"Do you have any questions?" asked Madam Pomfrey, once she'd finished explaining his treatment plan.
"When can I get back to Quidditch?" Harry said at once.
"I meant questions about this procedure."
"Oh", he thought for a moment, and then asked, "Why d'you have to use Skele-Go? Can't you just use a spell?"
"Normally, healing broken bones is a simple task and I can, as you put it, just use a spell. Unfortunately, given the nature of the breaks and that they were compounded by weeks of continued use, any wand-aided treatment would require me to re-break and reset your bones. However, since you've been channelling your own magic into numbing and healing the injury for so long, there's no way of knowing exactly how your magic would react to that. The safest option is simply to remove the bone and start over."
"Will Skele-Gro be as bad as last time?" Harry remembered the sharp, splintering pain of bones re-growing from the incident with the bludger, more painful than the broken arm and lasting all through the night and well into the following morning.
"Today, you'll only be re-growing one bones, not thirty-three, which should make the experience more comfortable. Unfortunately, Skele-Gro reacts badly with any form of pain reliever and re-growing a femur is a substantial task, so the next few hours will still be rather unpleasant. Still, by tomorrow morning your leg should be completely healed.
"And once my leg's better, I can play Quidditch again?"
She frowned at him, but Harry was sure her lips twitched slightly. "Once all your injuries are fully healed, you're at a healthier weight, and I deem you able to play, then you can return to Quidditch." She picked up the notes from his scans earlier that morning and flicked through them, "Your injuries are healing up nicely. I'll arrange a follow-up appointment with you in a fortnight to review, but providing you follow the potions regime as instructed, you should be playing again in time for your first match."
"Really?"
"I can't make any promises yet, but I'd be disappointed if your condition hadn't significantly improved by then. Now, get yourself settled into bed and I'll bring you a dose of Skele-Gro."
She bustled off, leaving the curtains around his bed wide open. Soft morning sunlight streamed in through the large windows, bathing the room in warm light. The Hospital Wing was quiet that morning, only one other bed was occupied but it was blocked from view by high curtains.
Harry waited for Madam Pomfrey to return, fiddling anxiously with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve. Though returning to Quidditch would be a relief, especially if he could avoid missing the match, the confirmation that he'd be off for at least another two weeks meant that he'd have to come up with more excuses, and more lies, to explain his absence. It was one thing to fob his teammates off with the vague explanation of 'potions accident' when they stopped him in the hallways, but at some point, he'd have to give a better answer. More importantly, he'd have to come up with something that would convince Ron and Hermione.
A wave of guilt washed over him. He hadn't even told Ron and Hermione that he'd be in the Hospital Wing that day. He'd mentioned in passing to Ron that he'd be busy all morning and told Hermione he'd meet her in the library that evening to work on their Charms essay, but he hadn't even considered telling them why he wouldn't be around. Normally, he'd blame it on Quidditch, but he knew that, sooner or later, they'd find out about the ban and the last thing Harry wanted was to give them any reason to be suspicious. If only he knew what to tell them.
"Hey, you… Potter, d'you where Pomfrey is?" A voice called out, pulling Harry from his reverie.
Harry looked up. The curtains hiding the occupant two beds down had been pulled back, revealing a large wiry-haired boy dressed in the same Pomfrey-issued striped pyjamas that denoted an extended stay. His face was vaguely familiar and it took Harry a second to place it.
"Think she went to get a potion," Harry said carelessly, wishing for all the world that McLaggen hadn't seen him here. "Reckon she'll be back soon, though."
"Hope so, I'm waiting to get the all clear to leave today. Pomfrey insisted on keeping me an extra day to give me 'time to reflect", he complained, imitating the matron's disapproving tone, "She's got no sense of humour, you should've heard her yesterday when the whole of the second year History of Magic class got into a duel, she managed to wake me up with her yelling and send me back to sleep with her lecture," he laughed at his own joke, "I guess you're used to her lectures too, one of my mates on the Hufflepuff team swears Pomfrey has a vendetta against all Quidditch players, what with how often the lot of you end up in here."
"Wood's started learning healing charms for that reason," said Harry, hoping to steer the conversation away from exactly how used to the Hospital Wing he was, "I think he's worried one too many rogue bludgers and he'll start having to justify his training methods."
He was spared McLaggen's reply by Madam Pomfrey, who had returned holding a small bottle of Skele-Gro and a goblet.
"About time you woke up, McLaggen," she said stiffly, as she made her way over to Harry's bed. "I'll be over to give you the all-clear once I'm finished with Potter."
"Can't you discharge me first? He's going to be here all day anyway, whereas I don't want to waste anymore of my weekend-"
"You wasted three days here for a dare, I'm sure another twenty minutes won't hurt you. Now, get back into bed and I'll be with you shortly." She flicked her wand and the curtains around his bed swung closed, blocking out his complaints as the silencing spell took effect.
Shaking her head in disapproval, she reached Harry's bed and, after closing the curtains tightly behind her, put the goblet down on his bedside table.
"You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," she said, "It should take half an hour to take effect so you can get on with some of your homework in the meantime. You won't be able to move for the next few hours while your bone regenerates so if you need any writing supplies or textbooks, get them out now."
She waited while Harry dug through his bag for the necessary supplies and then, once Harry was safely back in bed, raised her wand. "Are you ready? Good, just try to relax now, and I'll start by vanishing the bone."
The morning passed in a slow haze; whatever potion Madam Pomfrey had given him made him too tired to do anything except sleep, but the stabbing pains in his leg were enough to rouse him whenever he did manage to drift off. There was nothing to do but lie there, listening to the clatter of footsteps against the spotless stone floor, with the occasional admission of a new patient to entertain him.
So far that morning, Harry had heard Madam Pomfrey administer at least half a dozen Pepper-Up Potions, fix the arm of a second year whose spell had backfired, and vanish antlers off a first year who'd been caught in the crossfire of a duel. Several of her housemates had accompanied her to the Hospital Wing, each frantically trying to get their version of events across, until Madam Pomfrey had gotten irritated by their clamouring and banished them from the room while she sorted their friend out.
It had been quiet since then, and Harry found himself growing desperately bored. Not for the first time, he wished Ron and Hermione were there to keep him company. They always were when he ended up in the Hospital Wing, playing chess and badgering Madam Pomfrey to let them stay for ten minutes longer when she tried to chuck them out. Harry could imagine their voices perfectly, Ron guffawing at the hysterical first years while Hermione lectured him. Maybe that would start another argument, and they'd bicker until Pomfrey admonished them for disturbing her patients.
But Harry couldn't tell them he was there, not without all his lies unravelling at once, and so instead of their bickering, all he could do to entertain himself was count the tiles on the ceiling and hope that soon he might drift off to sleep.
Sometime later, he heard the door creak open again. Slow, measured footsteps echoed through the room and the low hum of voices filled the silence momentarily, only to be replaced with a strange buzzing noise.
It carried on for a few minutes, only to stop as suddenly as it started. Harry hardly had time to wonder why it had stopped before the curtains around his bed were pulled open sharply.
Snape came striding into his cubicle, his black robes swishing, then stopped in front of Harry.
Harry wished he could get up, it was bad enough facing Snape with a desk between them, let alone lying there while Snape loomed over his bed, as bat-like as ever. With great difficulty, for his leg was still locked tightly in place by a spell, he pushed himself upright, his back pressed against the headboard of his bed.
"Well Mr. Potter, it's good to know that you are capable of following instructions," he said smoothly, "I had worried that your usual lack of common-sense would inhibit you again."
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, but his expression must have given him away, for Snape's sneer became more pronounced.
"I had hoped that your abject failure to follow the potions regiment I set was a temporary lapse in judgement, and that you would show some appreciate for the hours of work both Madam Pomfrey and I have put into your recovery by following all the rules that were clearly set out for you," he said, his voice becoming more and more quietly waspish, "you can imagine, then, how very disappointed I was when Madam Pomfrey summoned me here to raise her concerns about substantial bruising that wasn't there last time she examined you."
Harry winced. He'd been practising the banishing charm with Neville the night before, and Neville, who had notoriously poor aim, had managed to send him flying across the room on several occasions.
"Which begs the question, Mr Potter, of what exactly you were doing to sustain such injuries?"
Harry stayed silent, trying quickly to come up with an excuse. Snape's eyes were boring into his, with an intensity reminiscent of the fierce, orange-eyed Hippogriffs in the paddock.
"Out with it, Potter. Getting into more fights? Sneaking out to play Quidditch despite your ban? Midnight duels in the Trophy Room? What mischief have you been getting up to?"
"Nothing! I haven't done anything! I was just messing around with my friends."
"A likely story," Snape hissed, "Your arrogance is as astounding as ever; since the day you arrived here you've been crossing lines, taking up Madam Pomfrey's time patching you up whenever you get into mischief, but this is outrageous even from you. It's not yet been three days since you were last here and already you've done everything in your power to inhibit your recovery"
Harry flushed. "It's a few bruises, they're hardly going to kill me."
"Are you not listening to me? Does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Your body has developed a dependency on your internal magic to heal itself. The precise nature of the potions regiment you've been set is intended to counteract that by healing you at a rate which naturally weans you off relying on your magical reserve. Putting additional pressure on your magic to heal you through foolish roughhousing disrupts the tapering process and could impede your entire recovery, not to mention have long term effects on your magical reserves."
"You make it sound like I'm recovering from life-threating injuries. All you dragged me here for was a broken leg and a few scrapes, I've had worse from Quidditch practise."
"Oh?" Snape said, his voice dripping with disdain. He held up Harry's medical notes and made a show of flicking through them, "Last week, you were prescribed the Wiggenweld Potion for broken ribs, Scaradite for lacerations, Nutrients Potions for malnutrition, Skele-Gro to repair a badly broken femur, two different standard healing potions for contusions and multiple pain relievers. Quite the list of potions for a few scrapes."
Harry glared mutinously at him, arms folded tightly across his chest.
Snape arched an eyebrow, evidently waiting for a response, but Harry wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He lifted his chin mulishly and scowled, relishing in the familiar look of irritation that flashed across the Professor's face.
"Why is it that you are so intent on denying the severity of your injuries?", he asked, his voice deceptively soft, "Do you think that if you refuse to acknowledge your situation, that it will simply go away?"
"There's no situation to ignore," Harry burst out, "You're the one making this into some big deal. Madam Pomfrey said a couple of weeks and I'll be fine-"
"If you take your potions and stay out of trouble, neither of which you've shown any signs of being capable of doing." His voice grew colder and sharper still, "Arrogance has always been an ugly flaw of yours, Potter. It clouds your perception to the point that you can't recognise your own faults. You fail to accept that your actions have, at every turn, worsened your situation. Why, if it weren't for the intervention of myself and Madam Pomfrey – intervention that you tried to avoid – you'd still be hobbling around the castle like Igor the Hunchback on a broken leg you were too proud to acknowledge."
Harry felt his cheeks flush scarlet, his fists clenched so tightly around his bedsheets that his knuckles turned white.
"I was going to get it looked at once-" he broke off suddenly and looked away.
"Once what?"
Harry shrugged.
"Once what?"
"I don't know." Harry lied, already regretting his outburst.
"I think you do, Potter. I think you were planning to wait until all your superficial injuries had healed so that you could pass your fractured femur off as a routine Quidditch injury. I think that you've been avoiding the Hospital Wing at all costs, to the point of getting an untrained, unqualified student to fix your nose last week, just so that you could keep the extent of the abuse you endured a secret."
"I wasn't abused," Harry protested furiously.
Snape gave a heavy sight, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. "No?" He asked at last, his tone lacking its earlier bite, "What would you call the treatment you experienced this summer?"
"That was all a misunderstanding-"
"A misunderstanding?" Snape repeated incredulously.
"Yeah, a misunderstanding," Harry insisted, pressing his nails into his arms to steady himself, leaving little crescent marks behind. Anger sparked in his chest. How dare Snape act like he knew anything about his home life. "You're acting like they knocked me around all the time and they didn't, it's never been anything like that before. And it's not like Uncle Vernon meant to take things that far," he trailed off momentarily, trying to suppress a shudder as images from that summer spiralled though his mind, then started again, doing his best to keep his voice level, "look, he thought I'd seriously hurt Aunt Marge, he was beside himself… you can hardly blame him for losing control."
"I see… he lost control… repeatedly…every day until Arthur Weasley arrived to take you shopping for your school supplies."
Harry flinched. Somehow, his excuses sounded so much weaker repeated back in Snape's cold, derisive tone.
"You forget," said Snape, his voice dangerously soft, like a predator about to go in for the kill, "that your neighbour allowed me to examine memories of your upbringing," he leant forwards intently, his dark eyes boring into Harry's, "I have seen how they behaved towards you throughout your childhood and, no matter how much you insist otherwise, I know that their appalling treatment of you predates this summer. You cannot lie about it. Not anymore."
"Whichever neighbour you spoke to must've had the wrong end of the stick-" Harry insisted stubbornly, even as he fought to quell the rising panic in his chest.
"Do you think, pray tell, that your muggle neighbour was somehow able to falsify her memories, or are you merely assuming that I'm too dim-witted to comprehend them?"
"I'm just saying that my neighbours hardly saw anything-"
"And yet what they did see was enough to confirm a pattern of behaviour consistent with the myriad injuries you are being treated for," his gaze shifted pointedly to Harry's half-boneless leg.
Heat rushed to his cheeks. Arguing was futile, especially given he wasn't sure how much he believed his own argument. He looked away, unwilling to endure any more of Snape's harsh gaze. Somehow, Snape acknowledging his leg made him feel strangely exposed and he reached for the duvet to cover himself. As he pulled it up, his hand knocked into his leg and he shuddered slightly as the rubbery flesh offered no resistance to his touch. Even though it was covered by pyjamas, it still looked strangely misshapen, as though it had collapsed in on itself. The longer he stared at it, the more uncomfortable it made him, until he was forced to look away.
There was a heavy silence, broken only by Harry's ragged breathing. It was then that he noticed how close Snape had moved to him during their argument. Too close. Easily within arm's reach. Before he even realised what he was doing, he pushed himself back as far away from Snape as his tightly-bound leg would allow, his shoulders pressed against the bed's cold metal railings.
Snape considered him carefully for a moment and then took a deliberate step back. He picked up Harry's medical notes and flicked to the last page, studying it closely. He looked as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. At last he said, "Your bone ought to be fully regrown by this evening, though it will continue to feel rather unpleasant until the morning."
"I know," Harry mumbled, "I had to do this last year. Quidditch injury," he added quickly, before Snape got any ideas.
'Ah yes," Snape's lip curled, "Lockhart's attempt to show-off his healing abilities." A look of utter disdain crossed his face, "I would have thought that that debacle would have taught you to seek proper medical help, rather than let imbeciles act as healers."
Harry stared at him blankly
Snape let out a frustrated sigh, "I distinctly recall telling you to go to the Hospital Wing to get your broken nose fixed, not to get one of your classmates," he hissed the word, "to do it."
It took a second for Harry to work out what Snape was talking about. His altercation with Malfoy felt like a lifetime ago. In-between trying to avoid Snape and the revelation that Sirius Black was his godfather, he'd completely forgotten he'd even broken his nose in the first place.
"There appears to be a pattern doesn't there, of you disregarding instructions relating to your health and wellbeing whenever they inconvenience you," said Snape, a dark frown settling on his face, "perhaps you ought to use your time here to reflect on why that is, and how you'll endeavour to rectify your behaviour," he paused, studying Harry for a long moment, "in fact, perhaps an afternoon spent writing lines would help you to do that."
"How many?" said Harry wearily. He knew better than to argue against his punishment, unjust though he thought it was, if only because Snape had been known to double, or even triple, the number of lines set if anyone dared to complain.
"I think two hundred iterations of I will not take foolish risks to the detriment of my health, nor will I ignore any instructions given to me concerning medical treatment as I understand that any rules or restrictions put in place are for my own benefit will allow you ample time to consider the consequences of poor decision making. You may hand them in on Monday in your detention."
He flicked his wand, and Harry's parchment, which he'd discarded on his bedside table earlier that morning, hovered in front of him, as though supported by an invisible desk. The inkpot followed suit after a second silent spell, and a quill floated to rest against Harry's hand.
"You may begin," said Snape, and he made to leave before turning back to Harry. He reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a vial, which he placed on the now-empty bedside table. "For your contusions," he said, motioning for Harry to drink it.
It smelt like the Quidditch changing rooms after a gruelling practise session, but surprisingly tasted like barley and sorrel. He downed it in one gulp and passed the vial back to Snape, who pocketed it with a sneer.
"You should note, Potter, that I have only given you enough to heal your current contusions as I do not expect you to engage in any more mischief that could cause such injuries. However, should any new injuries occur, I expect you to seek medical attention from Madam Pomfrey immediately. If I find you have disobeyed, I will take a very dim view indeed."
With a final parting scowl, he swept from the cubicle, spelling the curtains shut tightly behind him.
Harry rolled his eyes and, with a heavy sigh, picked up the quill and started his lines.
"Thank you for summoning me," said Severus, settling himself into the high-backed chair in front of Poppy's desk, "The foolish boy had no idea of the risk he was courting by engaging in whatever mischief he's been getting up to."
"That's my fault, I should have explained it to him more clearly when you brought him in last week. He wouldn't have come across this sort of healing theory before, not when he's always treated here as soon as he sustains an injury," said Poppy, turning her focus away from her notes on the Hospital Wing's current supply of potions to give Severus her full attention.
"You could hardly have expected him to get into trouble within hours of leaving the Hospital Wing. Even for Potter, it's an impressively short period of time for him to put himself in harm's way."
"Did you find out what he'd been up to?"
"No," Severus frowned, "I was planning to but the conversation digressed away to more important issues. And once the topic of his relatives came up, he was sufficiently distressed that it seemed wise to leave him to calm down, rather than press for more details of some trivial misdeeds."
"Did he tell you anything more about his home-life?" She asked, though the look on her face suggested she dreaded the answer.
"Only that it was all a misunderstanding and his uncle hadn't meant any of it. The usual sort of excuses, except they were well enough rehearsed to suggest that this isn't the first time he's used them." He sighed deeply, a sudden tiredness coming over him as he thought back to his conversation with Potter. The boy had been as defiant as ever, indeed his manner could have convinced Severus that nothing was amiss, if it weren't for the way he shrank back when Severus came too close and flinched at any sudden movements.
"Poor Harry," Poppy said, her face contorted with sadness. "Did he seem alright when you left him? The last thing he needs right now is to be overwrought, not when he's still got a few uncomfortable hours ahead of him."
"He was distressed by our conversation certainly but he should fine without a Calming Draught. I set him lines to keep him mind off everything. It should add some normalcy to his afternoon, and between boredom and railing about the unfairness of his punishment, I imagine he won't dwell on the more unsavoury aspects of our conversation."
"That was a good plan, though I can't think he'll get through that many lines. Between the Skele-Gro and the magic suppressor that I gave him, he ought to sleep through most of the day."
"Yes, I saw in his notes that you'd given him a magic suppressor?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"A very mild one. His magical activity levels are high at the moment and, though it's unlikely they'd respond negatively to the Skele-Go, it didn't seem worth taking any chances. It'll be out of his system by this evening and, in such a small quantity, the only side-effect is tiredness."
"A sensible precaution," Severus nodded approvingly, "and beneficial too that he sleeps through the reboning process. Besides, I'd rather he didn't finish his lines today, if he's occupied with them over the weekend then he won't be able to get up to any mischief."
"The same spirit that motivates you to set so many written assignments," said Poppy dryly.
"Quite so," Severus agreed, her comment shifting his thoughts back to the rather large stack of marking waiting for him on his desk. "I ought to take my leave now. Would you send me a note when you release Potter?"
"Of course," Poppy agreed, as she rose from behind her desk and stepped around him to open the door. "I'll walk you out, I have to sort through my stock cupboard this afternoon."
Severus followed after her, listening with half an ear as she explained which potions she needed restocked, though his attention kept drifting back to his conversation with Potter.
"Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey! Crawley's been knocked off his broom by a bludger, I think he must've hit his head 'cause he seems pretty confused." A voice yelled from somewhere nearby.
Footsteps clattered against the stone floor. A door swung shut with a loud bang, pulling Harry back into consciousness. He yawned, inhaling the strange scent of lemons and bleach. For a second, he wondered if he was back in his cupboard, among the leftover bottles of cleaning fluid. But why would there be bludgers in his cupboard?
His eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times in confusion before finally remembering that he was in the Hospital Wing. Judging by the way the lamps cast shadows up the dark walls, he must've been asleep for a while. His leg ached, dull and heavy, but it was no longer the agonising splintering of bones reforming. Cautiously, he rubbed it, and was relieved to find his leg solid and reboned, though very stiff.
After a few seconds of fumbling, he located his glasses on the bedside table and pushed them onto his face. Now that he could see properly, he sat up and threw back his covers, climbing out of bed and letting out a sigh of relief when his leg easily bore his weight.
Voices streamed through when Harry pulled the curtains back. Four of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team stood around one of the beds, each talking over the others as they tried to explain to Madam Pomfrey what had happened.
"It's a cracked skull," said Madam Pomfrey, bustling past them and waving her wand over the person in the bed, "nothing to worry about, I mended it at once. I'll keep him in overnight to be on the safe side but he'll be right as rain come tomorrow morning."
Harry winced. That was the problem with magic, everything could be healed so quickly. How could he possibly invent an injury that would have him off Quidditch for a fortnight when for wizards, even a cracked skull was nothing more than a few hours of healing and a couple of potions?
He tried to remember if any other Quidditch players had been off for extended periods before, but beyond the time Roger Davies had gotten a month-long suspension for playing midnight Quidditch over the Forbidden Forrest, he couldn't think of anyone who'd been off for more than a day or two.
He climbed back into bed as he desperately tried to think of a solution to his problem. Even when Madam Pomfrey came by to make him drink one final potion and examine his leg, his mind stayed fixed on the issue. He nodded at the right times and promised to come straight to her for any injury, no matter how small, but he wasn't really listening. In fact, it wasn't until he'd changed back into his school uniform and was headed for the door that he was drawn away from his contemplations.
"Oh, Potter, I forgot to give you these," Madam Pomfrey called after him.
Harry turned around, waiting to be handed another vile potion that he'd be forced to take, only for her to pass him a couple of chocolate frogs.
"Mr Weasley and Miss Granger dropped them off when they came to visit you earlier," she explained when she registered the confused look on his face, "you were asleep so I didn't let them in, but they were adamant about seeing you." She smiled cheerily, as though he ought to be delighted that his friends had come by.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, feeling the blood drain from his face. He left hurriedly, his heart racing again. He had no time left to come up with excuses, worse still, he had no way of explaining to his friends why he hadn't told them he'd be in the Hospital Wing that day. How had they found out? What did they know?
It was too much for him to face right now. Despite his fatigue, despite the promises he had just made to Snape and Pomfrey that he'd stay out of trouble, he turned away from the staircase to Gryffindor Tower and instead headed towards the cloisters. It was easier this way, to focus on his defensive magic, to focus on Sirius Black, and not let any of his problems get in the way of his revenge.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone whose still reading! I know it's been a long wait. This has been the hardest chapter I've ever had to write, I can't even explain how many hours I sat trying to write where I added maybe 10 words and deleted them all the next day. I ended up having to delete a couple of scenes that weren't working and nearly just scrapped the entire chapter. But its done now. Hopefully the next update will be much sooner, probably around December. As ever, all feedback and reviews are hugely appreciated - I kept reading old comments over and over while I was trying to motivate myself to get this chapter done. Thank you so much for all the reviews and follows!