Harry woke up to bright light and the smell of antiseptic. He felt, for some reason, that he should be disoriented, but he had woken up in the hospital wing so many times it was almost as normal as waking up in his own bed in Gryffindor Tower. He did not question the reality of the events that preceded his waking in the hospital wing. The fact that he could see clearly was testimony to the validity of last night's events.
Harry lay on his side and sifted through his memories, still not quite believing it. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was the reincarnation of Salazar Slytherin. He laughed at the thought of everyone's reaction to that bit of news. With any luck, Malfoy would put in for a transfer.
Harry sighed; he now possessed all of Slytherin's memories. Knowledge beyond anything he could have imagined bounded around in his head trying to find a place to settle in. He arched his eyebrows; Harry would never have thought that Slytherin had been an insightful and rather poetic man. Then he remembered how Hogwarts got its name and reminded himself of his promise never to get drunk again.
All the stories said that Slytherin was a heartless man who only loved himself. It seemed that that was only half the truth. He also loved his friends and a select few of his "special" students. And he wasn't completely heartless only very impatient when it came to dealing with fools. Almost everyone was a fool.
"I don't know Albus." Harry was pulled from his musings by the voice of Madam Pomphry, the school mediwitch." He seems fine, physically at least. Though there is something wrong with his mind. He seems to have changed psychologically. When he woke for a moment some time ago he acted like someone two or even three times his age." Pomphry sounded worried, but Harry knew he was fine. As for the change, well, in a since, Salazar Slytherin had been reborn. The memories of a very old, very dead, dark wizard would change the thinking patterns of a sixteen year old boy.
Harry decided not to call attention to the fact that he was awake. He wanted to see if they would say anything else interesting. He needed to know what they knew and what they suspected, so that he could decide what to tell the Headmaster later. So far, it seemed that they knew that something had happened but didn't know what. Harry frowned; he didn't know himself the extent of what happened.
"I will speak with him when he wakes, Poppy, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, said to the frazzled mediwitch. The privacy curtain around one side of Harry's bead was pulled aside. Twinkling blue eyes looked down on Harry through half-moon glasses. "Oh, he is awake," Dumbledore said to no one in particular.
You knew I was awake the whole time, you old coot. Harry thought fondly at the old man. Dumbledore wrinkled his forehead. It took Harry a moment to realize what had happened. Note to self: don't think at anyone. It seemed that Slytherin had a minor telepathic ability. Truthfully it only worked sporadically and at times of high emotion, mostly embarrassing him in the process. Great.
"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" The Headmaster asked concern evident in his voice. The old man pulled a chair up beside the bed.
"I feel different, Sir." Harry frowned that was not what he had meant to say. He had wanted to tell the Headmaster that he was fine, but some how couldn't seem to get the words out. Different summed up how he was feeling rather well though.
"Different?" Dumbledore pursed his lips and gave Harry a serious look over the top of his lenses. "How so?"
Harry turned away from the Headmaster's piercing gaze. He did not want to answer the question, and he couldn't make himself lie. It wasn't for lack of trying; Harry was panting and his face was turning red with the effort of trying to lie to Dumbledore. He decided instead on a nice evasive answer when he noticed Madam Pomphry's critical gaze on him. The mediwitch was poised, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of physical distress. "I- don't know exactly. Many things seem different."
"Can you give me an example?" Dumbledore probed leaning forward and looked directly into Harry's eyes.
Harry swallowed. He cast about for something, anything to say. His eyes fell on his glasses sitting on the bedside table. "Well, Sir, my eyesight is much better than it was," He replied.
"Really?" The Headmaster lifted his heavy white eyebrows. "Well, that would explain why you haven't once reached for your glasses." He smiled and leaned forward in a conspirative manner. "Is there anything else you think I should know?"
Harry looked the Headmaster strait in the eye, "No, Sir, there is nothing else that I think you should know." He didn't even flinch at so blatantly putting Dumbledore off. It was not like him at all, but he just wanted the old man to leave him alone so that he could figure out why he couldn't lie and what he was going to do with all the new information packed between his ears. Must be Salazar surfacing in me. He thought.
Dumbledore leaned back and gave Harry a somber look. "You know that you can talk to me, don't you, Harry?"
Harry decided not to dance around the fact that he was hiding something. "You've kept secrets from me." He replied. "I don't think I can trust you."
"Harry-"
"I don't respond well to betrayal." True enough, Salazar had a tendency to kill people who betrayed him.
"Harry, I did not betray you. I kept secrets that perhaps I shouldn't have, I admit. But trust me Harry; I'm trying to help you, to protect you." The Headmaster unknowingly echoed the words Rowan had spoken earlier.
"Give me time to think about it." Harry answered tears pricking his eyes. "I'll come talk to you later." He wanted Dumbledore to leave. He couldn't face this now.
Dumbledore nodded, "The pass word to my office is pepper imp, come when you are ready." He stood. "Well it seems it is time for me to leave. Poppy will most likely throw me out if I keep her from her patient any longer." Both Dumbledore and Harry glanced over at Madam Pomphry, who stood with arms crossed glaring at the Headmaster.
"Don't worry Headmaster; I'll come see you when I'm ready. I just need to work out a few things first." Harry said. His faith in Dumbledore, while not fully restored, was more than it had been. Harry knew that the Headmaster had only been protecting him, but he had shouldered the burden of Voldemort the day the old snake had used Harry's blood to restore himself. Truly, there had been nothing to protect him from, and Dumbledore's well meaning protection had ended up costing him his godfather.
Dumbledore nodded, "I will see you later then." He gave Harry a small smile and strode out the infirmary door, Pomphry's glare following him the whole way.
As soon as the door shut the mediwitch descended on Harry with a swooshing sound. Harry startled at her sudden proximity. She checked his pulse and looked into his eyes muttering the whole time. "Humph. Not letting me tend to my own patients. Who does he think he is?" Pomphry handed him a goblet that appeared in her hand. Harry honestly couldn't tell if she had picked it up off the table of conjured it out of thin air. "Drink this."
Harry frowned at the suspicious substance. It was silvery black and gooey, quite frankly it looked dangerous. A muggle would have compared it to motor oil. The worst part was that even with Salazar Slytherin's knowledge of potions he had no idea what it could be. Must be a newer potion. He sniffed the contents of the goblet and wrinkled his nose. Not promising.
"Oh, for the love of- it's not going to kill you!" The mediwitch was very annoyed. Harry shot her a skeptical look. The return glare could have rivaled Snape at his best; Harry drank.
Whatever the potion was it tasted horrible. Harry couldn't decide if it tasted more like battery acid or putrid swamp water. The goblet dropped from his numb fingers. He almost threw it back up but manfully swallowed the potion along with his revulsion. His body contorted as the liquid hit the back of his throat and burned all the way down to his stomach. Harry groaned, and then shuddered as an icy chill swept through his blood stream.
"Wha-wh-what was that?" He managed to gasp out.
"It was a restorative. You have been unconscious for quite some time, and your magical reservoir is low."
"You told the Headmaster that I was fine."
"You are," Pomphry stated without remorse. "You're also a bit weak. The potion will fix that."
"Oh." Harry was nonplussed. Well, well, well, he thought, they certainly didn't have anything like this in Salazar's time. I should look into this. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of Snape's face when he found out about his new hobby. "May I go now?"
"No, I want you to stay here for a day or two." Pomphry walked off, goblet in hand, not once looking back.
Harry sat for a time on his bed, the white, starched sheets pushed down to the end, looking out the window at the sun gleaming off the lake. The sky had a soft, clear look to it. It was a beautiful day, and Harry was stuck in the hospital wing. He grimaced. The potion had done it's job nothing was wrong with him. Except for the fact that he was in Gryffindor, of course. He could hear Godric laughing. Harry was positive he had taken leave of his senses when he asked to be put in Gryffindor.
Harry sighed and went back to staring out the window. Suddenly he felt trapped. Madam Pomphry had told him to stay put until she told him he could go. This sparked an uncharacteristic feeling in the young Gryffindor, but a very characteristic feeling for Slytherin. Apart of him was screaming for freedom. He would not tolerate being confined, no matter how well meaning the mediwitch was. Harry banged his fist on the bed side table smashing his glasses. He could not stay here.
So, he left. When the mediwitch was checking her potions supplies, marking them off on a long list, Harry slipped out of his bead to the floor and crawled under the privacy curtain lest its movement catch Pomphry's attention. He padded across the hospital wing on cat's paws and out the door. Once out in the hall, Harry instinctively hid behind a suit of armor.
Just as he got himself out of view a Ravenclaw stumbled around the corner. He was being supported by his friend, but he still lurched drunkenly down the corridor. The front of the boy's robes was smeared in blood, and he would have two fabulous black eyes to go with the broken nose within the next half hour.
Harry almost ran out to help the two Ravenclaws, but then remembered that he himself was supposed to be in the hospital wing on forced bed rest. On one level he felt sorry for the boy, but a part of him whispered for him to put his own interest first.
Harry stopped to think about that. Normally he would help no matter the personal cost. He had definitely gotten more than memories and knowledge of Slytherin from that damn sword. This must be a part of the psychological differences Pomphry had mentioned.
Harry sighed. He assuaged his guilt by telling himself that he would help if he wouldn't get in trouble for it, but he didn't know the boy, and he certainly would get in trouble if he were caught. Even worse he would most likely be constantly watched because of his transgression. He neither know nor cared how the boy was hurt, and no one would even know that The Boy Who Lived had let down his obligation to the innocent.
The boy and his friend passed through the door to the hospital wing, while Harry waged his inner battle against his conscience. When in doubt argue with yourself until the decision is made for you. Though Harry still felt guilty for not helping.
The up side to the whole moral dilemma was that Madam Pomphry would be kept busy. It would be that much longer before she realized that he was gone.
He slid out from behind the suit of armor. Yes, the Ravenclaw's injury would make it possible for Harry to be far away from the hospital wing by the time his absence was noted. In fact it was a happy ending all around. The Ravenclaw got help, and he got out. Harry silently blessed Fortune, who was smiling down on him, and the boy, who unknowingly provided the perfect diversion.
Harry sauntered down the corridor humming an ancient lullaby that the Salazar side of him told him he loved. The Slytherin that the sorting hat had seen in him six years ago was finally free.