eccedentesiast || severitus

chapter five | panic

He glared down at the boy, daring him to even challenge him, but the welp did nothing. He didn't even seem as if he were breathing. He was as still as the statues that line the castle, his eyes glazed and unblinking, which was rather unsettling.

Severus narrowed his eyes, as he stepped an inch closer to the boy.

"Potter, stop it," he said, looking at the boy to see if he reacted. But no, the child didn't even seem as if he heard Severus. His chest was rising rapidly, barely even having time to fall before it was rising again.

"Alright Potter, that's enough, quit the sympathy act."

Nothing.

It seemed to Severus that the boy's breathing sped up, if that was even possible. Letting out an irritated huff, the man crept closer, before squatting so his face was right in front of Potter's.

"That's enough, Potter. Drop. The. Act. It's not going to work on me, I've seen it in enough insolent children who try to whine their way out of punishment," Severus said, looking directly into the green eyes of the boy.

But yet, he didn't drop the act. One small hand rose up to his chest, as life flickered slowly back into his eyes, before panic quickly replaced it. His eyes flicked up to his Professor.

The boy began grabbing at his own chest, his mouth forming words but no sounds came out of it. Severus could make out one word though.

Help.

An icy feeling of dread washed over Severus. Was the boy truly panicking this much over being caught? He's seen kids whine, yell, huff and puff, throw tantrums, and scream about the unfairness of being caught, but never have they panicked like this. Hell, whenever Snape has caught Potter Jr. in the act of something, the boy has always fought back.

Something wasn't right. No, indeed something was very wrong.

"Potter. Potter, look at me. You need to breath, you're hyperventilating."

The boy continued to wheeze.

Well, that didn't work as he'd hoped. Rolling his eyes to the high heavens, Severus kneeled before the boy, and took him by the shoulders.

"Alright, breathe with me now. Take a deep breath in, Potter. Come now, you have to breathe," Severus said, keeping his voice professional, yet relaxed, to hopefully calm the boy down.

His breathing slowed, but only fractionally.

"Okay, obviously that's not going to work," Severus muttered to himself, becoming irritated once more, "Merlin, why is it always me that gets stuck with this." He sighed, before leaning closer to the child in front of him.

"Alright, Potter, I'm going to place your hand on my chest. I'm going to breathe in for you, and then I will breathe out. Do try to copy my breathing."

With that, Severus removed one of his hands from the boy's shoulders and grabbed one of the small hands that was still scratching wildly at its owners chest. He then placed the shaking limb on his breast bone, and took an exaggerated breath in.

"Follow me, Potter. Take a breath in...good now let it out, just like me. Again. In. And out. Keep breathing, just focus on your breathing." While the boy did so, Severus looked into his eyes and searched them. Searched the emotions swirling inside of them.

Fear. Anger. Worry. Sadness. Guilt. Annoyance. Anxiety. Stress. Panic.

So much panic.

Merlin, what did Severus miss? How did this whole situation go this wrong? The boy had never reacted to his jibes like this before. He'd never panicked like this before.

But.

Wait.

Now, looking back, Severus thought of the past months, all the altercations he's had with the boy so far. Every time, Potter was irritated, and annoyed, and angered, yes, but now Snape could see there was fear and panic looming deep within his eyes.

Behind the mask the boy seemed to have put up.

It seemed as if, although Potter was arguing with Severus when he would scold him, the boy was trying to protect himself. If the intense look of fear was anything to go by.

Taking in a deep breath, Severus thought back to all the strange habits the boy had that he'd unconsciously took note of.

In his class, Potter always sat in the back. His shoulders turned inwards, almost in a shrug, his arms wrapped around his waist, hugging himself—protecting the vital organs, Severus noted with a shiver—and his eyes never straying from the book, or cauldron, or cutting board, or whatever was in front of him. He would never willingly participate in class. Would never talk to his ginger counterpart, unless he had to. He would bite his lips until they were raw, his whole body tight with tension. And when Severus would call him out for something, anything to berate him for, the boy would put up a mask, and he had never noticed before. Severus would scold him, and he had somehow missed the numerous moments of panic the boy had, before it was quickly covered up with indifference again. Before Potter was being his usual bratty self.

Merlin, but how did he miss that?

In the halls, when Severus would be the professor patrolling that day in between classes, or during lunch, or breaks, whenever he would see Potter, there was always an intense look of stress on his face. Worry. Which Severus had mistaken for worry about being caught for whatever troubles he had caused. But now he saw that it wasn't stress about his latest prank, or if his newest victim would tattle to a professor about his bullying, it wasn't even stress at all. It was fear. Pure fear. And the boy flinched at every loud sound, every fast move, every scream of wild students.

Had he really misjudged the boy this badly?

Surely not, he was James Potter reincarnated. The boy was a brat, and he was a trouble maker. Severus knew this with the multiple detentions the boy has already had.

But...

At dinner—as he never touched the food at breakfast—he was almost...panicked. Making a barrier around his plate with his arms, flinching whenever someone came too close to his plate. Never going for seconds, making sure to finish every last bite on his plate. His plate, which only ever consisted of a piece of whatever kind of meat was served that night, along with a small scoop of potatoes and a few vegetables. He never ate dessert. He never went for the sweet drinks. He never looked up from his plate until he was finished, until there was no food left. And then he would relax, loosen his tight grip he had on his fork, and he'd smile. But only slightly. A look of worry would still bloom in his eyes. And he wouldn't calm down until the plates were removed from his sight by the house elves, and then he'd be fully relaxed.

Severus knew what these actions meant. He knew what caused such extreme reactions. Yet, he didn't want to believe it.

Potter has a loving home life. His guardians wait on his every request. They love and adore him, like his millions of fans. He's a spoiled brat. He's doing this for sympathy.

But Severus found there was a voice in his head, whispering 'Is he really? Are you sure about that? Are you positive he's spoiled, and loved, and cared for?' And now, looking down at the boy who had tears shining in his eyes, his breathing almost normal, Severus was doubting himself. Doubting every harsh word, every wrongly placed misconception and accusation.

Don't think to much on it, Severus. Get him back to his dormitory and just forget about this whole encounter.

He's James Potter's son.

'But...he's also Lily's' the traitorous voice whispered once more. Severus huffed angrily to himself. He just needed to occlude, push all these thoughts back to dwell on later, and get the boy back to his room.

The man looked up at the boy and found himself stuck.

Now what?

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