don’t you Potter?” His voice was flat, but there was an edge to the question, as though he were probing for something more, something hidden beneath the surface. The anger that had briefly flickered in his eyes seemed to have been replaced by a new intensity, one that made Harry feel like he was being examined.
“Uh yes, sir,” Harry replied, his voice unsteady as he tried to make sense of the question. He didn’t know what else to say, the words feeling inadequate and strange in his mouth. His mind raced, but he couldn’t quite figure out why Snape would ask something so pointed, especially now.
“Put your shirt on and follow me.” Snape commanded, his tone sharp, the flicker of anger still simmering in his voice. Harry hurriedly tugged his shirt on, feeling the weight of Snape’s presence like a pressure on his back. Without a word, Snape turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway, his footsteps quick and purposeful. Harry scrambled to keep up, the tension between them thickening with each step, unsure of where Snape was leading him or what to expect next.
Snape led Harry through the corridors in tense silence, eventually stopping in front of a portrait of a leopard lounging lazily in a tree. The creature’s golden eyes seemed to watch them, its posture relaxed yet alert. Snape didn’t hesitate, speaking the password in a low, deliberate voice. “Metamorphosis.” The leopard’s eyes gleamed, and with a soft rustle, it shifted, allowing the frame to swing open. Snape stepped inside, motioning for Harry to follow without another word.
Harry stepped inside and immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. Snape gave him a curt nod, his voice low as he instructed, “Wait here.†He disappeared through a door on the far side of the room, leaving Harry standing in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings. Harry took a moment to look around and quickly realized it was Snape’s personal chambers. The realization caught him off guard, he had expected it to be filled with strange jars and dark, ominous objects. Instead, the room felt unexpectedly warm. Skylights high on one wall bathed the space in soft light, which spilled over an abundance of plants that filled every available surface. Vines clung to the shelves stacked with ancient books, and the earth tones of the room’s deep browns and muted greens gave it a surprisingly grounded, almost peaceful ambiance. It was nothing like the cold, sterile potions dungeon Harry was used to.
Snape returned a few moments later, carrying something folded in his hands. He stepped forward and handed it to Harry without a word. Harry’s eyes widened as he unfolded it, realizing it was a binder. Black, sturdy, and far different from the makeshift bandages he had been using. Snape’s voice was calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.
“It was my old one.” he explained. “It has a charm on it that can disguise it as a t-shirt if you don’t want your aunt to find it. You shouldn’t be using bandages. It can really mess up your chest. Don’t be stupid, Bind safely.”
As Harry looked up at Snape, it clicked. the anger he had seen earlier wasn’t just frustration; it was concern. Concern for Harry’s well-being, for the harm he was doing to himself.
“Thank you.”
Snape gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, as if that was the only acknowledgment he was willing to offer. “You can change in there.” he said, tilting his head toward a door off to the side. His tone was neutral, but there was no mistaking the underlying insistence, Snape expected him to use it.
Harry hesitated for only a second before nodding and stepping toward the door. As he slipped inside, closing it behind him, he let out a slow breath. The binder felt heavier in his hands now, not just fabric, but something more. An unspoken understanding, a quiet act of care from someone he never would have expected it from.
The small room was dimly lit, a simple washroom with a mirror above the sink. Harry set the binder down carefully, almost reverently, before reaching for the bandages still wrapped tightly around his chest. His fingers worked quickly, unwinding them, the familiar pressure easing with each loop removed. He caught his reflection in the mirror, red marks where the fabric had pressed too hard, faint bruising along his ribs. Snape had been right. He had known bandages weren’t safe, but seeing the damage like this made it feel more real.
He glanced down at the binder, then took a deep breath and pulled it on. The fabric was snug but supportive, fitting in a way that felt right, far better than the constricting, uneven pressure of the bandages. He adjusted it, turning slightly in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, his chest felt settled, secure, but not crushed.
Harry stared at his reflection, his hands hovering at his sides. His chest had never bothered him much when he was younger, not until this year. His second year at Hogwarts had been the first time the discomfort became something he couldn’t ignore. At first, it had been small things, the way his shirt clung after Quidditch practice, the way his silhouette looked in the mirror when he changed. But as the months passed, the feeling grew heavier, an ever-present wrongness pressing down on him.
Now, with only a week left before summer break, the thought of returning to the Dursleys like this made his stomach twist. At Hogwarts, he could manage, he could wrap himself up, keep his head down, focus on magic and Quidditch and anything else that distracted him. But at Privet Drive, there would be no escape. Just long days in a body that felt less and less like his own.
He pulled his shirt back over his head and stepped back into the main room, feeling the binder settle around him. Snape was standing by the window, his back to him, but when Harry emerged, he turned sharply.
“Listen carefully, Potter.” Snape said, his voice firm. “You can’t wear that binder for extended periods, the maximum amount is 7 hours. Never sleep in it, and don’t wear it if you’re engaging in anything physically demanding, a sports bra is a safer option for that. You’re putting unnecessary strain on your body, and if you don’t bind safely, you could end up with broken ribs, damaged tissue, or worse. It can affect your breathing and posture, and in some cases, it can lead to long-term damage that could be irreversible.”
Harry nodded, the weight of Snape’s words settling in. He had never considered the long-term damage before, but now it felt real.
“Good.” Snape said, his voice softer than usual. He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. “If… If there’s ever anything you need to discuss regarding this matter, Potter, you can come to me.”
Harry blinked, surprised by Snape’s unexpected offer. He wasn’t sure how to respond, unsure if he had even heard correctly. Snape, of all people, was offering help? It felt out of place, and Harry wasn't sure he could trust it completely. He glanced at Snape, whose face was as unreadable as ever, but there was something different in his eyes. After a beat of silence, Harry simply nodded.
“Thanks, sir.” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.
Snape gave a sharp nod, his usual stern expression returning, as if to shield whatever softness had briefly flickered through. And without another word, he turned and walked to the door. Harry stood there for a moment before he followed, the weight of the binder around his chest feeling strangely comforting for the first time.