Chapter Fourteen

Severus Snape was in agony. His side was throbbing, and he was almost certain he was bleeding internally.

"Stupid Potter!" He breathed, instantly sorry for it. The extra breathing caused his side to throb even more. He would probably die now, unnoticed, forgotten.

He struggled to his little bed and stretched himself out flat. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He gave a tiny moan and slipped out of consciousness.

He spent the next two hours on that bed, moaning in pain. He drifted in and out, barely aware of where he was, and not caring in the least.

"Oh, just let me die," he mouthed, over and over. The end was near. There was no help for it.

"How long has he been like this?" A stern and familiar voice asked.

"I don't know."

"Harry, he's dying! What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, okay? He must have fallen."

Potter was lying to save face. Why couldn't he just be man enough to admit that he'd intentionally hurt his professor in a fit of rage?

"I can't do anything to help him," Hermione Granger whispered, sitting back and staring Harry directly in the face. "You're going to have to take him to Madam Pomfrey."

"I can't! If Masterson catches me out again, I'm in for it! I've already got detention with her!"

"Very well. I'll take him, then. There's nothing that can be done for him here, and he'll die without proper medical attention. Where's your invisibility cloak?"

Harry looked down and mumbled, almost inaudibly, "I left it under the Quidditch stands."

"That was very irresponsible of you, Harry."

"Save the lecture, Hermione. You're just going to have to go without it."

"I am a prefect," Hermione said, as though she was trying to convince herself. "No one will think twice about a prefect out patrolling."

"That's it. Now, take him carefully and go."

"I'm not going alone, Harry."

"Oh, what. You want me to go?"

Hermione smiled mischievously. "Precisely. Maybe getting caught again is just what you need to teach you not to go sneaking around after curfew!"

"Enough talking! Fine. I'll go with you. I'll even carry him."

Harry very carefully lifted the entire bed, with Snape on it, and draped a handkerchief over it so that no one could see Snape lying there dying.

Very, very carefully, the two Gryffindors slipped out of the portrait hole and into the shadowy corridor. Snape gave a very soft moan with each step. No matter how careful Harry tried to be, he was still jostling the little man.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione cried shrilly as she burst into the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey!"

The medi-witch emerged in a nightgown and fuzzy purple slippers. She looked quite angry at having been awakened in the night.

"Who is hurt now, Miss Granger?"

"It's Professor Snape," Harry supplied, uncovering the little bed.

"What kind of joke is this? Explain yourselves!"

Hermione launched into a very quick account of the potions accident and of how Dumbledore had entrusted Harry with Professor Snape until he could get back to his normal size.

"It was supposed to be a complete secret, only he's gotten hurt, now, and he needs medical attention," Hermione finished, gazing down at Snape.

Poppy Pomfrey bent down so she was nose to nose with the doll bed (or would have been if beds had noses).

"Severus?" she whispered, touching him with the tip of her finger.

"He's hurt very badly indeed," Poppy said, pulling out her wand to do a magical scan. "How did this happen?"

"I –" Harry began, about to tell her about his argument with Snape. He took a deep breath and changed his mind. "I don't know. I think I might have dropped him a little too hard into his drawer."

Pomfrey looked sternly at him. "Are you sure that's the whole story, Mr. Potter?"

For the very first time, Harry wondered whether Madam Pomfrey was a Legilimens. It would come in handy when boys lied about who caused fights or how cat ears and a tail magically sprouted on student's faces.

"I – no. Snape and I were arguing, and I – sorta threw him into the drawer."

Hermione looked very shocked. Harry had almost killed a teacher!

"Miss Granger, perhaps you would be kind enough to fetch Professor Dumbledore. I think Severus needs to be relocated."

"No, please! I didn't really mean to hurt him! I was just mad! Please! It won't happen again."

"Nevertheless, the headmaster needs to know what has happened. He may still wish to have Severus placed elsewhere."

Harry sank down into a chair. He really regretted hurting Snape. Didn't he? If he hadn't meant it in the first place, then why did he do it? Was his anger really that out of control?

The headmaster came, and looked Severus over as Madam Pomfrey tried very hard to heal his tiny wound.

"Perhaps I made the wrong choice," Dumbledore said at last, very heavily. "I am sorry, Harry, to have burdened you with something you could not handle. I thought that perhaps having to care for Professor Snape would make you stop hating him. It seems I was wrong. I will look after Severus until the antidote is made."

Harry hung his head. Snape would certainly never forgive him now.

"I'm so sorry, Professor. I – I let you down."

"Yes, you did, Harry. But the fault is mine. I assumed you could get over your prejudices and become friends."

"Oh, like Sirius and Snape got over their prejudices?" Harry snapped, angry tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes.

"Harry . . ."

"NO! You made that mistake once already, and look where it got us! Sirius is gone, thanks to you and Snape. I can't forgive him for that."

"And he can't forgive you for looking like your father! Harry, please. Severus had nothing to do with Sirius' demise . . ."

"You talk about it like it's just some unimportant thing! Like it's not a person you're talking about! I HATE YOU! I HATE HIM! I'M GLAD I HURT HIM! HE DESERVES IT! HE . . ." Harry trailed off, unable to continue owing to the sobs wracking his body. He placed his face in his hands and wept. He wept for Sirius, and for all of the pent up anger he'd dealt with over the last year. He wept for hurting Snape and for hating him, and everything he'd ever done to him. He didn't want t cry, but he was crying, damn it, and now that he'd started he couldn't stop. He just couldn't stop . . .