Chapter 2: Catagelophobia
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, it was like getting candy when I checked my email I'm going to try to update this on a regular basis, but with college, midterms, and this cold I can't seem to get rid of, it might go kind of slowly :p But enough of that- on with chapter 2. Warnings: Language, Self-injury, not slash (something about Harry and Snape as a couple creeps me out- Snape is as old as his parents :P) By the way, I OWN NOTHING, JK ROWLING OWNS IT ALL.
19…18….17…..15…..
Harry dashed around the corner and down the staircase leading to the dungeons. He just might be able to make it…
10…9….8….7….
'Come on Harry! Just a little bit faster…!'
5…4…3…2…!
He had made it. Slamming to a halt, Harry stood outside the door to the Potions classroom, his hand wrapped loosely around the door handle. He wasn't late (well, sort of), but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to open the door and walk into class. He was sure he would be the last one to come in, and that would only bring about awkward stares from the other students. But then again, wouldn't it be worse if he did come in late? Or not at all? He shook his head. Why was he even thinking about this? It was silly. Deciding not to stall any longer, Harry pushed open the door, hoping to find Ron and Hermione quickly and get a seat.
Much to his delight the class had not started, and most of the students sat in their seats chatting merrily to their neighbors. In fact, he did not even see their new Potions teacher in the room. Harry let a slight smile creep over his face. He had gotten all worked up over nothing.
Spotting Ron and Hermione in the front row, Harry made his way down the aisle in the center of the classroom to join his friends and plopped down in the seat next to his red haired friend.
"See Hermione, I told you he wouldn't miss the first day of class," said Ron cheerily, prodding Hermione with his elbow. She shot him a piercing glance before turning on Harry.
"Harry, you ought to be more careful! Ron told me you slept all the way through breakfast and that he could barely get you up when he went back up to the tower- what if you had missed today? Professor Slughorn might be even stricter than Professor Snape!"
Before Harry had even opened his mouth to retaliate, Ron was rolling his eyes and running both hands through his wild hair.
"Oh lay off it Hermione," he started in a pained tone of voice. "It's not like Harry'll die if he's a few minutes late every now and then." He gave Harry a friendly thump on the back. "Right mate?"
It was at that moment that Hogwarts newest Potions teacher came strolling into the dungeons with a loud bang of the doors. Slughorn was a round, portly man, with a good natured, ruddy face and large, bushy mutton chops that seemed to swallow his red cheeks.
Taking the head of the class, Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Alright, alright, let's get started shall we?"
Beside him, Ron groaned audibly, but Harry gave a silent sigh of relief. It was Slughorn's entrance to the class that had caused his two friends to miss his noticeable response to Ron's pat on the back. Although his situation at the Dursley's house had gotten better since Harry found out that he was a wizard, his uncle still occasionally lost his temper, usually in combination with a little too much whiskey or wine. While most of the wounds Harry had sustained over the summer had healed, the tenderness across his back lingered, as he expected it would for at least the next few weeks.
Harry leaned back gingerly in his chair. In a way, he almost wished that his uncle had hit him as much as he used to- it was a form of punishment, wasn't it? He was being punished by his uncle. And didn't he deserve some sort of punishment? After all, he was the reason Sirius and Cedric were dead- it was his fault…
"And bless my soul, if it isn't Harry Potter, right here, sitting stark in the middle of my class!"
At the mention of his name, Harry was brought crashing back to reality. Slughorn was standing directly in front of him, beaming down at Harry over his rather rotund belly. Noticing that the rest of the class was now staring at him, Harry felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hated people looking at him, yet somehow it always seemed to happen.
"So good to see you in my class m'boy," continued Slughorn, chuckling slightly. "I expect you'll be just as good at Potions as your mother was, eh? She was a real gem, one of my absolute favorites!"
At this Harry perked up. Slughorn had known his mother? 'Well, Dumbledore did mention that he had taught here before…' "Professor," he began, not caring that the class could hear, " did you just say you knew-"
"Well, well, looks like Saint Potter has yet another admirer."
How had he forgotten that he would be in this class as well? Harry turned around and, sure enough, the blonde head of Draco Malfoy sat directly behind him. The Slytherin smirked down smugly at the Gryffindor. For some reason, Malfoy seemed even cockier than he usually did at the beginning of term.
"Going to kiss his feet for a few extra points Potter?"
Before he could retaliate, Hermione had turned around to face Malfoy .
"At least he hasn't been kissing Professor Snape's feet for the past 5 years. Harry got into this class through his own doing."
Draco's face seemed to crinkle a little in disgust at Hermione's response.
"What would you know about it you filthy little Mud-"
"Now, now, I will not have any of that in my classroom Mr. Malfoy." Slughorn made his presence known once again at the head of the class, this time with his arms planted firmly across his broad chest. The good natured look on his face had disappeared, and his cheeks seemed red for a different reason than just his ruddy complexion. "Now, if you will, everyone please open your textbooks to page number 12 and begin preparing your ingredients for Living Death, the first potion we will be studying this semester."
Taking the hint from Slughorn's quietly serious tone of voice, the class did as they were told with relatively little noise. As he pulled out his book, cutting knife, and ingredients, Harry felt a small hand rest itself on his arm. Looking up, he saw that the hand belonged to Hermione.
"Don't worry about him Harry- he's just trying to provoke you." She paused and looked straight into his eyes. "And I meant what I said about you getting into this class. You earned it Harry."
Harry smiled softly at his bushy haired friend. For as much as she scolded Ron and himself, he knew that when Hermione gave compliments she truly meant them. "Thanks Hermione."
Returning the smile, Hermione turned back to her own work, leaving Harry to his thoughts as he began to cut up a bit of mandrake root. He wished that he could have accepted Hermione's praise, but some small nagging in the back of brain couldn't let it get through. The whole encounter with Malfoy had set him on edge, even more than it usually did. It's not like he had asked Slughorn to make a big deal out of him; In fact, that too had made him extremely uncomfortable. But what was he supposed to do, tell his professor to shut up?
Harry continued chopping angrily.
And who was Malfoy to say Harry was a suck up? 'Snape wouldn't have taken it from me even if I had tried,' he thought sarcastically. 'Leave it to Malfoy to make me look like an egotistical bastard…' Suddenly Harry became very nervous.
What did the rest of his classmates think of him? Slowly looking up from his work, Harry tried as discreetly as possible to read the faces of the other students. As he looked down the rows behind him, Harry noticed that several of his classmates had been staring at him, only to looks away hastily as his eyes met theirs. Others simply continued to observe him even when he made eye contact. He turned back around quickly.
Why were they all staring at him? He bit his lip.
Surely they didn't agree with Malfoy, did they? Couldn't they tell that he had not wanted that attention? Abandoning his mandrake root, Harry pressed the tip of his potions knife into the pad of his thumb. What if they treated him the way they did the previous year? Harry ground the knife a little deeper into his finger. He wasn't sure if he would be able to handle everyone whispering about him again. Didn't they know how hard it was to be the Boy Who Lived? It was not something that he wanted or was ever proud of. And then again, like a curse, those words entered his swirling thoughts; Neither can live while the other survives.
He thought he was going to be sick.
Throwing his things into his bag and slipping the knife into his pocket, Harry stood up wildly, stumbling to get out from behind the table and into the aisle.
"Harry!" Exclaimed Slughorn, standing up from his chair. " Where do you think you're going son?"
Managing only to mumble back a "Sorry!" in his panicked state, Harry ran to the back of the classroom and bolted out of the door.
Enjoying the unusual quiet of the corridors, Severus Snape strolled through the halls on the first floor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Admittedly, Severus had always preferred the cool of the dungeons in comparison to the often stifling classrooms in the rest of the castle, but on this particular morning the warm of the sunshine pouring though the windows was too good to resist. On any other day, the Potions Master would be grading essays, devising class plans, or brewing potions either for examples to show his students or for the infirmary's stocks. However, as it was the first day back, Severus did not have any business to attend to and had decided to spend his free class period relaxing to prepare himself for the onslaught of dunder-headed students he would soon have to face.
It had never been that Severus had particularly disliked the teaching profession- in fact, he rather enjoyed being able to educate students and see the sparks of understanding going off behind their eyes- but it was instead the thick skulled, arrogant, and plain irritating students that he disliked.
'And there always seem to be so many of them…' He thought, rolling his eyes to himself.
As he rounded the corner that lead him closer back to his new classroom, a noise came softly to his ears.
Harry ran until his breath came out in short, labored pants and he was forced to stop. He knew that he should know where he was, but for some reason nothing in his brain seemed to be able to connect to anything else inside of it or anything that was going on around him. As he stood leaning against the corridor's rough stone wall, all that registered was the same overbearing pressure on his mind that he had felt the night before. Thoughts swam in and out of focus in a random menagerie of his life and his fears. It had to stop. It had to. But how could it? Harry was aware of what was going on, yet he couldn't will himself out of his stupor.
And then he remembered.
It seemed wild, illogical. But yet, wasn't all of what was happening to him illogical? It was illogical for him to be standing in the hall unable to control his mind, illogical for him to have had such a response to Malfoy's prodding, illogical to feel something on his head that physically did not exist- hell, it was even illogical that he was alive. He should have died any number times by now, so what harm could one more failure of logic hurt?
Ghosting a numb hand into his pocket, Harry's fingers curled around his small potion's knife.
It was like a dream. A dream so convincing that Harry almost believed it was real. 'Is it? Is any of this real?'
The blade entered the flesh of his leg before he had even considered the answer to his latest question.
At first, Harry's brain didn't quite register that it was his own arm that had forced the sharp object into his thigh. However, as the fog surrounding his perception began to clear and he took several deep breaths, he became painfully aware of his latest loss of temper. Gritting his teeth, Harry pulled up sharply on the hilt of the small knife, pulling out the half length of the blade that had been lodged in his skin and placed it back into his pocket. Much to his surprise, the entirety of the act had not hurt nearly as much as he had anticipated. In fact, he could barely feel it. All that remained was an annoying twinge and a dull throb. Looking more closely at his leg, Harry could now see the shiny wetness that had spread across the black fabric of his pant leg.
'Smooth move Harry,' he scolded, 'This is twice now.' But yet, as much as he hated to admit it once again, he felt better.
He shook his head. 'Stop being an idiot Harry and get a grip on yourself.'
Deciding it best to go back to the Gryffindor dorm and change his trousers, Harry repositioned his bag on his shoulder and began the slightly hobbling trek back to his house.
He was sure he heard something.
After many years as a double agent, and even more years as a Death Eater, Severus Snape was well attuned to any and all noises around him. As far as he could tell, it sounded like a shuffling noise, and a shuffling noise that coming closer to him with each second. When the source of the sound came into Severus' view, he cursed himself for not realizing what it was earlier.
It was Potter. It was always Potter. Of course, what a wonderful way to ruin his thus far pleasant morning.
The boy before him seemed to also take in the appearance of his professor, and gave a small start.
"Potter," the man snarled," what, may I ask, are you doing wandering around the halls whilst class is still obviously in session?"
Behind the round wire glasses, Severus could see the boy's green pupils darting back and forth. Severus sniffed. 'Probably trying to think up some ridiculous excuse to avoid punishment, the arrogant child.'
"Well Potter?"
Harry's response fell carelessly out of his mouth. "I, uh, I got sick sir, in Potions class. I was just, um, making my way back to the, my dorm."
Taking a closer look at the boy's appearance, Severus stopped the admonishing that statement he had prepared. The boy certainly did seem haggard, and although he could not quite pin down what it was, Severus could plainly see that something was ailing his least favorite student. He looked out of breath, and Severus noted that he seemed to be shifting nearly all of his weight onto his left leg. Perhaps he would save his scolding for another time. Sadly.
"Then continue to make your way back to your house," he said silkily, almost not believing that he was letting Potter go without punishment. "And don't let me catch you out of class again Potter! Despite your illness, I expect you in my classroom in precisely two hours."
Seeing this as a release, Harry bowed his head and nearly sprinted off down the hallway and up the staircase leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady.
'How like his father,' he scoffed, watching the boy dash off. 'Not a single regard for any rules or authority. I should have taught him a lesson.'
Just as he went to take a step and continue on his way, Severus paused as something on the floor caught his glance. A few drops of a dark liquid littered the floor. Curious, the Potions Master bent down and dabbed the very tip of his finger into one of the more prominent drops. He sniffed it before wrinkling his nose.
'Blood?'
