"Professor!"
Snape appeared at the room's door in a second. Harry was sitting on the bed.
"What is it, Potter?"
"I... I was cold and I tried to summon that blanket," Harry pointed to a blanket neatly folded on a chair in front of the chest of drawers. "I... I couldn't."
"Why haven't you called me, idiot boy? You must not use magic until you are totally recovered. And did you try to use wandless magic? Are you insane?"
"I... I don't know where's my wand. And I'm very good with wandless magic, you know. I mean... I was! Will I recover my magic?" Harry almost sobbed. "I don't want to be a Squib."
"Of course you will recover your magic. Your wand will be returned when the time is right." Snape summoned the blanket and put it over Harry. "Now let me go back to work."
"I'm tired of being here alone, doing nothing."
"And what am I supposed to do?"
Harry looked down bitterly.
"Besides us, Filch and the house elves, the only other person in the castle today is McGonagall. Do you want me to ask her to come and talk to you?" asked Snape.
Harry shook his head.
"I have nothing to talk to her about."
"Aren't you friends with... that Malfoy's old house-elf... What was his name?"
"Dobby? Yes, he's my friend, but no, I don't want to talk to him either. He's too... excitable. I have no energy to deal with him now."
"Perhaps you would like to... read something?"
"Anything except Potions books..."
Snape turned around and went out the door. Harry wondered if his words had offended him or if the teacher was simply tired of him. But some minutes later, Snape returned, bringing a hard cover volume with him: Murder in the Owlery, by Emerald Elyod.
"The Muggles praise a certain Sherlock Holmes, saying that he's a master of logic and deduction, but Emerald is a much better writer. And this is one of her masterpieces. Maybe Perseus Evans can teach you a little bit of logic, Mr Potter."
"Perseus Evans?"
"The most famous detective in Emerald Elyod's novels."
Yay, thought Harry. A detective novel. For the first time in his life, Harry smiled in the dungeons.
"Thank you, professor."
At the end of the day, when Snape came to bring him his dinner, Harry was already in the final chapters of the book.
"Potter! This is the third and last time that I call you."
"Hn."
"So, do you already know who is the murderer?" asked the professor, scornfully.
Harry looked up at him with blank eyes.
"I'm almost sure that it's Dr. Snark. He's a complete git."
An hour later, Snape entered the bedroom bringing a flask with the healing potion. Harry was looking at the ceiling, with an abstracted air. The book lay on the bed-table.
"Have you finished the novel? Have you guessed the culprit correctly?" The sarcasm was evident in Snape's tone.
"No! Dr. Snark was only a red herring. I thought that it was him because Hurrings..."
"Hurrings is Perseus's sidekick. You must never trust the detective's sidekick, Potter. This is the golden rule of all detective novels," declared Snape smugly.
Harry made a grimace at him.
"The worst of all is that I have a terrible headache," he complained.
"Obviously. You have read the entire book in one day. It's not healthy."
"But what else can I do here? I have no one to talk to!"
Snape's usually inexpressive eyes revealed an emotion that Harry had never seen there. What was that, grief? Harry had already seen hate, loath, fury, even resentment in Snape's eyes. At that moment, however, he saw only grief and defeat.
TBC...
Author's Notes:
Thanks Mandi, thanks everybody, you're so sweet!
Rikku Motomiya, you're absolutely right! That's why I've reposted this chapter, thanks to Mandi (Nymphadora Tonks1, who has volunteered to be my beta.