Chapter 13
As Harry returned to Hogwarts that night, his mind buzzed with thoughts of their first meeting as Dumbledore’s Army. He had gone over the names of his classmates a dozen times in his head—Neville, Ginny, Luna, Cho, and more—and mulled over how they’d structure their training. The more he thought about it, the more determined he became to make the group work, even if it meant taking on the responsibility of teaching them himself. But amidst all the planning and excitement, there was a nagging feeling he couldn’t shake. Then it hit him, he had missed an occlumency lesson with Snape.
By the time he made his way down to the dungeons, his nerves were already starting to fray. The door to Snape’s chamber was slightly ajar, a subtle but clear invitation to enter, but Harry hesitated. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever cold retort or disapproving glare Snape had in store for him, his looks and words somehow carrying more weight than they once did. Finally, he knocked softly before stepping into the room.
Snape was at his desk, a faint glow from the candles casting long shadows over his face. He looked up as Harry entered, his dark eyes narrowing immediately.
“You’re late,” Snape said curtly. His voice was calm but carried a sharp edge, making Harry flinch slightly.
“I know,” Harry muttered, standing awkwardly near the door. “I’m sorry.”
Snape set down his quill and leaned back, his gaze never leaving Harry. “That’s the second time this week, Potter. You’ve been distracted lately. Care to explain?”
Harry felt his heart thump heavily in his chest. Snape’s piercing gaze made it difficult to think straight, and he knew he couldn’t tell him about Dumbledore’s Army. The thought of admitting that he was secretly teaching other students defensive spells—when he felt woefully inadequate himself—made Harry’s stomach churn. How could he explain to Snape that he was trying to be stronger, trying to fight back against Voldemort, when he still felt like he was barely keeping his head above water? And he couldn’t reveal the other reason he had been so distracted lately. He was really struggling to find an excuse under the unyielding gaze of the Potions Master.
“I—uh—it’s nothing,” Harry stammered. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”
Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A lot on your mind, or something you're hiding?” he asked, his tone dangerously low. “I’ve noticed you’ve been distant lately. More so than usual.”
Harry’s pulse quickened as Snape’s words hung in the air. Distant. Yes, that was one way to describe how he’d been acting. Every time he was near Snape, his emotions became a tangled mess, confusion flooding him when his eyes met Snape’s sharp, unreadable gaze.
“I’m not hiding anything,” Harry said quickly, though even he didn’t believe the words as they left his mouth.
Snape’s lips thinned, and for a long moment, he simply studied Harry in that unnerving way that made Harry feel like he was being stripped bare. The room felt too quiet, the tension between them thickening with every passing second.
“I won't press you any more for now." Snape relented, noting how Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "It is only that you’ve been more distracted than usual during lessons. And when you miss them...” Snape paused. "Well, you can't blame me if I become concerned."
Harry felt a bit guilty at those words, and his heart panged. "I am sorry." Harry said, and Snape's gaze softened.
"Hmm." Snape hummed as he set his quill down flatly beside him. "Come sit Potter, there is something we must discuss."
Harry's chest tightened as he sat at the chair across from Snape. It had been some time since he was this close to the man, and although there was a desk between them, for some reason, Harry was awfully conscious of their proximity.
"It's been a long while since you've had a nightmare.” Snape stated.
Harry blinked, caught off guard. It was true—he hadn’t had one of his usual terrifying dreams of Voldemort in weeks. But hearing Snape mention it made the realization sink in more deeply.
“Has it?” Harry muttered, though it was more of a rhetorical question to himself. The nightmares had been such a constant part of his life lately, but their absence had almost gone unnoticed, overshadowed by everything else.
“Yes,” Snape said, his gaze unwavering. “Which is why I believe it may be time for you to return to your dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.”
Harry’s breath hitched in his throat, and he stared at Snape in disbelief. *What?*
“Return to Gryffindor?” Harry repeated, his voice thick with confusion and something that felt dangerously close to hurt. “But... why?”
Snape’s trained expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw as he answered. “Despite your proclivity towards tardiness and absenteeism, your progress in Occlumency has been sufficient. I do not believe you need to remain here any longer.”
Harry’s mind raced, and a tight knot began to form in his chest. He should have felt relieved—being back with Ron and Hermione in the common room, free from the constant pressure of Snape’s scrutinizing presence, his indiscernible feelings—but the thought of leaving Snape’s side made him feel… distressed.
“I would have thought you’d be eager to return.” Snape added, noting the suitably long silence between his announcement and Harry’s response.
“But I thought…” Harry began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words. He didn’t know how to explain the strange connection he had started to feel with Snape, or how comforting—albeit confusing—it had become to know that Snape cared for him, in whatever way that meant.
Snape’s eyes darkened slightly, his face unreadable. “You thought what, Potter?”
Harry felt a surge of emotion well up inside him. “I thought you said you cared for me!” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and immediately, his face burned with embarrassment. Snape’s expression finally shifted to one of surprise at the words.
Harry hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, so vulnerable and childish, but now the words hung in the air between them, raw and exposed. “I mean, I thought that you would help me fight against him.” Harry added, attempting to cover for his outburst.
“I do care, Potter,” Snape said, his voice low and deliberate. “That does not change the fact that you are no longer in immediate danger from the Dark Lord’s influence. For now, at least, you are capable of managing on your own.”
Harry’s heart sank. That was it? Just like that, Snape was sending him away? After everything that had happened, after all the strange, confusing feelings that had begun to swirl between them, Snape was ready to cast him aside, as if none of it had ever mattered?
“I… I don’t want to leave,” Harry muttered, the words barely audible, but Snape heard him all the same.
“Why?” Snape asked, his voice softer now. He leaned forward slightly, and Harry could feel his gaze searching him for the answer, unyielding. “Why don’t you want to leave, Potter?”
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. How could he explain the strange pull he felt toward Snape, the way his heart raced whenever they were alone together? How could he make sense of the warmth he felt when Snape showed even the slightest bit of concern for him?
“I don’t know,” Harry whispered, feeling utterly defeated. “I just... don’t.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them stretching on like a taut string, ready to snap. Harry felt his chest tighten, the weight of everything—the unsaid words, the unacknowledged feelings—pressing down on him.
Finally, Snape broke the silence, his voice quiet but firm. “Potter… whatever you’re feeling right now, you must learn to confront it. Avoiding it will only make things more difficult for you in the end.”
Harry swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict. He couldn’t face it—not now. Not with everything else going on, not with Voldemort still out there, waiting for him to fail.
“I’ll move back to the common room,” Harry said quietly, though it felt like the words were cutting him from the inside out. He couldn’t think of a good reason to stay, no matter how much his heart protested.
Snape didn’t respond for a moment, simply watching Harry with that inscrutable gaze of his. Then, with a slight nod, he said, “Very well.”
Harry stood from the chair and lingered for a moment, feeling lost, feeling as though he had just made a decision without fully considering his options, but what choice did he have?
"Remain here tonight," Snape said, his voice dropping into a low, almost exhausted tone. “It is already late, and students shouldn't be wandering the corridors.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, but nodded and made his way toward the bed that had become his—situated across from Snape’s own. There was something different in the air tonight, something heavy between them that neither could define.
Snape extinguished the candles, plunging the room into darkness. The only sound was the faint rustle of bed linens as they each settled in, attempting to sleep amidst their shared sorrows and confusion.
Harry stared up at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with unresolved thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Snape had said earlier—about leaving. It made his chest feel tight, like something precious was slipping away from him, though he didn’t fully understand why.
As the hours passed, exhaustion finally took over, and Harry drifted into an uneasy sleep.
From his own bed, Snape lay still, listening to the steady, rhythmic rising and falling of Harry’s chest. The sound was almost soothing in its familiarity.
He’s getting some rest, Snape thought quietly to himself.
He turned his head slightly, and in the faint moonlight that filtered through the window, he could just barely make out the silhouette of Harry’s form under the blankets. With a quiet exhale, Snape slipped out of his bed, his feet making no sound on the stone floor. He walked slowly toward Harry’s bedside, his movements careful, deliberate.
Snape knelt down, his back pressed against the bed frame, and leaned his head back onto the mattress. Every small movement Harry made caused the bed to shift slightly, and Snape could feel it through the fibers, a gentle reminder that Harry was there, alive, and safe for the moment.
In the darkness, Snape allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. His hand rested lightly on the edge of the bed as he whispered, his voice almost too soft to hear.
“I don’t want you to leave either, Harry.”
It was a rare moment, and though Harry was asleep, somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, Snape’s voice echoed.