Harry rolled over in his bed, suppressing a groan at the pain coursing through his body. The room was dark, although a small stream of light shone through the gap in the scarlet curtains, and only the gentle snores emitting from the bed next to his broke the silence of the still September morning.
It was Ron's snoring, more than his comfortable bed or the heavy velvet curtains surrounding it, that reminded Harry he was finally back at Hogwarts. He was finally home.
He slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, wincing as the dull ache in his leg changed to a sharp stabbing throb which ran up and down his leg. It had been a difficult summer; Uncle Vernon hadn't forgiven him for the incident with the Masons and that was before he'd gone and blown up Aunt Marge. Harry shivered as he remembered the look on his Uncle's face when the Minister had brought Harry back after that, the way his eyes had gleamed vindictively as he assured Fudge that he'd deal with his nephew properly. Harry breathed deeply, banishing the memory from his mind, and shuffled out of bed.
He knew he needed to go to the Hospital Wing about his leg. He was sure it was broken; it didn't seem to be healing at all, growing more painful with every day that he hobbled around the ancient stone corridors of the castle. But he couldn't let Madam Pomfrey examine him, not until his bruised and battered body had healed enough to avoid any suspicion.
Harry hobbled slowly to the shower, glad to be up before the others boys so that he could move without hiding his limp, and let the scalding hot water rain down on him, allowing the heat to consume him and drive all memories of that summer away. The bruises would fade and the cuts would heal like they always did, and then he'd be able to put that summer behind him and focus on being at Hogwarts, out of reach from his Uncle's furious rage.
Harry allowed himself a few more luxurious seconds under the water, before reaching blindly to turn the shower off, and fumbling around the side table for his glasses. He shoved them onto his face, blinking as the world veered back into focus, and changed quickly into his school robes.
He could hear the frantic ringing of Ron's alarm clock as he tied his tie loosely around his neck, careful not to aggravate the bruises that cruel hands had left behind, and emerged from the bathroom to find Ron still sprawled in bed, his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise.
The other boys in the dorm ignored the piercing sound, used to Ron's inability to rise in the morning after two years of sharing a dorm. Harry waited for Dean and Seamus to head into the showers before he leant over to shake Ron's shoulder. Ron groaned and mumbled incomprehensibly into his pillow, making no move to rise from his bed.
Harry smiled fondly at his friend's sleeping form, and tried again, knowing there was only one way to wake Ron up. "Come on Ron, breakfast will be over soon!"
Ron shot out of bed with a start, pulling clothes at random from his trunk. Harry leant over to tie his shoelaces – a time-consuming task as his body protested against any movement – while Ron got hurriedly got dressed for the day ahead.
It was only when Ron emerged from the bathroom that he caught sight of the clock which hung over the heavy oak door of the boys dormitory.
"You git," Ron spluttered, "We have ages till breakfast ends."
He grabbed the pillow on his bed, clearly aiming to chuck it as Harry's head, but he was stopped in his tracks as his stomach let out an enormous rumble, reminding Ron that he hadn't eaten since the previous evening.
"Breakfast?" He said instead, all thoughts of pillow fights forgotten in favour of scrambled eggs and bacon.
Harry laughed, grinning back at his friend, and they headed down the spiral staircase to find Hermione, who was curled up on one of the overstuffed maroon sofas, reading her Arithmancy textbook with an intensity she usually reserved for the week before exams.
"Honestly Hermione, we've only been back a week." Ron said in greeting.
"Professor Vector said we shouldn't bother coming to lesson if we haven't read the first chapter of the textbook. We're starting numerology today." She said, reluctantly looking away from her book.
"Like you didn't read the first chapter within hours of buying it." Ron scoffed. He began to mock Hermione's devotion to Arithmancy but Harry swiftly interrupted.
"Breakfast?" He suggested before his friends could start bickering. Hermione nodded, cramming her textbook back into her already overstuffed bag. She slung it over one shoulder and led the way to the portrait hole, pointedly ignoring Ron.
Ron grinned, not in the least put out by her cold-shoulder, and he and Harry made their way slowly out of the common room and towards the Great Hall, their conversation dominated by the upcoming Cannons match which was to be played against the Falcons next Monday.
Harry laughed to himself at Ron's exalted hopes for his team. It was good to be home.
Harry's euphoria ended abruptly the moment they entered the Great Hall. The voices of hundreds of students chattering away as they ate was overwhelming, and the scent of sizzling bacon wafting through the air made Harry feel slightly nauseas.
It reminded him of Privet Drive, and Harry could almost feel the agonising hunger pangs he'd experienced every day when he'd been forced to cook a full breakfast for Dudley despite being fed little more than a can of soup.
He waved off Hermione's concern, and moved slowly towards the Gryffindor table, acutely aware of the pain in his leg after traipsing down several flights of stairs and half a dozen corridors to reach breakfast.
As he walked, he heard an eruption of laughter coming from the over end of the hall. Looking over, he caught sight of a crowd of Slytherins laughing viciously as Malfoy dramatically swooned. The boy in question smirked maliciously when he caught sight of Harry's attention, and mimed collapsing again, this time wiping fake tears away from his face as he did so.
Harry clenched his fists, a bust of hatred flooding his vision as his breathing sped up. In that moment, Malfoy reminded Harry so terribly of Dudley, and it was all he could do not to storm over there and make him shut up.
"Don't let him get to you," Hermione urged, reaching for a piece of toast after settling down onto the hard-wooden bench.
Ron made a noise in agreement, his mouth already crammed full with several rashers of bacon. Harry looked away, actively supressing memories of the Dursley's kitchen, and grabbed a piece of plain toast from the rack on the table.
It was almost funny. He'd spent the summer longing for food, daydreaming about the taste of treacle tart and the feeling of being pleasantly full, but now that he was back at Hogwarts the food tasted like ash in his mouth, and he barely had the appetite to stomach a single slice of toast.
"You really ought to eat more." Hermione admonished, frowning at his empty plate.
Harry shrugged carelessly.
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue with him, but was stopped by a pointed glance from Ron. Harry pretended not to see their silent exchanged, prodding at his toast with a fork. He willed the morning bell to ring, not so much out of a desire to attend Charms as much as a need to escape the repulsive odour of food and Hermione's scrutinising gaze.
The day dragged on, leaving Harry weary and tired by the time he finally collapsed into his favoured spot in the Gryffindor common room. He ached all over, and the warmth from the burning fire only forced him to struggle harder to keep his eyes open.
He glanced down at the essay he was working on, noting with a groan that he was still a foot short of the required length. His thoughts kept drifting, and he couldn't think of a single thing more to say about the Wiggenweld Potion. If it was any other professor, Harry probably would've called it a day, but he couldn't bear giving Snape another reason to take points.
Not that he needed a reason. Just the day before, Snape had taken points off Harry when Malfoy spoke to him; when he'd add added two handfuls of crushed beetles not one; and when he'd 'disturbed' the entire class by whispering to Hermione to ask for a spare quill after his snapped. It hadn't seemed to matter to Snape in the slightest that Theodore Nott's potion had turned a violent shade of red rather than the periwinkle blue it was supposed to be or that Daphne Greengrass had been giggling loudly with Tracy Davis for half the lesson.
Not that this came as much of a surprise to Harry. Snape hated him. That was a commonly accepted fact among the third years; Snape enjoyed nothing more than taking points Harry and assigning detentions and pointing out every single one of Harry's faults, real or imaginary.
"The salamander blood needs to be added before the flobberworm mucus." said Hermione, peering over his shoulder at the nearly illegible scrawl on his parchment.
Harry sighed, erasing the sentence he'd just written with a flick of his wand. He was so tired. Besides, he knew that no matter what he wrote, the essay would be delivered back covered in red ink and scathing comments.
"And it turns indigo after adding the knotgrass," Hermione said, pulling him away from his thoughts again.
Harry nodded again, correcting his mistake, and scrawled out a conclusion which was little more than a stream of consciousness.
Without a word, Hermione pulled his pitiful essay towards her and began altering the most obvious mistakes.
Ron looked up from his own essay and gave Harry a commiserating smile. "That bloody essay Snape's set us is a complete nightmare. I never want to see the word 'Wiggenweld' again. Honestly, I reckon I've exceeded expectations just by managing to blag my way through two feet of parchment."
Harry laughed, "I wouldn't hold your breathe. He gave me a dreadful for the summer work, and that was a couple of inches over the requirement."
"You did write it on the train." Hermione pointed out.
"So it wasn't my greatest work. He gave Goyle a P and his can't have been more than half a foot long."
"For Goyle that ought to be an outstanding," said Ron, doodling the Cannons logo on the edge of his parchment as he spoke. "I'm pretty sure he didn't learn to read until last year."
"He reminds me of my cousin," Harry admitted. "Too dim for words but what he lacks on brain cells he makes up for in size."
Ron chortled at his description, but Hermione looked up with a concerned expression on her face. "Did Dudley bother you much this summer?"
Harry looked at her questioningly, confused by the abrupt change in subject, and she continued hurriedly, "Only I saw the bruises on your arms and I just wondered…"
She trailed off as the colour drained from Harry's face. He felt his good mood vanish faster than a newly released snitch, and he struggled to keep his voice calm as he replied, "They're not a big deal. I just fell down some steps escaping him."
Hermione looked like she wanted to say more but Harry hastily continued before she could, "It's fine, really."
He stood up before she could question him further, and retreated to the dorm with a muttered 'goodnight.' He didn't look back as he left, not wanting to see Hermione's concerned gaze following him.
He collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to change out of his robes. His body ached like he'd been trampled by a stampede of hippogriffs, and his head throbbed in unison with the sharp jolt running up and down his leg.
A wave of tiredness overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes tightly, letting the exhaustion drag him down into a deep slumber.
Harry woke with a start, as he had done every night since term began. Every night his dreams were filled with memories of Uncle Vernon, red faced and shouting with his hands outstretched to wrap around the scrawny neck of his nephew. He dreamt of Aunt Marge too, her face bloated and contemptuous as she lectured Uncle Vernon about the value of discipline. He dreamt of the click of the lock after he was thrown into his room, bleeding and bruised.
Harry lay still, his heart pounding in his chest, as he reminded himself for the thousandth time that he was back at Hogwarts. He was safe now.
He extended a hand out and rooted around for his glasses, pushing them onto his nose without registering the movement. Even in the dim light of the dorm, the black and purple bruises stood out starkly against the pale skin of his arm.
Harry winced, aware that they had hardly faded in the week since Hermione had pointed them out. He knew he shouldn't be so annoyed at her. She meant well, and she could hardly be expected to realise that he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want anything to remind him of that summer.
He knew she was worried about him. He hadn't made it through a meal in the last few days without Hermione commenting on his eating habits. He'd even taken to skipping lunch, using the excuse of working on essays, just to avoid her piling more food he didn't want to eat onto his plate. It tastes like ashes and dust, and he could never stomach more than a couple of mouthfuls.
But he was fine. He'd gone more than a week without any food at all at the Dursleys, and that hadn't done him any harm.
Harry yawned, the feeling of exhaustion seeping down to his bones, and pushed himself out of bed.
Despite his fatigue, he wished he had Quidditch practise that morning. The only time he felt at peace anymore was on his broom, when he could soar through the open sky, any other thoughts insignificant to his desire to catch the snitch.
But there was no Quidditch practise on a Tuesday, and so Harry worked on his Herbology homework in the common room until Ron appeared, rubbing his eyes blearily as they adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the windows of the tower.
"Go to breakfast," said Harry, "I'll go get dressed now and meet you there."
Ron protested for a moment but in the end his hunger won out. He waited until Hermione emerged from the girls' dorms, and the two left for the Great Hall.
Harry stuffed his essay into his bag, and made his way back up to his dorm. He got dressed slowly, for he wanted to spend as little time as possible at breakfast. He couldn't skip it entirely; Hermione would worry if he did and probably drag him to the next meal, but he wasn't willing to rush down and be stuck breathing in the putrid smell of fried bacon for any longer than strictly necessary.
He walked wearily into the Hall, blankly ignoring Malfoy (whose bandaged arm didn't prevent him from dramatically swooning whenever Harry came near) in favour of collapsing onto the bench next to Ron.
He grabbed a piece of toast, and listened with amusement as Ron commiserated over the results of the Cannons match against Falcons.
"If only Arnold Horton wasn't such a lousy keeper, the Cannons might finally have a chance," said Ron, waving his hands around to articulate his point. "Galvin Gudgeon's a decent seeker, though he's got nothing on Jason Fairchild, and the Bledgemore brothers are cracking beaters. If they just replace Horton, they might have a chance of beating Pride of Portree next week."
Harry nodded enthusiastically, not bothering to point out that the Cannons' chasers had scored more than three thousand points less than Pride of Portee so far that season.
Hermione rolled her eyes at their conversation. She piled a couple of spoonfuls of scrambled eggs onto Harry's plate, and glared at him until he begrudgingly consumed a forkful in an effort to appease her. Satisfied, she turned back to her own food, before leaning to her left to answer Dean's question about the Ancient Runes work they'd been set the previous day.
Ron grinned at Harry, mouthing the words 'barking mad' as they listened to Hermione clarify the task Professor Babbling had set.
"I'm so glad we're taking Divination," Ron murmured to Harry, "I'd hate to actually have to do any work."
"Although it would be nice if we could go a single lesson without Trelawney seeing the grim in my teacup. We've only been taking Divination for a fortnight and I'm already sick of hearing about the tragic events I scheduled to experience."
"At least it makes reading your tea leaves easy. The rest of us actually have to put effort into making something up."
Harry's laughter was drowned out by the clanging of the warning bell and the subsequent stampede of feet pattering against stone as the students made their way to their classrooms.
Harry could feel his sense of humour evaporating as he neared the potions classroom, a sentiment shared by Ron, and they exchanged a grimace as they stood outside the door waiting for Snape to arrive.
Snape was watching him. Harry could almost feel the heat of Snape's glare where his dark eyes bore into the back of his head.
Harry was too tired to glare back. He was fed up with Snape's snide comments and unreasonable hatred which reminded Harry so much of the Dursleys. He ignored Snape, and settled instead for cutting up the flobberworms, viciously imagining Snape's face as he brought the knife down.
"Harry, you're destroying the flobberworms. They're supposed to be diced not crushed." Hermione lectured, waiting for his knife to stop falling before pulling the mangled mess away from him.
Harry apologised quickly, and trudged to the storage cupboard to collect a new set of supplies, his injured leg protesting every step. He allowed himself to wince once he was alone in the privacy of the cupboard, shifting all his weight onto his left leg in an attempt to alleviate the pain. It didn't help much, and Harry let out a small groan as he forced himself onto his tiptoes to grab the necessary ingredients.
He offered an apologetic smile to Ron – who'd be left working with Neville after Harry and Hermione paired up – as he made his way back to his workstation.
"Here, let me," Hermione reached over as he sat down, and began quickly and expertly dicing the flobberworms, "You can stir the cauldron instead."
Harry smiled wearily at her, too tired to argue over her babying him, and began to stir the cauldron, his mind wandering freely as he did so.
He could hear Malfoy cackling to Nott, and Harry knew they were talking about him. He clenched his fist around the stirrer and slowly turned around, just in time to see Malfoy swoon dramatically next to the cauldron. His arm was still bound in that ridiculous sling, and Harry felt a wave of anger take over him as he recalled Hagrid's tear-covered face at the threats made against Buckbeak.
"Remember Harry, it's two anticlockwise stirs followed by three clockwise ones. If you just stir it clockwise then the fluxweed won't mix properly with the jobberknoll feathers and the whole potion will be destroyed." Hermione interrupted worriedly, whether about Harry or the potion he couldn't tell.
Harry nodded, muttering an apology as he sought to correct his stirring habit. He purposefully ignored Malfoy, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of upsetting him.
Ron leant over towards Harry. "Careful of Malfoy. He keeps staring at you."
Harry didn't have a chance to respond, for just as Ron finished speaking he saw something fly through the air and land with a small splash in his cauldron. He could hear Malfoy laughing. The world seemed to slow down. Harry desperately pushed Ron away. Ron fell back, just in time for Harry's cauldron exploded spectacularly, dousing the room in an acidic green substance and leaving scorch marks where Ron's head had been mere moments before.
Snape stalked over to where Harry was sitting, eyes burning with fury as he glared venomously. Harry forced himself not to cower, meeting the man's eyes defiantly.
The smell of burning metal filled the air, and noxious vapours began to seep out of the ruins of his cauldron. Harry thought he recognised a glint of panic in Snape's eyes as he banished the students from the room, muttering spell after spell as he did so.
"Nice going, Potter." Malfoy said as they waited outside the classroom. "You can't even brew a Shrinking Solution, a second-year potion, correctly. I suppose that's what happens when you're raised by muggles."
"I know you threw something into my potion," Harry snarled. He could feel his tiredness ebb away as his temper rose. His vision seemed to be tinted with red and any second now he knew he was going to explode and-
The door of the potions classroom banged open. In the commotion of everyone moving back inside, no one noticed Harry hastily stowing his wand back into the pocket of his robes, or Hermione pulling at his elbow and begging him in whispered pleas to calm down.
He took several deep breaths as he moved slowly into the classroom, trying not to draw attention to himself. He stuffed his books carelessly into his bag, and sidled towards the door as Snape set the class yet another long essay. All he had to do now was leave without being seen.
"Potter. Stay behind." Snape barked.
Harry groaned audibly, not bothering to stifle the noise. The last thing he wanted right now was another lecture from Snape, especially when he hadn't even been the cause of the explosion. Hermione hovered by the door, glancing anxiously at Harry as though willing him not to lose his temper.
Not that he was going to. The surge of anger had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him tired and listless. He hardly even noticed the door of the classroom banging shut, and obeyed Snape's summons to stand before his desk without truly comprehending the order.
He all but collapsed onto the stool in front of Snape's desk, desperate to take the weight off his leg. He looked up, only to see a look of uncontained fury on his face. The professor's mouth was twisted in disdain and his sallow cheeks pinched as he glared down in disgust at his pupil. Harry stared at the ground, ignoring Snape's lecture in favour of counting the cracks on the craggy stone tiles.
The injustice of the situation stung.
He didn't have the energy to respond, so he settled for glaring venomously at Snape. He was already dreading detention that evening. All he wanted to do was curl up by the warm fires of the Gryffindor common room and play chess with Ron or listen to Hermione explain the intricacies of Arithmancy (which was rapidly becoming her favourite subject) or watch the twins vandalise Percy's head-boy badge. He didn't want to be stuck in the gloomy dungeons, writing lines or scrubbing cauldrons or preparing some revolting ingredients.
He didn't bother to respond to Snape, he just turned and fled the classroom the minute he was dismissed. He hobbled through the dungeons, shuddering at the thought of the four staircases he'd have to climb to reach Binns' classroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by the sound of Malfoy laughing.
He turned the corner to find Malfoy standing in the hallway, smirking superiorly at Nott with a cruel glint in his eye. Malfoy registered Harry's presence, but continued his conversation without a care in the world.
"It's so pathetic really. I only have one arm since that beast attacked me, and I'm still capable of brewing a better potion than Potter. It must be so difficult being so hopeless, but I guess that's what happens when you have a mudblood for a mother."
Hatred surged through his, setting every fibre of his being alight with a vicious fire of rage. "Don't you say a word about my mother, you sodding bastard or I'll-"
"Careful, Potter. If you get too upset, you might just collapse again." He smirked maliciously, "It's dangerous to faint from fear, especially with a mass-murderer hunting you. I suppose that's why you haven't bothered to go looking for him. But I suppose you're too scared to do anything more than cry at night with those pathetic muggles you call family. I know if it was me, I'd go after Black. Even if I was just avenging a good for nothing mudblood and a blood traitor who-"
Harry never let Malfoy finish his sentence. He launched himself at the blond-haired boy, wanting nothing more in that moment that to knock the teeth out of the arrogant prat. He knocked Malfoy to the ground, his fist connecting squarely with the boy's jaw. He landed another blow, catching his grey eye, before Malfoy managed to fight back. Harry heard the crunch as something connected with his nose, and he could feel warm blood trickling down his face. He didn't let that stop him from his frenzied attack, and raised his fist again.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here," Snape's roared. He grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck, and Harry flinched away, bringing his hands up to protect him face.
Snape ignored this, keeping one hand firmly clasped on Harry's shoulder as though to restrain him. "Malfoy, go to my office now. I will deal with you shortly."
Malfoy walked away quickly, glowering at Harry with a look that promised vengeance as he rounded the corner. Nott had vanished at some point, Harry noted as he waited for Snape to start speaking. The professor stayed silent until Malfoy was out of view before he round on Harry.
"Mr Potter, you just attacked a fellow classmate, did you not?" His silky voice was low and dangerous, and Harry fought not to cringe away.
"He started it-," Harry began furiously, but he was cut off as Snape stepped forwards, looming over him menacingly.
"Do not lie to me, Mr Potter," He hissed, "You attacked him."
"He provoked me."
"There are always excuses with you, Potter. How like your father you are, he too was unwilling to take responsibility no matter how hazardous his actions proved to be."
"Don't talk about-"
"-Do not interrupt me, Potter." He snarled. His dark eyes darted down the corridor towards his office, and he smoothed his face into a neutral scowl, though the fury in his eyes didn't diminish in the slightest. "We'll discuss this incident further during your detention this evening. Rest assured Potter, you will be punished for your actions. Now go to class, and don't cause any more trouble."
Harry collapsed against the wall, pinching his broken nose in an attempt to stem the bleeding, and put his head on his knees.
He was so dead.