Disclaimer: I own nobody. No matter how many times I write these disclaimers, that will never change.
A/N: I don't have anything to say here, but I love writing authors notes, so here it is.
Chapter 7
Harry turned the page of his book, glancing up and around languidly. It was surprisingly easy to be comfortable here. He hadn't expected it to be so.
A lot of Slytherins hated him. Besides Malfoy, he had no idea why. He had barely looked at half of them, never mind spoken to one of them. He didn't know why, exactly, Slytherin had it out for him, and in a way that was a lot more intense than the normal House rivalry.
But in their dorm room there was no animosity, or if there was it was very well hidden. Harry almost felt safe, which was weird. It wasn't as if he had friends here. But the dark colors and warm dorms were soothing, enough like the cupboard to sooth him, like the moments when he wanted to be in it, the safe haven, but spacious enough that he didn't feel his claustrophobia start to creep up and have a panic attack. And his bed was warm and comfortable.
Harry felt his eyes drifting and he closed his book, bookmarking the page he was on, and taking off his glasses. He probably wouldn't fall asleep, it was too early, but his eyes hurt a little with the usual coming of a headache and closing them for a while usually helped. In the background he could hear Malfoy and Blaise bickering, but their voices were both warm and it was oddly rhythmic, like a lullaby.
Ten minutes later and Harry was doubting his earlier statement. He was almost asleep, his brain going into the fuzzy place where things were blurred.
"Potter," A blurred hand reached for Harry's shoulder and he rolled over on instinct, raising himself up on his elbows. He squinted at the dark blurry form.
"Professor?" He asked. His glasses were shoved at him and he put them on quick enough to see that the man was rolling his eyes. "Thanks," He said automatically.
"You are needed in the infirmary," Snape told him. Harry got to his feet numbly, his face emotionless, though inside his mind was racing. Was somebody he knew hurt? No, someone else would probably come and get him if that was the case. But did that mean that they knew his secret? Had he been found out? But how could they have known? Harry was good at keeping his secret. He had years of practice.
"Why?" Harry finally asked as they were walking down the hall.
"It has come to my attention that you need better glasses, because you have terrible eye sight." Snape said sharply, as if this was a great burden to him. Harry bit his lip to keep from remarking that he didn't have to do this, that he was the one that had sought Harry out. Harry had been managing with terrible glasses since he was three years old.
Suddenly he was struck with a thought. Who had told Snape that he needed better glasses? Hermione and Ron probably suspected that he could barely see with his glasses, but he doubted they had said anything. And he had only spoken about his inability to see with one other person.
Did that mean that Draco had told Snape?
But, why would he do that?