Unforgivable Umbridge

Chapter 14

Down in the dungeons, the air was thick with tension. The cold stone walls seemed to absorb the emotions of the room. Severus sat opposite Harry, his usual inscrutable expression giving little away. However, before he could delve into the situation at hand, a silvery otter Patronus burst into the room. It was Filius Flitwick's. "Severus," the Patronus relayed in Flitwick's distinctive, high-pitched voice, "a staff meeting has been convened in one hour. Ensure you are present. The twig has snapped."

Snape nodded, acknowledging the message even though the Patronus couldn't truly respond. As it dissolved into wisps of silver mist, Harry's emerald eyes, which had momentarily widened in surprise, settled on Snape, full of questions.

"Professor Umbridge appears to be... dealt with," Snape remarked, his voice dripping with a hint of satisfaction.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching beneath the table. "Does that mean I can return to my dormitory?" His voice was subdued, hinting at a sadness that Severus caught but chose to ignore momentarily.

"Not yet," Snape said, peering down at Harry's hands, which where slightly shaking. "We need to address this first."

Harry's hands seemed distant to him, as if they were objects that didn't belong to him, while his thoughts swirled with emotions, doubts, and recollections. He was deep within the belly of the castle, in the dungeons, where the chill from the stones seeped into the room and the smell of dampness lingered.

This room, this specific location, held a peculiar safety that the main halls and corridors of Hogwarts lacked, especially considering recent events. However, the irony wasn't lost on Harry. The dungeons, Severus's domain, which he once equated with danger, had become his refuge.

He stole another glance at Severus, who sat in stillness. Severus's black eyes seemed to be miles away, yet Harry felt they perceived everything. Recalling Dobby's words, Harry was struck with an epiphany; despite their differences, Snape had been his silent guardian. The realization was overwhelming, causing a rush of gratitude mixed with confusion. Should he trust Snape entirely? Share what was happening with the seventh year Ravenclaws?

Deeply engrossed in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed Severus shifting in his seat, leaning forward slightly. "Potter," Severus's voice was low, soft with an uncharacteristic gentleness, "you seem distracted. Anything you wish to discuss?"

Harry reached for his fork, using it as a means to avoid direct eye contact, pushing food around his plate in nervous patterns. "It's nothing," he mumbled, but his quivering voice betrayed the depth of his emotions.

Severus, with a sudden, uncharacteristic move, reached over the table, placing his hand over Harry's, effectively halting his restless movements. The touch was light, but its significance was profound. It was a rare gesture of comfort, a silent plea for truth. Harry, taken aback by the warmth of Severus's touch, looked up, his eyes meeting those of the Potions Master.

The two held a gaze that felt like an eternity, a wordless conversation in itself. The dungeon's air grew heavy, as memories and unsaid confessions lingered.

With a deep sigh, Severus finally voiced the concerns that had been troubling him. "When I reviewed your scans last night, I noticed certain injuries that don't match the accounts you've given about your relatives." Snape paused, measuring the weight of his next words. "Is that what's been troubling you?"

Harry looked away, trying to hide the surge of emotions threatening to spill from his eyes. He shook his head, a futile attempt to dismiss the topic. Yet, the minuscule glimmer of fear in his eyes was not lost on Severus.

Snape sighed again, a sound filled with weariness. "Madam Pomfrey will be here shortly to tend to your hands," he said gently, the words carrying both reassurance and a promise of protection.