The evening had been incredibly boring. After his heated discussion with Snape, Harry had retired to his quarters. There was no more dancing. Instead, to stop himself from screaming, or crying, or both, he pulled a book from the shelf and read. The words on the pages gave no relief. In fact, most of what he read confused him. He climbed into bed despondent and in danger of crying.
He slept fitfully and awoke the next morning in a panic. He had another demonstration to do, this time without an “and here’s one I prepared earlier”. If he didn’t get the Potion right he would look fairly foolish, and the Ravenclaw students would know something was up. He cursed as he showered and changed, why had he agreed to do this again? Why was he the responsible one? Why did his hair smell of mint?
Bustling down into the Dungeons through the secret passage, Harry made sure to check his appearance before sweeping into the room. He had had a cobweb in his freshly cleaned hair, but apart from that he was Snape’s usual sallow, hooked nosed self. Whilst it was true his appearance had greatly improved since the hair modification, Snape was still an ugly git. Harry was positively missing seeing the scar on his forehead.
In class he looked among the students and tried not gasp when he saw Cho. She was sitting at her table chatting with a very sour expression on her face with another student.
“… and so I just stormed away. What a jerk!” Harry heard as he stood in the front of the classroom waiting for quiet. As soon as she realised he was there, Cho sat upright in her chair, as did many of the other students.
“Good morning Class,” Harry started, attempting to keep his breathing pattern regular. He also did his best to stop looking at Cho but he wasn’t having any luck. He just couldn’t take his eyes away. Snape had ruined his only chance with her. It had already been a difficult road to finally ask her out. He grew more and more upset thinking about it.
“Good morning Professor Snape,” Harry was distracted as the class replied. Harry tried not to stutter as he continued with his explanation of the lesson. As he spoke he noticed a distinct mood change from interest to boredom throughout the students. Their dulling eyes unnerved him and he wondered if he ever looked like this in his lessons. He knew he must.
He was slowly methodical in the way he prepared the ingredients, and grew more and more disconcerted as some of the students appeared to fall asleep. Instead, he had a thought.
“Miss. Chang, would you come and chop up this arrowroot? Uhmmm, Pickering, you keep stirring this,” Harry smiled as the students sprang to life. Cho and Tom Pickering both looked somewhat scared as they stepped forward and did what he said. The other students were eager to see Cho and Tom fluff up and incurr his wrath.
He congratulated himself as he realised he had not only deflected the blame if the Potion went wrong, but that the students were more interested in the possibility of their peers making mistakes than of him droning on. He also got to be close to Cho, who was frowning prettily whilst cutting the arrowroot. It was taking quite some willpower not to apologise profusely for his counterpart’s actions. He instructed the students as Snape had instructed him in his written directions and was happy when the Potion started to look as it should have.
He concluded the class by showing what the Potion should do and by telling them all that they would be doing this same thing by themselves the next lesson. The students seemed like they almost enjoyed the lesson.
Just as he was starting to feel proud of himself, Harry was overcome by a strange sensation. He felt dizzy and his vision became blurred for a moment. Second Year Students had started to file into the classroom. He was about to speak when a searing shot of pain went down his arm. He couldn’t think straight. It felt like the pain he got with his scar. But he didn’t know how that was possible. Why was he burning up? He tried to speak again and this time the words came out.
“I have to go to the Hospital Wing. You can all have a free period,” he managed before practically running out of the classroom.
Holding onto his arm he bolted up the stairs, aware that some students were watching him.
******************
With tears rolling down his cheeks because of the pain, Harry ran up to the Hospital Wing.
“Get Dumbledore” he panted to Madam Pomfrey when he got there. Streams of students had left him alone as he ran, but he had seen some terrified faces. He realised they had probably never seen Snape pelting through the corridors mid-morning. Or any time of day for that matter.
“Certainly, Professor Snape,” Madam Pomfrey said in shock before immediately retreating from the room. She bustled away like a mother hen and Harry was happy to see she had taken him so seriously. He had realised what the pain could be as he ran. Whilst he hadn’t had much time for concentration there were two things which connected this discomfort with the type he had experienced before. It was agonising, and it had happened with a body marked by the Dark Lord.
He took his outer robes off, wincing as he did so. His arm felt stiff and was stinging terribly. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he should do. He noted that there was no-one else in the Infirmary as he tried to distract himself. He thought this was probably a good thing considering the circumstances. One thing that was missing was the overwhelming emotion, and Harry wondered if this was because that particular occurrence only happened between Voldemort and himself. He thought about the implications of Voldemort summoning him. Was this what this was? If so, was his arm aching so much because he had not gone? Where would he have gone to in any case, and how could he kept the charade up when faced with one of such power?
He no longer felt dizzy or feverish, but he was still stinging unbearably. Getting impatient, Harry wondered if Madam Pomfrey had had to travel to another country to find Dumbledore.
“For Merlin’s sake, hurry up!” he muttered. He had his hand to the sore area of his upper arm, hoping to quell the pain. His shirtsleeve was damp with what Harry assumed must be perspiration.
Dumbledore came speeding into the room within the next moment, Madam Pomfrey wheezing gasping breaths some way behind him.
“Severus?” Dumbledore asked, looking as worried as Harry felt.
“My arm!” Harry said simply.
Dumbledore frowned and looked at Harry’s position. He gently moved Harry’s hand away from his upper arm and raised a questioning eyebrow at Harry.
“When Poppy said I thought it might be…” the older man trailed off. Dumbledore nodded slightly, looking relieved and carefully rolled up Harry’s shirtsleeve. Harry stared at his arm, and saw it was blistered and red, but there was no Dark Mark.
“Headmaster?” he inquired. Dumbledore looked into Harry’s eyes and gave a small smile.
“Not only the wrong part of the arm, but the wrong arm entirely,” he whispered. Turning back to Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore gave quick instructions for a salve. Madam Pomfrey obeyed his instructions, fussing around in the background. Harry had many questions.
“After this, Severus, are you at liberty to come into my office?”
“Yes Headmaster,” Harry said numbly. Madam Pomfrey applied a cooling lotion to Harry’s skin on both his arm and hand and, as if by magic, his blisters started to heal immediately.
“There, all better Severus,” Madam Pomfrey said, patting Harry’s hand comfortingly and smiling. Harry couldn’t help but smile at her kindly expression and thanked her. She seemed supremely surprised and moved away somewhat reluctantly.
Harry picked up his outer robe again and was shocked to see a gaping hole in the fabric.
“What on earth…?” he asked, gazing at it in wonder.
“I’d imagine the culprit is the same as the cause of your irritation,” Dumbledore said. He almost seemed amused. Realising Harry was still confused, Dumbledore continued, “I imagine a harmful substance splashed up onto your robes, Severus.”
“Oh… right,” Harry said in bewilderment. He then remembered the Potion he had been making and demonstrating in class. A corrosive high grade cleaning Potion. He didn’t remember any getting onto his clothing, but it had happened to him as a student so many times, he felt it highly likely it could have happened now.
He followed Dumbledore out of the Hospital Wing and waited as the benevolent Headmaster said the password.
“I have some questions,” Harry said, as he trampled up the stairs after Dumbledore.
“As do I,” Dumbledore replied lightly.