Chapter 14
Harry awoke feeling groggy and out of sorts. The remnants of a dream clung to him, fragments of words he couldn’t quite piece together. Yet, one thing was clear—the voice in his head.
Harry.
He could hear it so clearly, as if Snape had said it only moments ago. But it had only happened just that once, when the professor was pressing him for answers about his injured hand. The way it was said this time though—so softly, almost tenderly—made Harry’s cheeks warm to the touch.
But it was just a dream.
He repeated this to himself throughout the day as it snuck its way back to the front of his mind, distracting him during lessons and clouding his thoughts. Every time he tried to push it aside, the sound of Snape’s voice came rushing back, a mix of comfort and confliction, leaving him strangely unsettled.
By the end of the day, he was exhausted by his inner battle and Harry found himself packing up his things and preparing to move back to Gryffindor Tower, just as Snape had suggested. He lingered a moment longer in the dimly lit chambers, taking in the familiar surroundings that had become unexpectedly comfortable for him. A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, but he felt he had no choice, so finally, he left.
His first night back in Gryffindor Tower was filled with laughter and time spent catching up with his classmates. Ron and Hermione were especially thrilled to have him back, and the trio spent the evening eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and swapping stories about classes. For the first time in a long while, Harry allowed himself to relax, to laugh, and enjoy the company of his friends.
But when he finally lay down in his familiar four-poster bed, sleep refused to come. The dormitory was just as it had always been—warm, comforting, safe. But something was missing. An ache formed deep inside him, a gnawing sense of loneliness he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t felt this way in months, not since he began staying with Snape.
Harry shifted restlessly under the blankets, his mind drifting back to Snape, to the strange connection they had formed over the last few weeks.
Why am I thinking about him? Harry wondered, frustrated and confused. But the more he tried to push the thoughts away, the more they came flooding back.
He remembered the way Snape had cared for him when he returned from Umbridge’s office. How he held his hand and tended his wound.
Harry...
The sudden memory made Harry’s heart race, and he felt an inexplicable longing, a wish that Snape were there. But why? Why did he feel this way? It didn’t make sense. Snape was harsh, cold, distant. And yet… Harry had come to trust him, to rely on him in ways he hadn’t realized before.
He lay awake all night, his thoughts completely occupied by his confusion and longing, until the pale light of dawn crept through the curtains.
At breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, attempting to appear normal despite the exhaustion that tugged at his every thought.
Across the room, Snape sat at the staff table, his expression as aloof and stern as ever. But there was something different—Harry noticed the faint shadows under Snape’s eyes, much like his own.
Their glances met briefly, and Harry felt a sudden jolt run up his spine, though Snape gave no indication that he had noticed.
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, frowning as she looked between him and the staff table.
Harry tore his gaze away from Snape, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, though he didn’t feel fine at all.
Later that afternoon, Harry led the first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army in the Room of Requirement. The excitement and determination in the faces of his classmates spurred him on, giving him a renewed sense of purpose. He taught them basic defensive spells, techniques to protect themselves in duels, and by the end of the lesson, several of the students—Neville especially—complimented him on his teaching.
It felt good to help them, to know that he was preparing them for what lay ahead, even if he wasn't fully convinced of the effectiveness of his teachings. As the others left the room leaving Harry on his own again, he couldn’t help but feel a strange emptiness settle over him.
After a while stooped in thought, Harry stepped out of the Room of Requirement, the heavy door closing softly behind him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The first Dumbledore’s Army meeting had gone well, better than he’d hoped, but something still weighed on his mind that he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried to focus on the task at hand.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed the figure standing in the shadows at the far end of the corridor until he was almost upon him.
"Potter."
Harry froze, his heart leaping into his throat. His eyes snapped up, and there, half-hidden in the dim light, was Snape, his black robes flowing about him as he stepped forward.
“What are you doing here?” Snape asked, his tone probing. His dark eyes flicked over Harry’s face, his brow furrowing slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the Astronomy Tower for your next class?”
Harry blinked, caught off guard. He’d completely lost track of time. “I, uh…” He stammered, shifting his weight awkwardly. “I just needed a quiet place to be, that’s all.”
Snape’s gaze lingered on him, assessing, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought he might press further. But instead, Snape’s expression softened—just slightly—and his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
“You look tired,” Snape remarked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Have you slept properly?”
Harry’s stomach tightened, and he averted his gaze, focusing on a crack in the stone floor rather than meeting Snape’s piercing eyes.
Had he slept properly? No. Not at all. But how could he say that when Snape had been the only thing on his mind all night? The sound of Snape’s voice saying his name, the weight of everything that had transpired between them—it had kept him awake, tangled in thoughts he didn’t fully understand.
“I…” Harry swallowed, feeling his face flush. “I slept… fine,” he mumbled, though even he knew it was unconvincing. He shifted his weight again, suddenly hyper aware of Snape’s gaze fixed on him.
“Liar,” Snape said softly, his eyes boring into Harry’s. He took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’ve seen you tired before, Potter. You’ve hardly slept at all.”
Harry felt his chest tighten, a strange mix of guilt and anxiety swirling in his gut.
Snape raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Why are you avoiding the truth?” he asked, his tone neither harsh nor mocking, but oddly patient.
Harry’s throat felt dry, his mind scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t reveal too much. “I just… I couldn’t sleep, that’s all,” he finally admitted, though it felt like a gross understatement of the storm of emotions that had kept him awake. “It’s… nothing.”
Snape regarded him silently for a moment, his dark eyes searching Harry’s face. There was something about the way Snape looked at him, something that made Harry feel exposed, vulnerable, as though Snape could see straight through him to the thoughts he was so desperately trying to hide.
“I see,” Snape said at last, though there was a note of something in his voice Harry couldn’t quite place. “You do realize you’re no good to anyone, least of all yourself, if you continue to neglect rest?”
Harry nodded numbly, but his mind was still racing. The professor had been cold, distant, sometimes outright cruel in the past. But now… now it was different. Harry had seen glimpses of something more, something that left complicated feelings inside.
Before Harry could say anything else, Snape took a step back, his gaze softening slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. “Get to your class, Potter,” he said, his voice returning to its usual firmness. “And try to sleep tonight.”
Harry nodded again, though his mind was a blur of unanswered questions. As he turned to leave, Snape’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Potter,” Snape called out, his voice softer than before. Harry glanced over his shoulder, his heart pounding.
“In the future, if you need a quiet place to be…” Snape’s words hung in the air for a moment before he finished, “You know where to find it.”
Harry swallowed hard, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. He nodded once more, then quickly turned away, hurriedly walking down the corridor with a mixture of relief and embarrassment twisting inside him.
Why did Snape always leave him feeling like this?