Teaching History (is Old News)
17 - School Days: Scarred
Potter is too still, like a corpse. Too small and skinny.
"…It won't heal…" Madam Pomphrey starts to shake.
"What do you mean it won't heal?!" Tom, after several minutes of pacing back and forth, demands.
"I mean that none of my spells are working, not even this balm! He keeps bleeding!" Her wand swishes and flicks but still, red runs down Potter's forehead. "And his medical records are just—" Her eyes dart to Tom, as if remembering his presence, "Never mind."
"What is it? Does he have hemophilia?" Those hours of pouring over textbook definitions of diseases and conditions in the old library still remain clear in his mind. "I read that there's a potion to fix that. Go get one!"
"Nonsense. I did a diagnostic spell, Potter doesn't have that kind of condition! Did you notice any signs of dark curses? Hexes? How did he fall?"
A push. A fall. Splattered red on stairs—
"I just found him like this, I don't know!" Tom snaps. He acted like a child. He should have had better self control, he should have used his magic to catch Potter or even—
"Breathe, Riddle. I apologize. I shouldn't have taken out my temper on you. I'm just… I need to fix this," Madam Pomphrey points her wand to the cabinet, levitating several vials towards the bed. "This is a delicate situation. I need you to fetch Dumbledore for me. As Potter's head of house and magical guardian, he should be notified."
Dumbledore, Tom grits his teeth. "I won't leave."
"Mr. Riddle," Madam Pomphrey seethes, while trying to sort out all the vials, "this is not a request. This is an order. Fetch Professor Dumbledore at once, or so help me—"
"Not to worry, Poppy," Dumbledore appears just behind them, as if he was there the whole time.
"Albus! When did you?!"
"I came as soon as I heard whispers that Mr. Riddle was carrying Harry to the hospital wing! How is he? What happened?"
"Albus!" Madam Pomphrey looks ready to lecture him for startling them both (suspicious, how quickly Dumbledore came, yet if he can help Potter…), but shakes her head and points at Potter's head. "That scar, it won't heal. None of my spells or potions are working. My diagnostics have shown no sign of curses or hexes. I need your expertise. Do you think this is the work of dark magic?"
Immediately, Dumbledore casts a few wandless spells that cast golden hues around Potter's body but vanish in an instant.
"No traces of any magic that I'm familiar with… What did you say happened to Harry?"
"I'm not sure, Mr. Riddle found him like this at the bottom of the stairs…"
"Oh really?" Dumbledore turns sharply towards him. "Which staircase was this, Tom?"
"The one near the entrance hall," he snaps, avoiding Dumbledore's gaze. He just wants that scar to go away, just wants it to stop bleeding.
"I'm going to call some of my contacts from St. Mungo's. Albus, press some gauze against Mr. Potter's head. And Mr. Riddle, go back to your dorms, there's nothing more you can do for him now."
"No," Tom takes the gauze out of Dumbledore's reach and sits down by Potter. "I'll stay," he says, pressing the cloth against Potter's forehead, glaring at the red to retreat.
"You…! Fine. But you need to apply firm pressure on the wound! Now where's the floo…?"
Tom ignores Dumbledore's hard gaze, ignores how the old man decides to sit on the other side of Potter. Tom just needs to be there with Potter wakes, that's all. How else will he get the answers he needs?
:
Several healers climb out of the fireplace and begin crowding around the bed, arguing with each other and trying different 'safe' spells. Some of them begin whispering about contacting Unspeakables or healers from overseas when Dumbledore taps Tom on the shoulder and tells him grimly to return to his dorm. "I won't," Tom remembers saying, pressing the gauze down harder. He has to be here when Potter's scar heals…
The rest of the evening passes by in a blur. At some point, Tom thinks Dumbledore had to step out to discuss matters with the healers and he heard a few snippets about 'the muggle guardians won't give permission, this is ridiculous—' and a bitter rage rose in Tom that moment. Potter's relatives were refusing him treatment…?
At some point in the night, Tom drifts off, keeping an iron grip on the Potter's bandages.
His dreams of Potter walking away from him, leaving crimson footsteps in the sand.
:
He jolts awake just as he crashes down against the floor.
Potter is screaming, clawing at the bandages slipping from his head. The gauze falls down like thick white tears settling around his neck, as if to strangle him later.
"Harry!" Dumbledore shouts, rushing over and holding him back against the pillows.
"No, no, no," Potter tries to claw out of Dumbledore's hold. "You're not real. You're dead. You're all supposed to be dead. Or…" Potter freezes. "It hasn't happened yet? But then…" He looks at Tom. "Why are you here? You had… you're going to have snake eyes… such red eyes…"
"What in the world are you talking about?" Tom growls, standing back up and resisting the urge to hex something.
Potter freezes. Looking in horror at a potted cactus. "No, no, no, you're… you're going to get killed by a llama. A llama that likes to eat cacti…"
"Stop speaking nonsense and lie back down. Your bandages are falling—"
"Don't!" Potter slaps his hand away but the damage is done.
Tom sees the gleaming scar, as bright as the lightning bolt it resembles, staring right back at him.
His mirror image, cracked, no longer perfect.
EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019