Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela
Chapter 10 – Changes
(Giving in - Part 1)
By: Schittlez
The strength Harry emitted was astounding as he rolled his head around, wildly surveying his prey. He let a villainous leer form on his face before he divided his lips to reveal the glistening, pointed teeth that were ready to dive into Snape's throat. Harry yearned for it... his veins were howling for nourishment as they began to spasm inside him. He was going to take what was rightfully his.
Nothing could stop him… no one…
No one—except Professor Snape.
The teacher threw his arm back, ripping it away from Harry's grasp. He then clenched onto the teen's other hand—wrapped around his throat—as his own, growing nails dug into his pupil's skin. When they pierced into the cold, pale flesh, Snape definitely got a reaction out of his adversary.
The pain caused Harry to growl, baring his fangs even harder. The sight of the copper fluid, seeping out of his own skin, drove him crazier; the boy was relentless—and Snape had no choice.
Disregarding any consequences or how much pain he would induce, the professor wrenched Harry's hand away with surprising force. His black irises began to bleed, covering his eyes with a veil of the inky color. He tightly gripped the student's robes and completely threw him off guard with his next move.
Snape's motion was fluid, swift and powerful; and before Harry knew it, an insurmountable amount of strength thrust him against a tree and pinned him roughly against the bark.
The raven-haired Gryffindor wore a startled look for a brief amount of time; but his wide eyes returned to emerald slits as he snarled with loathing. The fact that Snape had enough physical strength to revolve the tides and corner Harry; the fact that the professor was gouging the young vampire's skin with his own weapons, in the form of nails; and the fact that the Potions master was now also baring fangs that were attached to a face that was masked with pure darkness and eyes of malice—empty of any white or sign of innocence; it was all lost to Harry… He was nothing but a starving animal.
Professor Snape curled his lip up in disgust as he gripped the boy tighter around the collar and brought him dangerously close to his own face.
"When was the last time you fed?!" It wasn't a question. It was an aggressive command that should have been answered quickly if Harry didn't want to truly experience what death and the chains of the underworld felt like when they embodied someone; but Harry was not bright in Snape's opinion.
The young vampire's feet was only inches off the ground as he kicked and blindly clawed, desperately trying to claim even a small piece of the person in front of him, who he saw as food.
The older vampire growled and audibly 'tsk'ed with frustration. He raised his captive higher and shoved him hard against the splintery wood once more. It ended Harry's snarls and wild movements, finally, as the Gryffindor slowed his antics and was now only focused on freeing himself. Never breaking eye contact, or letting his brutal gaze fade, the teenager made an attempt to claw at his tutor's hand that held firm; creating incisions with his nails and raking through the professor's skin.
Despite rage, any emotion dwelling inside Snape was expertly masked, even pain—if the man really felt any.
"Damnit, Potter! I am not giving you the luxury to decide whether or not you can defy me! Do not make me hurt you. This is nothing, I promise. Now… when was the last time you fed!"
For the first time since Harry's transformation, the green-eyed vampire parted his lips to speak—rather than howl like a wild animal.
"It would be now if you let me go…" Harry barked out. His voice was still not his own; like he had stolen the sound of a demonic monster and put it in own throat. "I could make it painless when I end your life, but I'll only be cruel if you keep fighting me, you pest! What is the point of being alive anyway? Your existence has always been pathetic. That's why you were treated the way you were by my father. You are nothing but a miserable specter… that's what you'll always be. Do us all a favor: Roll over and die already or I will rip the very flesh from your bones before I devour you!"
And once again, the boy resorted back to flailing and fighting his enemy. Snape could only watch in awe at the drive that enveloped Harry's eyes. He was a completely different person. Professor Snape was no longer engaging with Harry Potter, he was holding up a feral beast. The student had no debilitating emotion in the slightest; he now existed purely for blood.
Snape's short slip into absence earned him a deep gash along his pale cheek. The rip in his skin ripped him back into reality and thinking was no longer a part of the plan.
He reared his arm back, jerking Harry forward once more. Their eyes were locked in an electrifying war. Their faces were so close, the two quarreling vampires could literally feel the heat from the aura radiating off of each other; and in a split second, Snape threw him up against the tree for the third time. The conviction he drew out of himself caused the wood to vertically splinter apart right behind Harry's back and the boy, although stronger in this circumstance, was not immune to the blunt force trauma.
The younger vampire's head fell backward from the shock; his mouth gaped open and his green orbs dizzily gazed at the twinkling sky. Or maybe all the twinkling lights were emitted from his head to show his eyes the disorientation his was experiencing.
To add to the testing of Harry's pain threshold, the back of Snape's hand swiftly swept across the Gryffindor's face with a loud 'thwack!' and his head lolled from the back to the side. Even though the sting on his cheek added greatly to the list of burning, sharp, unbearable sensations all throughout Harry's body, that one particular spot of heat, in the shape of a hand, slightly brought him back to the world of consciousness.
All of the pain tackled and engulfed his previous twinge of hunger and without having to be forced to focus on that, a feeling of alertness finally took over Harry's senses.
The confused Gryffindor slowly drew his face to look at his attacker. His eyes were full of bewilderment as he scrunched his eyebrows together. The green hue that had completely bled over his objects of sight was fading rapidly and Harry was graced with the eyes of his mother once more.
He didn't know they had changed back; he could barely comprehend anything. He had an idea, though, and quickly began to piece it together, along with the reason why Snape had inflicted so much violence upon him; Harry reminded himself of a similar situation involving him and Lupin.
Therefore, he thought his current focus should have been addressing the professor, although it would probably prove to be difficult, considering the teacher's glare was burrowing into Harry, still, at that very moment. Snape's gaze was full of warning and he looked prepared to rip Harry's throat out…
…And when did the man have fangs?!
"P-professor?" Harry weakly said, hoping the response was as painless as possible…
…it wasn't.
Before the sixth-year could even realize what the Head of Slytherin was doing, Harry felt sharp tears in his chest as Professor Snape gripped his robes even tighter. The evidently dominant opponent yanked the boy away from the tree for the last time and tossed him backward with such a thrust that Harry became a human projectile for a short moment before colliding hard with the rugged, dirt floor. He landed stomach-side up and slid to a halt near another tree on the other side of the clearing.
Harry curled into a fetal position, his nerves exploding in agony from head to toe. His blood swirled and crashed like waves against jagged rocks as he once again began to feel light-headed. He did not know how much more of a mauling he could withstand, but the older vampire was already on top of him again.
Harry turned his head sideways and looked up at his so-called teacher, who looked back at him with soulless, black eyes.
"Sir, please! Stop!" Harry blurted out. He was pleading to a man whom he never usually gave the time of day. Never in a million years would he have been willing to bet that he would ever beg to Severus Snape, of all people. This was definitely a secret he was taking to his grave, but what choice did he have? And what the hell had he done that was so unforgiveable to deserve being beaten around like a bludger?
On top of that, when had the Potions teacher become a vampire?! Harry was too focused on his assailant's attacks to fully conceive the fact that his instructor was just like Harry in the sense that he was also a blood-sucking creature. Unfathomable as it was, Harry was looking up at a fang-equipped face that was overflowing with malevolence. Why hadn't he noticed it before?
Either way, Snape's rampage continued to ensue as the shadow cast onto Harry's legs by the eerie moonlight began to grow and creep over his entire body as the professor reached down and seized the collar of Harry's attire once more.
He pulled his student up in air, raising him as high as his arm would allow. The man's face was expressionless; making it seem like the task of holding up someone with one hand was effortless.
Gravity pulled Harry against his robes and he could feel the fabric clenching around his neck—growing tighter by the second. He reached for Snape's hand and his fingers began assaulting it, trying to loosen its grip; but the professor's knuckles were white and tense—and his fingers showed no sign of separating.
Harry's hands became desperate as he felt a ring around his neck grow hotter and more constricting. He made one last attempt to reason with his teacher.
"P-professor…" Harry gasped as he gave up his efforts on prying open Snape's grasp and began tugging on his collar, frantic to loosen the material from around his throat as he began to feel faint. "E-enough… please!"
"Begging are we? Now who's pathetic?" Snape growled, jostling Harry as he replied. "You were so easily ready to hand my dead body over. Why should you receive the luxury of having your life spared?"
Harry's body received a few more jerks from the professor as he ranted on; but his captive seemed to be slowly slipping away from reality the longer he hung from the teacher's extremity. Snape took notice as Harry's eyes began to flutter. He let his sneer transform into a smirk and he turned his hand that had a hold of the student, causing the robe to twist tighter around the neck of the light-headed Gryffindor.
"Don't pass out on me now, Potter," he growled. "I am not finished with you."
However, the body he had a hold of steadily began to feel more and more like dead weight and Snape's eyes flashed with an emotion that never graced his eyes in years. It was gone in the instant it appeared and he dropped the limp form back on the ground.
A few moments blew away by the October chill before Harry finally began coughing back into the world of awareness. The sixteen-year old resorted to just lying there, leaning on his left elbow while his right hand desperately massaged the skin covering his neck, trying to alleviate the friction burn. He was sure there was a blistering mark appearing around his neck, he could feel it; and he added it to the other likely bruises that had developed over the course of the night.
Meanwhile, Snape was pacing around Harry, staring down at him with dangerously flashing eyes. His claw-equipped hands were resting behind his back as he stalked and glared at the frail being resting below him.
Harry's eyes finally met Snape's and instead of allowing his eyes to express the fear he felt boiling inside him, he threw back eyes of utter defiance. The Head of Slytherin's actions were beyond un-called for in his opinion. Just wait until Dumbledore heard about this; Harry made a mental note of it.
What courage he had left, swirling in small points throughout his nerves, was drawn up to his lips as he addressed his deranged professor once more.
"Was that really necessary, Professor?"
Snape paused and glowered at the student he hated more than anyone in the world. At that moment, the Gryffindor guessed, the Potions master couldn't possibly hate him any more than he did at that moment; possibly more than he hated Harry's father even. The reply that came from the figure standing above him dripped with sarcasm and loathing.
"What this? This small, insignificant act of merciless rage and sadism?" He began pacing around Harry again, waving his arms in the air—robes billowing behind him with a strong force. "Was it necessary? Well… Potter, was it?"
Harry furrowed his brow. "What are you getting at?"
"Will Merlin ever grace you with the gift of intellect?" Snape huffed as he swooped down and seized Harry by his clothing again. The Gryffindor flinched on contact as he felt himself being lifted for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He was relieved, however, when he found himself only being rested up against a tree—rather harshly; but it was at least nowhere near as painful as the last three impacts. However, that did not stop the Potions master from drawing himself impossibly close to Harry. His crooked nose was inches away from the sixth-year's as both hands rested on either side of the young vampire's face. Harry could literally feel the irate energy coming off his tutor's aura.
"That act you pulled! The act that you have been pulling since your second lesson…" Snape trailed off.
Harry internally winced. He had been found out.
"Did you honestly think I did not know? Do you really believe me to be thick-headed?" And the teacher paused. "…don't answer that."
Professor Snape turned his head and sighed heavily. He pulled himself up from leaning on the tree and began stalking around the clearing—for what time, Harry lost count. The raven-haired teen remained motionless, knowing all to well that the older wizard was far from finished.
"Do you at least remember what we discussed during your second meeting?" And Snape finally met Harry's gaze again. The student only nodded. This act of acknowledgement seemed to only fuel the Head of Slytherin's frustrations to the limit.
"Then what was the glorious reason in that sorry excuse for a brain of yours that made you think that you could guarantee an exemption from having to hunt?! Please, enlighten me. Daresay I am most enthralled to finally be able to come across this discovery of yours."
Harry couldn't help but hesitate. Although all conclusions he came up with seemed more than reasonable to him over the weeks, no excuse would be sufficient enough for Snape. The older vampire was clearly waiting for an answer and Harry had many to give, but all he could do was sum it up into four words…
"I didn't want to."
A raised eyebrow was added to Snape's expression and Harry could see the professor's jaw clench. The Gryffindor physically winced this time around. Usually, altercations with the Potions master never struck fear in Harry—just untamed anger; but after witnessing that the professor was also a dark creature and after having to experience first-hand what his attacks felt like, a compressing sensation twisted and curled all around the pit of Harry's stomach. It felt like indigestion—only worse.
Out of all the loud and violent replies Snape could have thrown towards the boy, he did no such thing. He only uttered one sentence.
"I think it would be best if I had you expelled…"
The words hung in the air long after they were spoken and Harry's heart sank into that rumbling pit. The mere thought made him sick every time he even contemplated it, let alone when it was actually fathomable. Hadn't he gone through enough torture from the threat of that word throughout all his years at Hogwarts? The fact that the teacher standing before him had the audacity to even tempt such a fate made Harry genuinely want to kill him; and his face portrayed his hatred with eerie accuracy.
Professor Snape paid no mind. He looked as though he couldn't care less. After he bent down to pick up a short, but thick, stick, he noticed Harry's death-glare and added, "Do you really believe you should not be expelled?"
The remark slightly caught Harry off guard. What kind of question was that? He wasn't going to let this miserable git confuse and get the best of him. If he was going down, he was taking Snape with him.
"What are you getting at, sir?" Harry spat out.
"What do you think I'm getting at?" Snape retorted as venom began to drip from the words he ranted out. "You always take for granted how everything is practically handed to you. Being what you are, you should not even be allowed to set foot on the grounds, let alone attend school anymore. What kind of reaction do you think the students and their parents would emit if word got out about what you are? I am sure you can still recall Lupin's situation when everyone found out what he is-"
"Thanks to you!" Harry shouted. How dare that man say Remus' name.
"Do not interrupt me, Potter!" Snape's face was burning with resentment. "You should be extremely grateful to Dumbledore for allowing you to come back to school. But screwing up like this… not even he can protect you."
"I believe you're throwing this all out of proportion, don't you?" Harry snapped. The incredulous look he received proved that Snape did not agree.
"Out of proportion? Well, let me put this in a perspective that even you should find impossible to misunderstand. What if your little episode tonight was diverted towards a fellow student in that castle?" He thrust out his arm, which still had a hold of the stick, towards the twinkling castle that stood a good distance away, hidden from view by the canopy of trees that had refused to shed their leaves. Snape's question trailed off and hung for a brief minute before he finished. "What then?"
Harry had no retort and he hated his teacher for it. Instead he just looked at the ground. Out of all the moments he despised being whom he was, this one made him despise it most. Why did everything in his life boil back down to the fact that he had to think about the rest of the world? What about him? When would his life be his and not everyone else's?
The smug look on the professor's face sent him off the deep end and he couldn't help himself from spewing his next set of words.
"Forgive me, Professor… but aren't you a vampire as well? How come you're allowed to be a teacher here?"
The nostril's attached to Snape's hooked nose flared and it looked like a geyser of retaliating remarks was about to blow its top. "Because, Potter, I actually know how to control my transformation. Tell me this, do you know how to transform at will? Do you have the strength to retain said transformation when you are excited?" Harry looked down again and Snape smirked. "Clearly not. And grace me with an answer as to whether or not you can harness the exceptional powers that are granted to the likes of us for the well-being of this school."
Harry clicked his teeth.
"I didn't think so. Where as I am an asset, you, Potter, are nothing but a dangerous creature…" and Snape's next remark shot past his lips like a cruciatus curse. "But you would not be if you'd put that ridiculous pride away, pay attention, and do as you're told for one damn minute!"
At this moment, Snape's hair flowed and swayed through a forceful wind that did not affect the rest of the clearing. It affected Harry though. He could literally feel the gusts brushing up under his robe, leaving goose bumps where ever they went. Could he ever possess that power?
Harry wondered at that moment exactly what his capabilities were now that he had this new-found curse, gift—whatever one wanted to call it; and to have a power as such and not be able to control it—the thought scared Harry beyond any comprehension. What if a student was his victim? Someone unable to overpower the dark side within him? If he thought he was famous for all the wrong reasons now…
The older vampire's response lingered in the heavy air, obviously waiting for Harry's reply. It was difficult to say and shameful to admit, but he had one—only one…
"You're right… What do you want me to do?" Harry sighed, hanging his head in defeat.
Snape paused for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in. The two quarrelling wizards never backed down to each other. Outside circumstances always forced one to stop fighting the other; danger of breaking more rules, interruptions from other persons, all seemed to just put the bickering on pause and set it aside, saving it for their next confrontation. The difference in Harry's tone and usual comebacks, needless to say, slapped the Professor in the face. Nevertheless, his steely resolve did not waver. Instead, he slowly walked forward towards the younger vampire while rolling his own sleeve up to his elbow.
Harry's right eyebrow shot up in the air as he questioned his instructor's reaction. Was the guy really going to hit him again? Luckily, Snape did nothing of the sort.
What the Potions master did do, however, caused the sixth-year to flinch. Snape drew up the twig that was clenched in his right hand. Right before Harry's eyes, without any word uttered, the frail bit of wood transformed into a sturdy, gleaming dagger. The Gryffindor could barely watch as the Head of Slytherin dug the tip of the blade past his skin and twisted it a little for good measure. Next, he ran the knife across from left to right, opening a clean-cut door for his blood to escape. Harry chocked back chunks as he immediately recalled a similar situation he endured in an unforgettable graveyard.
Snape completely disregarded the student's unsettled response as he shoved his wrist in front of Harry. The poor raven-haired teen's mind was mixed with a sense of nausea, confusion, disgust and hunger. The funny thing about it was it seemed like his teacher picked up on all his emotions.
"Believe me, Potter, this isn't a walk in the Quidditch pitch for me either. I'm not exactly thrilled at the thought of saving you from this torture. I feel you deserve quite a bit more. But the only way to progress is this. Your transformation did not fully retract. The only reason you feel like yourself is because I had beaten you into to a bloody pulp and your body is too weak for your vampire blood to take over. But if you do not receive nourishment of some sort, even the low amount given from blood of another vampire, your blood will boil with the next opportunity to take over once more… now drink, so we can end this charade and this lesson."
Harry coughed out a gag. He couldn't help it. The thought of Snape helping him, let alone him having to put his mouth on the creep's skin, was churning his stomach to unbearable measures.
The sixth-year reluctantly pulled himself forward, closing his eyes and revealing the gleaming daggers inside his mouth. When his lips first grazed against the older wizard's blood-drenched skin, he immediately wanted to fly backward. However, the scent of the copper fluid was intoxicating and his senses picked up on it all too quickly, forcing him to remain still and continue. He had to admit the warm liquid slid past his throat like silk and strength just seemed to follow as it flooded through his body.
Unfortunately, the relief lasted only for a brief period. As soon as the waves of nourishment pushed through his veins, an electrifying current followed suit, leaving nothing but an uncomfortable, cramping sensation. His insides felt like they were boiling and the more the pain grew, the more he felt the blood rushing to his head.
To add to matters, his scar felt like it was pulsing, ripping open and creating a fresh wound. He felt like he was going to explode. And just as the ignition felt as though it would soon erupt, his world went dark, his mind collapsed… and so did he.
Did everything have to hurt so much? He wondered if there would ever be a peaceful moment in his life when absolutely nothing hurt, physically or mentally. Tons of incoherent thoughts ran through his head. What happened after his lesson last night? Where was he? Was he still outside? He already knew he was lying at that moment—where ever he was.
He wanted something to move, but his brain was fighting against it. Was he paralyzed? That couldn't be right. He could feel the inviting warmth of a soft object draped over him. Maybe he was too weak. He tried something simple—a pinky finger. It seemed easy enough… but not likely.
Harry mentally sighed as he began to steadily open his eyes. The bright light burned them back shut. He started off even slower on his second attempt, letting the flood of the rays from the sun seep gently between his eyelids.
When his eyes finally adjusted, sweeping away all of the blurred images, emerald met sapphire.
Usually the orbs staring back at him would have a twinkle to rival an unclouded night sky; but this time the azure objects of sight towering over his sprawled-out form were clouded as if a storm was brewing within them.
He knew the one and only reason as to why the Headmaster would appear so upset… Snape had told Dumbledore everything. At that moment, Harry contemplated whether or not there would ever be a moment where he couldn't possibly grow to hate the Potions master any more; but with every passing encounter it seemed like his limit of loathing was always pushed even higher.
Dumbledore's shrouded gaze lingered over Harry for what seemed like eternity. The Gryffindor couldn't bear how eerie it felt as it burrowed through him, almost into his soul he thought. He closed his eyes once more but still couldn't brush away the creepy sensation. He was set in the decision of lying still and remaining silent, waiting for the shameful encounter to pass as quickly as it could.
However, as the minutes began to take their sweet time in ticking by, like watching them melt together into sand and slowly slip through the thin waistline of an hourglass, Harry began to wonder if the man would say anything. Confusion got the best of him as he pulled one eye open and looked up at the old wizard to see if he would ever make a move.
To Harry's relief, or displeasure—he wasn't sure which—the regally robed man before him still stood in the very same spot that Harry's eyes last left him; but this time, his stare was turned elsewhere. Curiosity filled the sixth-year's senses and he tried to lift his head up to see just what had a hold of the Headmaster's attention. The strain on his head was painful to say the least, but the sight he saw caught him so off guard that all discomfort flew out the window.
A subconscious part of his brain made a mental note of realizing that he was obviously in the infirmary as Harry's crystal-green orbs scanned through the medical facility and fell on top of a fellow student who also seemed to be suffering a fair bit. The Gryffindor's eyes widened as he witnessed his Slytherin rival perched on the side of a cot that sat directly across the room from his own.
The blonde-haired boy took no notice. He was too busy hacking up a great deal as he hunched forward. The shaking fit that the teen was enduring sent chills down Harry's spine. So he was right. Something was wrong with Malfoy!
Madame Pomfrey was already on the scene and was leaning over the blue-eyed student in seconds. Since when was his eyes blue? Since when did Harry notice, or care?
Nevertheless, it seemed like the boy did not want anyone near him because the hand he was previously using to cover his racking coughs was immediately thrown up, warning her to proceed no further. Of course the proud woman did not take 'no' for an answer and continued to try and tend to the sixth-year Slytherin.
Her attempt was thrown back in her face as a strong gust sent her backward. Luckily the neighboring cot behind her caught her fall and she landed softly on the mattress; but that didn't wipe off the astonished and almost hurtful look that painted her face.
Draco looked up for the first time since Harry noticed him and—completely oblivious to his audience—glared at the MediWitch.
"What part of get your hands off of me do you not understand?" he barked. It was a bad move, because he was instantly attacked once more with a hacking fit.
Harry couldn't believe his eyes. What was wrong with the guy? His directed his curious, green eyes back to Dumbledore, for the Headmaster was now advancing on the situation.
The Professor was as calm as ever when he spoke, but the warning dripping out of mouth was all too clear behind his benevolent demeanor.
"Young Malfoy, I am deeply pained to see you suffer so much, considering your circumstance."—Harry raised an eyebrow—"But wouldn't it be wise not to reflect it upon those who have no part in it, especially those who are only trying to help a student, such as yourself?"
The Slytherin turned his head to the left, almost in a sinister manner, considering the way his hair fell in front of his blazing orbs. His replying glance seemed to dare the Headmaster to continue with his subliminal threats.
"I don't need any help," was what Malfoy's lips oozed out.
Harry could literally feel the dangerous aura; and the slick sheen of sweat that covered Malfoy's sickly-pale skin like a thin film only made the boy appear more menacing. Even Madame Pomfrey took notice and slowly rose from the bed and began to step away from the teenager.
Dumbledore, of course, paid no mind to the Slytherin's antics and engaged in—what seemed like to Harry—a silent war between the two wizards' dead-locked gaze.
Malfoy eventually looked away letting his wild eyes fall onto another object in the room…
Harry.
To say that the change in his demeanor was a complete one-eighty was an understatement. The moment cerulean met jade, the blonde-haired wizard almost pulled back and his hostile aura shrunk away.
Upon realizing who else was accompanying him in the room, Malfoy immediately shot up from the bed, receiving a shot of agony up his spine as a result; but even that didn't appear to slow the boy down. He looked determined to no longer remain in the infirmary.
All fear aside, the moment that Madame Pomfrey realized that the fussy student still needed medical assistance, she scooped herself up off the bed and drew her wand ready to look over Malfoy once more. The blonde teen was not amused and drew his wand in response, accurately aiming it at her throat.
Dumbledore was already on the scene and almost glided towards the Slytherin, reaching him in mere seconds. The boy seemed to expect it and turned his weapon onto the old wizard. His eyes were blazing and his knuckles were white. Even knowing the Headmaster's reputation of power and the fact that the man had a few good inches above him, Malfoy did not waver.
"I told you, I don't need any help! Don't touch me and leave me be!"
Harry could hear the strain in his enemy's voice. His words were laced with panic and the blue-eyed Slytherin was shivering an awful lot. Was he really that ill?
Without another word, the quarreling, young wizard swept up his robe and swept out of the room in—what appeared to be—the most Malfoy-ish way the teen tried to muster up; although he stumbled quite a great deal as he exited and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving only three occupants in the hospital wing.
After the ear-splitting slam of the wooden doors, silence enveloped the room again—just as it did when Harry first woke.
Madame Pomfrey immediately regained all professionalism and dusted off her nursing apron, fixed the dressings on her hair and quickly dismissed herself to her office, closing the door behind her with an echoing sound that could have outdone Malfoy's departure.
This left Harry to finally be alone with Dumbledore and the atmosphere almost instantly re-directed itself to the one that the Gryffindor was incased in moments before he had witnessed Malfoy's act. A slithering feeling ran up his skin and he almost wished for an encore performance from Malfoy just to slice through the tension that was currently welling up between Headmaster and student.
He mentally sighed and stared at the bed sheets covering his body, waiting for the impending lecture that he knew was coming...
To Be Continued...
Schittlez: (cracks whip) Did I say you could stop working!
Slythindor: (glares) Don't make me bite you...
Grifferin: Why do I have to work? There's no fluff yet! (whines)
Slythindor: (looks at Grifferin, smirking) Because you are my bitch! Mwaahahahahaha!