Warning: Mentions of mental illnesses and mistreatment of those w/ emotional/psychological conditions.
"Ms. Y/L/N." A tap is heard on your desk.
You flinch at the sound and growl in your throat, trying to muffle it with a fake smile.
"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" You squeak out, trying to ignore the student that was loudly chewing their gum a table away.
In a weird jerking motion, your head cocks to the side, your chin jutting out to the right as though a bug just crawled in your left eardrum. Accidentally doing it once more, you try to disguise it as a hiccup.
"That's the third time I've called your name. You haven't even started your paper. Is this going to be a prob-"
You can't hear her over your anxiety-filled state, the heel of your sock sliding down your foot, a small hole in your robe that is creating a draft, some kid is messing with his quill and making horrible sounds with it, that one kid is still chewing, amongst other things.
"I see I've lost your attention aga-"
"I can't focus!" You interrupt in a voice that sounds like a mix between whining and anger.
"Do not speak to me that way, Ms. Y/L/N I am your teacher and you are a fifth year who is capable of being polite."
"I-I..." You groan and put your fingers in your ears.
Standing up, you begin to pant in your overwhelmed state; "I have to go."
You remove one finger from your right ear to pick up your bag, shoving papers in it with one hand, leaving your quill behind.
"Y/L/N, if you walk out of that door, you're buying yourself a detention with Professor Snape in the dungeons at 5:00!" The woman exclaims in disbelief at your behavior.
You harshly shake your head and keep rushing forward, ignoring the stares of your confused and concerned peers. Using the right side of your body to open the large oak door, you rush down the hall.
---
"
"Aww, they throw books at you too? Poor little Gryfi-"
"Bugger off, Myrtle." You whisper, just loud enough for her to hear you.
Ignoring your request, she continues with her incessant and pointless chatter, until you pick up a soggy book that someone had left behind in the abandoned bathroom and chuck it at the annoying ghost girl.
Letting out one of her ear-splitting screeches, she floats into one of the stalls and disappears down one of the toilets.
Annoying ghost. . .
You think back on the events that had occured in the past hour and groan in frustration, putting your face in your hands.
You hadn't meant to sound rude to McGonagall. That wasn't your intention. She was quite fair for the most part and you couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed.
Your anxiety has been insane and nobody seems to understand what it's like, not even a little.
Professor Flitwick had been more patient with your lack of focus, but a bit more concerned with your lack of attendance.
Your stomach has been bugging you in the morning, making it hard to keep food down. The thought of school isn't uncommon to be paired with that sick feeling.
How could you explain to your teachers that you couldn't attend classes due to the fact that your roommate used too much perfume, the other took too long in the bathroom, making you have a breakdown at the thought of being late to breakfast, and that you accidentally scraped your fingernails against your sheets.
The same jerking motion is back and your head tilts to the side twice, before you force yourself to take a deep breath.
Clearly this was anxiety related.
You could really cry now.
That would be quite the nice outlet.
But last night you had wept so hard, a red spot appeared on the side of your eye. Likely a small ruptured blood vessel.
You had no tears left to shed.
The pass time bell goes off and you look at the clock.
Merlin- you had been in here since the second half of McGonagall's class and the entirety of Sprout's!
It was now time for charms and you worryingly glanced at the clock.
A nervous sound escapes from your throat, a cross between a faint wheeze and a soft sigh.
Pressing your lips together, the head jerking motion ensues.
"Fu-uck." You whisper to yourself, willing it to stop.
Humming quietly, you breathe in and out through your nostrils to calm yourself.
Standing up from the cold bathroom floor, you pick up your bag and stare at the clock once more.
There was still enough time to make it to class.
But were you actually going to?
No.
---
Tiptoeing down the halls of Hogwarts, you try to make your way back to your dorm room. The backup plan was the library but that'd be quite the trek.
"Just disappointed, Albus." A quiet voice is heard.
Just from that one sentence, you were immediately reeled in.
Slowly sticking your head out from the corner, you see Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape standing in the hallway facing each other.
You lean back and keep your back pressed against the wall, closing your eyes to focus on their voices.
"I understand, Minerva. Perhaps it is time we discuss this in greater detail. Obviously it's been an issue in every class, correct, Severus?"
A brief moment of silences passes by.
"Not to be gentle by any means, I however..." pause "...have taught the dreaded Weasley twins and simply put, their presence was an utter nightmare. So to be quite honest, there have been much more difficult students than her..."
"It's just so frustrating. So much tongue." McGonagall.
"You're her head of house, Minerva. You decide what is best." Dumbledore.
"I've already given her more than a few detentions.. This is an occuring problem. Not just her lack of interest but her... Behavioral patterns?" McGonagall.
"How do you mean?" Dumbledore.
"Well, for one, her tone. Irritation and impatience is growing within her."
I'm not that impatient? I'm not trying to be rude...
"How... odd... for a Gryffindor.." Snape lowly mutters, words dripping with sarcasm.
A scoff is heard.
"I understand, Minerva."
Pause.
"Severus?"
Pause.
"Mm."
"What do you mean, Mm?"
"To be quite honest, Minerva, I do not know about you...However, her tone seems to be the least of my concerns. Have you seen her attendance rate?" Snape
Nobody speaks.
"I do not believe she has visited Madam Pomfrey? Surely she couldn't be sick." McGonagall.
"No. She isn't physically ill, Minerva." Snape.
A long silence occurs and the frog in your throat leaps, your heart pounding in your chest.
Surely she couldn't have such little faith in you?
Of course nobody can understand what I go through because they aren't me.. but how can I explain to them what's happening to me if I don't know or understand what the hell is happening to me?..
I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just so stressed and I can't focus... I...
You blink back tears and turn around, rushing down the hall and away from the adults and their secret meeting.
---
The next day
You sit on a smooth stone bench that other looks a side of the forbidden forest.
The cool autumn wind nips at your cheeks, causing a dull sting. At least it is something else to keep your mind occupied.
You had a panic attack in Professor Snape's room after knocking something over due to your shaky hands.
Your stomach dropped when he looked up from his desk, his jaw clenching. Choking on your breath, you had started to quietly apologize. Suddenly, your palms were coated in the disgusting texture of sweat, the clothes you wore began to suffocate you, amongst other things.
It was now the end of the school day and you are sat outside in the cold fall air, doing nothing except stare at the trees and occasionally wipe snot away with an old handkerchief.
"I thought I might find you here." A deep voice utters, dead grass crunching under the weight of footsteps.
Oh great, here comes the lecture- considering he couldn't give it before you darted out of the room.
You can feel the warmth of his presence against the cold air, him hovering a fair distance away from you.
For a moment he stands there and you simply wait.
With almost no sound, he walks around you and sits on the cold bench, the many layers of his black cloak likely adding a layer of warmth between the freezing marble.
"No wonder your nose is running. You're going to catch death out here, Y/L/N. It's too cold to not wear a jumper." He states in his usual monotone voice, despite the words sounding of warning or scolding.
"I'm fine." You whisper, shoulders too frozen to shrug.
You hadn't even heard the rattle of fabric, his movements so silent that you hadn't even noticed he'd taken off his fleece cloak until it lay upon your shoulders.
"Now you'll get cold, Professor.
"Why are you out here?" He asks, ignoring your previous statement.
You stay quiet for a moment.
"It's nice." You lowly say, subconsciously pulling the cloak tighter.
"The trees are dying, the grass is frozen, and I am starting to lose feeling in my rear. It is, in fact, not nice." He flatly states, his head now turned to you.
"I've been stressed." You state, stopping at that.
Another beat of silence goes by.
"I didn't come out here to listen to the birds chirp or talk about the weather. I'm waiting." Professor Snape finally states, turning his head back forward.
That must be his 'go-ahead- for you to begin your trauma-dumping. . .
---
After going through every part of your mind and what has been attacking it, you two are left in a long few minutes of silence.
"What's wrong with me?..." You whisper, turning to him.
He slowly turns his gaze back to you, opening his mouth and then closing it.
"You're a Gryffindor."
Your face remains blank, until you burst into a fit of giggles at his dry humor.
A twinge of something dances across his dark brown eyes before he directs them away.
He clears his throat and then straightens his posture with a sigh.
"I am by no means, a doctor, Ms. Y/L/N. However, what you are suffering from is without a doubt, anxiety..." he pauses "However, that is not likely just the case. It could be sensory processing disorder, autism spectrum disorder, amongst other things.."
"Am I still in trouble?" You ask quietly.
"No. You will not be punished for your neurodivergency simply because others do not understand it. You will need practice with skills such as managing your anxiety and being able to remain calm despite your situation.
I will discuss with the other staff about it to ensure that they are aware. You do not need to be worried."
You look at him with faint sigh.
"Thank you."
What an understatement...
"You needn't thank me. Just have faith that there will be people who understand. Who relate. . Even if you can't see that they do."