Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?
Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears
"Good evening."
Professor Dumbledore strode over to three teenagers, and sat on the bed to Harry's right. He surveyed Harry over his spectacles.
"I hope that you are not angry with me, Harry, for approving the amputation of your arm. I realized that you would not have wanted it, and would have held out for a different solution, but your life was threatened, and I was forced to decide for you," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sad.
Harry looked right into Dumbledore's eyes. "You're right when you say that I would not have wanted it. But thank you anyway."
Dumbledore met Harry's gaze. "I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry looked away, down at the stump of an arm.
"Professor Dumbledore, couldn't Harry have a magical prosthetic?" Hermione asked, hope in her voice.
Dumbledore sighed and passed his hand over his eyes. "Alas, the magic worked by Harry's potion is too complete. Madam Pomfrey tested to see if a magical prosthetic was possible, but it did not adhere."
Harry sat miserably, pondering over the predicament that he was in. Then a thought crossed his mind.
"Professor, Madam Pomfrey said that she couldn't clean the wound because the potion was too deeply embedded," Harry said.
"Correct," Dumbledore replied.
"Well, why was Professor Snape able to vanish the potion off the ceiling and the table?"
Professor Dumbledore again sighed. "It was Professor Snape who made us aware of the fact that the potion could not be cleaned with a spell. Professor Snape dismissed the class and took you to the hospital wing. On his return, the table where you had been working had been eaten in two, your cauldron was gone, as well as your bag and it's contents, and there was a growing hole in the floor and ceiling where the table was. Cleaning only removed the excess, slowing the process. The potion, as you are aware, reproduces as it reacts. It reproduced itself in his absence, and proceeded to worsen the damage. He had to magically remove the portions of the ceiling and floor where the potion was working and destroy the table that you worked at. It was this that gave us our only solution to your predicament."
"What about growing an arm back, though? Magically, I mean," Ron said. "Charlie's had fingers re-grown loads of times, working with dragons and all."
"Harry's entire forearm is, alas, far too big an appendage to magically re-grow," Dumbledore said wearily.
The three teenagers sat in silence, trying to reconcile the damage that was done.
Dumbledore stood. "Harry, Professor Snape is currently researching your potion. He has already submitted a request to the Ministry of Magic that your potion be registered. You, as the inventor, need to name it. I will bid you good night. Come along, Ron, Hermione."
They stood, Harry giving Hermione a brief hug, and gripping Ron's hand tightly. They both solemnly exited, with Dumbledore bringing up the rear.
Harry sank back onto his pillows, sighing deeply. He removed his glasses and placed them next to his wand. He closed his eyes, trying to remember happier days.
Harry awoke the next morning, well-rested. He sat up in bed, and then the world came crashing down again as he realized that it was not a bad dream. Harry mournfully grasped the stump of an arm. He groaned, then rolled out of bed. He awkwardly removed the dressing gown, and spying a cloak that Madam Pomfrey had left him where his robes had been, fastened it around his shoulders. He would stop by Gryffindor Tower before going down to breakfast.
He put on his glasses, and picked up his wand. Tucking it into his robes, he squared his shoulders and marched out the doors of the infirmary.
Harry's cloak concealed his stump, so he passed through the corridors of Hogwarts relatively unmolested. However, as he passed people, he heard them whispering.
"Destroyed the Potions dungeon!"
"I heard that he melted Snape's face off…"
"—doesn't look hurt to me."
"—all night in the infirmary!"
"He wasn't at yesterday's Quidditch match…"The Quidditch match! He'd forgotten all about it. He made a mental note to ask Ron what had happened.
He reached Gryffindor tower, and gave the Fat Lady the password ("Kniggit!") and climbed through the portrait hole. There were many people in the common room, Lavender and Parvati by the window, the Creevey brothers in front of the fire, and Dean and Seamus about to leave. Before anyone could accost him, he mounted the stairs to the boy's dormitories, and practically slammed the door to the sixth year's room shut. He turned around and found Neville Longbottom still in the room.
"All right, Harry?" Neville asked, just finishing getting dressed.
"Erm…yeah, Nev, I'm fine," Harry said. He opened his trunk with his right hand, being careful not to let the cloak slip off his left shoulder.
"You looked a mess yesterday. Did Madam Pomfrey fix up your arm?" Neville asked, leaning against his four-poster.
Harry froze. The Gryffindors and Slytherins knew that his arm had been splashed with the potion. He turned to look at Neville. Neville stared back, concern written on his face. Why did Harry feel the need to lie about his personal suffering so often? Harry was tired of keeping secrets from everybody. He grimly reached across his chest and pushed the cloak off of his left shoulder.
Neville screamed and jumped back, banging his head on the top of his four-poster.
"Harry, your arm…!" Neville cried, pointing.
"I know, Nev. Keep your voice down. There was nothing else that could be done," Harry said flatly.
"I just…that is—didn't ever expect…" Neville stuttered, still gaping openly at Harry's left arm.
"Don't worry about it, Nev. Just go on down to breakfast. I'm going to get changed and be down in a minute myself," Harry said, removing a sleeveless shirt from his trunk. He walked over to his wardrobe, rooting through it for a new set of robes. He heard Neville behind him walk to the door and exit. Harry realized just as he was pulling his robes out of the wardrobe that it was Saturday, and that he needn't wear robes. He abandoned the wardrobe, and removed the shirt he had been wearing. He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head, clumsily shrugging it into place. He still hadn't entirely gotten used to having less weight on the one side of his body. That, and the sensation of still having a left arm, and the disorienting experience of not having it encounter anything.
Harry pulled some jeans on and grabbed the cloak from where he had flung it on his four-poster. He re-clasped it one-handed, again making sure that it covered his left shoulder thoroughly. He wanted to be able to make it to the Great Hall without being stopped and asked.
He made his way back down the stairs and dashed across the common room and out the portrait hole. He resumed a normal walk as he descended the stairs to the entrance hall.
Harry could still hear the murmurs and whispers as he passed, but he strode determinedly into the Great Hall, scanning the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione were near the staff table, where only Professor Flitwick, Snape, and Madam Pince were seated. Harry walked the length of the Great Hall, continuing to ignore the whispers in the background. He seated himself across from Ron and Hermione, facing the Hufflepuff table.
"Morning," Harry said, reaching for some sausage.
"Morning," Ron replied. Hermione still seemed at a loss for words from last night.
Harry knew that as he ate, his stump would be somewhat visible to only Ron and Hermione, but no one else. But then a thought struck his brain like lightning.
He had just told Neville.
He quickly jerked his head around, looking down the table where Neville was speaking in a whisper to Lavender, who was seated across from him. Harry watched her eyes go wide and her hand fly to her mouth. Great…
Lavender leaned over and began whispering into Parvati's ear. Harry groaned. There goes that idea.
He resumed eating, somewhat miserably.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked.
"I showed Neville my arm," Harry whispered. Ron's head whipped around, looking down the table at Neville, who was now whispering into Dean's ear.
Harry now heard murmurs coming from the Ravenclaw table behind him, and turning, he saw that other girls were having reactions similar to Lavender's. Here we go…
Harry grabbed some toast, placed it on his plate, and began to butter it one-handed, which was difficult, as the toast kept skittering across his plate. He finally gave up and began to eat it, taking note that the amount of noise at the Hufflepuff table had also increased. Not good…
Harry drained his pumpkin juice and stood up to go. He turned and bumped into…Draco Malfoy. He smirked and grabbed Harry's cloak, throwing it off his shoulder.
A collective gasp went up in the Great Hall, except for the groans of Ron and Hermione.
"So, Potter, can't even make a simple potion, but on top of that, you melt your own arm off. That is the most pathetic—"
Harry felt it was the only thing that would do him justice. He leaned back and swung the stump of his arm around, connecting solidly. Draco Malfoy hit the floor like a ton of bricks.
"You…" Malfoy picked himself up off the floor, and took a step towards Harry, malice written all over his face.
A shadow cast itself across them. "That is enough," Snape said, glowering at Malfoy.
"Sir! Potter…" Malfoy began to object.
"Mr. Potter has already been punished for his mistake. You, Mr. Malfoy, have just been punished for yours," Snape said with a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at the red mark on Malfoy's right cheek.
Harry's jaw dropped. Snape was sticking up for him? Harry wondered if someone had put a Congeniality Charm on him. He would have thought that McGonagall would teach Divination than Snape actually defend him.
"Return to your table, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said smoothly. Malfoy glared at Harry, then stomped off toward Slytherin table.
"Follow me, Mr. Potter," Snape said, sweeping from the Great Hall. Harry jerked his cloak back into place, and followed Snape out.
Harry trailed along behind Snape, following him down to the dungeons. What was Snape planning?
They entered the Potions classroom, and Harry was astonished to see the gaping crater in the floor and the eroded ceiling.
Snape moved past the tables and pulling his wand out, pointed it at the door to his office, muttering something Harry couldn't hear. The door swung open, and Snape gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry timidly poked his head into Snape's office, then stepped into it.
It was as he remembered from last year, but Harry's focus centered on the small cyan orb hovering on one of the shelves.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," Snape said, pointing at a chair in front of his desk. Harry grimaced as he sat down. What did Snape have in store for him?
Snape sat down behind his desk, and pulled a small sheet of parchment from one his drawers. It was a form bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Harry read the title stamped across the top. 'Submission form for experimental potion.'
Harry read down it; the form asked for the method of making it, who discovered it, and the name given for the potion. He looked up at Snape.
"I don't remember how to make it," Harry admitted.
Snape gave a sneer. "I expected nothing less. That is why this is here." Snape gestured at an object sitting on the end of his desk.
It was Dumbledore's Pensieve.