Chapter Text
Harry had spent the last week sinking deeper into himself, further than he'd ever thought possible. He hadn’t gone near Severus since his outburst—the one where his emotions had shattered, spilling over the edge in a mess of raw desperation. He had decided not to go after that, not to apologize, not to reach out. And in doing so, he had unknowingly sealed himself in a self-imposed prison, only it wasn’t made of stone. It was made of his own spiraling thoughts, his own guilt, and the incessant pressure that never seemed to lift.
The first two nights without sleep had been hell. His body felt like a hollow vessel, exhausted and broken, but unable to shut down. His mind churned with dark thoughts—memories of the war, of his death, of everything he’d lost. And then, there were the eyes. Those black eyes. Every time he caught Severus watching him from across the Great Hall, Harry fought to keep the bile from rising in his throat, fought to hold back tears that threatened to spill. His heart felt too heavy, too full of things he couldn’t name, things he couldn’t ever explain. Guilt, yes, but it was so much more than that. Self-loathing, confusion, anger, regret—each one pressing against him from every side until he wasn’t sure where one feeling ended and the next began.
He was suffocating, trapped in his own skin, barely holding it together. His breath was always shallow, his chest always tight. It was a constant battle to stay functional, to keep from crumbling completely. And when he finally felt he could break no more, it was no surprise when Minerva called him to her office.
"Harry, dear, come in, come in," she greeted him, her voice warm, though there was an undertone of concern. She guided him inside, her hand resting lightly on the small of his back as she ushered him toward the chair. "Sit, sit. I know it’s terribly cold outside."
Harry didn’t protest, letting himself fall into the familiar armchair with a weight he couldn’t shake. He pasted a smile on his face, the kind he had become all too good at over the years. "Did you need something, Professor?" he asked, his voice rough. "If it’s about the roof, I did a check-up last night. Everything's fine, except for one section near Gryffindor Tower. I’ll get to it soon."
Minerva nodded, but there was something more to her gaze. She sat down in front of him, her eyes sharp, a little too knowing. "That’s very good to hear, Harry, but I wanted to talk about you, actually. I’ve noticed you’ve been doing a lot at night," she said, her voice soft, almost maternal. It made Harry want to squirm, but he held himself still. "Like fixing the roof in the middle of the night."
Harry swallowed, but his throat felt tight, like he couldn’t get enough air. "I’ve been fine," he lied, his words tasting bitter the moment they left his lips. He was bad at lying—he knew that, Minerva knew that—but it didn’t stop him from trying.
Minerva studied him for a moment, then gave a small, amused huff. "Yes, I can tell. Definitely by the bags under your eyes. You’re a tripping hazard for anyone within a meter of you, Potter." Her dry humor was an attempt to lighten the mood, but it didn’t quite reach Harry.
"Fine," he muttered, looking away. "I’ve been having trouble sleeping." The words hung in the air between them, and he could see the worry flicker in Minerva’s eyes.
She leaned forward, her expression shifting into something more serious. "Oh, Harry, why didn’t you say? You know we’ve got a fine potion master here at Hogwarts. I’ll send for Severus immediately. I’m sure he has something that will help you." Before Harry could protest, she had already called for a house-elf, and Harry could do nothing but watch in silent defeat as the elf scurried off to fetch Severus.
Harry sank lower into the chair, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
Minerva gave him a satisfied smile when she turned back toward him, her eyes gleaming with purpose. "Now, Harry, I've been thinking about making some changes to the Hogwarts Houses and I was wondering what your opinion would be."
But Harry didn’t hear her words. His thoughts were consumed with the impending moment—the moment when Severus would step through the door. He could feel the weight of it, a tension building in his chest, a gnawing feeling in his stomach. He wanted to flee, to get away from the suffocating room, but his mind reprimanded him. Show them you're fine, show them you're fine.
Minerva's voice blurred in the background as Harry forced himself to nod, his eyes fixed on her lips moving, trying to pretend he was paying attention. And then, before he realized what was happening, the door opened. A soft knock he didn’t hear, a creak of hinges, the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. The warmth of the room seemed to intensify, a soft flutter of wind as a hand came down on the backrest beside Harry's shoulder.
Then, that voice—the one he had never stopped longing to hear.
"What is it, Minerva?"
Harry gasped, a sharp breath catching in his throat. He threw his head back instinctively, the top of his skull connecting with Severus' stomach with a dull thud. He froze for a moment, eyes wide, and then slowly, he tilted his head to look up, meeting Severus’ gaze.
"Severus," he whispered, his voice almost a tremble. There was a sudden weight in his chest, the pressure of weeks of keeping everything locked down, but as he looked at the man standing there, it felt like something inside of him cracked open, releasing a flood of relief. He had been foolish to keep away, to let the guilt win. He had been a wounded animal, licking his wounds, but now—now he realized what he should've have done instead.
"Potter." Severus' eyes flickered, unreadable, but there was something there—something unsaid. It made Harry's heart race, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t shy from the intensity in those dark, bottomless eyes.
Minerva broke the tension with a knowing glint in her eyes, her voice soft but still heavy with concern. "Well, Severus, our boy here has been struggling with sleep for days. I was wondering if you could help him with one of your potions. I can’t stand seeing him wither away like this. He’s been working so hard on repairing the castle."
Harry flinched, though he knew the words were true. He had been working tirelessly, been thinking non-stop, too stubborn to admit how badly he needed rest. The mention of his fatigue and problems, of how it had gotten to the point where even Minerva noticed, stung. His mind briefly flashed to the brokenness he had felt, the weight of his own guilt, but then a warm hand gently cupped his neck, a thumb rubbing softly along the skin there. He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes until the comforting touch grounded him.
Severus’ voice was soft but laced with a quiet sarcasm. "I'm sure I can find something for him. Although, I'm doubtful it will meet his standards." Severus raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a subtle smile. "Merlin knows he must get the highest quality now for free, doesn't he?"
Harry shivered at the words, at the quiet, teasing tone that made him feel a flicker of warmth in his chest despite everything. He swallowed and couldn't resist the temptation to play along. "Are you saying I won’t have to do or pay something in return for tonight?" His voice was a touch lighter, a hint of amusement breaking through the heaviness in his chest.
Severus' lips curled again, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.