A dull ache pulsed behind Harry's eyes as he stirred awake, the scent of antiseptic potions thick in the air. His mind felt sluggish, weighed down by the remnants of uneasy dreams. He blinked blearily, taking in the white curtains that surrounded his bed, the soft candlelight flickering against the ceiling. The hospital wing.
His fingers twitched against the crisp sheets as memories filtered in.
Sneaking into the third-floor corridor, the vision, the suffocating presence of something that wasn't quite his own. A shiver crawled up his spine at the mere thought of it.
Before he could dwell further, the sharp sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention.
"Awake, are we?" Madam Pomfrey's voice was brisk yet not unkind as she emerged from behind the curtain. She studied him with an appraising look, already pressing a hand to his forehead as if testing for fever. "You gave your friends quite the scare."
Harry sat up slowly, wincing as the stiffness in his muscles protested. "What happened?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "You collapsed and were brought here late last night. Nothing life-threatening, but you were completely unresponsive for quite some time. Frankly, I'd have expected worse given what kind of trouble students usually get into sneaking around where they shouldn't."
Harry wisely said nothing.
The matron sighed, moving to fetch a vial of something faintly glowing. "No sign of curses or external magic affecting you, which is the only reason I'm even considering letting you leave today. But you were in some kind of trance—deeply unconscious but not in distress. It's a wonder your friends managed to get you here in one piece."
Harry swallowed, recalling flashes of Hermione and Neville's worried voices just before he'd blacked out. He took the offered vial, swallowing its contents without protest as a warmth spread through him, clearing the last of the grogginess.
Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes. "If you experience any dizziness, blurred vision, or anything out of the ordinary, you will come straight back here. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She gave him a final, scrutinizing look before sighing. "Fine. You may leave once your friends arrive. They've been pestering me all morning."
Not ten minutes later, Hermione and Neville all but burst through the doors.
"You're awake!" Hermione looked relieved but also worried. "You should have woken up sooner."
"Didn't exactly have a choice," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples.
Neville hovered awkwardly by the bed. "Are you… feeling okay?"
Harry nodded, but Hermione wasn't buying it. "You collapsed, Harry. Just like that. One moment you were fine, and then—" She gestured emphatically. "We couldn't wake you up. Do you remember anything?"
There was a pause.
Harry hesitated, piecing together what he could recall of the vision.
The dim glow of the Mirror of Erised, Quirrell's voice, Snape's cold retorts. But he wasn't ready to say too much yet.
"Bits and pieces," he admitted. "It's… hazy. I think I saw something while I was unconscious."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Like a dream?"
Harry exhaled slowly. "Not exactly."
He could still feel the weight of Snape's glare from the vision and Quirrell's nervous tension, the underlying malice laced within his words. But what unsettled him most was the way Snape had looked at him this morning, like he knew something Harry didn't.
Neville glanced between them uneasily. "Maybe it's got something to do with that room? Or that—" He lowered his voice. "That mirror thing?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.
"Whatever it was, it means something," Hermione said firmly. "We just need to figure out what."
By the time Harry was ready to leave, breakfast was nearly over. He walked alongside Hermione and Neville toward their first class of the day, Charms.
His head still felt a little heavy, his mind wading through the remnants of the vision, but he forced himself to focus.
Hermione, as expected, had been reciting what they'd covered in the last class, eager to ensure Harry hadn't missed anything important.
"Flitwick started demonstrating Summoning Charms, but we won't be practicing them for a while. He said we need more control before attempting it," she explained, adjusting the strap of her book bag. "And he gave an overview of the theory behind how charms interact with intent, which you should probably review—"
"Hermione," Neville interrupted gently. "I think he'll be fine."
Harry shot him a grateful look.
They slipped into the classroom just as students were settling in. Professor Flitwick, perched atop his usual stack of books, clapped his hands together. "Ah, Mr. Potter! Welcome back, welcome back. Feeling better, I hope?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Splendid! Now, let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"
Harry took his seat as the lesson began, though he quickly found it difficult to focus. His mind kept drifting back to Snape.
Something about it was unsettling.
"Harry," Hermione whispered, nudging his arm. "You're holding your wand upside down."
He blinked, glancing down to see that, sure enough, he had been attempting the wand movement completely wrong.
Right. Charms. Not visions.
Flitwick was demonstrating a new spell, and Harry watched carefully as the tiny professor flicked his wand toward a feather. "Oppugno!"
The feather shot forward, striking a target on the far side of the room. Several students murmured in interest.
"This charm is primarily defensive," Flitwick explained, "though it can also be used in certain practical applications. It directs an object of your choosing toward a specific target with controlled force. You won't be sending books flying at your classmates just yet—" He chuckled at his own joke. "—but this will be excellent practice for controlled magical direction."
Harry exchanged a look with Hermione and Neville before turning his attention to his feather.
Whatever was going on with Snape would have to wait.
After class, they had a brief break before Transfiguration, and the three of them found themselves walking the quieter corridors of the castle.
"You were distracted," Hermione noted. "That's not like you."
Harry sighed. There wasn't much use in denying it. "It's just… I think Snape knows something."
Neville frowned. "About what?"
"That's the problem—I don't know."
Hermione chewed her lip in thought. "If he does know something, we need to figure out what. And more importantly—how?"
Harry glanced over his shoulder, feeling the weight of an unseen gaze. He exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah. I think I need to talk to him."
Neville looked alarmed. "Talk to Snape?"
Hermione, however, only nodded. "Carefully. And not right away. If he's noticed something, the last thing you want to do is confirm his suspicions."
Harry had a sinking feeling it was too late for that.
Professor McGonagall's class was as structured and precise as ever, though Harry couldn't help but notice her sharp gaze lingered on him for a fraction longer than usual when they entered.
"Mr. Potter," she said as he took his seat. "A word after class."
A flicker of unease curled in his stomach.
Hermione shot him a meaningful look but said nothing as they turned their attention to today's lesson, transfiguring small objects into protective shields.
Harry managed to keep his focus this time, putting the energy of his lingering thoughts into precise wand movements.
He wasn't as naturally adept at Transfiguration as Hermione, but he could feel the magic responding to his intent, bending and shifting at his command.
By the time the lesson ended, he had successfully transformed his matchstick into a solid, albeit slightly misshapen, metal disc.
As students began filing out, Harry lingered behind. McGonagall watched him carefully, her usual stern expression softening ever so slightly.
"I trust you are feeling better, Potter?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, standing a little straighter.
McGonagall studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes searching his face. "Madam Pomfrey informed me that you were unconscious for quite some time. That must have been… unsettling."
Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how much he should say, but McGonagall didn't seem to be questioning him. "It was strange," he admitted. "But I'm fine now."
She gave a small nod, but her gaze lingered. "If that changes, you will speak to someone. Whether it be myself, Madam Pomfrey, or another professor—do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, surprised by the concern in her voice.
McGonagall pursed her lips, seeming to consider something before finally exhaling. "Very well. Off you go."
Harry hesitated briefly, but when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything else, he nodded and left the classroom.
Outside, Hermione and Neville were waiting.
"Well?" Hermione asked.
Harry shrugged. "She just asked how I was feeling."
Neville looked relieved. "That's… good, right?"
Hermione still looked thoughtful but nodded. "At least she's not suspicious."
Harry wasn't sure if that was true, but for now, it seemed like everyone was watching him.