Nest in the Shadows

by AliceWonderer2

Summary:

When his name is called for the Triwizard Tournament, Harry loses just about everything. His friends abandon him, in the midst of the chaos. Left drowning in his own mind, his omega’s instincts twist into despair. In a moment of desperation, he gives his nest, his only comfort to Snape. It’s an act meant to hurt, but it may just change everything. Along the way Harry discovers new connections and new unexpected friendships.

Chapter 1: What is in a name

His name rang out, silencing the crowd of onlookers. In that moment, his name echoed in his mind. “Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter.” It was all he could hear: the chatter of the other students, the scraping of the chairs, and McGonagall speaking to him. It was all gone, replaced by his own name. His heart pounded out of his chest; he had to escape, to get out of here before he collapsed under the weight of the stares around him.

Harry’s feet felt leaden to the floor. Turning to his friends, he hoped that they would provide support and help him get out of there. He needed them, but when he turned, their eyes and emotions showed the truth.  Ron's anger and resentment pouring out of every pore. Hermione showed confusion and hurt, reflected in her eyes. They were the only safe people, and yet he couldn’t turn to them. Harry was truly alone.

The dark spots were at the corner of his vision, clouding the edges. Harry was going to pass out soon, and he refused to do so in front of everyone. Finding all the strength he had left in his limbs, he managed to turn and stumble towards the main doors. He needed to get out to escape; it was his only focus. Once on the other side, the doors slammed behind him, locking and protecting him from the rest of the school. Hogwarts always had a soft spot for the young omega.

Harry ran. Ran as fast as he could to one of the dark corners of the castle he had found a few years earlier. He didn’t have to think about it; he moved on autopilot. All around the castle were little spots just deep enough for a person to hide behind if they curled up, and if you weren’t sure where to look, they couldn’t be seen. Harry had found many such spots over the years. The twins are the only ones able to find him. They weren’t his concern right now, anyway; it didn’t matter if they saw him, they would just leave after making sure he was still in one piece.

Coming up to one such spot, it was behind a pillar. It looked from the casual observer to just meet the wall, but looks were deceiving. Just a smidge of magic, and one could wedge oneself between the pillar and the wall. See that the pillar was hollow and much bigger on the inside. Harry had hung out here before; he sometimes did his homework in this spot. Hermione would never find him here; she would always kidnap Ron and him to the library. He hated the library and struggled to actually do homework and study in there. Once he started escaping to places to be alone, his grades improved.

Harry sat now, catching his breath. Very few could find him this time; he had all the time to process everything that had conspired moments before. One, his name got called for the tournament of death. Two, his friends are mad at him, as if it was his fault. Three, he freaked out so bad that his magic had responded to the school and had locked the dining room doors. He had heard thunks from people trying to open the door.

He was alone now; his friends were no longer. They always pulled away when things truly got hard. Even when they went with him, they still blamed him afterward in private. They always seemed to turn against him; it was always his fault. They were good people, and children just like him, and yet he kept dragging them off into danger. No wonder they were mad. Maybe if he sat here just a bit longer, it would give them more time to cool down.

Chapter 2: The Price of Being Alone

A few hours passed. Letting his mind settle before returning to the chaos of the castle. He needed the quiet and the solitude. Harry knew it would be the last he’d have in a while. What he craved more than anything was his friends. Their warmth and knowledge held him together like glue. Keeping him sane. Ron gave good hugs when he was inclined. All he had to do was put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and the noise in his head silenced.  

Peeking out his head to see if anyone was close by, finding no one, he slid out of the column. Leaving the safety of the hidden spot, he felt weirdly exposed. Harry lucked out not running into people on his way up to Gryffindor’s tower. The luck ran out at the portrait hole.

Reaching the entrance, the fat lady stared at him. She was one of the chattiest portraits he knew, and yet she said nothing. Didn’t even wait for the password; the portrait opened to reveal most of the Gryffindor house gathered in the common room.

Everyone stared: some in betrayal, some in a cold anger, some in wary reverence. They were celebrating the thought that a Gryffindor entered the race. That it wouldn’t just be a Hufflepuff representing the school. Walking past some of the ones who were excited, it felt as if he was truly the only one to be excited for Hufflepuff in the whole tower. A thought Harry truly didn’t understand. Harry knew almost nothing about the thing they were celebrating, as he had left, but that blatant reaction did not deter his housemates. Whatever they were cheering for, it wasn’t him.

Amidst the crowd, Harry felt suffocated and, at the same time, depressingly alone in a room full of people, some of whom he would call friends.

All Harry wanted to do was run into his friends’ arms, to gain a modicum of relief. It soothed him and his omega side; it didn’t matter that his friends hadn’t quite come into theirs yet. Harry was just an early bloomer for once. People often find out between their fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays. Harry guessed he was just lucky for once.  Being an omega didn’t suck too badly yet. It made him more aware, more emotional, more desperate for warmth and closeness in a world that rarely offered either. It felt right, like it was calling him for years, and it just finally clicked into place.  Harry had to hide all the stronger emotions and changes from his relatives. No one knew what Aunt Petunia would say if she knew. At least the heats didn’t start till he was an adult; it was a small mercy.  

Walking up to the dorm room, he felt as if he were walking to his execution. Ron was there waiting for him. The anger in his scent hit before his voice did.

“How dare you. Why didn’t you tell me how to put my name in the goblet as well?” Ron’s words came out almost as a growl. Spitting out the statement the moment Harry set foot into the room.

The growl caused Harry to freeze, sensing too much hostility coming from the other boy.

“I didn’t, Ron. I promise I don’t know how my name got called. I don’t want to compete. I just wanted a normal year. You know this.” Harry fought back, trying to keep the despair out of his voice. Knowing tears would only make the person angrier.

Ron snarled, unmoved. “You just wanted attention. You always do. Getting the stone and fighting the snake. you can’t stop throwing yourself into danger so everyone will look at you. It’s all you do. You couldn’t just give me a chance to run in the tournament. No.  It just had to be you, it’s always you. Oh, look at me, a poor omega orphan with nobody to love him. You mess up our lives. I know Hermione agrees, or she would have come to talk to you earlier, wouldn’t she? Look around, she isn’t here.”

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach. There was nothing he could say. Yes, he had seemed to gain even more popularity, but it wasn’t like he wanted any of the attention. And it was true that he had no family to love him, couldn’t even seem to muster a family member who could care a lick about him. It didn’t feel like the whole thing was his fault, but maybe he had just hoped that was the case, perhaps he was just blinded.

Maybe he could just talk to Ron to have him see that he didn’t want this. Opening his mouth, he tried. “Ron...”.

Ron turned his back and started to do his own thing, ignoring Harry. Not willing to listen to the other boy a moment longer after saying his piece. It shut Harry down. He had his best friend just a couple of steps away, but it could have been a thousand miles instead.

He was right, Hermione was brash, and she would have surrounded him the moment she saw him, demanding answers. Ron was right; they both didn’t want to be near him. He had messed up; it didn’t matter that he didn’t put his name in the goblet of fire; he should have done more. Maybe he could have explained better, or just simply declined the moment his name got called. Maybe just maybe he could have prevented it in the first place, never gotten his name called in the first place. That is what he should have been doing; he knew better than to trust adults and the age line. He could have stood guard against someone suspicious, putting a piece of paper with his name on it.

Harry guessed it didn’t matter anymore: his name was called, he did run away, and he didn’t explain well enough to his friends. It was too late; they hated him. This was the end of their friendship. He thought so before in the column, coming up with that conclusion, but there was still a spark of hope that he had been wrong. That spark of fire fizzled out.

Walking to his bed, he closed the curtains, hiding away from anyone and everyone. Being here did help; he had his nest and his little comforts. He had quickly learned to spell a to camouflage his nest to look like a normally made bed, and so no one was the wiser unless they sat in the bed itself. Ron knew of the nest but had never seen it himself because Harry’s omega simply couldn’t stand others near his nest, much less in it.  He had learned the hard way when he ran a fever earlier, and Hermione leaned over the bed’s edge to check his forehead. Harry had growled at her.

The nest was simply just for him, not tainted by the people who used to call him a friend. He had at one point wanted a piece of fabric that smelled like his friends, but it became too stressful to have that scent there, so he quickly removed it. It was a good thing now, as the smell of his friends on his nest would have made him cry harder. With that thought, Harry realized he was crying; tears ran down his face, unable to stop their steady stream.

Why did he have to fail so hard at keeping the only friends he ever had? Harry was nothing without his friends; they were the only ones to keep him sane. Ron was truly and equitably right; he was an omega orphan that no one cared for.

Maybe he shouldn’t be here at the school, but it wasn’t like he had any good place to go to. The only place outside of Hogwarts that felt safe was the Burrow, and without Ron, that was out. So, he had to stay here, curling further in the nest; he felt a calming sensation that only time and space could usually provide. The fabric swaddling him was cool against the hot skin on his face and arms. Harry had always preferred the fluffy blankets to curl up in. It was something about the slight tickle of the fabric that brought his senses to focus on the nest and not on what was happening around him. Before he had even found out about his secondary trait, he was always trying to collect scrap pieces of fabric, or when entering Hogwarts, going to buy a ton of blankets, of which the house elves seemed to bring him a few more every now and then on cold nights or when Harry was upset. They hadn’t this year, probably too afraid to mess up the nest they knew was there.

With a strained laugh, Harry realized this was all he had now, a silly little pile of blankets and pillows with the couple of stuffed animals hidden away in the confines. Even then, it felt unfair; at least they had this. Ron and Hermione were alone in their anger; Harry had dragged them apart. He had more than they did; they weren’t omegas yet, and so they could gain as much comfort from blankets like he did. Harry was such a failure. With the thoughts still slightly spiraling, he fell asleep, tears drying on his pillow.

Chapter 3: Expectation Met

Notes:

So excited for the next chapter. Harry’s about to make some monumental decisions. This one took forever to finish, but it ended up inspiring so many new fic ideas! Just need to see this one through first.

P.S. My chapter lengths need to get consistent cause right now they won't stop getting longer

The sound of voices and shuffling noises woke Harry; the sound-dampening spell around his bed must have worn off sometime during the night. Gathering strength, he sat up and found his glasses on the side of the bed. The day had to start; the last thing he could do was hide away behind his curtains. He could do this. Harry had survived so much worse before he even knew magic existed. Death glares were nothing in comparison.  

Opening the curtains, Dean and Seamus glared at him before turning their backs. The blatant rejection from his dorm mates hit harder than expected.

He swallowed hard. He could do this. 

 

Moving quickly, Harry dressed and rushed to throw everything in his bag. Not caring if it was organized, he wanted to grab and go. He packed everything he could, just so he wouldn't have to come back here.  He just wanted out. The dorm felt too much like hostile territory, and the only time he was coming back was when he could reasonably hide away behind the curtains and burrow into his nest. 

First breakfast. Harry would just have to sit down at the table and eat. Pretending everything was fine. He had it all planned out. All Harry had to do was sit down at the table just a bit farther down; that way, nothing would go wrong.

Ron wouldn't be stuck sitting next to him. Still, it would appear normal to everyone else, the chosen one would just happen to be sitting farther down, no crazy reason at all. Making his way down the table, he found others staring at him. Some whispered to their tablemates, while others spoke much louder about how he had tricked his way into the tournament. That he just didn't have the decency to be truthful about the whole thing. There, he went again, just spreading rumors. After all, the Triwizard Tournament was such a big deal, and there was Harry making a mockery of a prestigious event. 

The death glares were expected, but intense. They radiated energy of hatred towards him in overwhelming waves. Still, it was almost better than those who were overjoyed at his sneaking in, because for some, it soon turned into bitterness after he kept denying it. Finding the twins in the row of people, they felt almost like saviors in their quiet discussion. Maybe eating breakfast with them wouldn't be so bad.

They would definitely be better than forcing Hermione and Ron to sit and eat with him, even for the sake of appearances. It wouldn't be strange just sitting with Ron's brothers, nothing crazy. Then again, maybe that was a worse decision. Ron probably told them about Harry being a terrible person, that they were no longer friends. 

He contemplated turning back, but in his hesitancy, he had gotten too close. George looked up at him, and Fred, noticing the change in focus, looked up to see Harry as well. Both smiled their identical cheshire grins. 

"Oh hoho, look at the boy-who-lived," Fred smiled almost too wide through his statement. "How did you manage to cross the line, little lion?"

Harry stared back at him with dead eyes, unable to spark anymore emotion back at this question. "I didn't." There was truly no point in explaining; no one would believe him anyway.

George looked back, most of the smile slipping. "If you say so, mate" They didn't seem fully convinced, but they didn't bring it up again. Shifting slightly so Harry could sit in between them if he wished. Harry didn't hesitate; he had come too far. Cramming himself between the much taller boys, he tried to hide away. He truly wanted to believe the space between them was a shield no one could penetrate. Not well enough, never well enough.

"So, Harry, why did you do it? Why did you try and get into the tournament? Did you want to win something so badly?" Seamus asked, mocking him. Harry just wanted to eat some toast, maybe stomach some eggs, and get out of there.

It was then that Ron walked in, with ten minutes left of breakfast, and he didn't talk to anyone, brushing off everyone. He still smelled like anger and resentment. He didn't even talk to Hermione, and she just stuck her nose back into her book, ignoring both boys.

Why did he feel silly? He was so attuned to sensing his friends' emotions, as if he could scent them. Why was he so pathetic? He needed to forget them and just move on. All he had to do was look around, and he could see that everyone thought he was lying about not entering his name. Harry just had to get over the fact that no one believed him; they never did and never will.

No one believed him, and the fact that it wasn't just his house stung. The most hostile was Hufflepuff; they were so pissed. The smell of their resentment filled the whole room. Harry couldn't even blame them.

He was stealing the spotlight.

Of course, he was.

The fear inside rekindled; they could take it out on him. They could hurt him, and there wasn't much he could do. Against a whole school, what chance did he have? He was confident he could take on a couple, but still, there were just too many that could destroy him. Not when so many hundreds looked at him like a bug to squash under their boots.

Just make it through classes.

You can do this.

Harry repeated it like a mantra, forcing down the panic in his chest. No one would attack him in public. They wouldn't in public spaces. Just stay out in the open, and maybe, just maybe, he could survive at least this day.

Just keep your head down.

If he stared at his shoes, maybe he wouldn't notice the glares. He could just disappear into the crowd.

 

Walking into potions, Harry just hoped that they would work on their own, and Snape would, for some reason, take pity. Entering the class, Harry sat in the front, away from everyone. Even the clever tended to sit a couple of rows back, away from the bat of the dungeon.

Snape swept into the room, sharp and acrid, stinging the senses. his energy and scent thick with an irritated protectiveness filling the underground space. He spared a dark glance towards Harry's new choice of seat, his mouth deepening its usual frown before he turned away.

"Open your books to page two hundred and thirty-seven". Snape snapped the moment he reached the front of the classroom. "We will be covering the practical applications of the Draught of Lies."

Harry bent over his book, trying to focus. He had read the chapter before class, and yet, even reading it now, the confusion continued. He still stupidly didn't understand it. If Hermione were here, she would have already broken it down into easy steps. But she wasn't, and he would just have one more thing to get used to. Maybe he could find someone else to help, but there was no one to trust after this; everyone was against him.

The class continued on almost without him. Harry wasn't mentally present. He lucked out with it not being a brewing day, but just by a little bit. Snape sneered a bit at first, taunting Harry for not reading the page beforehand (he had). Harry could not speak, and so no answer came.

No matter how many insults and degradations Snape hissed Harry's way, the answer back was only silence.

The class was soon dismissed. Snape tried to give Harry detention, but the boy truly seemed out of it. In a moment of kindness, witnessed by no one, he let the boy slide.

Autopilot kicked in, packing his bag with shaking hands. Harry couldn't do this. It didn't matter what the mantra was; it was impossible. Looking around. The stares and glowers were suffocating whether he saw them or not.

Knowing that his teachers would not let him get away with just skipping, he made his way towards Madam Pomfrey. Harry had seen it before: students would complain of something, and she would let them rest just a little bit longer, hidden away from the world.

Walking into the medical wing, he felt exposed. The echo of his footsteps made the space feel vast. There weren't people around, and he had already broken one of the rules he set for himself to keep himself safe. Such an idiot in every way. Pomfrey looked at the boy enter and saw such an unnaturally pale, scrawny boy she knew all too well.

With a little scorn in her voice, she spoke to Potter. "Well, what accident did you get into now, Mr. Potter?" He looked up at her like she might just be his savior. That look still didn't hide the flinch and almost unnaturally way the boy curled into himself while standing.

"I have a really bad headache, Miss. I was hoping for something to help with my head," Harry stated, rubbing his head slightly exaggeratedly.

She tilted her head towards him as if testing his answer for lies. What she found must have been enough, as she waved him forward as she walked towards the shelves of potions lined up. Harry sat in his favorite bed and waited for her to bring the dreaded potion. Needing to take it in order to continue his ruse.

Harry crinkled his nose and the mere thought of the bitter concoction waiting for him. This could be a saving grace to sit here for a while outside of the stares, even if it left him more open. Too wide open to attacks. Why couldn't he just stick to one plan? Running on fear and adrenaline was messing him up more than he wished to say or think about.

Pomfrey handed Harry the potion, and with one more involuntary shudder, he drank it down. She stared at him, but seeing as he didn't fight the bitter brew, Harry must have needed it enough to turn to her in the first place and take it without complaint.

"Stay here, boy, for a while till the headache goes away." She sighed, "Might as well take a nap if you are so inclined to do so."

Harry nods, both knowing that Harry will run away the moment she turns her back. Neither got the chance to continue the pattern. A small boy ran into the medical wing, "Harry Potter, Harry Potter." Colin Creevey shouted much too loudly for the room's occupants.

"They need you for the competition. They are meeting right now, and you need to join. Everyone is waiting for you already." Barely taking a breath. Harry could have imagined the boy turning purple from lack of breath.

Stomach lurching Harry got up and followed, knowing that fighting would do him no good, no matter what he said. They walked, Colin leading them to their destination. Harry had to take a breath; there was a good chance he would be entering a room full of people who hate him the most, the other champions. The intended champions, not his pathetic excuse of an extra.

There the three older students stood. They may have only been a few years older than Harry, but the gap felt immense. Standing before them, Harry saw how much of a child he was. They held the same disdainful glare as the other students, as everyone had over the past couple of days. Yet it hit Harry even harder than before. These were the people that he was chosen to stand in a competition against, and yet compared to them, he was nothing.

It didn't help that he was the last to arrive. They had all been waiting on him; if only he didn't hide away in the medical wing, then maybe he could have arrived with the rest of them and drawn a little less attention. Harry could imagine them already stating.

There goes Harry, pulling all the attention away from everybody else, the attention-seeking toddler.

“Well, now”, Dumbledore said, as Harry settled into one of the chairs, the last chair in the room. Now that all our champions have arrived, let's weigh your wands and make sure you are fit to enter the competition. Maybe this was Harry's chance. He could just be unfit for competition. Then he wouldn't have to enter. Everything would go fine, and Hufflepuff could win the tournament.

Victor Krum went first; Ollivander was very excited to see his wand. Apparently, it held great promise and great strength. Even as the other two went, more good things were said about their character and the capabilities of their wands. Harry had to go last. When Ollivander examined his want, Harry couldn’t help seeing Voldemort’s reflection, his wand’s twin.

“Mr. Potter so good to see this once again, taking care of it, I see good, good.” He stated more interested in the wand and less at the people he was supposed to conferring with.  “This wand can do great things, young man, great and potentially terrible things.”

Shifting on his feet, “Sir” Harry looked up at Olivander, “I don't want to do great things.”

Ollivander only shook his head with a knowing smile as if he was in on the joke and gave the wand back to Harry.

“Now that all of you have had your wands back, we will be having our first challenge next month. You may not use other students or professors as help. This is a chance to rely on your own strengths.” The twinkle in his eye brightened. “May your cleverness be your fortune, and your chance to win. “

At Dumbledore’s words the other three straightened their spines, snapping to attention, ready for action. Harry curled into himself further he truly didn't want to do this, but he knew he surely didn't have a choice. Harry had to fight, if not to win then to survive.

Rita skeeter swooped in, attempting to pull Harry aside as the youngest champion of there. A story she could not pass up. Harry ducked behind the other 3 champions, hoping the flytrap of a woman would latch on anybody else. He was the point of wondering if he simply ignored her, that she would forget he existed and give up.

Luckily or unluckily, Fleur started animatedly talking to the reporter, shifting the noisy reporters focus. He could not escape photos, at least the story wasn’t just about him. Maybe he could just skirt around the edges.

The photo turned out terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, skin sallow and pale. The camera reflected back how he terrible he felt.

Once the photos were taken, the Champions were left alone to get to know each other. After all, they were competitors.

“So, Harry,” Fleur started with little to no hesitation. “why are you ruining our competition with your flippant entry?” Her tone like glass shards. “You are just a silly little child. You should not have been allowed to compete with the rest of us; we got here fair and square, but not you, little boy.”

Krum was not far behind her, not even waiting for an answer to the previous questions. “You don't belong here, you know that, right? You only got in because of the magical binding contract. Nobody wanted you here in the first place you do get that, right?

Krum was just stating facts, but even if he hadn't willingly entered the competition, words hurt.

He knew he didn't belong here.

Harry never belonged anywhere.

He'd been raised to believe that, and it was something he started to forget at Hogwarts.

It was probably good that he got such a reminder; he didn't belong now, not ever.

A stupid, silly intruder, a ghost in the lives of others.

 

Cedric only frowned. Confusion and disappointment mixing in his face. “I don't like what you did, Harry.  I don't like that you entered the tournament and continued to lie about it. But you're here now, so act like a champion, got it?”

Such biting words from the Hufflepuff were unusual. They were often kind, and loyal not so cold.

By the time they were dismissed, Harry only wanted his bed. Diner could wait. He could just crawl into his nest, shut his eyes and thaw after the frozen hell of the day. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Harry knew that was a lie. After all, Harry was a liar; nobody believed him, and he was really starting to not even believe in himself. The Dursleys were right; he was a freak.  

Chapter 4: Snape's Price

Notes:

I'm so excited, this chapter is the one that started it all. And once again, it somehow ended up even longer. Hope you enjoy it.

Walking down the hall, Harry didn’t notice the students passing him. He could only hear the thoughts echoing in his head. Even his own footsteps barely registered, sounding distant. More than once, he walked close enough for someone to hex him, but he was too far into his own thoughts to register anything at all.  His senses had shut down. Usually, he could get a faint sense of people’s emotions, but he got nothing. Harry was just a mindless puppet wandering towards his destination.

Malfoy spotted Potter, throwing out a taunt with a practiced teasing malice. He was unable to resist messing with the other boy. Harry just kept walking past him, not so much as flinching at the comments. That ton always got a rise from Potter. Malfoy was left disappointed; he was itching for a fight. Fine. Draco would just find something else to get under his skin later. Harry drifted on, unaware.

Once in the tower, Harry saw Hermione sitting on the couch they always shared. Her nose in a book, feet resting where Harry always sat beside her. At the sound of the frame swinging open, she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. Seeing her snapped him back to his senses, causing every muscle in his body to tense. His body entered into fight or flight mode as if this moment would determine his survival. She looked at him for another moment, the tension straining. Then went back to her book, turning the page. She refused to speak to the omega or acknowledge him a moment longer.

The quiet dismissal broke him, widening the cracks in his soul. She had turned him away, once again. It was finally that he had no friends left. Part of him had already accepted that Ron was gone, but he still clung to a hope that Hermione only needed time. It had been for naught.

The craving of his nest sat deep in his bones; it was the last scrap of comfort now that he had no one to turn to. Harry was alone. He would have to start fresh and accept that all over again. He had done it for 11 years, with no one to rely on. He could do this again. He was used to being alone. Friends were not necessary. Dragging his feet up the stairs towards the dorm room, Harry tensed, unsure if anyone else would be up there. Luckily, not one of the dormmates was around.  Harry made a desperate dash to his bed, throwing his shoes off, and climbed inside.

He was here. In his nest. The safest place in the world. Harry knew, realistically,  it was a fickle pace to call safe. At least it was his. He inhaled the scent of his blankets, the soft fuzz brushing his skin. It did wonders for his frayed nerves. the state that constantly crackled under his skin, easing into a faint, manageable buzz. He always felt on edge, ants crawling beneath his skin, unable to rid himself of the sensation.

He would be okay. He was here now with no intention of leaving. He had gone days without eating before; hunger wasn’t enough to make him move. Dinner could come and go. By the time he crawled out again, morning would have already come. Harry buried himself within the mass of blankets, digging deeper within the depths of pillows, searching for the two little stuffed animals he kept.

One he had pulled out of the trash from behind the elementary school years ago. His aunt never found it; Harry hit it underneath the floorboards in the cupboard. He cleaned it to the best of his ability, but an ear was still ripped off, and a grayness clung to its fur. It brought comfort, more than he would ever admit. Even here at Hogwarts, he hid it underneath so many blankets and pillows so that no one could possibly find it. Besides, the teddy was a small zebra, his first Hogsmeades purchase. He snuck off and bought the thing, unable to resist its soft stripes. If he had understood secondary traits back then, he would have realized he was an omega, but he hadn’t known, and even now, he barely understood it.

Now, nestled in that comfort, new thoughts began to spiral. Sure, life sucked, but here, at least, he had this: his nest, this moment, his safe place. Soft things. Pillows. Blankets. Textures that soothed his racing mind in a way nothing else could. Sometimes he thought this was the best part of being an omega. The ability to find comfort not only in the sense of people but in the comfort and in textures. The other parts of being an omega, for the most part, sucked. The worst, in his opinion, was the random protectiveness, which went beyond normal loyalty. That was probably why he's stood up for Ron and Hermione again and again. No matter what they said or did, he always came back, always felt the need to protect them. They’d been his first friends, the first not scared off by his cousin and his family’s shadow.

It felt strange not to have anyone to protect anymore, which left a hollow pain in his chest. Those instincts had become his new normal: to feel that to want to keep others safe, and now that he had nobody, he was back to surviving on his own, protecting only himself. Harry wished it were different. But it wasn't. They had pushed him out. Again. Harry would not go back, not this time, not ever.

He curled deeper in his nest, throwing another blanket upon himself, and wondered. Why did Ron always blame him for things that were out of his control? This was worse than all the fights before. The only time he would talk to him was if he was yelling at him; otherwise, he'd ignore Harry. It made Harry so frustrated, an ashamed fury with no place to go. But Ron and his family were the only kind people he had. If he lost Ron, he lost the entire Weasley family. Molly was like a second mum. Arthur, and his weird Muggle obsessions. The warmth from the whole family, Harry wanted that. A family.

Maybe Harry was the problem. This just kept happening. And if his aunt and uncle taught him anything, it was that he was a fraud who deserved nothing. Sometimes it felt like maybe they were wrong. Over the years, Harry started to even believe that maybe he was an actual good person, that he mattered. His friends made him believe that he mattered. But their actions didn’t match their words.

It felt true, then, that he was just a freak. Look how quickly his supposed best friends turned on him. Ron wouldn't even look at him. They could be in the same room, and Ron acted like Harry wasn’t even there.

He had torn his friend group apart. Hermione was left alone. She’d been wedged between the two of them. Two very headstrong boys. She hadn't made that many friends besides the two of them, probably because Harry had taken up so much of her attention, always needing help, needing her guidance. It was only from her kindness that he managed to survive classes day-to-day. And Ron, furious at him, being mad back just made Harry feel worse. Ron was alone now. Hermione should stick with him, not be stuck worrying about Harry. Again. It had to be Harry’s fault that she wasn't with Ron, comforting him in his time of need.

Maybe Harry should never have made friends at all. He should have stayed alone. Kept others from figuring out how freakish he actually was. He couldn’t even call them friends when all they ever knew was the fake version of him. The silly little boy pretending to be something he wasn’t.

His “friends” were alone and hurting, and here he was hiding in his nest. The blankets were nothing compared to an actual person. But the nest was still a comfort they didn’t have. He didn’t deserve comfort and the nice things. He should never have come to Hogwarts. He should’ve stayed in that stupid cupboard. At least there, everyone already knew what he was, a fraud. A deranged freak. They’d known it and treated him accordingly. It had been a miserable experience, but at least there’d been no pretending. He simply existed, and they made sure he knew exactly what he was.

So stupid. So needy. What was he even doing here? Poor little Harry Potter, hiding from silly little rumors. So affected by what people said that he was hiding away behind the curtains in a stupid pile of blankets. Why didn't he finish his classes? Why did he fake a headache? Look at him. Pretending to be all grown, acting like a child. Harry couldn’t have both. If he wanted to grow up, the nest had to go. This comfort, this pile of soft plush, was holding him back. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any comfort. Harry had ruined everything, and there still weren’t any consequences. They would come eventually.  Harry understood punishments; it was the way he had been taught. He had gone Scott-free long enough.

The plan started to form in his mind. The thought alone made tears well in his eyes. His hands shook as they held the stuffed animals he had searched for earlier. It made him feel ten times worse, but that was the point. This is the punishment he deserved.

He would show her Hermione and Ron he’d grown up, that they weren't the only ones alone, that he wasn't just getting away with his actions. Harry had to destroy his nest. If he had no comforts, then he would be as alone as Ron and Hermione. Maybe then he’d feel as much despair as they must be feeling. Maybe that would make up for all of his disasters. The mess he had made had torn them all apart. It was his fault after all.

So there Harry waited and waited. Tears ran down his face, leaving red, streaky marks behind. Soon, he heard people coming back from dinner. It was almost time. He just had to wait just a moment longer.  Just a few hours until everyone would be in bed, and then it would be time for phase one.

Here, he couldn't do much except wait for the plan to come to fruition. Had so much homework, so many essays waiting for him, and yet here Harry couldn’t move.  He only clung tighter to the last comforts his nest offered before he destroyed it. The omega inside screamed, banging on the walls of his mind. His heart was pounding out of his chest at the mere thought of his actions. It would be worth it to be alone, as lonely as Hermione must be feeling. It was penance.

As the night settled over the tower, Harry heard shuffling outside his curtains, students saying goodnight.  No one said goodnight to Harry. No one cared. Once the noise started to fade, Harry's body tensed again. It was time. With the plan fully formed, Harry slipped out of bed, as quietly as he could, and pulled on his shoes. Harry gathered every comfort he possessed, every soft pillow, every fuzzy blanket, every torn stuffy. Everything had to go. Shoving them in a bag, he tiptoed out of the dorm. No one the wise. He was going to talk to the professor, but he didn't want to be caught along the way. He had to stay silent.  Harry knew that he had his invisibility cloak but couldn’t bring himself to use it. If he got caught, it would be his fault. Maybe he deserved that, too.

It was long past curfew, but he didn't care. His mind was fixed on the mission. The walk to the dungeons felt shorter than it ever had. Like walking to his own self-inflicted execution, and yet it ended all too quickly. Harry kept to the shadows, following the corridor until he reached the door he was looking for. Knocking on the professor's door, he stood in the gloomy silence. He knew it was too late to back down. It was now or never, and it could not be never. Maybe this time, he would learn his lesson. Without any comfort, he would be just as alone as the people he hurt.

The door creaked open, its hinges squealing into the quiet hallway.

“Potter", snapped Snape as he leered down at the boy. Harry seemed even thinner in the darkness of the passage, as if the shadows swallowed him.

“Sir...” Potter started, hesitation crashing back full force. “I... I need a favor.” He didn’t want to let go, especially not to this man, who could and would destroy anything precious. Maybe he didn’t deserve the blankets, the nest. Maybe he didn’t deserve to ever build another one.

Snape started talking; Harry missed the first part of his mutterings. “… countless times you’ve passed curfew, surely you could have stayed in bed. Or gone to your own head of house. Insufferable brat. Are you even listening to me?”  His glare darkened by the second.

Harry wanted to freeze, to fold in on himself. To wail and cry and scream out his sadness and frustration. He wouldn't with this man. The man, the professor, had hated him since the day he arrived. Maybe that was why Harry was here. Because this man, at least, was honest about his feelings. Even if they were negative.

So, gathering the non-existent strength in his body and mind. “Um... sir.” Harry breathed. “Would you...look after this for me?” He pushed the bag into Snape’s hands before he could change his mind. Before instinct could make him snatch back.

“Mr. Potter, whatever this is.” Turning his nose up in disgust. “Couldn't you have given it to your head of house and not delegated me with your abundance of belongings?” Harry knew why, but even he couldn’t accept it. Harry muttered back, not truly wanting Snape to hear. “It would be too easy, and I'm not entirely sure she would take it.”

Snape started to smell concerned, but Harry brushed it off, figuring his senses were going haywire, and he was misunderstanding and misconstruing the emotions reading off the potions master.

Everything started to come crashing down around him. Good.  That was good. He meant for this to happen. But the look Snape gave him, confused and even wary, caused his heart to crack just a little bit more.

Snape finally looked into the bag and saw the blankets and pillows, and the foot of something sticking out from between them. His face contorted, staring back at the nervous boy.  A cold dread settled in his chest. It took a moment, his mind sluggish with exhaustion, but he finally recognized what the boy had given him: a nest. Harry wasn't even old enough, and it made an uncomfortable kind of sense. The boy could be so volatile, so prone to emotions at times. It explained he had leaned on his friends seeking such blatant comfort, a subconscious effort. Lastly, Snape felt something in himself respond. The need to protect the boy from the harsh realities of the world. His own secondary trait stirring in recognition, a basic instinct he refused to name.

Trying to install a sense of calm into his voice, he spoke to Harry once again. “Potter, I believe this is truly best given to your head of house. Surely, you'd want to ensure she kept it safe.”

Potter stared at him, his heartbeat erratic. Harry knew that his nest wasn't quite safe with the potions master, but that felt like the point. Snape hated him, and so maybe the teacher would take this chance to get revenge on him. To destroy Harry's nest and leave him with absolutely nothing.

This is what Harry deserved after all.

“Sir, I don't want to deserve my nest. And getting it back from McGonagall would be too easy. I'm sorry to burden you with this.”

Maybe this had been a mistake. Harry was being a burden to yet another person. A person who didn't even care for him in the first place. Snape’s silence pressed against him, and Harry began to shift on his feet, rocking back and forth, and unconsciously trying to self-soothe.

Snape watched him closely, trying to test if he was telling the truth. It was painfully obvious that Harry was hurting, and for some baffling reason, punishing himself. He had to do something before Potter spiraled further.

“Well, Potter, if you insist. I will take your nest. But you were out here way past curfew, so it's detention after dinner. With me. For a month. You will not miss a single day. Do you hear me, boy?”

Harry shivered, trying and failing not to flinch at the word boy. It reminded him too much of his uncle, and those memories from Privet Drive were too fresh, too sharp, cutting through what little self-worth Harry possessed.

“And maybe,” Snape continued, reading Potter’s reactions. “Just maybe you can earn your nest back. I highly doubt it. Don't expect to ever see it again. Do you understand me?

 Harry swallowed. He doubted Snape would ever actually give his nest back and was merely just messing with him.  It felt more like a mockery than a promise. But the punishment that felt right. Maybe after a month, something would settle. Maybe he could pay back a fraction of the damage he caused. He truly deserved this, and what Snape was doing felt right. At least right enough.

With a fractured smile, startling both of them, Harry nodded and started to move away. Everything was fine; he had completed part one of his mission. The crushing pain in his heart told him otherwise. All Snape could do was stare at the boy with a broken smile and a radiating scent of death.

Chapter 5: Twins for the Wins

Notes:

This might be my favorite chapter. The pov was a little wishy-washy in this one, but that does not stop the love I have for these words. Have a great Monday, everyone!

We get to meet some of the Slytherins soon, I promise.

The twins had noticed something off about Harry. He always carried a certain quiet with him, for as long as they had known him. The moment he stopped performing, being the boy-who-lived, the silence settled in around him. It was how you knew he felt safe. Harry’s silence was not awkward, just a soft sort of togetherness. If he just sat and existed in your presence, it was always a good indicator of how comfortable he felt. That was why he filled every silence around Snape, noise to fill the void. To protect himself, a vocal sort of armor. So, seeing Harry quiet despite his obvious discomfort was a large red flag. Letting anyone know who knew him, something was obviously wrong.

 

Even Ron was acting strange, stranger than usual. It concerned the twins. He and Harry had been thick as thieves from the moment they met. Matching tempers and trust issues. Now, Ron was avoiding Harry completely. Leaving rooms, waiting till the last minute to grab breakfast, and run off. Pretending Harry didn’t exist. He’d done this once or twice in the past, but it was always a one-and-done type of thing. Ron always just needed a good sulk, then he would be fine. A couple of days of tense silence, and then they’d be right back to normal. Bickering and joking as if those quiet days in between simply didn't exist. The boys just understood each other, as best friends do.

 

Fred knew that Ron was a hothead, but that tendency didn't seem to bother the omega. Harry stuck by him time and time again. Loyalty is ingrained in Harry without hesitation. Like during the second year, when Ron went on a rampage because he refused to study. He was so irked when he did not do well on his exams. Who was there for the angry boy? Harry. Even Fred, his own brother, couldn’t stand against Ron’s temper. Who had to defend him against all the accusations of Ron being too violent? Harry.

 

And sure, they got into fights, and some were more volatile than others. Fists flying instead of magic. But they were always friends in the end. The lack of communication wasn’t normal. It was supposed to be temporary.

 

Not this time.

 

It felt like something had fractured. Fred could almost see the shards lodged in Harry, sharp remnants of what Ron had done. Sharp enough to draw blood.

George, being the realist of the two, voiced his concerns about Harry yesterday, his tone leaking with worry. Fred, as usual, had brushed him off. Waving it away with a laugh, trying and failing to lighten George's mood. It wasn’t that Fred didn’t believe that George, simply that George worried too much. But George would not back off, not when it came to Harry. Watching him bloom and come into himself over the years only made him overprotective. Both of them were fiercely protective of their boy, just showing it in different ways. It sometimes clashed, Fred relying too much on humor. George was always a worrywart where Harry was concerned.

Honestly, if George could have adopted Harry, he would have. Never mind the small age gap. He would have done it in a heartbeat, giving the boy safety and guidance. Something he never got in his 15 years of life. Instead, both had just stuck to being his honorary brothers. Taking him under their collective wing. Giving him the map, checking on Harry from time to time. Filling that role, that Harry’s real family, his cousin, had never filled. So now they were a shaky, makeshift family for him, a pair of brothers who could see beyond the performance. Letting him exist without judgment.

They only needed to share a look before they had decided to find Harry, their favorite brother. It wouldn't be unusual for them to check on him, as they often did throughout the year.  It might have been close to their favorite thing to do; Harry was always so good at hiding. They almost needed the Marauder’s Map to find him, but they had already given it to Harry. It made the hunt all the more exciting, without their usual ‘cheat’.

Harry seemed to find the tiniest nooks throughout Hogwarts, a castle full of hidden spaces and secrets.  Hogwarts itself seemed to favor the boy. Fred was almost certain Hogwarts created new little hiding spots for Harry to find, as if it were a doting mother playing a game with her child.

But George had a hunch.  As they walked near the Hufflepuff dorms, they found the portrait leading to the kitchens. Tickling the pear, they slipped into the warm kitchen, the only bustling space in the otherwise quiet dungeons. Harry was surrounded by the house-elves, flour dusting his person. He seemed intent on pounding all his emotions into the dough before him. He looked so skinny, so small. Was he even more frail than before?

Not that either of the twins would have teased him. Mention his weight, and he would vanish entirely. They remembered the frailty he had shown when he first arrived at Hogwarts. How thin and fragile he had seemed, especially after they had rescued him from his bedroom a couple of years ago. And now, he looked small, diminished by the passing years, life pressing down on him and hollowing him out. Any progress the castle had given him over the years vanished in a matter of days. His hands trembled as he kneaded the dough. Frail and breakable, Harry appeared as if a swift wind could scatter him like dust. The twins saw, and unfortunately, understood.

“Do you plan on eating that bread, or just beating it up?” Fred smirked, leaning slightly on the counter. The boy looked back with wide, round, innocent eyes. He looks so lost standing there. Each deliberate knead of the dough seemed to steady him. Tethering him to the moment. Holding him together.

 

“Is this your first loaf, or have you been at it for a while?” George asked, reading the fatigue in Harry’s eyes. The crusty dried flour on his cheek telling the story without words. Kneading dough for most of what was most likely hours.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, one that would have had their mother panicking, a silent plan hatching. Harry remained half-absent, not replying to either question. Normally, Harry would have fired back with a bit of snark and a sly smile. Today, the spark was missing. A deadness replacing that glimmer of life.

“Blinky dear,” George said. A house-elf walked up to them with an enthusiastic smile. “Will you please procure a picnic for three and maybe include some of that fresh bread young Harry has been baking?”

 Harry blinked at the change in topic. Not quite understanding why the twins were having a picnic, it surely wasn’t a mealtime, or there they three people. Who was the third person? Maybe someone else was going to show up, see Harry here covered in flour. He just wanted to be alone.

Being with the elves felt close enough to being by himself, simply less lonely. They never asked anything of him, rarely spoke unless he needed something. That's part of the reason he was here; the elves used to his presence, would just put him to work. Anything to distract his mind. Bread, sauce, noodles, any task built from simple repetitiveness. It allowed him a sense of calm. The heat of the ovens, and the clatter of utensils against metal bowls. It was something familiar, something he had been doing since he was tall enough to reach the stove.

He didn't want to think; he just wanted to let the world continue on without demanding something of him. It was still physically exhausting, but it allowed him to sleep. Even just a moment. Harry initially tried running, but every step only reminded him of everything he had spent years running from. He was tired of running. This was something he could not escape from, but at least, here, he could make some bread. To do something real, something small and good and his.

George saw Harry’s need to keep working, but the desire to feed the boy was more important. Especially since Harry wasn’t all the way there, they need to try and bring Harry back to the forefront of reality.

The twins knew that today was not going to be a physical affection kind of day. Not with how far Harry had pulled away from everyone, withdrawing into himself. As if touching him, reaching out would shatter him into pieces. He was in such a delicate state, anyone could see.  Harry usually seemed to adore the small, subtle touches. Tiny amounts of affection. Nothing large. Just there. When George rubbed his back in slow circles, it allowed a large sense of calm to overcome him.  George always seemed to do it in a way that allowed Harry space to move away, to create distance with no effort.  A gentle way to soothe, with Harry’s fried nerves. Fred, for all his warmth, his energy was too sudden, too unsure, which made for an awkward encounter for both. So, Fred usually sat nearby, offering support without crowding. They worked in tandem, comforting, caring in only a way they could. A balance not only from each other, but a balance for the fragile boy between them.

Part of Harry always expected pain when others touched him. The reminders of that pain, etched into his body. The twins somehow understood that boundary the most, even those he considered closest. So instead of physical touch, the twins planned a picnic. It was a way to get Harry to eat, to give him something to do, without the pressure of a normal conversation. A place where Harry could remain lost in thoughts, yet still be surrounded by people who cared. They mindlessly chattered, letting Harry come back to reality, slowly, at his own pace. Amidst people who would not judge him.

If they got Harry to talk, all the better, but it was never a requirement with them; they understood. No one seemed to understand them, always lumping them together as if they were a single person rather than two separate people. Harry always saw them as two separate people and always seemed to prefer George over Fred, which Fred teased George about relentlessly. It didn't bother either of them; they just wanted Harry to be happy.

So there they sat on the kitchen floor, having a picnic. Checkered blanket and all. Harry felt nervous, though he didn’t know why. He knew that George and Fred would find him; they always sensed when he was hiding. Fred seemed to have a grand time looking for him as well. But it felt nice to be included. He was so used to being surrounded by his best friends that being alone sucked. Even with them right there, hearing their voices, Harry continued being stuck in his own mind. Drowning in thought.

He had to remind himself that this was part of his effort to be a better person. He had to let go of his past. Every movement, every thought, which weighed on his mind. Harry felt as if he was shattered into a million pieces, with all the pointy bits sticking the wrong way round. All he knew was that he had to keep going.

He didn't want to be a bother. He was a bother; that’s part of why he hid away helping the elves. At least he was being useful, doing good.  His friends could eat the bread he had spent hours making, and maybe they wouldn't hate him so much. Instead of being a bothersome omega, he could just be a friend. A reliable, sensible friend. Harry had just forgotten the part where, if he hid away, Fred and George would find him. Comfort him in a way Harry didn’t know how to refuse.

 

He wasn't like normal omegas. He didn't have a nest, didn’t cling to silly comforts, and little stuffed animals. Harry was a strong and independent young man.  Somebody they could trust to confide in, rather than the other way round.

Still, here were the twins, the only ones to seek him out. They understood. They cared. And while it didn’t fix everything, it made Harry feel a little less invisible and a little less hollow. Seeing someone come from him, choosing to be here, reminded him that he mattered. Even for a singular moment. The thought made his heart ache; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to face things alone, to learn a lesson, but he couldn’t drag himself away.

He needed this. Needed the presence of someone who didn’t glare with judgment and disappointment. Who expected great things and shunned his weaknesses. Their laughter and the spicy scent of the room grounded him in a way he didn’t know he needed.

Sitting here, so close to them, Harry felt a breath he hadn’t known he could take. Everything took on a focus, a color he had missed. George sat so close, a touch away. Fred, a little father as he sat across, a plate full of sandwiches in his lap.  He wasn’t alone. Harry could simply exist in this moment. No performance. No pretending to be the strong one. Just here, with the two of them, it could almost make Harry smile.

Fred noticed the shadows under Harry's eyes. The deadness that lurked behind them. Normally, Harry’s excitement for the smallest things shone in his eyes for everyone to see. That spark was not there, not today, and Fred didn’t know if it would ever be back. He only had to look at his twin to know they shared the same thought. It didn’t matter if Harry ever regained that life in his eyes, but that didn’t mean they would ever stop trying.

So here they sat, chattering about Quidditch and complaining about classes, giving Harry space while keeping his thoughts company. Enjoying Harry's presence, even if he wasn’t fully there.

Once they had finished the sandwiches, Harry spoke up for the first time in the conversation. It wasn’t about classes or Quidditch, but that was okay.

“I have detention with Snape soon,” Harry stated, his voice trembling slightly. Normally, Harry sounded so angry and frustrated when speaking of the potions master, but this time, there was only a deep lingering sadness.

They weren't sure what Snape had done but they were going to find out and if he had anything to do with why Harry was distraught, Snape would regret ever knowing their names.

 

“We’ll go with you,” George said matter-of-factly, unwilling to argue.

“But... It’s Snape. He isn’t...”  Harry starts. Worried about what Snape would say if the twins were to join him for detention. A detention he’d never faced with anyone else.

“Harry,” Fred began, unsure of how to start. He was never the emotional twin; that was George’s strength. George dealt with feeling better, which was probably why George and Harry were closer. Fred relied too much on humor and bluntness, which made it hard to express himself where softness was needed. A moment like now.

So, George spoke instead. “Harry, we will go with you. And I promise, if Snape kicks us out, we will wait right outside for you. Fred and I will not leave you alone. Not again. Not like the others.”

Harry stared back, unable to hide how he felt. So much was stirring inside of him. He felt so much in such a short time. They reminded him of Ron: the same smirk, the bright red hair, the occasional caring nature. These two were different. Here they were, sitting with him on a cold floor, promising to share a punishment they hadn’t earned, simply so he wouldn’t be alone. Not now. Not ever. Ron wouldn’t have done that, not even if Harry begged. And yet, he didn’t even need to ask; they stepped forward without hesitation.

Tears pricked at his eyes, spilling down his face. He couldn’t stop. It was too much, the weight of their combined care. The burden on his heart, the loneliness that consumed him, started to lighten, just a bit. 

George just smiled at the younger boy, brushing away his tears. They had to move if they were going to make it to detention. Even if they wanted to let Harry linger a little, to cry in peace, they couldn’t risk him getting into more trouble. So, side by side they walked, Harry in the middle. Fred’s hand rested lightly in the middle of his back, just barely there. A rare gesture from the more abrasive twin. But it didn’t feel awkward; it felt right, a quiet comfort without expectations.

They made their way down to the Potions lab, deep within the dungeons. The sound of the door opening drew Snape’s gaze. His eye reached the boys flanking Harry. A glint of pain rushed through his heart, reflecting for a moment in his eyes. These people were supposed to be Harry’s friends. Snape had seen him with the vexing siblings before, but he should have been with the loud one and the bushy-haired girl. Still, it was good to see Harry looking a little better than before, his eyes not so hollow.

No matter what had changed, Snape had to treat him as always. If he acted differently now, Harry wouldn’t trust him. Their fragile relationship couldn’t withstand it. Harry had grown accustomed to the professor’s reactions, and if those patterns suddenly shifted, he might fear that the return of the nest was nothing more than another nest. A trap.

“So, Potter.” Snape drawled, his tone shooting daggers. “Are you so pathetic that you needed friends to accompany you to detentions?”

Fred stepped closer, hovering above the smaller boy, his gaze locked on the professor. Snape, as usual, ignored the older boys for the most part, though he allowed himself a brief acknowledgement to keep up the charade.

“Well, seeing as you're here, invading my space after hours,” Snape sneered, “you might as well join Potter in his punishment.”

The twins exchanged a glance and shrugged; they had gotten used to Snape's snide remarks. As expected, the potion master sent them off to scrub cauldrons for an hour. He retreated to the opposite corner of the room, grading papers and ignoring the rest of the students entirely. The only sounds in the lab were the rush of water running and the occasional small giggle from Harry, who splashed happily as the twins blew bubbles at the younger boy.

Snaps allowed it. He said nothing, letting them have this moment. Harry could think, for now, that he was closer to earning his nest. The truth was far different; Harry was nowhere ready. Not because Snape wanted to withhold the nest, but because the boy himself didn't believe he deserved it.

Perhaps, after a month of guidance, Harry would accept it back as a gift, allowing himself a modicum of comfort. Snape mused silently. He would just have to show Harry that he could be strong with or without the nest, and if he was lucky, maybe even more so with one.

For the time being, the lab settled into an unusual peace. The twins worked alongside Harry, scurrying cauldrons and talking quietly to themselves. Leaving space for the younger boy to smile again. Each day that week, Harry returned to clear after classes, the twins in tow. Surroundings without being suffocating. Fred noticed first how Snape seemed to only pretend to be annoyed with Harry. And when Snape thought no one was watching, the stern mask he wore softened, revealing a rare expression of care.

 Not one of them knew why Harry's had been punished, and Snape showed no inclination to explain. There had to be a reason, and surely, they would discover it in time. But for now, it didn’t matter. What mattered most of all was standing by Harry’s side. Bringing small fragments of joy back into his eyes, one bubble at a time.

Chapter 6: The Window Seat

A couple of days had gone by, and the pain of missing his friends was slowly fading. It was still there, just more muted in the background. The twins, especially George, were anchors, grounding him in the world. At any point in time when Harry felt stuck, he longed for Hermione’s steady certainty and her determination to find answers. Once she set her mind to something, she stuck to it. It was that perseverance that seemed to calm him. He had always trusted in her to pull him back to a steadfast reality.

Well. Not anymore. Even so, the memory still warmed something in a fragile corner of his heart. She might live there forever. Ron’s good memories were blurred now by hurt, and because of that, Harry found he missed the redhead far less than he once had. It didn't matter. He had his new friends, and maybe soon he could make more. He just needed to get a little bit stronger first, give himself a little more grace and time. Then maybe he could try again.

After classes, Harry found himself hiding again. The day had been rough. Even some of the teachers seemed to have joined the blame Harry for everything train. Their brusque words and pointed glares wore him down. Making him feel so hollow that he could have been paper-thin. He almost wished they had hexed him and moved on at this point. At least it would be over by now. Still, he had attended every class, taken notes, and turned in his homework on time.

Fred had grumbled initially when Harry said he needed to study. Complaining about how learning should only be in the classroom, and homework was a cruel punishment. Yet, between the two of them, Fred was a surprisingly better partner when it came to studying. George was a pacer and couldn’t stay still even when doing homework. Especially when doing homework. It was distracting, between the constant movement and the muttering. It wasn’t his fault, but it made concentrating impossible.

They tried. Their presence had helped keep the world at bay, but the moment they were gone off to their own classes, the noises and weight of expectations suffocated him. It was just so difficult, too hard to breathe. It wasn’t their responsibility; it was his own. He just wasn’t quite there yet; he just had to borrow their strength just a bit longer.

So here he was, curled tight into a small corner of the castle. This hiding place wasn’t magical or secret, not like the magical pockets the castle made for him. It was just a narrow window seat tucked behind one of the castle’s curtains.  He loved to sit there in the wintertime and watch the snow fall, even if the stone beneath him was freezing enough to seep into his bones. The cold allowed him to exhale, the world quiet for once.

Soon, Harry heard the curtain whisper against the floor as the corner of it lifted. His gaze fixed on the forest line, tall trees looming in the distance. It had to be the twins; they always seemed to know where he was hiding, no matter which tiny spot he tucked himself into.

“Go away, Fred,” Harry muttered, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes. The concern he didn’t have the strength to face.  “I’m fine. I just want to be alone. Even away from you two.” Harry loved them, like a real family, but nothing could make him smile right now. He needed to breathe, a moment without their chatter and jokes, trying to piece him back together.

But the sound that answered him wasn’t right. Not Fred’s huff or George’s snort. Instead, a low chuckle answered back. One that was missing the lilt of humor that both the twins shared.

Harry blinked and finally looked up through the blur of his vision. He had been crying, and the tears continued to run down his face.

Standing there, holding the edge of the curtain, was Blaise Zabini.

Not George. Not Fred. Not even Ron.

Blaise Zabini.

He didn’t know Blaise well, only through Hermione’s rants and Draco’s friend group. He was so smart, he just flew more under the radar than Malfoy and Hermione. But there the Slytherin stood, staring at Harry’s tear-streaked face.

A cold thread of dread slid down Harry’s spine. Soon, half the castle would be whispering about Harry Potter, the crybaby, on top of Harry Potter the liar.

Blaise didn’t laugh, didn’t sneer, just stood there, watching him. No judgment, or mockery. After the past month of two polar reactions, the stillness alone felt strange. The twins would rush in without hesitation. The moment they saw tears in Harry’s eyes; they would be squeezing into the window seat with him. George would rub circles along his back, and Fred would make jokes. Their presence would be gentle and loud. Something he usually needed. Most of the school would have pointed, whispered, or laughed. They weren’t going to ease up any time soon.

Blaise’s gaze held worry and concern. No pity, or ridicule, just a quiet concern. That middle ground only made that moment of oddness even more profound.

A soft smile curved Blaise’s lips, the kind adults used when calming a scared child or a skittish animal. When Blaise reached toward him, Harry flinched before he could stop himself. Even now, he couldn’t expect anything but pain from the touch of others.

He didn’t know this person.

Didn’t know what he wanted, what he might do.

Blaise didn’t pull his hand back. He just held it there, between them, before moving again. Slowly, deliberately, to not startle the boy, he brushed a loose curl behind Harry’s ear. Harry went rigid. He couldn’t move. Too frightened by the intrusion, the gentleness of the motion shocked him most of all.

“You are alright now,” Blaise’s voice dropped into a soft murmur. “I promise.” His voice softened further, and Harry’s eyes overflowed at the inflection. He just felt so emotional. Something about his patience and his nature reminded him of the twins. He was simply there. Not pushing or prying. Even the unexpected touch felt okay, unthreatening. As if this particular Slytherin was safe. Despite all logic.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted. Part of him ached for comfort. Even from a stranger. To have Blaise’s cool hand on his burning face. Just a small gesture to calm his mind and steady his breathing. Another part wanted him gone, wanted him to turn around, drop the curtain, and forget he existed.

His thoughts whirled, logic clawing for distance while his omega instincts craved reassurance, desperate for something, for anything soft.

Blaise caught the uncertainty flickering in the other’s eyes and instinctively wanted to reach out, to offer something steady.  But he was too hesitant to startle. All of Harry’s body language screamed fear, despite the curiosity growing in his eyes. The connection was too fragile to easy to break.

So, they froze. Two boys caught in a quiet stalemate. Equally unsure of how to react or respond to the other. Speaking felt wrong, too loud for the hushed hallway. Harry stayed curled in the corner of the window bench, making himself as small as possible.

Voices drifted in from the far end of the hallway. Blaise froze. He had to make a decision fast; if he stayed standing in the open, they both would be caught. Harry had been trying so desperately not to be found. A fierce protectiveness rolled through Blaise before he could stop it.

He blamed the omega pheromones for the instinct, knowing that was not the full truth. It was simply the way he was. He’d always been protective of the people he cared about. And now, with those people miles away, something in him ached for someone to look after. Someone who might actually rely on him. The absence of that role had left him feeling untethered, like a piece of himself had gone missing.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Blaise pulled back the curtain and slipped into the window seat beside Harry. His knees pressed against the cold glass. Harry flinched, startled by the intrusion in his hiding space. His heart raced, and he froze there, staring up slightly at Blaise. He couldn’t help but wonder what Blaise would do to Harry. After all, looks could be deceiving; he couldn’t trust anything he saw, not even the gentle look in his eyes.

But Blaise only offered a soft smile, quiet and reassuring. He wasn’t here to crowd him. He only wanted to keep both of them hidden until the footsteps passed. And he wouldn’t tell anyone. Least of all his dormmates; some of them were mean-spirited beyond what was usual for a Slytherin. He had heard the rumors and had watched Harry stumble out when his name was announced.  He just didn’t need that right now, not from anyone.

Harry didn’t know why he trusted him. He could’ve run, found another corner to hide away in; he knew plenty of places off the top of his head. His body tensed, ready to do so if the moment called for it.

But he didn’t. Harry stayed.

And slowly, he allowed himself to calm his mind, even with the other boy sitting beside him.

Blaise hesitated before speaking. Unsure how his offer would be received.

“Harry,” Blaise started, “Can I help calm you?”

He asks, unsure, not wanting to overwhelm Harry’s fragile state. The older students in his dorm always said his scent was soothing. Not like a mate bond, nothing that strong, but something warm. A spicy vanilla scent that tended to ease people without smothering them.

Harry nodded, feeling his breath quicken, the panic settling into his aching bones. He could feel the attack coming, terrifying in its familiarity. Once it hit, moving and thinking would become harder. It was almost impossible to shake off once it took hold.

So Blaise started slowly. Releasing just a whisper of scent. Infusing a thread of calm into it, letting it drift towards Harry.

It melted Harry; it reached into his soul and slowed his pounding heart. It may not be strong, but the impact was huge. The muscles he had been tensing for so long relaxed for the first time. A sense of relief washed over Harry, something he hadn’t felt in so long that he didn’t know what to do with the emotion.  He felt his omega rejoice in the feeling after being alone. Forget everything, this scent was enough.

Blaise only even knew Harry was an omega because of Draco. The blonde had talked nonstop about it at the start of the year. How, of course, the Boy Who Lived needed his classification early. Draco never mentioned that Blaise, who was also early, but that was normal for his family, Generations of early blooming alphas and omegas. And Blaise himself had been older than most of their year, born right before term started. By the time he had received his letter, he had been nearly thirteen, and now already sixteen, the usual age of classification.

Not that Draco ever cared about that. He was too obsessed with Potter to notice anything else.

Coming back to the present, Blaise let his gaze settle on Harry and took a moment to really look at him. Harry’s eyes were closed, his face still covered in tears. Blaise would never forget their color, a startling bottle green that seemed to glow in the gloom. The boy looked so small in the moment, a stark difference from how he acted just last year.

Slowly, the tension bled from Harry’s body. His breaths deepened. He gradually unfurled from his fetal position, as Blaise’s scent wrapped around him like a warm blanket. The calm wasn’t just settling over Harry; Blaise felt it too. A quiet grounding that he hasn’t realized he’s been craving.

 And even after the footsteps receded, neither moved. They sat there together, just breathing in the same air. Sharing a fragile moment too rare to disturb.

Harry just felt so peaceful. He hadn’t felt like this since picnicking with the twins, safe, sheltered from the expectations of the outside world.  It was nice, really nice to experience this, to not be clouded with worry about everything going on. As if it could be okay. With Blaise beside him, the noise of the castle, the tournament, the stares, the whispers, faded into the background.

For a moment, just one moment, it felt like things might be okay. Harry found himself wishing he could stay in this moment, pause time a little bit longer. Just enough for the world to forget about him.

But all moments, especially the gentle ones, shift.

Blaise began to rise from his position, intending to leave. He meant to give Harry more time to hide away. But Harry, before he could stop himself, released a broken whine. He didn’t want him to leave, just to stay here and never let the moment pass.

Blaise froze.

The corner of Blaise’s lips curled up at the sound, into something unbearably fond. The sound was sad, yes, but oh so cute. Harry was mortified, blood rushing to his face.

He didn’t tease, instead taking the other’s hand with as much tenderness as he could muster. His thumb brushed slow circles over Harry’s knuckles. Then Blaise lifted the small hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.

Harry’s heart stopped for a moment before resuming the panicked pace of before. His face burned. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

“Oh, Harry”, Blaise murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll leave you for now. But if you need me, I’m only a letter away. Please don’t hesitate.” Smiling at him with a boyish smile.

As an almost afterthought, Blaise continued. “And... It was nice to officially meet you.”

And then he let go, uncurling Harry’s fingers from his own and slipping out from behind the curtain. Harry watched the others’ fingers disappear, wanting to grab them and pull the other back to his hiding place.

Harry stared at the place Blaise occupied. The soft tap of shoes on stone grew fainter, then disappeared entirely.

He didn’t know what had just happened. It felt unreal, too gentle and kind to belong in the same world where he was mocked, doubted and treated like a puppet for the machinations of powerful men. Something he didn’t really dare to imagine, not with his old friends, and certainly not now.

Blaise’s scent still lingered, wrapping around him like a promise. So Harry stayed in the window seat a while longer, letting the warm vanilla setting in his bones. And somewhere inside him, a small and quiet spark of happiness bloomed.

But even that moment had to end. Eventually, Harry pushed himself up from the window seat. Brushing off his robes, stalling. Trying to wipe away the stupid smile from his face before heading to detention.

Even with the cold of the castle surrounding him again, his good mood didn’t slip. Not for one second. This moment, despite the anxiety, lifted his spirits. He would carry it as a defense against the sharp remarks.

Detention with the twins had become routine, and surprisingly, Snape allowed it. Harry had expected the professor to kick them out during the first detention when they had made Harry laugh mid-scrubbing. He had expected a snide reprimand or yelling about distracting Harry during his punishment. But Snape didn’t do any of that. He let the twins stay, despite the distractions they provided. Let them clean beside Harry. Let Harry have the company he so craved.

This time, though, maybe it would be best for the twins not to be here with them. As he entered their space to start cleaning, the twins leaned in and sniffed his hair. A sneaky smile appeared on their faces. Their eyes widen in slow, mischievous unison.

 “Has our Harry been with an Alpha, do you think, Gred?” George teased.

“Of course, Forge, it smells like Harry had a very pleasant evening with his little alpha.” Fred snicked.

“So, Harry, who is it?” They both asked, the teasing lilt very strong in both voices.

Harry turned scarlet. He refused to answer either redhead. The twins grinned wider, bumping shoulders with him before returning to their work, tossing teasing comments at him like confetti. It made Harry feel like they were family, and he adored them even if they continued to tease. So instead of answering their question, he just gave each of them and hug and started to scrub, not letting them distract him from his cleaning.

Across the room, Snape paused, eyes flickering to the boys. A tiny smile graced his face for only a moment, gone in the next second.

Snape inside was proud, glad that the right Weasley boys stuck by him, even doing cleaning and attending detentions instead of causing trouble to just stick by Harry. Seeing the smile on the boy, and the less panicked expression he wore in the hallways and in his class. Things were progressing in a direction he had hoped for, for Harry.

Fred and George, of all people, noticed the change first. The detentions were tedious and repetitive, and so boring, it seemed to help Harry. The structure steadied him. And their small jokes and pranks helped make Harry feel normal. The physical work helped him refocus. Neither twin enjoyed being punished, and George hated cleaning with a passion, but they wanted to be with Harry no matter what he was doing. If that meant scrubbing cauldrons, so be it.

And as long as Snape allowed it, they would be there, right by Harry’s side.

It was during one of these times that the truth finally surfaced. They finally learned the reason Harry was in detention at all.

Looking up from his grading, Snape looked up to check on the boys and caught Harry’s eyes as he looked back.

“Sir,” Harry stuttered, “Is it still safe?” He had to ask, had to know. He was earning it back, and while it felt like he still had a long way to go, he was making progress.

Snape set down the papers, giving Harry his full attention. “Your nest is in my office, nobody has touched it, I promise.” It was good to hear; he was worried about it. He used to wish Snape would destroy it, but it felt nice that Snape was protecting it well.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate you holding on to it.” Harry spoke appreciatively. A true smile graced his face. Everything would be okay.

Fred and George exchanged a wordless stare as things clicked into place. Harry was an omega. He hadn’t broadcast it, but he never hid it either. Refusing to be ashamed of part of him, something he couldn’t change. He just didn’t advertise it, after all, everyone would find out eventually. George assumed the detention was academic, something about late homework. But Snape's protectiveness and Harry’s odd behavior were so unlike them. Everything aligned.

They made all the correct assumptions, and soon their view of who their potion master was shifted into a more positive light. They were all here for Harry.

Except for one person, hiding by the door. Draco Malfoy had wandered to Snape’s classroom, wanting to ask his uncle about their latest essay. He needed an O after all. But as he approached the doorway, he heard voices inside. Snape’s voice. Then Potter’s. Malfoy paused. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he was simply too curious.

He had heard enough to have his heart start beating faster. Plans formed in his mind. Snape had something of Potter’s. Something that Potter wanted back.  His uncle was keeping it safe.

It didn’t matter what it was; he didn’t much care. It was something of Potter’s, something he had access to take away. It was an advantage, a leverage of power, Draco couldn’t help but grasp.

Finally. He’d have something over the poor little Boy Who Lived.

Draco slipped into Snape’s private rooms. He had been there often enough, sat on the sofa while doing homework, or floo called his mother right on this rug. No one would question him being inside; he could just say that he was looking for Snape here.

Inside the rooms was a warm atmosphere: the floors covered in rugs, the walls hung portraits, and the fireplace was large and cozy. Draco was half tempted to stay and enjoy the fire.

Looking around, he searched for anything out of place. Where would Snape keep something of Harry’s if he wanted it protected? There, he saw something odd in a cabinet that lined the opposite way. Spotting a bag he didn’t recognize, worn, soft, and well used.  Something Snape wouldn’t be caught dead using.

It practically radiated a sentimentality he wasn’t sure Snape possessed. He snatched it and ran out the door. Draco was so lucky that Snape’s quarters were so close to the dorms, or someone might get suspicious of Draco running. But he had to; he didn’t know when Snape would be back, so run he must.

Back in the Slytherin dorms, Draco burst into him and Blaise’s shared room, clutching the scruffy bag to his chest and breathing rapidly.

Blaise looked at him and frowned. “What’s that?” He asked, tilting his head toward the bag, curious about what Draco had gotten himself into.

“NOTHING.” Draco snapped, far too quickly. His tone was defensive and deceitful. “Mind your own business,” He huffed. Draco was practically pouting, as if he were a spoiled child being caught eating a cookie before supper.

Blaise raised his eyebrow. He didn’t want to get into it, not really. After the time with Harry, he was in a good mood and did not want to deal with Draco’s shenanigans.

Then again, Draco was hiding something. He usually wore the mask of pureblood well, but this was the opposite, as he was twitchy and would not stop glancing around as if a threat was hiding in the room with them.

Why did he have to get the odd roommate? Blaise thought as he watched the other boy peak in the bag, a look of confusion crossing his face, brows furring until he finally drew out a small stuffed zebra. It was worn, a little stained, and clearly loved beyond belief. Whatever he’d expected Draco to bring back into their dorm, it wasn’t this. Certainly not Draco’s stuff, but that raised a question. Whose was it?

Draco pulled a face and shoved it back into the bag with little care for the contents inside. Instead, he turned his back to Blaise and pulled up one of the floorboards; it was loose, and Draco always seemed to enjoy hiding things in there for some odd reason. With no hesitation, he crammed the bag, stuffed animal and all, under the floor.

Blaise was left confused but didn’t want to get into it. Unwilling to let Draco’s haughtiness ruin his mood. Maybe he would get to see Harry soon.

Chapter 7: Breakdowns and Breakthroughs

Notes:

Honestly didn't think this chapter would get done today. Work canceled the project that I'd been working on, so I really didn't feel like writing anything. So if there are more mistakes than normal, I apologize. Anyway, the story should be going up from here.

The boys filed out at the end of detention, the classroom finally fell quiet. Snape set down his quill, the grading completed. He allowed himself a rare moment to breathe. The hour had been productive, not only for his lesson plans but for the quiet progress Harry was making. His plan seemed to be working. The perpetual bracing for impact had begun to soften. Harry smiled more, lighter and more himself than Snape had seen in years.

There had been moments where Harry even let out an unguarded laugh, quick and startled as if it surprised him as much as it did everyone else in the room. It was genuine and fleeting, in a way Snape had almost forgotten the boy was capable of. In class, Harry still curled in on himself, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Potions seemed to sit on him like a burden, something he would rather endure than participate in. The Slytherins’ relentless comments didn’t help. They were hard on Harry, and it weighed heavily on his small frame.

Snape had spoken with the other teachers. All who admitted the same unfortunate truth they could not stop the bullying. No matter what they said or any attempt at intervening, it only made it worse. It ignited the students' cruelty. Their hands were tied, and Snape hated how easily that excuse came.

Snape instead redirected his efforts, watching over Harry himself.

Quietly.

Without hovering and being caught.

To be the one constant in Harry’s life. It was hard; he wanted to protect the boy now that he truly got to know him. He wanted to offer comfort, and almost desired to hug the boy. A protective instinct Snape thought long dead. But he knew that any shift in their fragile status quo, a visible kindness from him could hurt Harry. There would never be a worry that Snape was being nice out of pity because he didn’t act nice, even if the opposite was true.

As he made his way back to his rooms, Shape allowed himself the hope that at this pace, Harry might reclaim his nest before the detentions ended. Even if it took longer, Snape would happily return it safe and sound. The thought warmed him more than he cared to admit. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Soon, Harry could be causing a ruckus in the halls, laughing loudly with his friends.

But the moment he stepped inside, ready for a child-free moment in his favorite chair, something felt off. The space felt disturbed. House elves rarely touched his belongings when they cleaned. Maybe that is what caught Snape’s attention; they had simply moved some things. He knew that was a lie; this feeling was too off, too much like shards of broken glass.

Then he saw it. The cabinet door agar, and an empty spot on the shelf. The pride and joy he had felt just moments earlier crumbled to dust. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, decaying. The nest was gone. The scruffy bag, its familiar and oddly comforting presence, was missing from its place. He had almost grown attached to seeing it sitting there among his things, knowing that he was trusted enough to hold onto something so precious. Someone had taken it. Violating the one fragile trust Harry had given him.

Snape swept out of his rooms, cloak snapping behind him. Heading towards where the boy might be, needing to find Harry. Not a moment to lose.

Part of him hoped that with Harry talking about it earlier, he had made a last-minute decision that he wanted it. After all, his nest was only his and no one else. Snape was just holding on to it, temporarily. It could happen, and maybe asking and knowing it was safe made him feel like he was ready to have it back. Harry could just be too afraid to ask for Snape for the nest. It could be any number of things.  Maybe he couldn’t get up the courage to ask, so instead he asked the house elf, or the castle had let him in. There had to be a reason, some sort of explanation; the nest couldn’t have walked off on its own.

He found the three of them sitting together by the Gryffindor tower. Quietly talking among themselves, Harry leaned against who he assumed was George, the redhead rubbing soothing circles into his back as they talked. 

They all looked up as their professor approached. 

“Harry” Snape wavered. Dread coursing through his veins. “Did you take your nest back from my quarters?”

At the question, Harry snapped his head up, staring panickily at the professor. “No, I wouldn’t,” Harry shouted, grabbing the attention of those nearby. “I haven’t earned it back yet. The detentions aren’t over.”

The last threads of Snape’s hope frayed and snapped. Where could it be, if he didn’t ask for it back, the castle nor the house-elves would have moved it. Maybe someone broke through the wards and took it for whatever reason. Why? Snape just didn’t understand why anyone would steal anything from him. Most, if not all, of the castle was terrified of him; Snape knew of his reputation for icy demeanor. Yet someone stole from him, of all people.

Harry froze. To still, barely breathing.  Unable to move or think. He couldn’t feel the touch on the back; the sensation of the weight and heat coming from the other’s hand disappeared.

Numb so numb, why was he feeling this way? Didn’t he give Snape the nest in hopes of destroying it? Now, there was a chance it really could be destroyed or in the hands of someone who could use it against Harry.

This was a mistake; he should have just destroyed the nest in the first place, burned it to cinders, and allowed himself to think of it no longer. The thoughts spiraled; it didn’t matter anymore. His nest was no longer; he would never get the chance to earn it back. This thought continued to swirl in his brain over and over. The twins and Snape saw this; they also froze for a second, unsure of what would help. Harry was so fragile in the moment, but they needed to do something, anything.

George reached for Harry, intending to pull him into his side further. The intent was to steady and pull him back to reality, but the attempt backfired. It pulled Harry back, but it did not steady; instead, it caused Harry to bolt. To dart out between the three of them and run off into the depths of the castle. Snape was shocked into action, physically pushed the twins towards the fleeting boy. Snape will try and handle the missing nest while the twins take care of Harry.

Harry felt he had to get away from the moment as if he could run away from the truth of the matter. Why was this happening to him? Bad things always happened, and he couldn’t escape. Couldn’t breathe. This always happened; he just had to run to get away. It was all too much. The twins were right on his heels, just letting him run but not be alone, never truly alone.

Soon, Harry’s body gave out. They had made their way into the center of the castle. Harry found a spot in the hallway and fell onto the stone floor. Exhausted. Shaking. The castle soon provided him a cushion to sit on, before the twins could even arrive. It made him laugh, a hollow thing as it echoed against the bare walls and rock. Even now, Hogwarts cared for him more consistently than most people ever had. The twins saw the pillow appear next to Harry. The laugh that came from the boy would haunt George’s dreams for a long while. They had been doing so well. Fred's humor always cheered the poor boy, but it felt as if they had been sent back to square one.

Harry’s eyes stung from unshed tears; it was all too much. The sound of his heart pounded in his head, starting a deep pressure in his mind. He didn't know what to do; it was all too much, and still the numbness lurked in the back of his mind like a shadow of darkness ready to swallow him whole. His breaths hitched, shallow and panicked.

George reached Harry and sat next to the shaking boy.

"Harry, I am going to touch your back now," George whispered, not wanting to startle the omega into another chase. "Okay, mate?" He asked, not expecting an answer, the only one he received was a thin whine.

George’s hand moved gently slow circles, steady but light while Fred tried to ground him with soft questions. Simple and silly ones.

Favorite color? What did he smell? How many elephants could ride a bicycle at once? Nothing worked. They sat there. Still, Harry shook, a leaf ready to blow off into the wind.

Then Fred caught Harry’s eyes, wide and red.  "Harry." He said quietly, waiting till he was met with stark green eyes. "You can cry. We’re here. The whole time."

It was as he was waiting for permission for that exact moment, the waterworks started. Tears flooded his eyes and ran down his face in rivulets. It hurt to cry, painful and necessary. To just let go and let George and Fred take care of him. Knowing that despite his emotions, they would stay by his side and let the storm pass. Harry collapsed into Fred’s arms, clinging, sobbing, and the twins held him together between them. They were both startled but soon settled, all sitting together holding Harry close as he cried. Letting his tears have their moment and not allowing for any more expectations. They were just three young wizards having a moment, not pranksters or survivors, just them, together.

But Harry’s panic didn’t ease. It worsened. He couldn’t calm down even with his brother holding him close. He had opened the gates to his emotions, and they would not stop pouring out. The windows started to shake, and the floor trembled in response to his magic. It still wasn't enough; he wouldn't ever be enough.

The twins exchanged a helpless look. They were out of their depth. Their scents never seemed to ground Harry, not the way he needed.  Maybe they could try and see, just do something, so they didn't feel so stuck.

Footsteps pounded towards them. Fred tensed, and George shielded Harry. Shifted their focus to the intruder. Maybe it was Snape with the nest and a way to calm the omega down. It was not, the boy smelt Harry before he could even see him, and he started to run towards the group. A look of pure panic on his face. What could George do? The boy was running here, obviously scenting the distressed omega in his arms. It could be too dangerous to move Harry, but they didn't know the person approaching, and they could hurt Harry. It wasn't until they got close that both Fred and George smelled the scent coming from the running boy. Spiced vanilla.  The same scent they smelled on Harry before. Maybe it would be okay.

Blaise rounded the corner at a sprint, panic etching into every line. He dropped to his knees beside Harry. Reaching for him. Then paused. The three of them looked over Harry's head at each other. Were they just close friends? Something more? They could talk later; first, Harry needed them. Glancing quickly at the twins for silent permission to take Harry. They gave it, terrified and hopeful in equal measure.

 Harry's usual scent of fresh oranges soured and turned musty like molded fruit. Roting from panic. Blaise’s face twisted in concern. Blaise knew he had to scent Harry truly, scent his skin, because just releasing his scent would not work, not for how deeply Harry was stuck.

They had just met, though, they hadn't talked about this or what they were comfortable with, but Harry couldn't agree to anything not in this state. Boundaries were so ingrained in him that it was hard to act without them. They had barely talked at all.

Blaise gently wrapped an arm around Harry and let his scent seep into the air. Harry launched himself towards the other, burying his face into Blaise's neck. Filling his nose with vanilla, his instincts took control. Searching for the warmth and stability his instincts demanded. Leading to what would calm him down, but even crawling into his lap, wrapping his arms around the larger boy, it wasn't enough; it would never be enough.

"Please." Harry whimpered, shaking. "Please."

He didn't know what he was asking for couldn't know what he was asking for but he needed it, more than anything, more than air. To anchor him before him before he shattered. If they were any closer, they'd be melded into one.

The twins sat in shock, unsure of how to proceed. If they should intervene. They'd never seen Harry like this, and they didn't know the other boy well enough to say how they would react to any further intrusion.

Harry continued to vibrate; he could not fully calm down.

Fred gained the courage to speak what Harry could not. "Please scent him. It’s helping, he’s responding. It might be the only thing that could calm him down and bring him fully back." He didn't want to ask this of him, but it felt necessary.

Blaise stared at the redheads, both of them, for a long moment before giving a small, steady nod. He could handle this. Staring down at the omega curled into him, resolve tightened in his chest. He couldn’t help but smile. Harry was just so cute tucked into him as if he belonged there. He wished it were under different circumstances, one not born from panic.

“Darling, can you look at me, please?” Blaise asked, allowing his alpha’s instincts to seep into his voice. Not dominating but grounding.

Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to move. If he kept still, maybe the world would go quiet, and Blaise would let him stay for a second longer.

“Please,” Blaise asked again, even gentler this time. He needed to see the green eyes of the omega, needed to see the permission in them. Needed consent, anything that said Harry wanted this too. Even if the twins had already vouched for it, Blaise needed to hear from Harry.

Harry slowly, painfully slowly raised his head. He wanted to be good. He wanted to please this person he was curled up into. Wanted to make them happy, so much so that he couldn’t understand it. An involuntary whine left his throat. Would the alpha push him away? Did he not want Harry? Harry could understand; he wouldn’t want him either. He was broken, fractured on the inside, nothing worth holding.

But when Blaise met his gaze, he saw the confusion and need in them. An omega begging for reassurance. Now or never. Slowly, oh so slowly, Blaise gently lifted Harry’s arm to get access to his wrist. Watching for flinches, signs that he wanted to back out. He rubbed their wrists together, letting their scents infuse. Scenting mixed into one.

Both of their secondary traits started to surge forward, with comfort, want, familiarity that shouldn’t exist, and yet did despite all odds. It was so much, on the verge of too much, and yet not enough. Harry responded to the touch as if he knew what to do. He melted into it, responding almost automatically, his omega taking over. He rubbed his cheek against Blaise’s neck, soaking in vanilla warmth. A stuttering purr sounded. His mind went quiet. He rested his head against the other’s chest, taking in the warmth and steadiness that was Blaise. The steady thrum of Blaise’s heartbeat under his ear.

It was deeply unfair that he smelled like vanilla. Harry now desperately wanted ice cream.

 

For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry felt like himself again. No buzzing noise or panic and fear. The fog thinned. He regained his senses; he could finally hear something other than his erratic heartbeat.

He saw them then, at the corner of his vision. The twins sitting there, hovering at the edges of the moment, present.

Harry flushed scarlet; he had forgotten they were there. He acted like such a fool. A clingy, needy, pathetic omega. What would they think of him now? They would leave him, wouldn’t they? Now that they had seen his needy omega side more than ever? The moment he started to spiral, Blaise’s scent was there, bringing him back down. A hand large across his back, a comforting presence. There had been too many emotions, and it had drained him. He sagged, exhausted. 

With one last nuzzle into Blaise’s chest, Harry looked up at his friends. They were close but not intrusive, staying within reach. It made him smile. Harry felt so ridiculous for the thought just moments before; they wouldn’t leave, they were his friends and his family. They stayed through every meltdown and sharp edge. The rollercoaster of emotions he had been through.

Still seated on Blaise’s lap, Harry reached towards Fred and George, wanting the comfort they provided. They both reached out as well, intertwining their hands together.

The absurdity of it all caused Harry to laugh; so much had been going on in such a short time, it was like a story pulled from the pages of fiction. They all soon started laughing; it was ridiculous. All of them were in the middle of a random hallway, tangled on the floor.

The twins pulled themselves together as the reality of the situation sobered their laughter. Harry’s nest was still missing, and they were so unsure where it could be.

“Harry, are you okay?” Blaise asked quietly, an arm wrapping around Harry’s middle, unwilling to let him go. Not yet.

Harry nodded, thought for a moment, and shook his head. He wasn’t okay, not really. But in this moment, in this circle of warm bodies and steady hands, maybe he could be.

“It’s missing,” Harry whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The words left like a confession.

The twins exchanged a look and nodded. “Yeah,” Fred said. “Snape let us know, and so we were going to look for it, but... other things came up that were more important,” His voice faltered; not sure about how much to say. It wasn’t his secret after all.

“What is missing, Harry?” Blaise asked, brows tightening. He knew whatever it was, it would be important to the boy. Blaise thought of his cousin, who lost things constantly and dragged him into endless hunts for sentimental objects. He was good at this, finding what mattered.

Harry looked at him, tears in his eyes. Blaise’s heart throbbed painfully. He just wanted to protect him so bad; he would do anything to make Harry smile again. It caused him to pull Harry closer and nuzzle into his hair, grounding them both.

“My nest,” Harry whimpered, saying it out loud made it ten times worse. Shattering him all over again.

Blaise startled, not expecting the answer the omega gave. A nest. Not just a precious item, a favorite jumper, a whole nest. His stomach dropped. How could someone steal a nest? Why would someone steal a nest? It was cruel, and so deeply personal. It was unthinkable. But here Harry was, trembling and heartbroken; the impossible had happened.

It clicked into place why Harry had been so distressed that the twins couldn’t calm him down. Why was his scent so distressed that it reached him all the way across the hall. Why, even now, he clung to Blaise after calming. Losing one’s nest was torture.

They needed a plan. Forming a closer circle around Harry as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Harry continued to sniffle, sad but wanting to help find his nest. His Gryffindor courage was slowly gaining, as he felt his previous self returning. Blaise kept his arm around him, grounding the boy in a constant embrace.

“Can’t we sniff it out?” George suggested to the group. “It should smell like Harry, right?”

Harry gave a small, defeated shake of his head, “It won’t. Your mom gave me a bag that hides scents. I needed it to hide things from…” Harry trailed off, not really wanting to acknowledge on the outside that he feared the reaction of the Dursleys, his family by blood. Couldn’t speak the name of the place where scents were punished and any softness mocked.

“Others,” Harry finished. It was just enough detail.

The twins nodded immediately. They knew what Harry wasn’t saying. A different plan, then.

“All right,” George tried again, leaning in closer to set a hand on Harry’s leg. “What was in the nest? Any specifics that we could look for?”  It was an innocent question, but Harry hesitated. After having kept his nest a secret for so long, it was hard to speak of the details. They were pieces of him he kept so close to his chest, too afraid of them being taken away.

Blaise watched him struggle. Rage filled his bones, not at Harry, never at Harry, but at whoever had put that expression on his face. He deserved comfort, something that made him feel safe. It was clear to him and the twins that he never got that, and after this was over, that would change.

Harry whispered a few things softly, so much so that they strained to hear. The twins listened closely, nodding their heads. They were taking this with complete seriousness; their humorous natures were gone. Blaise squeezed Harry’s waist every so often, reminding him they were there. At one point, when Harry’s breath shallowed and sped up, Blaise grabbed his wrist again, refreshing the scenting. Harry looked up at him, a broken smile adorning his face. A thank you, reflected in his eyes.

As Harry spoke, Blaise’s mind turned, replaying the last several days. Any rumors he had heard, anything. Pieces began to shift into place.

It wasn't until Harry mentioned the stuffy, a very unique zebra, that it all locked into place.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Blaise felt stupid, so very stupid.

A nest. A whole nest. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

He had been so focused on what was in the bag, the important pieces of Harry’s nest, that he forgot about the bag entirely.

His eyes widened.

“Oh, I am such an idiot.” Blaise moaned. Thunking his head lightly on Harry’s. Gaining a small laugh from the smaller boy.

Of course. Of course, Draco would be so stupid. So cruel. Only Draco would do something so reckless and idiotic to prove a point. And he had dragged Blaise into it, just by being roommates. But for once, he was grateful, because it meant he knew where the missing nest had ended up. The bag is under his floor, in his room. It was right under his feet at one point. He could do this. He could make Harry smile and return something so precious.

“Harry, I think I know where it is,” Blaise said slowly, knowing he would have to leave Harry to retrieve it.

Looking at the twins. He really needed to learn their names. “Will you get Harry somewhere safe? I need to make sure. It has to be it, but I can’t be fully sure.” He asked them both. They nodded, pulling Harry from Blaise’s lap, allowing him to rise.

Harry let out a strangled noise. He didn’t want Blaise to go; he wasn’t quite ready. But logic won out; he might know where the nest was. Harry could have his nest back.

“Blaise,” Harry said quietly. The alpha looked at him, waiting for Harry to speak. “Will you come back?” It felt like a silly question, but one he needed to ask.

“Always,” Blaise stated confidently, and with that, he left them in the hall. A plan was forming in his mind. There was no time to lose; after all, he had a promise to keep.

Notes:

P.S. I totally made them into an orange creamsicle, vanilla and orange the perfect combo.

Chapter 8: Floors and the doors to life

Notes:

I really like how this chapter turned out.

Blaise had to stop himself and take a moment to breathe.

He stood just outside the entrance of the Slytherin dorms, chest tight, jaw locked, forcing each breath to slow. If he stormed inside like this, his scent would give him away. It was full of malice, and anger radiated from him; his body was stiff. The tension rolling off him in waves. Too many clever minds lived down here. Too many people knew how to read him.

If he walked in there, people would know something was off. If not by his scent, then by his body language. The way his shoulders squared, the violence curled beneath his skin. Out of his control. And curiosity in Slytherin was never harmless. Questions would be asked. Questions that could lead back and harm Harry.

His scent was still hot with anger, a warning flare rather than the scent of comfort, just minutes ago.  The kind that would terrify Harry if he were here. Blaise dragged in a breath through his nose and focused on Harry instead. The steady citrus of oranges and something warm and softer beneath it. His skin still carried a trace of Harry, and despite the anger simmering inside him, it soothed something raw.

Blaise let the memory of moments ago ground him. The way Harry had clung to him like he was the only thing holding him together. The glue to his sanity. A trust not freely given. The anger settled into his bones, still there, still present, just more under the skin.

It didn’t matter just how little he technically knew Harry. That would come in time. The truth felt hollow now, almost laughable. The protective instincts he had gained had activated so strongly and hadn’t waited for permission. The moment he saw Harry distressed, the instinct snapped into place. The final piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he’d been assembling.

 Sure, Blaise was always protective. Of omegas. Of friends and the people in his class. People who needed a solid rock to stand on. A steady presence.

But this was on a whole other level. This was careful or measured. It was a need and instinct.

This time, Blaise was pissed. Harry didn’t deserve this. Someone had taken something sacred, something deeply personal, and had done it without hesitation.

Draco had crossed a line no one should cross, and for what? Power? Pettiness?

The thought made Blaise’s curl into fists. His anger flared again, a quiet anger but no less dangerous for its restraint.

These thoughts didn’t help. Rage would not fix this. Blaise grabbed the collar of his shirt and gave it one last sniff. Rolling his shoulders back and softened his own scent until it was steady. Into something calm and neutral. Just enough to mask the traces of Harry still clinging to his clothes. Enough to walk into the den, without raising alarms.

Slytherin could be an ally or a knife in the back. If he spoke the truth, many of them would help without hesitation. Stealing from an omega, stealing a nest was far past cruel. It was a violation. Many had been trained since birth to take such things seriously. A Slytherin’s code of conduct was their way of life.

But Harry had been their target for so long that Blaise couldn’t be sure how they would respond.

Maybe they would act like Draco.

Blaise wasn’t willing to take the chance. It was a gamble he refused to make. Harry’s mental state was so fragile, something Blaise yearned to protect. Bringing others into this would potentially shatter what little stability Harry had.

With his expression carefully schooled, Blaise stepped into the common room. The familiar warmth blasted away the chill from the rest of the dungeons. A mummer of voices reached him, filling the space. These were his yearmates. His cohorts. Sometimes, his confidants.

“Did you hear?” Pansy Parkinson asked, gliding up beside him with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Snape pulled us all aside earlier. Someone stole something from his office. Apparently, it belonged to an omega.”

Her gaze flicked up to Blaise’s face, searching. Blaise froze. So, Snape had acted already. “I missed the meeting,” Blaise said, “unfortunate timing, is all.” Smoothing over his absence. He had missed the summoning, having spent it with Harry instead. A moment he did not regret.

Pansy huffed. “Can you imagine?” She continued, voice lowering. “I would hate for something like that to happen to anyone. Someone taking something so personal from an omega.” Her mouth formed a thin line. “Absolutely unforgivable.”

Snape had taken the straightforward approach. Testing the room’s morals without naming names. It was clever. Risky but clever. Slytherins went by their own rules. They might not be the same morals as the wider wizarding world, but if they believed in it, they would go further than most to follow it.

Blaise allowed himself to feel the flicker of relief. He knew her, knew how she would respond. Maybe he was being too paranoid, but he just couldn't let it go, thinking that the fewer people to know, the better Harry would be. He could be wrong after all; his mind was clouded with Harry. It was silly, but he felt safe with Harry, so now all he needed to know was that Harry felt safe with him as well.

“Why would anyone do something like that?” Blaise agreed, letting his stance be known, allowing the weight of the words to matter. The culprit was on the tip of his tongue.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly,” she said. “If I find out who did it”. She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to.

Blaise knew she would start digging the moment she turned away. Already planning. All he could hope was that when the truth surfaced, she would be on the right side of it. Harry’s side.

With Pansy’s attention pulled elsewhere, Blaise wasted no time retreating to his room. Please don’t have moved it, the phrase looping in his head with wild abandon, a frantic refrain utterly at odds with his steady steps. Draco had plenty of time to move the nest if he thought he had been caught. It had been a while since Blaise had last laid eyes on it, and the thought of Draco doing anything more than hiding it made Blaise’s temper flare within his chest.

Their room looked the same as it always did: meticulously clean, carefully organized, and a shared bookcase lined with books they had each brought from home. It was so ordinary that no one would suspect it would be hiding such a secret. After all, it looks just like every other Slytherin dorm. Maybe that was Draco’s genius, hiding cruelly beneath routine.

He crossed the room slowly. Lucky Draco was absent, or Blaise might truly have lost his cool. His anger sat just beneath the surface, a thin veil stretched, a thread away from snapping.

It took a couple of tries to find the loose board that held something so precious. It was just ever so slightly misaligned, far too easy to miss. When the board finally lifted, Blaise released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There it was. The scruffy, worn bag from before. Tucked beneath the floor like a shameful secret. Careful not to snag it on a loose nail or splintered edge, Blaise eased it free.

Lifting the bag. He frowned. He truly couldn’t smell anything coming from it. It was so strange. Nothing at all, not even a trace of the omega’s warmth of comfort. It was unsettling, like holding something so hidden it had begun to forget itself. The absence made his chest ache.

 It made so much more sense why he hadn’t smelled it before.

He opened the bag gently and peered inside. On top of the pile sat a well-loved zebra, its glassy eyes staring back, unblinking. As Blaise lifted it, the faintest hit of citrus brushed his senses, soft oranges restrained and cautious. As if Harry was afraid to fully scent this item.

It broke something in his heart, causing his chest to ache for the omega all over again.

Blaise had been so wrapped up in thinking of Harry, his distress, and his scent that he never realized that when he was thinking of Harry that night, the scent had been real, not something in his imagination. Sure, it had been small, and that zebra had been out of the bag for only a second, but he should have recognized it.

But now, he had it. Harry’s nest. Whole and safe.

For a brief moment, Blaise allowed himself to imagine handing it back directly. To be Harry’s hero. But reason always crept back in. He should give it to Snape. Snape was the better option. If Blaise returned the nest to Snape, the professor would feel better, and their seemly fragile trust could be mended. Plus, if Blaise gave it to Harry, there might be the added weight of knowing exactly who had taken it and having to tell Harry directly.

Everyone would win.

Blaise placed the zebra lightly on top of the nest and cinched the drawstring. Cradling the bag close, he slipped out of the room and back into the common area.

Several students glanced at him as he passed. Some gave him a look of suspicion but went back to their conversations. Snippets reached him as they drifted through the room. The stolen item. The omega. Snape’s warning.

He was at the exit when Pansy appeared at his side, popping out of nowhere. As if summoned by instinct alone.

 “What do you have there?” Pansy asked, gesturing to the bag. Her tone was polite, airy, and casual. Her eyes were anything but.

 Blaise had to resist every temptation to hide the bag behind his back. Instead, he pulled out his most charming smile, “Nothing much, dear,” keeping his voice as smooth as possible. Practiced, effortless.

Pansy didn’t smile back. She scrutinized him, reading way too much into his body language. His defensive nature he couldn’t quite suppress. Blaise had always known she was perceptive. In moments like this, she was downright scary, and she hadn’t even come into her secondary nature yet. It was like she knew everything without speaking; it was truly unnerving.

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip threatening in a way her voice never was.

“Go return it.” She said quietly.

It wasn’t a question. She definitely knew too much.

All Blaise could do was nod his head, knowing that denying it would only confirm her suspicions.

He would have to fill her in later; she would demand answers, and Blaise knew better than to pretend otherwise. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother him. Maybe it would be good for him, a chance to share his feelings, the happiness blooming in his chest when it came to Harry.  He was still cautious, still wary of how quickly everything had shifted, but he honestly thought Pansy would be happy for him. If anything would be just as protective of Harry as he was, it would be Pansy. She was the dorm’s unofficial mother, and she, just like Blaise, was protective of the little Slytherins. Loyal to a fault.

He had to actively stop himself from skipping as he found his way towards Snape’s office. The bag felt heavier in his hands, not because of the contents but of what it meant. Harry could have it back so soon. He could be safe again. Harry could be happy again.

Blaise yearned to see Harry smile. Not the practiced brittle thing Harry wore like armor. Something genuine and unguarded. It truthfully felt like the right decision to give it to Snape first, to allow everything to be fixed and everybody to have a happily ever after. Let the professor fix the wrong, let the truth be smoothed over.

He reached Snape’s office door faster than he expected. The door loomed before him, tall, dark, and intimidating, much like the man himself. Blaise knocked swiftly, sharper than usual, his nerves making him forget his typical composed self. The door swung open immediately, startling the boy just a bit, causing him to freeze for a breath. It had never done that before. He assumed that Snape was busy and waved him in without coming to the door to see who it was.

The office was exactly as it always was; dimly lit, warm from the fireplace, shelves lined with books and ingredients. It was oddly comforting for such a cold man.

Then Blaise’s gaze shifted.

His breath caught in his throat. Curled on the couch in the corner of the room, small and familiar, sat Harry. Not Snape. Harry. The boy he’d started to adore.

“Harry," Blaise whispered, as though speaking any louder might shatter the moment, might prove that this wasn’t real. As if it were a fragile dream, too easily to wake from.

Harry turned towards him at the sound of his name. His eyes were red-rimmed and tear-strained. It did not stop the beauty that was Harry. If anything, it made him more real. Painfully beautiful. Sad, yes, but still perfect.

Harry opened his mouth, clearly trying to speak, but no words came out. He looked like he was in a giant conflict with himself, and Blaise wasn't sure where he stood in that conflict. Only that he wanted to bridge the distance between them and pull Harry close again.

It was after a moment of silence, the two of them staring at each other, breathing the same air, that Harry finally spoke.

“Blaise,” he whispered back. The way he said his name felt like a plea.

Harry hesitated again, finger curling into the fabric of his sleeves. When he spoke, his voice trembled.  “Did you...?” He swallowed hard, bracing himself. “Did you find it?” He eyes searching Blaise’s face, afraid of the answer even as he asked. “Did you find my nest?”

Blaise smiled, a heartwarming smile, one full of promise. He guessed he could give it to Harry now; there was no point in waiting for Snape.

“Yes,” he said gently. “I found it.”

Blaise produced the scruffy bag at last, fingers tightening briefly around the drawstring before loosening it again. He pulled out a zebra, hoping with all his hope that this wasn't just some weird coincidence. That this was, in fact, Harry's nest and he had brought the two together again.

Harry reacted instantly.

He jumped up, practically flying across the room. The movement more instinct than thought. He snatched the zebra from Blaise’s hands and pressed it to his chest as he inhaled sharply. Smelling the slight oranges, coming from the stuffy.

This was it.

He had known it was it, but the smell only doubled that fact. Harry had his nest back. Returned to him whole.

 

A shaky laugh tore from his throat, and he buried his face into the worn plush, as if someone might try and take it away again.

It didn't matter what anybody said; this was his, and he would keep it that way. Nobody, not Snape, could take it from him. A hollow part of him that he had been carrying for months finally filled. Warmth spreading through places that had been cold for far too long. He hadn’t even realized how much of himself he’d been holding back to become strong.

Harry had been holding himself together by sheer will. The weight of the doubt, the same none of it mattered in this moment.

Maybe that wasn't the deciding factor of his strength; it felt so silly. Strength wasn’t something to be stolen away with a bag. It was still here. He was still here.

Harry lifted his head and looked up. Blaise was smiling at him. It wasn’t the polite smile of the first time they met or the carefully measured one he showed in class. This one was soft and open. Harry hadn’t expected to see something so precious.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back, the expression breaking across his face.

Blaise startled slightly by the sight. It shouldn’t have been; this was the goal after all, but that didn’t stop it from hitting him like a blow. Harry hadn’t smiled genuinely for what felt like a lifetime. Not a small, gentle smile but one full of unrestrained joy.

 “Thank you,” Harry said, voice trembling. Then again, louder this time. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Harry couldn't help repeating over and over again. He didn’t know what else to say. Words felt too small to compete with what Blaise had done. Blaise, he had kept his promise, he had come back, and he had brought the nest. Everything would be okay.

The realization cracked something open, and soon tears were running down his face. He let out a shaky laugh, scrubbing at his face with one hand while the other clucked the zebra.  When had he become such a crybaby? He was genuinely happy and was still crying anyway.

Blaise didn’t say a word. He simply opened his arms, a silent invitation. No pressure, or expectation. Just there, if Harry wanted a hug, Blaise would be there.

Harry understood immediately.

At first, he hesitated, glancing back down at the bag. He needed to be sure. Needed to see it all, to know for certain nothing else had been taken. That everything was back where it belonged, with him.

Only then would he allow himself to fall apart.

Harry began pulling items from the back with reverent care. The pillows, then the blankets. He hadn’t seen it in what felt like a lifetime ago. A month, maybe more. It felt like eons had passed. Seeing everything again sent a rush through his chest, something warm and aching all at once.

 

The blankets were fuzzy and worn thin in places from use; he had forgotten just how soft they actually were. The moment his finger brushed them, his instincts took over.

He couldn’t stop to think. Right there on the rug in Snape’s office, an intimidating place, Harry started to nest. He didn't even think about it; he just knew he needed to. It was automatic. His body knew what to do before his mind could catch up. Blankets were spread and folded just so, the mountain of pillows arranged with loving care. This was grounding. This was his.

Blaise watched Harry in silence, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He was so happy for Harry. Amused, too, though he kept it gentle font rather than mocking.

Harry seemed to completely forget he existed for the moment, absorbed in the task at hand. The zebra never let his grip, tucked securely against his chest, even as he worked. At some point, Harry added another stuffed animal to the growing pile, settling the zebra beside it like it always belonged there.

The nest was in such stark contrast to the office; Blaise couldn't help but chuckle. A warm and colorful next, right in the middle of Snape’s office, dark woods, cold stones, and sharp lines. No fuss. It clashed with the softness and warmth radiating from Harry and his things. Blaise had to bite back a laugh.

This was probably a terrible place for a nest. He knew that. Logic told him they would need to find a safe place where they'd move the nest. Somewhere private, and Harry could relax. But for now, this is where Harry wanted to be, letting his heart win over the logic in his head.

After all, Harry was so cute. Treating each precious little comfort like a treasure. Placing everything just so. The alpha in Blaise's brain took stock of all that he saw, taking notes. Harry's preferences for way too many pillows and the fuzziest of blankets. The softest of textures possible. Layers. Warth. Comfort taking priority over aesthetics.

 

Maybe when this had settled, Blaise would get him another blanket to add to his collection. Something to remind Harry of him. Something that said you are safe, something that smelled like vanilla.

Blaise was stuck, lost in his musings for so long that he didn't notice Harry had finished until the scent shifted. There was the Omega staring back at him with an adoration look in his eyes. The scent of oranges filling his nose.

Harry sat in the center of his nest, looking so happy and content. A cute little teddy sitting in his lap. Harry fidgeted with its ears, rubbing them between his fingers. As if he didn’t quite know what to do with the excess emotions.

Blankets and pillows surrounded him in a spiral, nearly covering the entire rug. It looked inviting. Safe. A place of joy, no sadness should ever touch.

And yet.

 Harry seems conflicted, caught between joy and uncertainty.

“What's wrong?” Blaise asked, concern clouding his voice. “Is something missing? Did I forget something?”

Maybe Blaise had missed something, and there were more nest materials under the floor that he just didn't see. Blaise was too focused on the bag after all. So relieved to find it, that he hadn’t thought to look deeper. Draco had stored lots of random things down there. Blaise didn't even think to look. Who knew what else might be there?

Before he had even gotten an answer, Blaise started to turn away, ready to head back to their dorm, go into their room, and search the hiding place for whatever could belong to Harry. The intent of fixing it immediately.

The reaction was instant.

“No, don't go.” Harry cried out, voice sharp with panic. Blaise froze mid step.

It's all here, I just…” Harry rushed out. A blush started spreading across Harry's cheeks. “I just really wanted a hug. But I can’t let you into my nest. And I know it sounds stupid, and I’m just...” He let out a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m mentally struggling over here, don’t mind me. I’ll figure it out.”

Blaise’s heart clenched. That was it. That was the problem. It was such an easy one to solve. Slowly, carefully, Blaise moved closer but stopped just short of the nest. Keeping a slight distance. Respecting the spoken boundary without question. He lowered himself onto the cold stone floor beside it. The chill seeping through his clothes.

He opened his arms again in invitation. Harry didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward, landing half in his nest and half in Blaise’s lap. Clinging to him, like the world was ending. Blaise wrapped his arms around him instantly, holding him steady.

The location didn’t matter anymore, not the office or the floor. Harry was warm and safe. Happy. And for Blaise, that was everything.