The Next Morning
I discovered that sleeping with a sprained arm is bloody uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that I barely got a drop of sleep. I heard Malfoy come back into our room late into the night after his meeting with Snape, but I acted like I was asleep and I'm sure he was just fine with that. He wasn't the type to come running back to our room full of gossip anyway.
I would most likely never know what the tall, lanky professor with daft black hair said to Malfoy. The Head of Slytherin looked over my roommate like an obnoxious overbearing uncle, and I didn't envy being the victimized nephew.
I make my way to the Main Hall for breakfast with a very tight-lipped Malfoy. Today was the first day of quidditch practice that I would resentfully not be participating in. But that didn't mean that Malfoy was deprived from partaking in our new sport.
"Excited to make an arse of yourself in front of the whole team today?" I taunt. "You're lucky my arm is a bloody mess; don't want to embarrass you on the first day or anything."
Maybe a little early morning verbal confrontation with my roommate would cheer him up.
He grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath.
Never mind.
I stay silent for the rest of our walk.
We take a seat across from his minions before serving ourselves. A fresh cup of coffee was sitting, waiting perfectly for the two of us as expected each morning.
Peering across the room, I casually seek out Ginny. She's toward the end of the Gryffindor table with a group of girls giggling. She's wearing her quidditch robes and has her hair in a sleek ponytail. Her head turns as she ritualistically looks directly at me.
As opposed to cowering and turning the other direction like before, I confidently maintain eye contact. A subdued smile appears on her face mirroring mine.
I notice Ron and Hermione approaching the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle look to their commander, waiting for their signal to move. Malfoy sits with both forearms laid on either side of his plate against the table. His head hangs low and he inattentively stares at the silverware beneath him.
Apparently, I had to play leader today.
I raise my eyebrows leaning toward Crabapple and Gargoyle. "Off you go," I coolly instruct.
Goyle rolls his eyes and swings a leg over the bench before storming off. Crabbe follows close behind.
Ron's wearing a ragged burgundy t-shirt with the logo for the Gryffindor quidditch team that looks like it had been passed down a few generations. Even though he didn't make the team, his twin brothers were some of the most infamous modern-day players of the sport. I appreciated the bond and support that the Weasleys held for each other. I always have. One could call it envy.
Hermione excitedly bites her lip throwing her bookbag on the table. "We must talk about last night."
"Must we?" I groan.
"Did you see it?" she ignores my grouchiness.
"Hmm.. dog with three heads? About 40 feet tall?" I respond full of sarcasm. "Yeah, I noticed it."
"You didn't see what it was standing on?"
Her eyes rotate between me and Ron. The clueless expression on his face most likely matched mine. She narrows her eyes leaning closer. "Honestly, do I have to put the pieces of the puzzle together every single time for you two?"
Ron and I glance at each other shrugging our shoulders.
"It was standing on a trap door." She heavily rolls her eyes. "Something is being held down there. Something that requires burdensome security."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Malfoy decides to join in on the conversation. Apparently the coffee had kicked in. "I saw no such thing, Granger."
"Well then you weren't looking closely enough, Draco."
"Aww, Draco," someone on the other side of him mocks. "How cute."
He pensively looks off into the distance while taking a sip from his coffee. His jaw clenches as the mug comes slamming to the table.
"There is no trap door!" he suddenly raises his voice. "There's nothing in that bloody room other than an overgrown puppy." He forcefully throws a napkin to his plate and shoves himself from the table. He tugs on the sides of his jacket as he stands to his feet. "And it'd be in your best interest to leave it alone."
I snort to myself as I watch Malfoy storm off.
Someone certainly woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. He strides toward the exit exchanging an implicit look with Professor Snape who enters the hall.
Ron shakes his head pointing his thumb in Malfoy's direction. "Who pissed in his cereal?"
"Oh, he's fine," Hermione insists with a listless hand wave. "He's just brooding; it's a Slytherin thing." I cock an eyebrow at her shoving a piece of toast in my mouth. "See, Ron? Harry's doing it now too."
I glare at her over my coffee cup concealing the smirk on my face.
Ron forces a purposeful phony smile while staring at someone behind me. "Good morning, Professor Snape!" he announces. "Sleep soundly, I hope?"
The Head of Slytherin wordlessly lingers behind me until the three of us eventually look up to him again in confusion. "Oh, pardon me," Snape scoffs. "Apparently I'm not making it clear enough. Get back to where you belong Gryffindors," he snaps pointing across the hall.
Ron and Hermione are quick to their feet. The students snicker around us like a pack of wild hyenas, amused by their master's discriminating orders. Ron yanks his pants down and moons half the Slytherin table in passing. Hermione smacks him on the shoulder heavily reprimanding him. I bite the tip of my knuckle holding back a laugh as I glance back up to Snape.
"Get up, Potter," he coolly instructs, choosing to ignore the disobedient redhead. "You'll be coming with me."
"And go with you where?"
"The headmaster's office."
Professor Dumbledore's office is breath taking. It's built in a cathedral setting with glass stained windows and high ceilings. It has a similar feel to a very sophisticated library, with antique books filling each shelf to capacity. The walls are scattered with portraits that come to life in true Hogwarts fashion.
I stand before the headmaster anxiously cracking my knuckles as I wait for him to speak.
Dumbledore rests his elbows on either side of the chair made of solid gold with his fingertips pressed together. He has a pleasant expression and a friendly smile partially hidden beneath his lengthy beard. "Congratulations on catching the snitch, Harry. I'm pleased to see that you weren't badly injured."
Professor Snape joins his side with his arms behind his back. His explicit, hostile stare and snobbish facade is in direct opposition from the headmaster.
"Thank you, sir," I respond in gratitude, still unsure why I'm even here. "That's a great honor coming from you."
"Headmaster, if I may?" Snape interjects in noticeable annoyance. Dumbledore gives the okay as the potions professor glides directly in front of me. "Mr. Potter, it has been brought to our attention that you succeeded in making the Slytherin quidditch team under false pretenses. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
The color drains from my face.
"Mr. Potter," Snape tempts. "Answer the question." He contently purses his lips awaiting my response.
"My apologies." I place my uninjured arm behind my back and approach him in a gradual manner. "Please, correct me if I'm wrong, professor.. but I believe the headmaster is more than capable of proposing his own questions. I would be more than happy to answer any of which, directly through him."
I glance to Dumbledore whose eyebrows are raised in light amusement. He silently leans forward in his seat taking a sip of tea.
Snape's upper lip curls at the unexpected response. "Don't be smart with me," he threatens through pressed teeth. "Now, explain how you caught the snitch insuchtreacherous conditions."
I swallow the dissipating saliva in my mouth as my eyes dart between him and Dumbledore. My right eye violently twitches and I give it an expeditious rub.
I had come to find that there were times, like the quidditch tryouts, where my eye would act up with minimal pain involved. Then there were moments like these, where it felt as though someone had just blown pieces of ember directly into my eyeball.
"Ah, Professor Quirrell." Dumbledore acknowledges the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who cautiously enters the room. He was a spastic, anxiety ridden, middle-aged man with a severe stuttering issue and an odd liking for turbans.
"Perhaps you could assist in this matter," Dumbledore continues, encouraging Quirrell to join us.
"Ye-yes head-headmaster." He abides with a quick bow. "Hello Mr. Po- Po- Potter."
I give half a wave with one eye closed. I try to play it off as though a stray eyelash had invaded my right eyeball. But I'm not sure how much longer I can keep up this front. My bum eye is on fire like never before. I'm holding my breath to ensure that I don't let out any uncontrolled groans.
"Is something bothering you, Harry?" Dumbledore calmly asks.
"No- I just.. there's something in my eye." I lean forward sharply inhaling through my nose.
Before I know it, Snape is in my ear again. "Do you know how many months of detention lying to the headmaster entails?" he threatens. "Now show me your eye."
I wince while exhaling loudly through my mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about," I insist.
Of course, I knew damn well what he was bloody talking about.
Someone must have ratted me out to Snape regarding my deformity, which gave the rare advantage (or disadvantage, depending on the scenario) of temporary vision in different contrasts.
Apparently, the convenience of viewing the snitch in the pitch dark with my mutilated eye was a form of cheating for the Head of Slytherin. If only he understood that simply targeting the snitch was half the battle.
But of course, I didn't expect any form of sympathy from him.
"Don't make me ask you again," he warns.
"Why would you wish to look at an eyelash stuck in my eye?" I patronize him. "That's rather odd."
Snape charges toward me and assertively grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger. He jerks my face inches from his.
Quirrell gasps placing a palm over his chest. "You- you should never pu-put your hands on a student," he advises from behind.
"Severus," Dumbledore warns standing to his feet. "Take your hands from the boy."
"Open your eyes you little nuisance," Snape threatens, his fingers digging into my jaw. I clench my eyelids shut sinking my fingertips into his wrist. The powerful scorching sensation heightens, and the ocular distortion throws me off balance.
The unexpected shift of my entire body weight frees me from his grasp. I use my free hand to break my fall as I hit the ground. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head in his direction as I keep my eyes clamped shut. I can't see, but I can feel his hot breath now just centimeters from my face.
I whimper as his sturdy fingers achingly squeeze my cheeks together. At this point his fingernails are puncturing my skin, so I finally give in opening both eyes. A stream of blazing tears trickle down my irritated cheeks.
His dark black eyes perilously search mine. I peer into the depths of his ebony irises as I twist my mouth, hock a loogie, and launch it directly at his hooked nose. "Piss off," I seethe.
I can only see him in black and white at the moment, but I don't need color to recognize the satisfying look of thorough horror on his face. After giving one last torturous squeeze, he aggressively shoves my head backward and removes a handkerchief from his robes.
I cry out in agony as I'm finally released from his grasp. I hurdle over extending my jaw with my mouth. My whole body is shaking, my chest is heaving and my temper is through the roof.
"Oh m-my," Professor Quirrell nervously stutters with wide eyes.
"SEVERUS!" Dumbledore roars commanding the room perfectly still. "I advised you not to touch Mr. Potter," he scolds as they come toe to toe. "Walk away."
"Headmaster? This boy just defiled a teacher!" Snape hollers pointing at me.
"And I believe you have acted on something of the same sentiment, Severus. I suggest you leave. Promptly."
I elevate my head, basking in the image of Snape's powerless departure from the room. I can't help but notice the vindicated smirk on Professor Quirrell's face as he exits on his coattails. Feeling a justified smile creeping across my lips myself, I hang my head low.
Once we're left alone, Dumbledore approaches me and places a firm hand on my shoulder. My arm is draped across my knees and my face remains hidden.
"Look at me, dear boy."
I rapidly blink ejecting hot merciless tears from the bottoms of my eyelids. Gradually raising my head, I close my eyes tight before courageously exposing both at the same time.
"I see," Dumbledore somberly notes observing my reptilian right eye. I watch the elderly man make his way back to his thrown. He quietly takes a seat, motioning his hand for me to occupy the chair across from him.
"Tell me, Harry. Do you know how your mother and father passed?"
"Voldemort.. he- he murdered my parents." I choke over my words trying to catch my breath as I take a seat.
"That would be correct," he softly answers.
"And- and this." I reluctantly point to the right side of my face. "Is just a friendly reminder."
"I'm afraid it's more than just a reminder.. or friendly, at that, Mr. Potter."
We sit in silence as I hang my forehead in my hand. Keeping my eye shut seemed to soothe and alleviate the pressure.
"Your eye concerns me deeply, Harry. We must look further into the source of its origination. I'm afraid it appears to be the work of dark magic," he advises with bloody years of wisdom to support his theory. "I would like for us to meet in my chamber on Monday morning."
My heart drops in trepidation. I had so many questions for him. But in the moment, I couldn't construct a proper sentence even if I tried.
I glance up at him with one eye. "If that's what you wish, sir."
"Very good." He interlaces his fingers bringing his hands toward his mouth. "In the meantime, I'll instruct Madam Pomfrey to concoct a counteractive saline. Temporarily relief, at least."
"Thank you, sir. I'll see you on Monday." I stand up with a quick bow before speed walking toward the exit.
"And Harry," he calls.
"Sir?"
"Remember to keep your anger at bay," he advises. "Possessing a power as such will only strengthen its grip the more you use it."
I silently peer back at him utterly guilt ridden. I knew I couldn't make that promise to the headmaster.
So I don't.
Holding his gaze, I use my hand to push the door open and remorsefully exit his office.
Later That Night
I heatedly enter my room with clenched fists. To my displeasure, I'm greeted by Snape's little arse kisser.
Malfoy nonchalantly folds his quidditch jersey. "Where have you been all day?"
"You know damn well where I was." I slam the door shut rattling the walls.
He casually places the uniform on his bed with an arched brow. "Why the hissy fit, Potter?"
"Oh, cut the bullshit Malfoy." I waste no time getting in his face. "You're the only one who knew," I plead as I jam my finger against his chest.
His unfazed expression only pisses me off further. He fearlessly stares directly into my eyes, focusing on the one with the serpent appearance. "What're you're getting at?" he sneers through gritted teeth. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought."
"You just couldn't stand the idea of being on the quidditch team with me, could you?" I continue to unleash my unkempt animosity. "You already made the team as a chaser. Did it really bother you so much that I proved myself worthy as a seeker? Did it make you jealous?!"
Malfoy clenches his jaw placing both hands in his pockets. "That's a load of rubbish, Potter. I have zero reason to be envious of you. You're making a mockery of yourself." He collectively makes his way toward our bedroom door.
"Where do you think you're going?" I trail behind him blatantly looking for a fight. "This conversation is not over."
"On the contrary, I believe it is." He looks me up and down before glancing at his watch. "I have a surprise party to attend honoring the record breaking, first-year Slytherin seeker. Bloody git."
