Chapter 21: Apparences…

Harry awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. His limbs felt unusually stiff as he rolled cumbersomely out of bed. Clumsily he traipsed to the bathroom where he splashed a little cold water on his face.

Had he caught cold from being in the bathtub so long? His throat didn't feel scratchy, and his nose wasn't stopped up. Probably he was simply exhausted. However, Snape certainly wouldn't be happy about it.

Harry felt for his medallion to give him courage for the day. It had become a habit, that every time he was facing a problem he would gain strength by clasping it firmly and thinking about his mother watching over him. This time his fingers found nothing. He did not have on the chain.

Suddenly, he was wide awake. He remembered that the day before he had taken the medallion off and hidden form Midas' sight. However he could not remember having retrieved it from its hiding place. It had to still be in the playroom.

Harry knew that he unless it was a Special Day he couldn't go there. But that made no difference to him. He had to get back the medallion! As he quickly dressed, his gaze fell on his watch, a gift from Midas. Startled, he noted that he had less than five minutes before class would begin.

He hurried to the guesthouse where he immediately rushed to the room where he had left the medallion. He might still have time. As fast as he could he moved in the direction of the playroom.

He haste was also the reason why he did not take the necessary precautions. So he didn't notice Oldridge until he grabbed him from behind, just as he started to push open the door to the playroom.

"Who do we have here? Possibly someone who wants to sneak around where he should not be?"

Harry tried to break loose, but Oldridge's clutch was a firm as an iron brace.

"Let me go! You're not supposed to talk to me anymore! You're not supposed to be near me!"

Harry did not know where he got the courage from to rebel against his torturer. Perhaps his desire for the medallion was simply greater than his fear.

Oldridge pushed him from himself.

"If I report to your uncle that you have been hanging around here, even Midas Fox will not be able to help you."

Harry rubbed his aching arms. He knew only too well that Oldridge was right. For now, he just had to get away.

"I… I have to go to class," he said, stepping back slowly, and then he turned around and ran away. Behind him he could hear Oldridge laughing mockingly.

Harry had assumed up to now that Professor Snape was always basically in a bad mood. Now he found out the he had never experience a really bad mood. Professor Snape was normally a very strict teacher, who never praised and gladly made biting comments. On this day, he was a nightmare. As soon as Harry entered the room, he got a ten minute talk on the fact that he had not come to class with clean fingers. But he really could not explain himself the slightly orange discoloration around the edges of his nails.

But that was only the beginning. In the course of the morning Professor Snape openly criticized Harry's appearance, his lack of humility and supposed laziness up to a point where even Harry (who had learned over the years with his experience with Vernon, Dudley, and especially Oldridge, that in the long term to accept such things tacitly) would have jumped down his throat. The only reason why he did not do it were the headaches, which became worse minute by minute, the burning in his eyes, and the itching feeling on his skin.

Harry did not feel in the position to go on a confrontation course with his teacher. He didn't feel there was anything he could do about the situation anyway. When it finally came time for lunch, he hotfooted it to his room and went back to bed. Torment from headache, his lost medallion, and concern over what he had done to annoy Professor Snape, caused him to fall into a restless sleep.

Harry was woken up by the fact that someone seized him by the arm and dragged him out of bed. He screamed with fright and automatically defended himself against the iron-hand clutch. Someone shouted at him in his ear, but it took awhile before the words penetrated into his still half asleep mind.

"I said, look at me!"

Harry directed his gaze to his uncle's face which was red with rage. Since he did not have his glasses on, the sight was blurry. However Harry didn't need a sharp view to know that he was in big trouble.

As soon as Vernon Dursley was sure that he had the full attention of his nephew, he bent menacingly over him.

"Oldridge told me where you were sneaking around this morning. I knew it was a mistake to let you get away with the caviar incident so easily. But not this time!"

He gave Harry a violent push which made him fall back onto the bed. He pushed him so hard that his head smacked against the wall.

"For the next three days you will remain in here. No hanging around in the garden and no lessons where nothing but nonsense is put into your head. If I hear even a cough, then I swear to you, you will live to regret it."

He slammed the door behind him and locked it twice. Then he pushed the bolt shut.

This sound was very familiar to Harry. It was not the first time that his relative had punished him by locking him up. But he also knew that those three days were only an approximate time. Once he had spent four days instead of the three they had said, another time he had been let out after two, completely unexpectedly, and that time he even had a nice special day to experience.

Harry never knew which part of this specific punishment was worse: the uncertainty, the isolation, or the tormenting hunger, which could not be satisfied with just water from the bathroom tap. Well for the moment the uncertainty was making him the most nervous. He didn't have an appetite anyway, and he only longed for nothing so much as a little rest. But what if he was sick? He felt bad enough for it. Midas was not there to help him, and Snape for some obscure reason was furious with him. He was absolutely alone.

Severus stood in the cellar at the table and crushed the midnight juniper blossoms with violent movements. For a long time he had pressed the black leaves until he had enough of the reddish juice to be able to brew a potent healing potion for nettle blisters, however he continued to pound. It was something of a satisfaction to be able to vent his fury on the defenseless leaves.

Severus had no been deceived for a moment by Oldridge. Indeed, it might have really been possible that is was the uncle, who on the grounds of health reasons, had excused Harry from lessons for several days, however Severus was sure that in reality the spoilt brat had contrived the whole thing. Probably he had whined over a headache or a torn hangnail, and his relatives had immediately jumped on it. The fact that his student had escaped from him in this manner irritated Severus immensely.

But Severus had to concede one thing to him: he was really a convincing actor. Even during the lessons Potter had constantly been rubbing his forehead as if he was suffering in pain. He almost even had him convinced that he might be ill, but Severus had seen how persuading Potter could be on the advertising posters.

Severus' hand slipped off the pestle. He fingers tips brushed the undiluted juice and changed to an orange color. What next? He could not get the stuff off with normal soap. He would have to brew a suitable potion to remove the traces. And best do it immediately. It would not be right to have Potter see him with orange hands when he had just reprimanded him because of the same thing.

Severus wondered how Potter had done it, to just tint the very edges of his nails orange. His fingertips were completely clean. The only reason for the discoloration to look like that was –

Severus stopped his work. An allergic reaction to the essence of midnight juniper blossoms. Such a thing was quite rare. Although the essence was a component in nearly all magical cleansing products, this allergy was diagnosed very seldom because the wizard had to be exposed to the essence over a long period of time in order to show a reaction. The consequences however were devastating. Along with the discoloration of the nail edges, would also come severe headaches, itching skin and mild fever, symptoms that were quite often dismissed as not being very threatening. The antidote was a simple anti-allergy potion, but if it was not given in time, the fever would sudden rise and kill the patient within one hour.

Suddenly Severus was not so sure that Potter had been faking. And if he were actually ill, then at the moment there was no one on the property tat would recognize the illness for what it was. The muggles would be ignorant, Midas Fox was not there, and Oldridge's incompetence was only exceeded by his malice. Severus snatched up the anti-allergy potion and was on the way.

But then he stopped short. There was no reason to fret. Normally the allergic reaction would run his course for a few days until it became life threatening. It was already late and he was tired…and perhaps he was not even right about his diagnosis. He should wait until the morning.