Chapter 4

"I am telling you, Albus, that there is something wrong with that child!"

Dumbledore gave his Potion's Professor a considering look—the man wasn't known for his caring concern, after all. "I haven't seen any changes in his behavior, Severus," he observed.

"Of course you haven't," Snape said scathingly, "It's his treatment of me that incites me to believe that there is something wrong."

"Oh?" blue eyes twinkled irritatingly behind glass.

"He's polite, trusting, and cannot stay focused for any length of time," Snape ran a hand through his hair, ruffling potion-greased locks, "I might have passed off his inattentiveness as a residual effect of whatever unknown Dark curses he was subjected to, but the boy has been treating me as a trusted friend! It's no secret that he hates me—there is something wrong."

"Ah," the Headmaster's twinkle faltered for a moment. "I see. Very well; I shall ask Poppy to have another look at him."

The Potions Master gave a sharp nod before turning towards the door, "Good."

xxxx

Poppy came out of the infirmary after giving Harry a much more thorough checkup, frowning. She glanced at the two waiting for her in the hall—Dumbledore's presence was no surprise, but the fact that Severus had waited so long was… unexpected. "It looks as though Severus was right, Albus," she announced.

The Head of Slytherin shifted slightly, straightening away from the wall, while Dumbledore himself sagged a bit, concern in his usually twinkling eyes.

"Well, it could be worse," Madame Pomfrey continued, determined not to let those two get worked up while she had a sick child in her hospital wing. "His neural pathways are… burned, for lack of a better term. I don't doubt he has a terrible headache, though he hasn't said anything, and he can't track more than one thing at a time for long. A good nerve regenerating potion and a few days rest should put him to rights."

"So long as he avoids any more bouts with the Crucatius," Snape muttered.

Madame Pomfrey shot him a dirty look, "Well, yes, there is that. The damage could become permanent if he's subjected to any more curses before he recovers. I'd like for him to remain in the hospital wing until I'm sure he's completely recovered."

Severus turned to leave, "Then I suppose I shall begin a nerve regenerating potion."

"Thank you, my boy," Dumbledore's voice drifted after him as he strode away.

Snape sneered at the form of address and decided to pretend he hadn't heard.

xxxx

Harry was bored. No, bored wasn't a strong enough term. Then again, he didn't know another good term for 'bored', so he settled for the one he had.

He rolled onto his back and sighed, staring up at the stone ceiling above his bed in the hospital wing.

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. He didn't even have his schoolbooks to read, and, aside from the headache, he felt all right.

Why was he in here again?

Right, mental torture session with Volde-mort.

Harry stifled a giggle as another thought occurred to him. Lord Voldy. Hm. That had a nice ring to it… 'The Dark Lord Voldy'. He idly wondered what Voldemort would do if called that to his face.

Probably nothing nice. Then again, old snake-face was never nice, not really. Even the sixteen-year-old version had just been manipulative and creepy.

Then those thoughts melted away when a pattern of reflected light flashed across stone. He turned his gaze towards the window and saw white feathers flashing in bright sunlight as Hedwig settled on the sill, apparently trying to devise a way inside. The disgruntled bird settled for fluffing her feathers and flying off to look for another window after determining that she couldn't get in through that one.

Harry's attention returned to the flash of light against the wall before it vanished with Hedwig's disappearance. He pouted. That shift of barely-there reflected light was the most interesting thing that had happened in the hospital wing all morning.

xxxx

Severus Snape had cancelled all his classes—to the joy and confusion of his students—for the next three days. Nerve regenerating potions, even the mildest and quickest to brew, took time and concentration. A missed step or one done even a few minutes off would ruin the entire potion and it would have to be dumped and started over.

Potter could not afford the time he had to wait to double. It was simply too dangerous—even a first-year jinx could set his recovery back by days' worth, if any of the aspiring Death Eaters were to get wind of his weakness and try a curse…

Well, best not to think on that unless it actually had to be dealt with. He added diced sugar root to the bubbling potion and stirred three times counterclockwise before setting the large teak spoon aside and stepping back. Clear lavender and honey-thick—good. Now it had to simmer for five hours, which meant he could probably manage three or four of sleep. After that, the waiting periods would be a lot shorter and he wouldn't be able to risk a nap for the next day or so.

Snape placed a shielding and monitoring charm over the cauldron and retreated to his bedroom to sleep.

xxxx

Harry snapped awake with a suddenness that startled him. He looked around for the source of his abrupt awareness and noticed Hedwig perched on the nightstand next to 'his' bed. She hooted softly.

"Hey, Hedwig," Harry reached out and stroked her feathers, entranced by the strange feel under his fingers.

The snowy owl turned her head and nipped lightly at his fingers, making a concerned little purrl in her throat.

"'M'all right. Just a bit tired, that's all."

"Mr. Potter," a stern and somewhat irritated voice said behind him. "Owls do not belong in the Hospital Wing."

Harry jumped and turned, giving Madame Pomfrey a slightly guilty glance. "Sorry. She came in a few minutes ago… and I didn't want to send her away."

"Well," the Mediwitch looked at Harry for several moments before sighing. "I suppose it can get rather lonely in here. So long as she behaves, she can stay for a while—but she spends nights in the Owlry where she belongs!"

Harry gave the woman a grateful smile that she couldn't help but return, "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey."

xxxx

Hedwig was worried about her master. He seemed… different. Sometimes he reminded her of a fledgling, and others he seemed more like the old gray owl that roosted with the red-haired flock. Errol, her master had called him.

But whether he looked around in wonder like a newly hatched chick or stared blankly through eyes that had watched brood-sibs die, there was a lingering something in his movement that spoke of pain—though her master seemed unaware of it.

And the adults of the flock of wingless in the castle spent much of their time looking at him like a mother with a wounded fledgling, the worry that he wouldn't be there the next time they came to check. Something was hurting her master and, while she couldn't fix it for him, she would at least remain with him to offer comfort for as long as she could.

xxxx

Don't ask where the Hedwig part came from—I haven't the foggiest. I wasn't planning to put in a Hedwig-POV. It just sort of… appeared.