The Road Not Taken: Chapter Thirteen
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Chapter Twelve
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Thirteen
Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. Madam Pomfrey used a special cleaning solution on the ward, something light and clean, not sharp like the acrid stuff St. Mungo’s used.
Harry cracked open an eye, noting that it was just after dawn. He must have passed out in the hall at some point. He felt a flush cover his face. He must have fainted in front of Snape. Harry was never going to hear the end of it, now.
With a sigh, Harry sat up, knuckling sleep from his eyes. The skin on his cheek felt a little stiff - that’s right, he’d had a cut. And a concussion. Had he mouthed off to Snape? Harry frowned, trying to remember. After the blasting curse, things got fuzzy, like he was trying to listen to a conversation while under water.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, you’re awake!” Madam Pomfrey bustled down the aisle, her arms full of linen. “We’ll have a quick check to make sure you’re all right and then off you go!”
It never ceased to amaze Harry how bubbly the woman could be. “Thank you,” he replied. He was out the door ten minutes later with a stern warning to “Never do that again!”
Wouldn’t that be nice, Harry sighed and started the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower. Thank Merlin Snape wasn’t there, Harry made a face. That’s all I need, at the moment.
~*~
As they entered November, the weather turned cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and there was a hard frost every morning on the grounds.
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.
Harry couldn’t wait to play. He kept his head down, all throughout Snape’s class, trying to stamp down on the excitement. The last thing he needed was Snape to start taking points every time Harry fidgeted.
But Snape seemed withdrawn that Friday, sticking to the Slytherin side of the room and leaving the Gryffindors alone. It was fine by Harry - the less he had to interact with the man, the better.
Even Hermione was getting into the spirit of things. She had checked out Quidditch Through the Ages again, this time intent on drilling the finer points of the sports’ history into Harry’s skull. He went along with her plan - he knew it was her way of feeling useful and a part of the House, in her own way.
They didn’t have much contact with Draco or Nott as the game approached. Harry had a feeling that the two might have been avoiding him, but shrugged it off. There were a lot of undercurrents that went on in the Slytherin House - Harry had had an older Auror mentor that had been a Slytherin. The man had liked to talk about his school days, in the years before Grindelwald’s rise to power. From what Harry had gathered, Slytherin had always been a place where the politics of power were played, even in first year.
After Herbology, Harry, Hermione and Neville found a little nook in a recessed corner of the castle, after the Library turned out too full for them to find seats. Hermione had conjured up a bright blue fire that they had fit into a jam jar for warmth. Harry had his back to the corner, so he would be able to watch the hall - old habits die hard, he supposed. He had Quidditch Through the Ages on his lap, but his mind was elsewhere.
It’s November already, Harry ran a thumb over the page as Hermione walked Neville through his Charms homework. Soon it will be December and the holiday break. James used to - Harry’s heart clenched as he took in a sharp breath. James loves - loved, he amended, closing his eyes. They all loved Christmas, but James the most.
“What is this?”
Harry’s eyes flew open to see Snape standing in front of them. I didn’t hear him arrive! Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t get sloppy, he -
“Well, speak up!”
“It’s um,” Hermione blurted. Snape had her jam jar held up against the weak light coming in through the windows. “I - we were chilled and our Charms books say -”
“Yes, yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of first year spells,” the man tilted the jar to one side. “Students are not to roam the halls like hooligans, Potter. Get back to your dormitory.”
“But…”
“Now,” Snape’s glare got Neville scrambling to his feet. Harry followed at a slower pace, wanting to scowl at the man.
“Um, Professor, my spell….” Hermione began.
“I am confiscating it, Miss Granger. Students are not supposed to be experimenting with spells without proper supervision.”
Hypocrite, Harry wanted to snap, but kept his mouth shut.
“Was this your idea, Miss Granger?” Snape demanded, hefting the jar.
“Um, yes, I mean, I knew the spell, but Harry figured out how to get it into the jam jar without the glass melting and -”
“Enough. Gryffindors. You never seem to think your actions through. Your attempt could have exploded the glass and injured you all. Five points from Gryffindor.”
“But sir!”
“Go.”
Harry knew Hermione was staring bloody murder at the man, but he paused when her attention snapped to Snape’s leg. The Potions Master scowled at them, sending Neville running. Harry hurried after him, dragging Hermione along by the arm.
“Did you see?” She hissed at him once they were out of earshot.
“See what?”
“Snape had a rip in his robe! I could see bandages through it!”
“Why were you staring at the man’s legs, Hermione?”
“He wasn’t patrolling, Harry!”
“What?”
“Remember that dog?”
Harry hid a smile. “You think he got bit by the dog?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t see why.”
“I wonder what’s down there,” Hermione muttered as they headed for the tower. “It must be something important.”
The thing about Hermione, Harry thought as he fell behind them at the portrait hole, was that once you put a logic puzzle in front of her, she’ll worry it to the bone to figure it out.
~*~
Game day dawned bright and cold. Harry nibbled on toast while Hermione cast worried looks in his direction - Harry had never had much of an appetite before games or anything stressful, really. The dry toast helped settle the nerves jumping around in his stomach. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. He kept the mantra at a steady hum in the back of his mind. Now he had to figure out how to win the game differently.
Wood’s speech was the same. Harry endured it, ensconced between Fred and George as the two Beaters tried to bring some levity into the training room. Emerging onto the pitch, memory rushed back to Harry: the roar of the crowd, the swell of pride as he caught the Snitch, and seeing, later, his own son on the grounds, defending the rings from the opposing teams.
Harry pushed the memories away as he mounted his broom. At Hooch’s whistle the game came to life. Harry heard Lee Jordan’s voice in the background, but his words were indistinct - Harry’s whole attention was on finding the Snitch and ending the game as fast he could. He raced Higgs at the first sight of the Snitch, taking Flint’s foul for the second time with a wince and an ache he would feel in his ribs for days later. So much for that change, Harry spiraled back up out of the action. But perhaps this time I can catch the Snitch before the broom is -
The broom under him jerked, bucking him off. He caught the handle by sheer luck, swinging his second hand up to get a grip. This wasn’t what happened last time! Harry hung on for dear life. It had been a gradual ascent, last time, not a sudden buck that had almost thrown him loose. Come on, Hermione, Harry grunted as the broom began to whip back and forth. He could hear the crowd’s roar as they caught on to his desperate situation high above the pitch. Come on, come on, come on…
The broom gave one last jerk and went still. Thank you, Hermione. Harry swung up onto his broom, arms aching. Higgs was still speeding around in circles high above the pitch. All Harry had to do now was…
A glint of gold caught his eye. He dove, hearing the crowd’s swelling roar. He dodged Flint, a Bludger and there! He reached and…
Pain exploded along his side. Harry kept his hand tight around the Snitch as he slammed into the teacher’s seating section. He was sprawled at someone’s feet, but his hair was in his eyes. He raised his fist. The Snitch’s wings buzzed against his palm. “I have the Snitch!” He struggled to sit up, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. He turned to offer an apology to the professor he had collided with and ended up staring into the eyes of a furious Professor Snape.
He looks like Uncle Vernon right before he gets the belt, flashed through Harry’s thoughts. Then he jerked his gaze away. Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t let him have seen that, please -
“Well done, Harry!” Hagrid appeared, plucking Harry up from the floorboards.
“Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan announced with a cheer. The stadium went wild.
“Here,” Harry shoved the Snitch at Hooch, who was staring at Harry, then the stands, then back again.
“That should be illegal, call foul!” Marcus Flint was yelling. It took Snape’s gaze away from Harry’s back - he could feel it like an actual weight on his skin.
Shit, shit, shit, Harry sighed as his teammates came to congratulate him.
The section was starting to get crowded as Gryffindors started to swarm towards him. Harry edged back, tripping over a broken bench seat. A hand caught him by the back of his robes before he could fall.
“Get him out of here, Hagrid. Can’t you see the precious boy hero is white as a sheet?”
Harry flushed at Snape’s sneering tone. He wanted to twist around and snap back at the man, but Hagrid was too fast, bundling Harry through the crowd of well-wishers. Harry somehow caught Hermione’s gaze in the mad house. She was hot on their heels, along with Neville, as Hagrid took them to his hut for a cup of tea.
“Now that was a catch, young Harry!” Hagrid said as he busied himself with the kettle. Harry had the chair nearest the fire, a blanket around his shoulders and a strong wish for some healing balm topmost in his mind.
“Did you hurt yourself, Harry?” Neville was worrying at his lower lip.
“Just bruises.”
“Then should we get Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked.
“No, no, they’re just bruises,” Harry shook his head. “I’ve had worse.”
“Really,” said Professor Snape from behind them.
Harry froze. He wanted to let out a string of curses he’d learned from a grumpy war vet from Grindelwald’s reign, but kept them tight behind his teeth. Who knew how many points Snape would take off if Harry let them slip?
“Professor Snape!” Hermione had jumped to her feet. Harry was amused to note that she had also put her body between Harry and the older man.
“What wondrous powers of observation you have, Miss Granger,” Snape sneered. The man’s gaze narrowed on Harry. “Madam Pomfrey is busy with the fools who have injured themselves while celebrating your stupendously idiotic dive,” he said. “You are to use this,” he set down a small jar of ointment on Hagrid’s table. “Or you can suffer, as you miserable lot are wont to do and enjoy your wounds and the attention they will bring.”
“Here, now,” Hagrid straightened. “That was uncalled for, Severus.”
“And yet, so true,” Snape sneered again and spun away.
Greasy, nasty, horrible sod, Harry wanted to spit at the retreating back. Merlin, he’s as bad as first year trainees at the Auror school. Grow up!
“That horrible man,” Hermione burst out. “He was hexing your broom, Harry! We saw it!”
“What’s that now?” The teacups on the tray in Hagrid’s hand rattled. “That’s rubbish. Snape can be a sore loser, sure, but he’s a professor. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“We saw his leg the other day,” Hermione said. “It looks like he’d been chewed on. Snape was up by the three-headed dog on Halloween. We all saw him headed there -”
Hagrid dropped the teapot. “How do you know about Fluffy?”
They stared. “Fluffy?” Neville squeaked.
“Yeah - he’s mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -”
“Yes?” Hermione leaned forward eagerly.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Hagrid moaned. “That’s top secret it is.”
“But Snape must be trying to steal it!” Hermione exclaimed, eyes going wide.
“Rubbish,” Hagrid said again. “Snape’s a Hogwart’s professor. He’d do nothing of the sort.”
“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” Neville asked.
“Was he, really?” Harry accepted the tea Hagrid offered.
“I know a jinx when I see one; I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”
“And I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid burst out. “I don’t know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’t try an’ kill a student. Now, listen to me, all of yeh - yer meddling in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. Yeh forget that dog, an’ yeh forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbeldore and Nicolas Flamel -”
“Who?” Hermione demanded.
Hagrid put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Twelve
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Thirteen
Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. Madam Pomfrey used a special cleaning solution on the ward, something light and clean, not sharp like the acrid stuff St. Mungo’s used.
Harry cracked open an eye, noting that it was just after dawn. He must have passed out in the hall at some point. He felt a flush cover his face. He must have fainted in front of Snape. Harry was never going to hear the end of it, now.
With a sigh, Harry sat up, knuckling sleep from his eyes. The skin on his cheek felt a little stiff - that’s right, he’d had a cut. And a concussion. Had he mouthed off to Snape? Harry frowned, trying to remember. After the blasting curse, things got fuzzy, like he was trying to listen to a conversation while under water.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, you’re awake!” Madam Pomfrey bustled down the aisle, her arms full of linen. “We’ll have a quick check to make sure you’re all right and then off you go!”
It never ceased to amaze Harry how bubbly the woman could be. “Thank you,” he replied. He was out the door ten minutes later with a stern warning to “Never do that again!”
Wouldn’t that be nice, Harry sighed and started the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower. Thank Merlin Snape wasn’t there, Harry made a face. That’s all I need, at the moment.
~*~
As they entered November, the weather turned cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and there was a hard frost every morning on the grounds.
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.
Harry couldn’t wait to play. He kept his head down, all throughout Snape’s class, trying to stamp down on the excitement. The last thing he needed was Snape to start taking points every time Harry fidgeted.
But Snape seemed withdrawn that Friday, sticking to the Slytherin side of the room and leaving the Gryffindors alone. It was fine by Harry - the less he had to interact with the man, the better.
Even Hermione was getting into the spirit of things. She had checked out Quidditch Through the Ages again, this time intent on drilling the finer points of the sports’ history into Harry’s skull. He went along with her plan - he knew it was her way of feeling useful and a part of the House, in her own way.
They didn’t have much contact with Draco or Nott as the game approached. Harry had a feeling that the two might have been avoiding him, but shrugged it off. There were a lot of undercurrents that went on in the Slytherin House - Harry had had an older Auror mentor that had been a Slytherin. The man had liked to talk about his school days, in the years before Grindelwald’s rise to power. From what Harry had gathered, Slytherin had always been a place where the politics of power were played, even in first year.
After Herbology, Harry, Hermione and Neville found a little nook in a recessed corner of the castle, after the Library turned out too full for them to find seats. Hermione had conjured up a bright blue fire that they had fit into a jam jar for warmth. Harry had his back to the corner, so he would be able to watch the hall - old habits die hard, he supposed. He had Quidditch Through the Ages on his lap, but his mind was elsewhere.
It’s November already, Harry ran a thumb over the page as Hermione walked Neville through his Charms homework. Soon it will be December and the holiday break. James used to - Harry’s heart clenched as he took in a sharp breath. James loves - loved, he amended, closing his eyes. They all loved Christmas, but James the most.
“What is this?”
Harry’s eyes flew open to see Snape standing in front of them. I didn’t hear him arrive! Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t get sloppy, he -
“Well, speak up!”
“It’s um,” Hermione blurted. Snape had her jam jar held up against the weak light coming in through the windows. “I - we were chilled and our Charms books say -”
“Yes, yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of first year spells,” the man tilted the jar to one side. “Students are not to roam the halls like hooligans, Potter. Get back to your dormitory.”
“But…”
“Now,” Snape’s glare got Neville scrambling to his feet. Harry followed at a slower pace, wanting to scowl at the man.
“Um, Professor, my spell….” Hermione began.
“I am confiscating it, Miss Granger. Students are not supposed to be experimenting with spells without proper supervision.”
Hypocrite, Harry wanted to snap, but kept his mouth shut.
“Was this your idea, Miss Granger?” Snape demanded, hefting the jar.
“Um, yes, I mean, I knew the spell, but Harry figured out how to get it into the jam jar without the glass melting and -”
“Enough. Gryffindors. You never seem to think your actions through. Your attempt could have exploded the glass and injured you all. Five points from Gryffindor.”
“But sir!”
“Go.”
Harry knew Hermione was staring bloody murder at the man, but he paused when her attention snapped to Snape’s leg. The Potions Master scowled at them, sending Neville running. Harry hurried after him, dragging Hermione along by the arm.
“Did you see?” She hissed at him once they were out of earshot.
“See what?”
“Snape had a rip in his robe! I could see bandages through it!”
“Why were you staring at the man’s legs, Hermione?”
“He wasn’t patrolling, Harry!”
“What?”
“Remember that dog?”
Harry hid a smile. “You think he got bit by the dog?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t see why.”
“I wonder what’s down there,” Hermione muttered as they headed for the tower. “It must be something important.”
The thing about Hermione, Harry thought as he fell behind them at the portrait hole, was that once you put a logic puzzle in front of her, she’ll worry it to the bone to figure it out.
~*~
Game day dawned bright and cold. Harry nibbled on toast while Hermione cast worried looks in his direction - Harry had never had much of an appetite before games or anything stressful, really. The dry toast helped settle the nerves jumping around in his stomach. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. He kept the mantra at a steady hum in the back of his mind. Now he had to figure out how to win the game differently.
Wood’s speech was the same. Harry endured it, ensconced between Fred and George as the two Beaters tried to bring some levity into the training room. Emerging onto the pitch, memory rushed back to Harry: the roar of the crowd, the swell of pride as he caught the Snitch, and seeing, later, his own son on the grounds, defending the rings from the opposing teams.
Harry pushed the memories away as he mounted his broom. At Hooch’s whistle the game came to life. Harry heard Lee Jordan’s voice in the background, but his words were indistinct - Harry’s whole attention was on finding the Snitch and ending the game as fast he could. He raced Higgs at the first sight of the Snitch, taking Flint’s foul for the second time with a wince and an ache he would feel in his ribs for days later. So much for that change, Harry spiraled back up out of the action. But perhaps this time I can catch the Snitch before the broom is -
The broom under him jerked, bucking him off. He caught the handle by sheer luck, swinging his second hand up to get a grip. This wasn’t what happened last time! Harry hung on for dear life. It had been a gradual ascent, last time, not a sudden buck that had almost thrown him loose. Come on, Hermione, Harry grunted as the broom began to whip back and forth. He could hear the crowd’s roar as they caught on to his desperate situation high above the pitch. Come on, come on, come on…
The broom gave one last jerk and went still. Thank you, Hermione. Harry swung up onto his broom, arms aching. Higgs was still speeding around in circles high above the pitch. All Harry had to do now was…
A glint of gold caught his eye. He dove, hearing the crowd’s swelling roar. He dodged Flint, a Bludger and there! He reached and…
Pain exploded along his side. Harry kept his hand tight around the Snitch as he slammed into the teacher’s seating section. He was sprawled at someone’s feet, but his hair was in his eyes. He raised his fist. The Snitch’s wings buzzed against his palm. “I have the Snitch!” He struggled to sit up, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. He turned to offer an apology to the professor he had collided with and ended up staring into the eyes of a furious Professor Snape.
He looks like Uncle Vernon right before he gets the belt, flashed through Harry’s thoughts. Then he jerked his gaze away. Shit, shit, shit. Please don’t let him have seen that, please -
“Well done, Harry!” Hagrid appeared, plucking Harry up from the floorboards.
“Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan announced with a cheer. The stadium went wild.
“Here,” Harry shoved the Snitch at Hooch, who was staring at Harry, then the stands, then back again.
“That should be illegal, call foul!” Marcus Flint was yelling. It took Snape’s gaze away from Harry’s back - he could feel it like an actual weight on his skin.
Shit, shit, shit, Harry sighed as his teammates came to congratulate him.
The section was starting to get crowded as Gryffindors started to swarm towards him. Harry edged back, tripping over a broken bench seat. A hand caught him by the back of his robes before he could fall.
“Get him out of here, Hagrid. Can’t you see the precious boy hero is white as a sheet?”
Harry flushed at Snape’s sneering tone. He wanted to twist around and snap back at the man, but Hagrid was too fast, bundling Harry through the crowd of well-wishers. Harry somehow caught Hermione’s gaze in the mad house. She was hot on their heels, along with Neville, as Hagrid took them to his hut for a cup of tea.
“Now that was a catch, young Harry!” Hagrid said as he busied himself with the kettle. Harry had the chair nearest the fire, a blanket around his shoulders and a strong wish for some healing balm topmost in his mind.
“Did you hurt yourself, Harry?” Neville was worrying at his lower lip.
“Just bruises.”
“Then should we get Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked.
“No, no, they’re just bruises,” Harry shook his head. “I’ve had worse.”
“Really,” said Professor Snape from behind them.
Harry froze. He wanted to let out a string of curses he’d learned from a grumpy war vet from Grindelwald’s reign, but kept them tight behind his teeth. Who knew how many points Snape would take off if Harry let them slip?
“Professor Snape!” Hermione had jumped to her feet. Harry was amused to note that she had also put her body between Harry and the older man.
“What wondrous powers of observation you have, Miss Granger,” Snape sneered. The man’s gaze narrowed on Harry. “Madam Pomfrey is busy with the fools who have injured themselves while celebrating your stupendously idiotic dive,” he said. “You are to use this,” he set down a small jar of ointment on Hagrid’s table. “Or you can suffer, as you miserable lot are wont to do and enjoy your wounds and the attention they will bring.”
“Here, now,” Hagrid straightened. “That was uncalled for, Severus.”
“And yet, so true,” Snape sneered again and spun away.
Greasy, nasty, horrible sod, Harry wanted to spit at the retreating back. Merlin, he’s as bad as first year trainees at the Auror school. Grow up!
“That horrible man,” Hermione burst out. “He was hexing your broom, Harry! We saw it!”
“What’s that now?” The teacups on the tray in Hagrid’s hand rattled. “That’s rubbish. Snape can be a sore loser, sure, but he’s a professor. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“We saw his leg the other day,” Hermione said. “It looks like he’d been chewed on. Snape was up by the three-headed dog on Halloween. We all saw him headed there -”
Hagrid dropped the teapot. “How do you know about Fluffy?”
They stared. “Fluffy?” Neville squeaked.
“Yeah - he’s mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -”
“Yes?” Hermione leaned forward eagerly.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Hagrid moaned. “That’s top secret it is.”
“But Snape must be trying to steal it!” Hermione exclaimed, eyes going wide.
“Rubbish,” Hagrid said again. “Snape’s a Hogwart’s professor. He’d do nothing of the sort.”
“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” Neville asked.
“Was he, really?” Harry accepted the tea Hagrid offered.
“I know a jinx when I see one; I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”
“And I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid burst out. “I don’t know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’t try an’ kill a student. Now, listen to me, all of yeh - yer meddling in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. Yeh forget that dog, an’ yeh forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbeldore and Nicolas Flamel -”
“Who?” Hermione demanded.
Hagrid put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Chapter Fourteen