CHAPTER 4.
Monday all he could think about during Chem was Wednesday afternoon. All through History and Literature and P.E. his brain felt full of cotton and couldn't seem to fit in anything else.
"Malfoy..." Harry had waited for all the other boys to leave the locker room. He had known Malfoy would be the last one to finish, he was just too obsessed with his hair and his clothes. If everything wasn't perfectly straight and accurately effortless-looking, he did not leave P.E. He was always almost-late to Latin, but he could afford it, being one of Flitwick's favourites. Even the two Dudleys had given up waiting for him.
"What is it, Potter? You need some of my hair gel to deal with that monstrosity you call hair?" Malfoy's jabs had weakened after the weekend. Now it was only posh glances and sneers, with the occasional sarcastic comment. It was probably the effect of the victory in soccer. He had been gloating about it to anyone who would listen, which wasn't few people, considering his family name.
"I... don't know if I can make it Wednesday, for Latin." he said. He was telling him this early, to get at least one nightmare out of the way. He had positioned himself in front of the door. If a strategic retreat was needed, he was prepared.
"And why ever not? You got somewhere better to be?" his eyes flashed and his tone sounded very put out.
Actually... "Snape said he wants to talk to me."
Malfoy grunted at that.
"But you'll be there tonight, right?" he asked, with his back turned, looking in the mirror and finishing combing his hair back, before applying the gel. The bloke used conditioner. And his hair smelled flowery.
Not that Harry had purposefully taken a sniff, but he had noticed it the last time he had entered the bathroom, and Malfoy was blow-drying his hair. Blow-drying.
Maybe it was just Harry being a freak, but he had never once used a blow-dryer. Harry muttered an assent, and since Malfoy didn't add anything else, he left, heading for Latin.
"No, Potter, duces comes from dux. You have to look at the consonant of the root, I told you this already!" Malfoy massaged his temples with his index fingers and gave a fed up sigh. They were sitting in the common room again, too close to each other, and Harry was feeling uneasy. Didn't really feel like putting any weight on his feet. Or moving too much at all.
His head was pounding – probably from stress – his sight was fuzzier than usual and of course Snape had notice his inattention and call on him in class and Hermione had had to stop him from mixing two highly inflammable reagents soon after that, but he was hoping it would all pass. He had even eaten a full boiled potato that evening, with a little carrot and water and everything.
"Terra Pottri vocat" Malfoy kicked him in the shin with the heel of his shoe and it jerked him out of his funk. That was going to bruise.
"Sorry" Harry muttered, knowing his apologies didn't really mean anything.
"What the hell is wrong with you? We have been going over the third for half an hour."
"I'm sorry," he said again, wondering if he would perhaps pay better attention with his eyes closed. He was afraid he was coming down with something. He knew the symptoms. He had ridiculous fragile health, he'd get a fever every month or so. Saturday's impulsive action had probably made it worse.
"Whatever. I'm not going to work with a zombie. Go wank or whatever and clear your head. You can study the third, fourth and fifth declination on your own for Monday." Malfoy gathered his books and left.
Harry did not want to go to bed. He did not want to see how much worse he could feel tomorrow.
He wasn't sure how he got to his room and under the covers, but the next morning it was Theo's alarm that woke him up from his sleep.
He felt his head throbbing badly and his throat being drier than sand. Even with his glasses he saw worse than usual. He wanted to groan and bang his head into a wall until it knocked him out.
He got up, went to the loo and showered fast, before Theo could enter the bathroom too. He barely glanced at the sore marks on his arms. He dressed in there as well, brushed his teeth with his eyes closed to avoid his reflection and prepared his books for the day. He knew he needed to go to breakfast – again – so he could drink water. From the way his hands shook, he better push some food down as well.
The noise in the Great Hall almost made him cry, but he sucked it up, drank and ate as much and as fast as he could, then walked to Chemistry.
"Are your eyes troubling you?" Hermione asked as she set down her pack.
"I'm fine"
"You keep squinting. More than usual."
"A little headache."
"Do you want me to walk you to the infirmary?"
"No!"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class, Miss Granger." but the glare sent his way told Harry that if he hadn't been in Slytherin, the point loss would have been for him. That was how class began that morning, and it only got worse.
His shaking increased until he couldn't hide it from Hermione anymore. She was looking at him with a very worried expression by then, and Harry truly wanted to tell her to not worry, that it would pass in a couple of days, he was used to it, but he did not dare speak. The last thing he needed was Snape giving him detention for 'disrupting the class'.
There were twenty minutes left, and Harry's eyes had become awfully heavy. Hermione had had to stop him from adding at the wrong moment Chlorine twice already, when Snape advanced on him like a panther. Harry instinctively jerked back when he got too close, but in doing so knocked half the glass vials that were on the table right to the floor. They shattered, their contents mixing. Smoke started rising, and the product of all the unknown reagents started spreading on the floor, likely corroding the leg of the table that was right in the middle of the puddle.
Harry couldn't even master the blind fear he knew he should be feeling. His heart was beating like mad, but his mind was too sluggish to keep up with what was happening.
"Get away from there, you idiotic child." the professor snapped, seizing his upper arm and pulling him towards himself, away from the sizzling puddle, ignoring the flinch his sudden movement had provoked.
"Everybody out, class dismissed. Mr. Malfoy, get Mr. Flinch to help me deal with this mess." Harry heard the order and tried to do as he was told, but the hand on his arm was still gripping him hard.
"You wait a second Mr. Potter. Go on, Miss Granger, you can see your little friend later."
Harry had his gaze still locked on the yellowish liquid, which now had stopped smoking but was still spreading.
"Look at me, Potter." Snape had waited for the rest of the class to leave before he spoke, shaking his arm to get his attention. It hurt. Everything hurt really, but Snape wasn't being gentle about his manhandling.
Harry didn't want to look him in the eye. The few times he dared to it with Uncle Vernon he had received the beating of his life. Vernon hated it more than he hated Harry getting better grades than Dudley, which was saying a lot.
Snape lifted his chin by force, leaving him no choice. His eyes were met by obsidian disks, hard like the rock, absolutely expressionless. His mouth though, from this close, was a little more expressive. It was slightly turned down in a displeased sort of grimace.
Harry was too far gone in the numbness that had settled in his bones at that point to flinch again when Snape lifted one hand and pressed it to his forehead.
"You have a fever," he declared at last, adding under his breath, "You had a little too much colour for your standards".
I know! He wanted to snap back, but didn't have any energy to spare. He was standing up, and processing what was going on around him, more or less. That was about all he could deal with right now. He didn't want to think about walking.
"I'll take you to the Infirmary." Snape sighed, but at that word Harry rebelled. He couldn't go to the Infirmary. It stank of disinfectant and there were nurses there. Nurses always got him into very serious trouble with their poking noses. They never minded their own business, never just healed what he needed healing and left him bloody alone.
He couldn't go there. She'd send him straight back to the Dursleys.
"I'm fine." he forced out through gritted teeth.
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. There is no need to act like a martyr over this." Snape snapped, and started dragging him from the classroom, almost bodily moving him.
Stop manhandling me! "Stop..." was all he said, his voice was raw and it hurt his throat. How was it already dry? He had drank four glasses of water that morning!
Snape stopped and fixed him with a black stare.
"You are sick, Potter."
"I'm fine. I'll just go lie down in my room. It's nothing." he insisted. Prayed.
"Do as you will. I'll escort you to your room." he said, and started dragging him in the opposite direction. He took really large steps, and Harry had to jog and pant to keep up.
"Get into bed." he ordered once they were in the Slytherin dorms.
Harry took off his outer uniform and tie and hesitantly climbed into the bed with his dress-shirt and trousers. Snape strode into the room and pulled the curtains closed, throwing the room in semi-darkness.
"Stay here." he ordered, before he strode out.
Harry woke to a sharp voice calling him. He opened his eyes and immediately jumped into a sitting position when he saw Snape, in his black, shapeless suit looming over him.
"Put this under your tongue," he ordered, handing him a long instrument. It took him a second to recognize the thermometer. He had never used one, but Aunt Petunia kept it in the bathroom cupboard for when Dudley got sick.
He did as he was told, and eyed the new tray that was sitting on his desk.
Snape waited with his arms crossed and an irritated expression for the thermometer to bip, and when it did, he took it and looked at it. His irritation deepened in the lines on his mouth.
"Take this," he ordered, holding out a tiny white pill and a glass of water.
"What is it?" Harry asked. His headache had faded into a lulling throb, and the cuts on his arms pulsed like they had a heart beat of their own, and he felt hot. He was never hot. And sweaty. He probably looked like crap. More than usual anyway.
"A drug to kill annoying teenagers." Snape saw Harry wasn't laughing and rolled his eyes, "Aspirin, Potter. C9H8O4. What do you usually take when you have a fever?" it sounded like a rhetorical question so he ignored it in favour of gulping down the aspirin. He had never gotten one at his house. Medicine was for Dudley only, it cost way too much for him.
He didn't feel any different.
"Eat." Snape ordered again, lifting the tray and settling it on his lap.
"I just had breakfast." Harry complained weakly. The expression on the professor's face, for some reason, was thunderous.
"It is lunch time, and I don't have time to play nurse-maid to you, Potter. If you had wanted to whine and complain to get attention you would have gone to Madam Pomfrey. Now eat, you need to replenish your liquids and calories."
Harry closed his mouth and looked at the tray. A bottle of water and a vegetable soup stared back at him. If they could, they'd be sneering at him.
Snape waited for him to take two spoonfuls of soup and then, with a satisfied nod, he left.
His stomach almost made him throw up everything. It didn't, thank God, and Harry put the tray back on the desk, but kept the water.
He really couldn't eat when he was sick, but he did have to drink if he wanted to get better soon. He placed the bottle on his bedside table and buried himself under the thick covers. They were amazingly warm, and they smelled freshly washed.
Harry wasn't sure why the man had made him go to bed, it was just a small fever after all, but since he hadn't said anything about getting up and going back to classes, Harry did not intend to move from there.
He fell asleep again.
When he woke, it was because of low voices talking near him. He could not understand the sounds they made, his head was still a little asleep, but he opened his eyes and lifted his head to see who it was.
One looked like Theo, getting ready for bed. The other was a tall, black shape, with the only spot of pale white where the face is supposed to be. Snape?
"Potter. You are awake again. Good. Mr. Nott brought you dinner. You have to measure your temperature again. If it hasn't gone down, you'll have to spend the night with Madam Pomfrey." Snape handed him the thermometer again. Harry decided he would protest that sentence after his mouth was free of the plastic stick.
After the bip, Snape checked the results and humpfted.
"It looks like it lowered to thirty-seven degrees. Eat something. It is best if you rest tomorrow too." Snape left, leaving the tiny aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table.
Harry took it and drank it down.
"The rolls are on your desk," Theo said from where he was stretched out on his bed, reading.
Harry eyed the food and mentally shook his head.
"Thanks" he told Theo, before putting his head down on the pillow again.
The next day Harry was still feeling a little off, but definitely healthy enough to go to class.
His internal alarm even managed to wake him up at his usual five o'clock, so he deemed himself cured.
This fever had passed amazingly fast, only twenty-four hours. And he had slept through most of them!
He thought back to the professor's strange behaviour yesterday, the aspirin and everything. That had been very odd, hadn't it?
None of his other teachers at the other schools had ever noticed he was sick. It wasn't like they noticed him much at all, unless they thought he was cheating.
It gave him a strange feeling, thinking of the dark, sour man measuring his temperature and bringing him food. It felt like his centre of gravity had shifted for a millisecond, and his body was still adjusting back. Harry swallowed heavily and trampled on that flimsy, slimy thing insinuating in his head. All that... looking after... was mandatory of professors in boarding schools. Yes, that was it. It was still weird how Snape hadn't just called him a drama queen, given him an aspirin and sent him on his way, but the alternative was nothing to waste time thinking about. There was no point in reading between lines that weren't there.
Still, he felt more rested than he ever had in his life.
Harry's content mood gave rapidly way to a thrill of fear as he readied his books, thinking about the fact that today was Thursday and he had missed yesterday's talk with Snape. And after he had spent four full days agonizing so much over it too!
Was Snape going to be very angry? Furious and regretting putting him to bed yesterday? What was his punishment going to be? Harry's breath started having trouble following the simple path from his mouth to his lungs and back again. The pencils he was putting away fell from his hand and he had to wrap his arms around himself to try and bring a little warmth back in his body. He was shaking again.
Just breathe. Calm down. No need to panic. He would have to apologize to Snape today. After class. He felt light-headed only thinking about it.
The trembling increased until dots started dancing in his vision. He hurried to the bathroom, crashing into his bed and the doorframe on the way. He huddled down next to a sink, pressing his head on the cool surface, stayed there until he had regained control of his breathing.
He made his way back into the room some time later, avoiding the mirrors lurking right in front of the doorway on the way out.
More time than he had though must have passed because Theo was waking up.
"Snape said you should stay in bed for another day." Theo noted as he too, got ready for the day. Only then did Harry wonder if perhaps he had made any noise in his escape to the bathroom. Even if he had though, apparently Theo was a deep sleeper.
"I'm feeling fine today." Harry replied. The other boy shook his shoulders and went on with his business. Harry decided then he really liked Theo. He was probably the best roommate he could have asked for. He imagined having to sleep in the same room as Malfoy, or Zabini, and shuddered. Then pictured either one of the Dudleys – which he had found out were named Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabb – and gave an even more violent shiver. Theo was absolutely the best thing that had happened to him since he had come to Hogwarts. He did not poke around, he didn't talk much, he ignored him and left him all around alone.
The day was a blur. He went to breakfast because he needed a little food and liquids and Theo had mentioned he still looked like crap.
First period was always Chem. Snape was not happy to see him in class, but apart from telling him he wanted a word after class, he did not call on him during the lesson. The order though brought back the buckets of cold sweat, and he spent the period praying Hermione beside him would stop asking and just assume the bloodshot eyes were a leftover from yesterday's fever.
At last the bell rang and the class filled out. He pulled his lips into a smile for Hermione, telling her he'd catch up later. If he was able to, after whatever Snape was going to do to him.
"I-I'm sorry. Sir." Harry got that out of the way. Starting a conversation with an apology was always best.
Snape raised his eyebrow and came to lean against the front of the teacher's desk, arms crossed.
"For spilling that highly corrosive compound all over the floor and ruining the furniture in my class? Do not worry Potter, I had been expecting something like that, and I already have thought of a way for you to make amends." Harry controlled the shiver in his exhale and swallowed on a dry throat. Snape was staring him down with that dissecting-a-bug look, he could feel it without needing to look up.
"I take that if you are in class today you are feeling better?" his tone was flat. Harry nodded with his eyes on the professor's shoes, waiting. Waiting for the shouting and the accusations, maybe even a cuff over the head…
"Very well. Yesterday's meeting has been postponed to Friday night. That is to say, tomorrow. Seven thirty, do not keep me waiting." Snape stopped talking and Harry felt his stomach drop. Any time now… he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Go now, I'm not going to excuse your tardiness to your next professor." He said. Harry was detached from his body as he nodded once again and exited the room. He was floating high above his body. Confused. He shook his head to clear it and ground himself. Perhaps he was going to wait until Friday night. Yes, that made a lot of sense. Punish him at the end of the week, when he had a full two days to think over his mistake and recover.
He refused to go to lunch, his stomach was still in knots from that morning, but he went willingly enough to dinner. It seemed his digestive system had gotten used to the regular food in the evening, and it accepted it a little better.
Tomorrow though he was not going to eat. The last thing he needed was feeling like throwing up while he was alone with Snape. The feeling was there already without actual food in his stomach.
Friday night came all too soon. Harry already disliked Fridays immensely for various reasons – namely, in the past they had meant two full days locked in the house doing chores with no food while the Dursleys went out camping or whatever – but that Friday was on a whole other level of 'dislike'.
He spent all Friday afternoon alone in the library. He didn't want to go back to his room because he feared the restlessness that had possessed him last time he was left alone in his room for too long. He remained in the library, worked on homework due next week.
As he walked through the common room that night to go to supper, he noticed a newspaper sitting on a sofa. Out of curiosity, wondering who from the lower years had left it there, Harry picked it up.
His breath stuttered to a stop, his whole body freezing up.
VOLDEMORT BACK FROM THE DEAD, the headline said. Harry did not wish to read the article. He skimmed over it, to see the location, childishly covering with his hand the big, snake-like face looking out of the paper. London. He was back in London.
Harry focused on breathing, slowly, deeply. In control. No panic attacks.
Harry opened his hand and let the newspaper thund to the ground. He turned and walked to the great Hall, like an automaton, settled at his usual empty seat between Theo and Millicent Blustrode and stared blindly at his plate. In control. He was safe. He had come here exactly because there had been rumours about his return. He was going to be fine. There was no need to get hysterical like a little girl.
He could barely keep down water, his intestines had turned to gurgling acid and he was about ready to cut a damn river in his arm.
He left a little early, with a quick glance towards the High Table, to go get ready. Snape was there and had been looking straight at him the whole time. It was part of the reason he hadn't been able to eat anything too. Now he was going to have to go to breakfast. That sucked. The smell of eggs and bacon was absolutely the worst, and it brought back the smell of one too many burnt sausages, and swinging frying pans.
He made his way to the dungeons. Cold dead eyes flashed through his mind and he ducked into the first loo he came across. He needed to snap out of this funk, he was going to have to deal with Snape. For the first time he turned the water hot. He splashed the boiling water to his face, hoping the pain might get the blood flowing better than cold water did.
It helped a little.
He usually avoided mirrors like the plague, but in that moment he was feeling rebellious. Once the numbness dissipated, clear logical thinking was left behind. The danger, the true danger that monster presented to him made everything else seem childish in comparison.
What were a few insults and beatings when confronted with what that monster could do? What he had done?
He stared hard at his face. Hollow cheeks, dark stains under his flat eyes, hair as hopeless as ever. Lifting his shirt, he turned to look at his back in the mirror. The most recent belt marks were brown lines of crusted blood across his back, they looked pretty hideous. They didn't follow a pattern, and with all the other older, white lines, it made his back look like poorly treated meat. The sight sobered him, put everything into prospective.
No matter what Snape was going to do to him tonight, nothing was worse than that. And not even that was worse than what the Monster would do to him if he caught him.
At seven fifteen – a good quarter of an hour early – he knocked at Snape's study.
"Come in" called a deep, tenor voice, and Harry did, repressing the shivers that went through his arms and made his teeth chatter. He needed to relax, tense muscles only made the pain worse.
"Sit." Harry did, whipping his sweaty palms on his trousers. He waited. And waited, very still, barely breathing. Finally the scratching pen stopped, and Snape's chair groaned as his weight shifted backwards.
"Professor Flitwick tells me Draco Malfoy is tutoring you in Latin, to remedy that... gap in your curriculum," he went on, "I, however, do not believe a student could really remedy your deficiency in Chemistry after that spectacle on Tuesday, nor do I trust someone else to not erode what little you do know of the subject. You will, therefore, take remedial classes with me. Thursday night. Is everything clear?" he asked.
"Yes, sir" Harry said, because there really wasn't anything else he could say.
"Today you will have your first extra class, even though it is Friday" he said, his cadence like a melodious computer. Harry nodded with a dry throat. He had pushed the confusion in a remote corner and was struggling to follow.
"Have you done that assignment I gave you on Tuesday?" he asked. Harry felt the blood leave his face. He had done it, but hadn't really had time to go over it like he had planned, what with Latin on Wednesday and that fever yesterday... besides, it was in his room...
"I had expected not. You may begin it now. Use the extra books on the shelves by the door." He made him do the assignment three times.
Harry worked without protest. At one point he caught himself thinking that he was going to try do really well on his next Chem exam to impress Snape… That thought earned him an ingrained mental slap to pull himself out of that dangerous zone.
It would be incredibly stupid of him to delude himself that Snape's remedial class was his way of giving Harry special attention. Just like the other day with the aspirin. There was no way Harry was going to fall for that one again. Receiving attention was an addictive black hole that sucked you in and spat you out with all your body and mind in tatters, with nothing to show for it. He was not going to make the same mistake he had made when he was younger and a needy attention seeker.
Snape did not give a rat's arse about him. He wasn't worth a rat's arse. He was nothing. Simple truth.
Focus and keep reading.
The professor stilled his scratching pen at almost half past ten, looking down at him and telling him to go.
Harry didn't mind. In fact, he was almost inclined to say Hermione was right. Chemistry was brilliant once you saw it from a certain point of view. A very particular and coercive point of view that is.
"Potter," Snape called right before Harry could step out, "I know you are hiding something. I'll be watching you," he said in an extremely ominous voice, and Harry nodded. Cold eyes and a mad jeer darted through his mind. He swallowed and had to restrain himself from fleeing down the corridor.
Harry felt sick again at the prospect of entering the common room. That was where that newspaper with his picture still was. He was being childish and ridiculous, he knew that, but he just couldn't face it right now. Not with Snape's words still clawing their way into his memories.
Even if he knew full well it was going to be curfew soon, he took a walk up to the Astronomy tower anyway. That impulsive, rebellious force rushing in his veins was urging him forward, until it made him stop in front of the boy's loo on the sixth floor. Sobbing.
Not exactly crying, more like sniffling and repressed whimpers.
Harry usually minded his own business. It wasn't like he could offer comfort to whoever it was. Besides, boys hated other boys seeing them in vulnerable moments like that, he should know.
Then he heard a crash, like glass breaking, and that same stupid rebellious adrenaline – for lack of a better word – in him felt obliged to check everything was okay.
He had not been prepared for what he saw.
Malfoy was gripping the sink with knuckles so white they almost blended in with the sink itself. He was only in his dress shirt, his tie and hair dishevelled.
It was so wrong to see always-perfectly groomed Malfoy so out of sorts.
Their eyes met in the shattered mirror above the sink.
If he hadn't looked so broken, Harry would have ran. Grey eyes were looking at him ready to murder.
"Get the fuck out, Potter!" Malfoy bellowed, turning towards him and taking a threatening step forward.
Harry did not back down. In his mind, he knew he was being masochistic, and only because Voldemort wanted to kill him, it didn't mean Harry had to make the job easier for him by getting beaten up by Malfoy.
Still he stayed, because there was something extremely fragile about Malfoy with red eyes and a trembling lip.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing is fucking wrong for you, Potter! Now leave! And if you tell a fucking soul..." Malfoy apparently didn't want him to leave, because he had strode forward and grasped him by the collar. He looked even more upset now that he was close and Harry could see him well.
"I'm not going-"
"Oh of course you're not. You are honourable perfect Potter, aren't you?" he spat. Harry felt one of his hands snake around his throat and the flashback almost blinded him.
Breathe. This is Malfoy. Just Breathe.
"I don't-" but the hand around his neck made the tiniest of pressures, and Harry started clawing at the oppressive hands.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, please...
"Don't lie, you can stop with that ignorant, kicked-puppy act you put up so everyone will underestimate you! I've seen how you work in Latin! In barely two weeks you're already halfway through the third year curriculum! In a month you'll be top of our class! You'll even best me!"
Harry wasn't really listening, he managed to sink his nails in Malfoy's wrist and he released him. With his foggy sight, all he could see was his Uncle's huge form crushing his throat.
"Please..." Harry had never had pride. Pride was for people who were someone. People who had things to be proud of. Harry was a worthless nothing, and so he was not above pleading on his knees, if he had to. This was all a little too close to home, and he was terrified he'd slip into a panic attack. Reality kept intertwining with memory, confusing the hell out of him. Of course, his terror didn't help any in this situation.
"But you have no idea what hard work is like! Do you have any idea who my father is? What he does? Of course not. You are a poor little orphan. You don't even know what a father is!" Harry lifted his arms to protect his face when he saw the punch coming.
Pain exploded behind his eyes, and only after he shook his head from the sprawled position on the floor, did he determine where the pain was coming from.
Harry rubbed a hand at the corner of his mouth and it came away stained with blood. Broken lip.
"Is that why you're crying? Because you have a father?" Harry said as steadily as he could, getting up facing a panting Malfoy.
"I'm going to erase that martyred-saint look from your-" he lunched forward without even finishing the sentence. They fell back, Harry probably hit his head because he lost a second. In the next one Malfoy got him again, in the nose this time.
Harry bucked, on instinct, managing somehow – probably because the blond hadn't expected it – to revert their positions, with Harry on the top. He tried to grab the flailing arms and stop him from moving at all, when a big, strong hand caught his arm and lifted him. The hand was crushing his forearm, pressing into the still-healing cuts and cutting off his circulation. The pain had tears burning at the corner of his eye.
Another hand must have caught Malfoy because he was standing up too, but not attacking him.
"What, pray tell, were the two of you doing?" a tenor, so soft it was almost melodic, asked.
Harry's blood rushed all downwards to his legs, and he felt faint.
"Potter attacked me, sir!" was the quick answer, which came distorted to Harry's buzzing ears. He needed to calm down. Breathe.
This was all too close together, too much the same...
Not a panic attack. Two in one day was a little too much.
"Potter?" Snape asked, always with that soft, inquisitive tone.
Harry looked up to try to communicate. His voice had rushed down together with the blood and his rationality, the revived pain throbbing from his arms not helping. He blinked and wondered why everything looked a little off.
He reached for his glasses with his free hand and adjusted them. He breathed a silent thanks to God that they somehow hadn't been broken.
"Potter?" Snape sounded more impatient now.
"I-I don't..." I don't know what happened. It wasn't really a lie. Uncle Vernon always took out his frustrations on Harry, but Harry knew the whole process that lead to the final beating. He had lost a passage in Malfoy's rant, so he partly wasn't sure what had happened that made the shouting escalate so much. Wasn't Malfoy ranting about him and his father or something?
"Clean up. The both of you. I will decide what to do with you in my study." Snape finally let them go and walked out, his leather shoes making dark, dangerous tap-tap with his every step.
A/N 1): my take on the bathroom scene from canon! I'm always on the lookout for AUs on this particular scene in fanfiction (I just love it so much) so if you have any good takes to suggest, write them in the reviews!
A/N 2): minor warning. We have here a first reference to Lucius Malfoy. I'm going to warn ya all that this particular thread is going to come up only indirectly, and I'm basically going to leave it hanging by the end. This story is centred around Harry, and I hope it's clear he has enough crap to deal with without adding whatever mess Lucius has gotten himself into (besides, thanks to canon, you guys can well imagine more or less what Malfoy senior has gotten into, and we don't really care how he ends up, as long as it doesn't affect Draco directly).
A/N 3): I took some liberty with the Chemistry accident. I'm not that sure that school actually allow students (or even teachers) to handle corrosive elements during lesson, but lets go with it anyway for the sake of the story. Plus, we know Snape is special.
