Well. My original estimation that this would be a 15 chapter story just got shot in the foot. I just finished writing chapter 18 and I'm nowhere near done wrapping up all the errant story lines. *sigh* I'm now thinking more along the lines of 25 chapters. On the positive side, I currently have chapters written to be posted through the middle of January. :) Rough drafts, in need of editing, but the worst of it is done. Expect weekly updates.

Thank you to SnapesYukuai, Nefari, mithrilandth, snapemartyr, The Dark Lady55, Guest, Sydney-Jo, risi, Wilona Riva, EmilyF.6, 13AkiraKuranXIII, saggyherman, gryphenvoid, JulieSnape02, BlackRoseDecending, Chash123, Anisney-Robin, frodothejedi, Anne Campe aka Obi-quiet, MsFrizzle, ELoveless, Bonomania, Christine Jay, meiscof, Ritsuka Shin, TwistedlySweetFiction, Moi, Zireael07, beansontoast, Thatsallwegot, irezel, and hazeldragon for the awesome reviews.

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This is AU. It begins at the end of the first book and continues from there. All events up to the end of the first book are canon.

Rated T for implied neglect and certain immature bodily functions.

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Allergic to Potions
A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Cordria

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Harry held perfectly still as the fingers touching the side of his face trailed to the scar on his forehead and lightly traced over the raised skin. Almost against his will, his eyes moved up to try to see the hand, then over to find the person it was attached to.

White skin. Impossibly pale. It was so white it almost seemed to shimmer and glitter in the sunlight. The fingers were long and skinny and bony with seemingly no fat on them.

Someone breathed against the back of his neck. There was the feel of a body behind him – cold and horrible rather than warm and solid like a normal person. Something brushed against the hair on his head.

Harry couldn't get enough air in his lungs to force words from his mouth, so he just slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the arm. His view of the white skin wavered, almost like he was trying to open his eyes underwater. Something wet pressed against the side of his head. There was a horrible burning sensation where he'd hit his head.

Then the arm was gone. Vanished.

Harry flipped around, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest. There was nobody there. His whole body shaking, Harry's head jerked back around to glance around the entire hospital wing. Nobody. It was empty. He twisted onto his stomach and leaned over to peer under the bed.

Bang.

Harry jolted back upright, staring at the hospital wing door. It was shut again. Pictures on the walls were still trembling at the force of the door slamming itself shut.

The hospital wing was empty.

Struggling to keep air moving in and out of his lungs, Harry leaned back against the pillows. The room was spinning. Hand trembling uncontrollably, Harry reached up to carefully touch the wet something still pressed against the side of his face. It oozed under his fingers, sticky and gooey.

Harry pulled his hand away and stared at it. It was a greenish goo, just like the stuff Snape has smeared on him earlier. He brought it to his nose, sniffing. The gut-wrenching smell of the blood beetle wasn't there. "Huh," he whispered. "I wonder what…"

He trailed off, staring at his hand. Painful looking welts were appearing on his hand, the largest ones bursting open and starting to ooze green pus. Harry's mouth hung open for a long moment, transfixed by the transformation on his hand.

Then the pain hit. His eyes scrunched together as waves of agony speared from his hand and the side of his face. He was distantly aware of screaming.

Perhaps it was his. He hurt too much to care.

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The dark man watched as Snape placed Harry on a cot in one of the old classrooms. "Guard him," Snape snapped at the two ghosts that had followed him into the room. "Tell me the second he wakes up." There must have been some sort of response, as the potions master twirled on his heel and stalked out of the room.

The ghosts quickly because disenchanted with the living creature lying comatose on the bed. A game of chess was soon set up and they seemed to be paying no attention to the child. The dark man let a small smile cross his face.

With slow steps, the dark figure moved through the shadows up to the cot, standing beside the young boy. One of the boy's hands was tightly bandaged, along with half his face. No doubt a result of the salve the man had dumped on him.

Cautiously, the figure reached out and touched the boy's forehead, tracing his finger over the scar. The one he'd first seen not even a month previously. The mystery.

A smile appeared on the shadow's face. His plan was unfolding perfectly. As long as the child and the spy continued to behave like they should.

He just had a mystery to solve first. His finger against traced over the boy's forehead, this time with sizzles of pain shooting up his arm. It was just a matter of time.

And now, here, with his 'modifications' to the castle's wards, he had nothing but time.

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The next time Harry woke up, it was to an odd floating, constricted feeling. Almost like he was dangling in the air, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Slowly, carefully, he pried his eyes open.

He recognized the ceiling immediately. He'd spent enough time tracing the patterns of the cracks in the stonework. It looked remarkably like a goblin army sneaking up a group of evil-looking trolls. Not surprising, given what was taught under this ceiling.

The instant recognition might have also had something to do with the droning sound of a voice in the background. "-two hundred years before the Goblin Accords of 1614 were actually signed by the Wizengamot. Until then, a number of skirmishes rolled through the countryside. One of the more notable was the Oxford Rebellion of 1583, where a small coven of witches attempted to con a goblin lord out of several lifetime's worth of gold-"

Harry let his head roll to the side. A ghostly professor was standing in the front of the room, deep into a lecture on some goblin war, completely unaware of the fact that it was summer vacation. Harry took a moment to try to figure out which war ended in 1614, but quickly gave up when his head twinged.

He picked up a hand and pressed it to his forehead. Only his fingers wouldn't spread apart. Harry peered at his hand, wrapped in thick bandages, and very slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

A cot. In the History of Magic classroom. A light blanket over him, the floating feeling no doubt coming from some form of medication. Bandages firmly wrapped around his right hand and – after a quick check – a good portion of his face as well. Everywhere the green goo had been.

Memory of the white hand flooded back into his brain and Harry's breath hitched and skipped. His eyes widened and he jerked his head around, staring.

There were two other ghosts in the room. One was the Bloody Baron, the other Nearly-Headless Nick. They had been playing some strange version of chess, but now both were staring in his direction. "He awakens," the Baron intoned darkly. "I shall fetch Professor Snape."

"Binns and I…" Nearly-Headless Nick trailed off with a glance towards the still-lecturing ghostly professor. "I will stay here and guard the boy."

The Baron didn't seem to care about Nick's answer, having already drifted halfway across the classroom. The ghost vanished through a wall without a sound.

Harry licked his lips and asked, "What's going on?"

"That is a preeminently good question," the ghost answered softly. The ghost's eyes narrowed as it studied Harry. "You are safe here, for now. You may relax, child."

Harry waited for an answer to his question, but finally decided one wasn't going to be coming. He huffed out a breath and forced himself to relax back on the cot. The wall was perfectly positioned for a backrest.

"-attempted to burn two purported witches at the stake based on rumors started by the goblin lord. This sparked a new set of conflicts between the goblins of the area and several of the local covens. One of these conflicts resulted in the creation of a new curse, known by the common name of the 'torture curse." It is, of course, considered an unforgivable curse due to the nasty and long-term effects on humans. The witch who invented it reportedly died advocating against the use of her creation – it was supposed to be for the goblins who, by all the information we can obtain – feel little more than a tickle-"

The steady drone of the professor and the delightful, floating feeling of the medication lulled Harry into a state of almost-sleep. His eyes trailed away from the ghosts to stare out the classroom's window.

Purple haze drifted and billowed like smoke just beyond the window. It was almost thick enough to block the view of the Forbidden Forest.

It wasn't more than a few minutes before Snape stalked into the room, his black cloak billowing behind him like wings. He stopped just before Harry's cot and stared at him. "Explain." The man's voice came out chipped and frozen.

Harry blinked up at the man, opened his mouth to speak, but apparently wasn't moving fast enough. "I-"

"You are aware that you're allergic to pallid grass. Why did you smear a while container of it on the side of your face?"

"I di-"

"Do you have a death wish? Do you like being waited on hand and foot so much that you decided to risk death – a second time – to continue the service? Or was the itch just getting too much for you?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut and decided to wait out the wrath of his potions professor rather than attempt to interrupt.

"I do not enjoy saving your life, child, despite what you might think. If I wouldn't have to face Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall in the Fall, I would have let you die from your continued idiocy. It would have been a fitting end to the stupidity and arrogance bred into the Potter line. Death by allergic reaction."

Snape's hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his robes. He was standing tall, his body tense and almost shaking.

"I have many other things to do besides treat you as a young child. If you haven't noticed, there are things happening around the castle I should be attending to, not standing here repeatedly dealing with your complete lack of regard for others."

The tirade broke for a moment. Snape took the time to breathe and regain his momentum, and Harry took the opportunity to sneak in a quick, "I didn't do it."

Snape glared. "Then who did?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Harry shot back. "Same guy who gave me the handkerchief, probably."

Snape was holding perfectly still. He wasn't even blinking.

"Didn't think of that, did you?" came a ghostly, wavering voice.

Snape spun on his heel and pointed his wand towards the nearly-beheaded ghost. A whisper of a spell, a swell of magic, and all the ghosts in the room vanished with swirls of red light and soft, ghostly complaints. Snape let his arm fall to his side, wand lose in his hand. "Explain what happened."

Harry stared at his professor silently for a long moment, strange feelings curling around in his stomach. "No," he whispered.

"What?" Snape twisted around to glare at Harry.

"No." Harry lifted his chin slightly, squaring his shoulders. "I'm sick of you jumping to conclusions and then me having to 'explain myself' when I haven't done anything wrong."

Snape's eyes flashed. "You are a child. You don't-"

"I'm the only other human, the only other wizard, in this castle!" Harry cut in. His voice was trembling slightly, but anger was carrying him through.

"You are a child and in training," Snape said darkly. His wand was gone again with a flick of a wrist, his arms crossing over his chest. "Someday, should you survive long enough, you might be called a wizard. If the world is nice enough, I will not live to see the day."

Harry crossed his arms too – an unconscious mimic of the potions professor. "There's something going on. I'd help if you'd let me!"

"You are very ill. You are a child," Snape ticked the points off on his fingers as he talked. "You are untrained. You don't know what you're up against-"

"Neither do you," Harry interjected.

Snape was silent. Very slowly, the man uncrossed his arms. The stony expression never changed, but a tiny bit of the ice in his eyes thawed slightly. "Why must you never follow the simplest of directions?" the man asked, but a lot of the drive was gone from his voice.

"I follow directions that make sense," Harry answered, letting his shoulders relax but leaving his arms crossed. "I'm not…" he hesitated, then pressed on. "I'm not a little kid. I can help."

"You are eleven-"

"Almost twelve, and I've defeated Voldemort twice!"

Snape shuddered and looked out the window, seeming to study the purple haze staining the outside air. "You have the same detestable attitude as your father."

Harry clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed.

"However…" Snape's eyes went back to Harry's. "Perhaps you have a point."

Surprise made Harry's eyes widen. "What?"

"Do not make me repeat myself," Snape snapped, but the worst of the anger was gone from his voice. It was more of the bored drawl from class.

"Yeah, okay. Sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, then – to Harry's pure astonishment – Snape rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay," Snape muttered softly. He beckoned with his hand to a chair, which hurried across the floor and settled next to Harry's cot. Snape lowered himself into the chair and steepled his fingers. "Are we past the childish bickering now?"

With a shrug, Harry looked down at his hand and started to pick at the bandage. Several mutinous comments about Snape being the one who started the 'childish bickering' flooded through his mind, but Harry managed to swallow them all. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Some of it," Snape said. Harry looked up, eyes narrowing and mouth opening to protest, but Snape's hand was up in a forestalling gesture. "Some of it you will not understand nor will benefit from knowing. I will inform you of the relevant information if," Snape paused to accent the word, "you explain to me what happened the hospital wing."

Harry sat a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek, before sighing and letting go of the argument. Some information was better than none, after all. "I was sitting in the hospital wing and the door opened-"

"Who opened it?"

"Nobody," Harry said, biting back a bit of irritation at being interrupted. "It was just open. I couldn't see anybody around. Then I felt cold fingers on my head and it felt like someone was sitting behind me-"

Snape sat forwards in the chair, eyes alert. "Describe the fingers."

Harry blinked at him. "White, thin, bony."

"How white?" Snape held out his hand for Harry to see. "More like mine or yours?"

Harry shook his head. "Not like skin. White – like paper, or the walls of the hospital wing. And the hand almost looked wet."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What happened then?"

"I turned around to see who was there," Harry demonstrated, twisting around to see behind him, "and that's when they smeared this goo on my face. There wasn't anybody there when I turned around. And there wasn't anybody in the room. Then the door banged shut. And… that's kind of it. I never saw anyone."

Snape settled back in his chair, closing his eyes, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, and leaning his head forwards so his hair cascaded over his face. The classroom was quiet for a few moments as the man sat there, obviously thinking something through.

"Professor?" Harry spoke quietly. The older wizard seemed to be in something of a good mood, Harry didn't want to ruin it before he got the information Snape had promised.

Opening his eyes, Snape gazed silently at Harry.

It was the question that Harry hoped would get him the most information. "Who is T.M.R.?"

Snape continued to gaze quietly at Harry. Just at the point where Harry was going to ask a new question, Snape murmured, "A person you've met a few times. Twice, I believe you were just informing me."

Harry tipped his head to the side, trying to think that one through. "Who?"

With something that sounded like a sigh, Snape leaned forwards and put his elbows on his knees. "Listen closely, Potter, I will only explain this once. When you defeated the Dark Lord ten years ago, you left him as a spirit. Unable to live, unable to die. A few months ago, that spirit worked its way inside of Professor Quirrell. You – despite all odds to the contrary – managed to evict that spirit out of Quirrell. A bodiless soul, wandering the world."

Harry's mouth dropped open, his mind working ahead of Snape's dour voice. "So where is Voldemort now?"

"You will call him the Dark Lord in my presence. Or the silly 'You-Know-Who'."

"Why?" Harry's nose wrinkled. "He's evil."

"Yes, he is." Snape shook his head, his eyes looking like they weren't focusing on anything in the room, instead watching a memory. "But he's a very, very powerful force that deserves a modicum of respect for what he has accomplished – for better or worse."

Harry shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but Snape held his hand up and stopped the words from bubbling over. The professor said, "We are getting off topic. You will give me this small thing, or our conversation is over."

Harry's eyes narrowed a bit, but then simply nodded and looked away. "Fine. So where is the Dark Lord now?"

"The headmaster was informed that the Dark Lord had fled to Romania. The castle and grounds were thoroughly searched after your conflict over the Stone and the Dark Lord was gone. It was assumed he would not return without some sort of an advantage. It appears that assumption was incorrect."

"You're saying he's here." Harry felt cold claws dig into his stomach. "At Hogwarts."

Snape's mouth tightened. "I would like to think otherwise, but the evidence is starting to point to that as a logical conclusion. He is trapped as a bodiless spirit." He tapped his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "It also appears more and more that he had Professor Quirrell set up certain things before your encounter in the third floor corridor."

Harry had gooseflesh running up and down his arms, his mind still swirling around the idea that Voldemort – that evil man – might be around. Might have been touching him. "What kind of things?" He heard his voice asking, but a large part of his mind was screaming to not know the answer.

"It appears that the damage to the wards around the school was set up several months ago, perhaps a spell on a trigger. The school being practically empty, I find hard to believe as a coincidence. The perfect ingredient to destroy the potion I was working to create…" Snape trailed off to stare out the window. "And many other things. It is just too set to be a coincidence. I think we're trapped in a well-thought-out plan."

"What do you think he's after?" Harry's voice was very quiet.

Snape turned dark eyes towards Harry. "What else? The Sorcerer's Stone. And you."

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To be continued...