Harry stared at Ron's pale pink teacup in bemusement.
"Well, go on," Ron encouraged in mock seriousness. "Tell me my future."
"There's a circle, which could either be a sun or a skull…" Harry consulted Unfogging the Future again "Or an acorn…"
"That narrows it down," Ron snorted, "so I'm either going to achieve great happiness, unexpected gold or great danger. Harry, mate, I think your inner eye needs glasses too."
"Or maybe my glasses are blocking off my inner eye," Harry played along. Reaching an arm up with a flourish, he took his glasses off, blinking in confusion as the world veered out of focus. He stared at the fuzzy, shapeless blob of tea leaves that had collected at the bottom of the blue cup.
"The cup says you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron sniggered. "You two really ought to take this seriously," she scolded.
Ron made a face. "Hermione," he said slowly, as though talking to a child, "We are trying to tell the future using tea leaves. Believe me, I'm taking this as seriously as I ought to."
She frowned at him, but turned back to the textbook without further comment. Harry took this as a sign she couldn't think of an argument against this.
Draining the last of his own tea with a gulp, Harry pushed the cup to Ron. "Your turn. Here, maybe these will help give your inner eye some clarity." Harry passed him his glasses, which he'd shoved into his pocket moments before.
Ron placed them on his nose with an exaggerated flourish, grimacing as his vision blurred. He studied the tea cup with an air of great importance, before declaring in a mystical voice, "Young Harry, you are in grave danger. I see a club and a falcon – you are going to attack a deadly enemy." Ron paused, and his voice returned to normal as he spoke again, "I think your tea leaves are defective. You did that last week. Hermione, can we swap tea leaves? Harry's are showing the past rather than the future."
The two boys burst out laughing again, and hastily tried to smother their snorts before they attracted Trelawney's unwanted attention. Ron passed Harry his glasses back, and the world came into focus to show Hermione's frowning at them in a manner he recognised all too well – she was seconds away from launching into a lecture from which there would be no escape.
There was no way Harry would be able to maintain a straight face if he caught Ron's eye, so he turned his attention instead to his textbook.
He stared down at chapter two of Unfogging the Future, his mind wandering as he did so. He felt lighter than he had in weeks, for the bruises which had littered his body had finally faded into nothing. Only the pain in his leg reminded Harry of his terrible summer. And if he pretended hard enough, he could almost convince himself that was a Quidditch injury.
Now all he had to do was convince Snape he was fine – and he had a plan for that – and then he'd finally be free from the shackles of his secret. Finally, he'd be able to feel like himself again, and be rid of the shadow of Uncle Vernon hovering over his shoulder.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps creaking across the old wooden floorboards, informing him of Trelawney's presence.
He nudged Ron quickly, reaching for his friend's teacup as he did so. "And there's a five-leaf clover, which indicates you'll develop a severe rash," he said, scrunching his eyebrows together to feign concentration.
Patiently, he waited till Trelawney had moved out of earshot before adding, "which Eloise Midgen will try to curse off your face."
They descended into peals of laughter again.
Harry and Ron made their way to lunch an hour or so later still developing outlandish predictions about one another's future in between gasps of amusement (Hermione having stalked huffily away to walk with Mandy Brocklehurst).
The rain drummed against the enchanted ceiling as they entered the Great Hall, grey clouds having gathered ominously in the sky over the morning. Despite the dreary weather, the hall was alive with the sound of unrestrained chatter. The Gryffindor table was particularly riotous, and Harry was unsurprised to spot Fred and George at the centre of it all, animatedly telling a joke to a group of fifth years Harry didn't recognise.
"Trelawney's room always makes me so tired," Ron yawned as they settled into their familiar spot at the Gryffindor table. "It's all that perfume, I reckon. I don't know how I'm going to make it through Transfiguration this afternoon."
Harry nodded distractedly, watching as Snape strode into the Great Hall, his charcoal robes billowing out behind him.
He grimaced. With a significant effort, he'd succeeded in avoiding Snape for the rest of the weekend, hiding out in the common room playing chess with Ron for the duration of the rainy Sunday afternoon after the tempestuous weather had curtailed Quidditch. Only for meals had he left the safety of Gryffindor Tower, and even then he'd only done so in his efforts to evade any more unwanted attention from the dour professor.
But he could hide no longer. His detentions resumed that evening, and Harry knew Snape had every intention of finishing the conversation which the twins had rescued him from.
"Harry?" Hermione questioned, forcing his attention back to the present.
"Sorry," he smiled apologetically, "I was just wondering whether Wood's going to be forced to cancel practise again."
Even Wood's fanatic obsession with winning the Cup didn't extent to practising in the storm that had broken out over the weekend. Although he had attempted to go over his notes on team strategy for the hundredth time in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday, at least until George had stolen them. Harry grinned at the memory of Wood frantically upending sofas and shaking down first years in mad desperation, all while George sat by the fire, merrily entertaining Ellie Cattermole with stories of his and Fred's escapades.
Wood had been furious after. Harry and Ron had even paused their game of chess – which Ron had been three moves from winning anyway – to watch him swear furiously at George, who'd merely grinned unrepentantly at Wood's beetroot face.
"At least we don't have Care of Magical Creatures today," Hermione commented, as the first rumbles of thunder echoed through the Hall.
"Are you saying you don't want to stand out in the pouring rain feeding shredded lettuce to Flobberworms?" Ron sad in a scandalised tone.
Harry laughed, about to join in - but at that moment a burst of noise came from a group of fourth years. He craned his neck to see what was going on, and caught sight of Cormac McLaggen - a large wire-haired boy in the year above - rummaging through his bag and stuffing something into his mouth with a flourish to a cacophony of laughter and shouting.
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.
"McLaggen just ate three hundred grams of alihotsy leaves for a dare," Fred informed her, collapsing onto the bench next to Ron.
"He's such an idiot," said George dismissively, watching contemptuously as Andrew Campbell and James Proudfoot hoisted the boy – who was frothing at the mouth while laughing hysterically – out of his seat and began half-dragging him out of the hall, presumably in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
"The prat does something like that every term," Fred added, rolling his eyes. "Spends a couple of days being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey and comes back as big a git as ever."
Hermione let out a sudden gasp of laughter. The four boys all turned to stare at her in surprise. "Madam Pomfrey's away," she explained between giggles. "Mandy told me. Apparently, Professor Snape's in charge of the Hospital Wing."
Fred and George made eye contact for a moment, before bursting into howls of laughter. Even Harry smirked, not quite sure whether he felt sorrier for McLaggen or Snape.
Severus glowered at McLaggen's sleeping form.
The halfwit was lucky not to be in St Mungo's after the stunt he'd just pulled. Even with his considerable knowledge in healing, Severus had struggled to keep the dolt conscious long enough to be given the imbecile an Expunging Elixir to rid his body of the toxic leaves. After that, the simpleton had still needed a couple of more specialised potions to stop the convulsions and frothing at the mouth, which few Hospitals except St Mungo's had ready. Given the immense effort Severus had put in to keeping the dunderhead mentally cognitive, he'd debated slipping him a Wit-Sharpening potion – a necessary procedure to protect the halfwit from his own stupidity - just to make sure he never had to waste so much time on the dunce again. But he'd decided against it; if only because the armadillo bile would counteract the porcupine quills in the Expunging Elixir, a potentially fatal side-effect which could lead to a dreary mountain of paperwork.
With a slight huff, he glanced testily at his watch. The replacement nurse was supposed to arrive any minute now. Albus had assured him she'd arrive no later than Monday afternoon – yet it had just gone six o'clock and the floo in Poppy's office remained dormant.
He scowled fiercely at the fireplace, as though he could make the temporary matron appear by sheer will. Between Potter and the bloody-minded, reckless, imbecilic Gryffindor who was moaning in his sleep on the starched hospital bed, he hadn't had a moment's peace all day.
Grumbling under his breath as he made his way into Poppy's office, he settled himself into her desk chair, leaving the door wide open so he could keep the dunce in his sight at all times. Then he picked up his favourite raven feather quill, plunged it into the pot of red ink beside him, and settled in to mark the fourth years no doubt abysmal essays on antidotes to common poisons. Scathing comments already raced to his mind, though he'd yet to read a single word.
Rain continued to pelt down from the deep grey sky, covering the grounds of Hogwarts in a bleak mist. The already-hidden sun dipped beyond the mountains with the deepening evening, and night fell in starless black. The ticking of the ancient clock above the mantelpiece in Poppy's office mingled with the gentle scratching of quill on parchment and the patter of water against mullioned windows.
It was the long, eerie shriek of a barn owl which broke Severus Snape's focus some time later, and his eyes flicked to the clock on instinct.
It was quarter past seven. He realised with a jolt that he had completely forgotten about Potter's detention.
With much consideration, he'd decided not to bother confronting the boy over the weekend, not when the weather kept him safely inside the stone walls of the castle and out of harm's way. But he had planned to speak to the boy that evening; to confirm his suspicions and perform a more thorough examination.
Perhaps he should have done so Friday. But he had been too focused on Potter's immediate state to do more than cast a couple of quick spells which alerted him to the boy's weight, vitamin deficiencies, and blood sugar levels. In hindsight, he should've dragged the boy to the Hospital Wing then and there. But he had still been hoping to pass the boy and the necessity for a lecture on proper nutrition off onto Poppy. And he hadn't realised; not truly.
Now, with his suspicions that Potter's behaviour was concealing a more sinister reality, waiting was not a viable option.
But he couldn't leave McLaggen unsupervised. Not when he was at risk of having a seizure brought on by the potential side-effects of the Expunging Elixir and the Convulsions Concoction being administered simultaneously.
He sighed heavily and summoned a fresh scroll of parchment, scrawling a quick note for Potter.
"Mimsy," he called. A house-elf appeared before him, clothed in a freshly starched pillow case and staring at him expectantly with its large tennis-ball eyes. "Give this to Mr. Potter, and alert me if he doesn't return to Gryffindor Tower immediately."
Mimsy vanished with a pop, leaving Severus alone in his borrowed office. He looked down at the dismal essay before him, quickly scrawled a P at the top, and pulled the next one off the pile in front of him. If he was going to deal properly with Potter tomorrow, it was imperative that he finish all of his marking that evening.
Clearing his mind of everything except potions, he turned back to the abysmal essay before him. Only to once again be disrupted by the sound of McLaggen groaning loudly in his sleep, his blanket falling to the ground as he tossed and turned around the bed. The professor paused halfway down the latest travesty of an essay to glare suspiciously in his direction.
It seemed to Severus all his troubles could be traced back to a single source.
Gryffindors.
Harry was unable to keep a smile off his face as he ambled into the Gryffindor common room, overjoyed that Snape had been forced to cancel his detention. Looking about, he caught sight of a bush yhead bent over a piece of parchment in the corner. He grinned and started across the room.
Hermione did not even notice his approach. She was scribbling away with almost electric frenzy, barely slowing the pace even to cross-check her work against the massive textbook propped up before her. Her hair hung wilder than even her usual, and her eyes – darting frantically between reference and essay – seemed more sunken and hooded than he remembered. As he got closer, Harry could see she'd leant the tome against a rucksack so full of parchment, quills and books that he thought she must have enchanted the zips not to burst.
He dropped down beside her, knocking the warn tartan throw off the arm of the sofa as he did so. "We're in the fourth week of term Hermione. You're acting like we have exams tomorrow."
She dropped her quill with a start and a barely muffled squeak. "Harry. I thought you had detention with Professor Snape?"
"He cancelled it. He sent me a note, saying he was 'otherwise engaged dealing with the consequences of reckless behaviour."
"Reckless behaviour?"
"I 'spose he means McLaggen."
Hermione frowned, finishing the final line of her essay with a flourish before she responded. "Professor McGonagall's absolutely furious with him. She gave the whole lot who were egging him on a week's detention with Filch. And she's writing to Matthew Roper's parents – he's the one who dared McLaggen to do it."
Harry winced in sympathy. Detention with Filch was about the only thing worse than detention with Snape. Although the way Harry's had gone lately in the dungeon made him almost wish he was stuck polishing trophies and away from Snape's prying eyes.
Though, for all Snape seemed intent on watching him, he hadn't bothered to seek Harry out that weekend, nor had he had any qualms about cancelling his detention. Maybe he'd forgotten all about Harry, or he'd lost interest.
It wasn't like he cared about him.
Harry smiled to himself. His bruises were gone – in fact, they'd practically vanished overnight - Snape seemed to be leaving him alone, and he could relax in the comfort of the Tower with Hermione and Ron…
"Where's Ron?" he asked, realising for the first time that Hermine had been sat alone.
Without turning her attention away from her work, she gestured to the far corner of the room, where Ron was engaged in a lively round of Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus. Seamus was missing half an eyebrow and seemed distinctly more frazzled than the other two.
"He didn't want to spend his evening doing homework," Hermione said primly. She reached into her bag and withdrew a fresh sheet of parchment, writing down the title for what Harry could only guess was an essay on Ancient Runes. "Are you going to join him?"
Harry shook his head and nestled further into the sofa, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the peaceful scratch of Hermione's quill against parchment. A sense of peace had overcome him, he felt blissfully relaxed, and had little desire to join in with the roaring excitement of the other boys. "I think I'll start on the reading McGonagall set."
He rummaged through his bag for a moment, before swearing loudly. "I leant my copy of Intermediate Transfiguration to Neville."
"You can borrow mine," Hermione grabbed it off the pile of books and passed it over to him. "Neville's hardly ever in the common room anymore," she added with a frown
"Really?" Harry thought back over the past few weeks, and realised she was right. "He's probably with Ernie. Aren't they Herbology partners this year?"
Hermione nodded, her attention already shifting back to her copy of Numerology and Grammatica. Following her lead, Harry opened to chapter two of his own book and began to read, the gentle chatter and occasional roars of laughter from the people around him melting into the background.
The floo roared to life at long life, breaking Severus out of his reverie and drenching the final fourth year essay of the pile in emerald green light.
"Finally." he muttered to himself. It was already quarter to eleven, and his impatience to return to his quarters had been growing stronger with every passing minutes. He pushed the essays aside and stood to meet the replacement Healer. "You're late!" he barked.
But as he turned, he found himself staring into the clear blue eyes of Poppy Pomfrey, her face haggard and her posture weary. Severus didn't know the nature of the emergency that had called her away, but he recognised her warn-out expression and the cracked skin on her hands all too well. Wherever she had been, nothing good had happened.
With a pang of guilt, he softened his tone. "My apologies. Albus did not inform me you'd be arriving back tonight."
Poppy inclined her head, acknowledging both his apology and unspoken question, but offered no explanation. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of Cleaning Solution and Pepper-Up Potions that clung to her office. Some of the weariness seemed to melt from her face.
When she spoke, her tone was as brisk and steady as ever. She cut straight to the point, "Where there any incidents that I ought to aware of it?"
"McLaggen," Severus gestured to the quivering form in the bed nearest to the office door, "is currently under observation after being given Expunging Elixir and the Convulsions Concoction simultaneously. Treatment necessitated by his incomprehensible intentional overdose on alihotsy leaves."
Poppy sighed deeply. "Oh he didn't…"
"He did," Severus confirmed grimly. "Luckily, the cretins had the sense to bring him here before he came to any permanent harm."
"I had him in here last year for two weeks when he consumed plimpy eyes. Whatever's next? A litre of Lethe water? A pound of doxy eggs? A handful of fire seeds, perhaps?" She exhaled slowly, as though to calm herself, "I'll speak to Minerva about this tomorrow. See if she can't scare some sense into the boy."
He nodded, glad he could hand over the thankless task of caring for one imbecilic Gryffindor to Poppy. Speaking of which…"
"There was an incident with Potter a few days ago. Did you notice anything amiss when he came to have his nose healed last Thursday?"
Poppy raised an eyebrow. "Harry never came to see me; I haven't seen the boy since the Welcoming Feast. What sort of incident? Quidditch related, or did he decide to fight another basilisk?"
Severus' lip twitched minutely; he could always count on Poppy to have as much disdain for the brat's reckless stunts as he did, even if her own sarcasm was tainted by the infuriatingly fond twinkle that seemed to grace so many eyes when it came to Potter.
"He collapsed from a combination of low-blood sugar and malnutrition. I didn't do any further diagnostics. I haven't practised Healing magic with any particular regularity since the brat was born and my abilities lie primarily in first-aid and potions rather than treating any longstanding conditions."
Poppy smiled at him, a hint of pity in her eyes. They both knew why he'd stopped practising healing magic even if neither would say…
Hastening to keep the conversation on track, Severus continued his diatribe, not bothering to keep his irritation with the boy hidden. "Potter was supposed to come to the Hospital Wing on Thursday. I specifically instructed him to do so."
He was not surprised the brat had disobeyed him; he'd been doing so since he first stepped foot in the school. Nevertheless, he'd have to come up with a fitting punishment for the boy's insolence…
Poppy ignored his comments on the boy's disobedience. "Did Potter present any other symptoms?"
"He has bruises on his arms – bruises too old to have occurred since his return to school. He's been limping around the corridors like Igor the hunchback, on what I strongly suspect is an injured leg. He's been reticent, and is particularly unwilling to talk about any of the above," Severus recited methodically, his expression devoid of any emotion. "And, apparently, he trusted some unqualified child to heal his nose in the Gryffindor common room, rather than present himself to the Hospital Wing as instructed."
Poppy tsked, and Severus was sure that she had the same word on the tip of her tongue.
Gryffindors.
"Do you know how he received these injuries?"
The two shared a long, achingly familiar look. This was hardly the first student who had prompted such conversation.
"I have my suspicions," he admitted at last.
Her face crumbled, just for a moment, and Severus almost regretted bothering her with the matter that evening.
But she cleared her throat and shook her head, shifting back into professional mode before he could even offer a word's apology.
"Bring him here tomorrow." She instructed briskly. "I'll give him a full check-up."
"Potter. Stay behind," Snape barked as the bell rang, signifying the end of lessons for the day.
Harry groaned internally, wondering what on earth he'd done to anger the man this time. They hadn't even been brewing that day, and Harry was pretty sure Snape hadn't spotted him and Ron passing notes – he definitely would've taken points if he had.
He waited dejectedly for his classmates to file out, ignoring Malfoy's malicious grin and Ron's sympathetic grimace, before moving to stand in front of Snape's desk.
"Sir?"
"Sit down, Potter." Snape demanded, gesturing to the familiar stool. He waited for Harry to sit and leant over his own desk, dark eyebrows drawn tight together. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why you didn't go to see Madam Pomfrey like I instructed."
Harry froze.
"Well?" snarled Snape.
Harry stared down at his hands. There was no point in lying. Snape clearly knew. Which could only mean one thing. Madam Pomfrey was back.
"Look at me, Potter."
Harry raised his head, glaring defiantly into the Professor's obsidian eyes, but refused to speak.
"I told you before I will not tolerate any more disobedience from you this term. I will not have you refusing to do as I tell you or lying to me-."
"I didn't lie!"
"I got into a fight with my cousin," Snape mimicked cruelly. "I am not one of your little sycophants, Potter. I know when you are lying to me, and I will not tolerate it."
Harry's fists clenched involuntarily. He could feel tremors running through his body, though he could not say if they were from anger or fear. He looked down again, counting the tiles on the craggy stone floor as the seconds ticked on. The copper taste of blood twanged in his mouth, and he realised that he'd bit the inside of his cheek when he'd clenched his jaw. Still he said nothing, waiting for Snape to give him a yet another detention or continue his lecture.
Snape glowered at him. "I suppose it's too much to expect the famous Harry Potter to accept responsibility for any wrongdoing. Others may allow you such disregard for rules, Potter, but I will always hold you accountable for your actions. So, pray tell, why did decide to ignore the direct instruction of a professor and not go to the Hospital Wing as you were commanded to do?"
"I didn't need to!" Harry retorted.
He was sick of this. He just wanted to be left alone, not hauled up before Snape for not running whinging to the Hospital Wing. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself – he'd been doing so his whole life.
"Oh yes, I forgot that your many years of medical training and advanced knowledge of Healing magic," Snape sneered. "You are, obviously, more than qualified to make such a decision for yourself. Of course you didn't need to take the advice of an adult. Why would you?"
"I got it fixed! What does it matter if I went to the bloody Hospital Wing or not?" Harry was breathing heavy now, too furious to even care that he was shouting at Snape.
"Enough." Snape roared. "I am not willing to put up with your infantile temper-tantrum for a minute longer."
Harry watched as the Professor took a deep breath, his palm pressed against the table. This, more than anything, calmed Harry down slightly, for Uncle Vernon never stayed still or calm when enraged.
Suddenly, he realised what'd he done – he'd yelled at Snape, he'd sworn in front of him! He could feel the blood drain from his face, and his own hands began to tremble slightly.
He could sense Snape's gaze burning a hole in the top of his skull. His breath began to quicken. "Sorry," he muttered, not daring to look at the Potion's Master.
"We will talk about this later," Snape promised coldly. He rose from his chair. "As you've made it quite clear you cannot be trusted to go to the Hospital Wing alone, I will escort you there now."
"I don't need to see Madam Pomfrey," Harry protested fiercely.
"I don't recall asking you. Get up this instant, Potter." Snape waited a moment to see if Harry would move. "Now! Unless you want me to drag you through the corridors."
Harry glanced at the door, trying desperately to find a way out of the situation. It was futile. Still, he refused to move, and remained seated on the stool, eyes fixed on the ground.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. He flinched away rapidly, jumping to his feet, and ducked his head to avoid the blow that ought to follow. It never came.
Snape's hand stayed firmly on Harry's shoulder. And he led the boy out of the classroom and towards Pomfrey's domain.