The Road Not Taken: Chapter Fourteen
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Chapter Thirteen
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Fourteen
Harry knew their trip to Hagrid’s hut had given Hermione quite a bit to chew on. He knew the who’s, how’s, where’s and why’s, yes, but he wanted his friends to be involved, too.
Or is that selfish of me? Harry frowned at his homework. Should I try to keep them out of all of this? They wouldn’t like that.
“What a serious face, Fred.”
“Oh, quite, George.”
“Ickle firsties are so cute -”
“Studying so hard like that.”
“Hello, Fred; hello George,” Harry glanced up, pushing his homework aside.
“Of course we’re studying,” Hermione said. “We have exams!”
“Oh, to have first year exams,” Fred slid an arm over George’s shoulders.
“And first year papers,” said George. “For all of our second year exams. Then we’d pass for sure.”
“For sure.”
“But, you both do so well.” Hermione frowned at them.
The twins laughed and slid into the seats opposite them before Madam Pince could order them all out of the library.
“See, we have a drive,” Fred began.
“A special plan,” continued George.
“An idea - ”
“A dream -”
“A goal -”
“It’s really quite outrageous.”
“Wonderful, but outrageous.”
“Fantastical, but outrageous.”
“Stupendous, but -”
“We get it,” Hermione snapped. They grinned at her.
"You want to open your own business,” Harry said. Then he wanted to smack himself when Fred and George snapped their attention to him.
“And just how -”
“Would you know that?”
“A good guess? You said you had a plan.”
The twins gave each other a long look. “Maybe, just perhaps. You may be right,” Fred said.
“But what’s it to you?” George peered at him.
Harry shrugged. “Nothing. But good luck. I’m sure whatever you intend to start will do well.”
“You’re a strange, strange kid,” George shook his head, rising.
“I think we’ll keep you around,” Fred winked and they left.
“I never understand how they do so well and never study,” Hermione moaned into her hands.
“They’re good at magic,” Harry shrugged. “Is this right, Neville?” He pushed his Herbology homework at the boy.
~*~
November seemed to fly by. The problems in Slytherin House seemed to have straightened themselves out, since Draco and Nott started talking to them again about a week after Gryffindor’s win over Slytherin. It made History of Magic much more bearable. Nott had also traded seats with Pansy Parkinson, so he ended up in the seat across the aisle from Hermione. The five of them used the long, boring class usually as an impromptu study hall, although once Nott introduced Hermione to the wizarding version of hangman, the witch had been intrigued enough to ignore her books and play several rounds. It helped that in the wizard’s version of the Muggle game, players had to guess at spells, not words. The one drawback was that the little figure on the rope was animated.
Before Harry knew it, it was mid-December. They woke one morning to find the grounds covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Hermione and Neville had to peel Harry off the ground he had been laughing so hard - but he couldn’t tell them why. Oh, that must have pissed off old snake head, Harry had thought, hands trembling as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.
The weather took a turn for the worse near exam time. The Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires most of the day, but the corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.
The worst was Snape’s classroom, for several reasons. The Potions Master refused to heat the dungeon, turning the room so cold they could often see their breath at the start of class. They had to huddle around their cauldrons until their combined heat turned the temperature tolerable.
Potions class was also miserable because of Ron and his constant glare. Dean seemed to pick neither side, so Harry was left with a potions partner who refused to speak to him unless it was about the potion in front of them. On top of it all was Snape, who seemed to be watching with sharp, dark eyes, every single move Harry made.
It was rather distracting.
As the Christmas holidays approached, Harry signed up to stay over the break. McGonagall had given him an odd look, but Harry hadn’t met her eyes. The less time he had to spend with the Dursleys, the better.
“But won’t you be lonely?” Neville asked at supper.
“No, I reckon it’ll be the best Christmas yet,” but not ever, he wanted to say. He pushed the ache in his chest away with mental hands. His grief still lingered; he thought that he may never be rid of it. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.
Ron and his brothers were also staying, Harry had learned from Fred. The twins had established a routine of bothering the first years a few times a week in the library - they had been thrown off at first by the sight of Draco and Nott, but soon were including the Slytherins in their teasing. The Slytherins took longer to warm up to the twins.
The Friday before the holiday break was their last Potions class for the semester. Snape was in rare form - Gryffindor lost three points just from Ron and Seamus’ laughing. Harry lost a point for ‘dawdling’ by the ingredient bins. Even the Slytherins were taken aback by their Head of House’s vehemence. Harry kept his head down, not wanting to look over at Draco and get points taken off for distracting the blond.
Bloody git, Harry rubbed at his head as they all filed from the class. He’d been having headaches again - I really need to talk to Ollivander. I wish he would answer my letters.
“All right, Harry?” Neville asked as they drew even with a tree-laden Hagrid.
“I’m fine. Hi, Hagrid, want any help?”
“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Harry.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione gave the tree a skeptical look.
“Wingardium leviosa!” said a voice behind them. Hagrid gave a yelp of surprise as the tree lifted out of his arms.
Harry turned to see Draco standing there with his wand out and a delighted expression on his face. “I did it!”
“Well there, now,” Hagrid blinked at the Slytherin. “Thank yeh kindly.”
Harry was fascinated by the sudden pink tinge to Draco’s nose and cheeks. “I was just experimenting,” the blond tossed his head. “Do you, uh, need this some place?”
“What is this?” Snape’s soft hiss came from behind them. “Showing off, Potter? How very Gryffindor.”
“I’m not -”
“Five points -”
“I did it,” Draco snapped. “Sir. I’m the one holding the spell. Me.”
At Snape’s slow blink, Harry let out a breath. “Five points to Slytherin for your volunteer work,” Snape spat and strode off, robes flapping.
“I cannot stand that man,” Hermione grumbled.
“Oh, now, he’s a mite testy every Christmas, but he’s not so bad,” Hagrid said. “Much thanks, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll take it back, if’n yeh want.”
“No, I’ve got it. Where to?” Draco’s chin inched into the air at Hagrid’s obvious skepticism.
“This way, then. It’s for the Great Hall.” They followed the grounds keeper into the hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree,” Professor Flitwick said. “Put it in the far corner, would you?”
“S’not me, Professor. Young Malfoy here is helping.”
“Wingardium leviosa!” The Charms teacher clapped his hands. “Well done, Mr. Malfoy!” The diminutive teacher bustled up to the blond and ushered him away to the chosen corner, chattering at Draco the whole way. Hagrid followed, almost hovering over the tree in case it fell.
“I could have done that,” Hermione frowned at them.
“But would you have gotten points for it?” Nott arched an eyebrow at her.
“I wouldn’t have done it for points. Hagrid needed a hand.”
Nott snorted and looked away. Harry followed his gaze. The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
“It’s so pretty,” Hermione whispered and then blushed.
“I’m doubly glad I’m staying, now,” Harry nodded.
“You’re staying over the break?” Nott turned an inquisitive look on Harry.
"Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s better here,” Harry shrugged. “Let’s go ask Professor McGonagall how she keeps the trees from being set on fire.”
“There’s a spell for that,” Nott laughed. “Don’t your relatives use it?”
“No. My relatives are Muggles.”
Nott made a face, but stayed quiet.
“We should be headed for the library,” Hermione pointed out. “Professor Snape gave us that essay to finish over break and I want to get started on it.”
And search through books, Harry didn’t add. Hermione had been searching for any reference to Nicolas Flamel that she could get her hands on - Harry wasn’t sure if he should let on that he knew or not. Hermione’s tenacity towards research seemed greater this time around, her natural curiosity undimmed from the weeks of isolation she must have endured in Harry’s previous life.
How things change, Harry shook his head. The ache behind his eyes was growing into a steady throb. He rubbed at his temples, trying to will away the pain.
“Mate, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey,” Neville tugged at Harry’s elbow. “You’ve been feeling off for days.”
“I’m just tired,” but he gave in at Nott’s speculative look. The last thing he needed were nosy Slytherins poking into his business. They waved Hermione off towards the library, promising to find her at lunch.
Madam Pomfrey wasn’t alone in the hospital wing. Snape was there as well, tall and imposing in his black robes against the bright and cheerful hall.
“Potter,” Snape scowled at him as they approached. “What are you doing here?”
“Harry’s not feeling well, Madam Pomfrey,” Neville burst out, before Harry could answer the man.
“Having your sycophants hold your hand all the way to the nurse? You do take after your father.”
“He’s been unwell for days,” Neville rallied back, surprising Harry - and Snape, if the man’s scowl was any indication. “Madam Pomfrey?”
“This way, Mr. Potter. I’m sure it’s just a cold. These things do happen this time of year.” The nurse ushered Harry away from Snape’s dark gaze.
Madam Pomfrey cast a number of spells on him, but they all came up clear. The woman was perplexed, but let Harry go with a headache potion when the bell rang for lunch. Snape was gone by the time Harry and Neville left the wing, thank Merlin. Of all the people to run into, Harry rolled his eyes.
The potion did the trick. Harry was pain-free for the rest of the day, even during the rush study session Hermione had scheduled for that evening. Harry saw Hermione and Neville off the next day, unable to catch a glimpse of Draco or Nott in the madcap rush of students for the train.
The castle felt emptier with most of the students gone. Harry evaded Ron and Seamus, who had chosen to stay over the break as well, on his way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Harry secluded himself in his bed, pulling the curtains tight. He added a few privacy spells on top of them. Then he let his wand fall to the coverlet and put his head in his hands.
I need to write Ollivander again, he swallowed against a sudden rush of nausea. What’s wrong now? He closed his eyes and descended down into his mind.
Nothing looked out of place. The doorframes were whole, healing the cracks and damage that had been done in the summer. None of the locked doors were ajar, and Harry couldn’t tell if the memories of his adult past were any foggier. So, why do I feel so awful?
Harry pulled out of his mental pathways and curled up on his side, pulling the comforter over his body. I miss them, he blinked at the bed curtains, feeling the burn in his eyes. Lily would go mad for Christmas. I had to bake cookies almost every other day for them. At least Aunt Petunia had been good for something, he snorted. Most of the cookie recipes Harry had known had come from Aunt Petunia’s fancy cooking magazines.
Harry had loved Christmas with his children. He loved going out and buying presents, seeing them tear into the wrapping paper and the way their little faces would light up. Ginny had gone with him once or twice over the years, but his wife did all of her shopping alone, for the most part. Harry offered every year, wanting her to come with him - but Ginny’s schedule often became hectic during December. The Quidditch season went on a small break for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, but that was all. Ginny had many articles that were due for press deadlines around that time. Harry had no problem stepping in for the children, going to their primary school plays or baking treats for their classroom parties. Harry enjoyed doing that for his kids. It was something he’d never had and it felt good to be able to do it for his own children.
Harry fell asleep curled up in his covers and had good dreams for once. He managed to slip out early the next morning before Ron or Seamus woke up. He was not as stealthy at avoiding the twins at breakfast, though.
“Harry, Harry,” Fred dropped into the seat next to him. “You’re young! You’re not supposed to be up so early!”
“Then what are you doing up?” Harry shot back.
George slid in on Harry’s other side. “We’ve a pact with the devil,” he leaned in close and wiggled his fingers in Harry’s face.
“Doubt it,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Oh, but you’re no fun.”
“What are you doing up so early?” Fred jumped in.
Harry shrugged. “I just…do.”
“But why? Don’t you sleep in at home?”
Harry snorted before he could help it. “No.”
“No?”
“No?”
“Do tell,” they said together.
“There’s…nothing to tell,” Harry hedged.
“Really?”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Harry sighed.
“So you just wake up early.”
“And do what?”
“Well,” Harry began.
“Play with ponies?”
“No!”
“Twiddle your thumbs?”
“Dance with candles?”
“Pick pixie pockets?”
“I cook!” Harry laughed. “Okay? I have to cook, so I have to get up early to put the bacon on so there’s enough for Uncle Vernon and Dudley.”
“Really,” said Snape from behind them.
Harry flinched and ducked his head. How does he keep sneaking up on me like that? “Uh,” he glanced over his shoulder at the man.
“We try to cook,” Fred said. “I’m pants at it. Mum won’t let us near the kitchen anymore.”
“That,” Snape said. “I do believe.”
Harry made the mistake of looking up at the man’s face. Dark eyes were focused on him. Harry felt the slide of an unfamiliar mind against his, dark and cool, like water from the bottom of the lake - the hot burn of bacon grease against his fingers as he pocketed the burnt scraps before Aunt Petunia could throw them out - a broken plate and the way his ear burned from Uncle Vernon’s cuff - the lance of pain, foggy and distant, distorted as a dream as a man screams hexes at Harry’s broken body -
Harry snapped his head down, breaking the gaze. Shit. Oh - oh fucking shit. If Snape - if Snape saw…
“Indoor voices will be observed, Misters Weasley and Potter. Do mind the holiday rules. They are meant for everyone to obey.” Snape seemed to hesitate, flicking a scowl at Harry and then stalked away.
I hate that man sometimes, Harry let out a shaky breath. He was starting to feel achy all over, as if he was coming down with the flu.
“All right there, Harry?” Fred put a hand on his shoulder.
“I think I’m going to go see Madam Pomfrey again,” Harry said. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Get better, mate,” George called as Harry left the hall.
Pomfrey was surprised to see him again so soon, but that time her spells did turn up a diagnosis. She made Harry get into bed and gave him a number of potions to take - Wizard’s Flu, Pomfrey called it. She said it would pass in a day or two.
Harry tried to sleep, even as the ache in his bones grew throughout the day and night. Nightmares dogged his dreams. Foggy memories mixed with dream-time imagination made for bloody battles and all that he loved being killed again and again in front of his eyes.
Once and a while he dreamt of Snape - Snape, that horrible git, the tall looming threat in Potions, the bite of his hand on Harry’s shoulder, the way he would shout, loud and vicious and just like Uncle Vernon, Merlin, no, not to dream about Uncle Vernon, and the sharp, biting fingers were back on his shoulder, dreaming of Snape again, surely he was dreaming of Snape again, looming over Harry in the dark, dim room, looming like Voldemort, like Dementors, the green flash and his mother’s scream, Merlin why, his mother’s scream, why would he always hear them scream…
Harry woke, once, bathed in sweat as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, her spells casting cool relief to his fevered skin. The shadows twisted around his bed - Merlin, I must be sick, that almost looked like Snape standing in the corner - and then Madam Pomfrey was urging a vial for Harry to drink. He tossed it back, wishing it were fire whiskey instead and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
He woke the next morning, weak and a little dizzy. Madam Pomfrey told him that he was over the worst of it and to not tax himself and to keep warm. She shooed him off to Gryffindor Tower after lunch, only after procuring a solemn promise from him that he would rest and keep warm for the rest of the holiday.
Harry had to stop from time to time on the way back to the tower. He was still a little dizzy, but more than that, it felt like someone was following him. He was alone every time he checked, though, so he chalked it up to the lingering effects of his nightmares.
It had to be, right? Right.
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Thirteen
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Fourteen
Harry knew their trip to Hagrid’s hut had given Hermione quite a bit to chew on. He knew the who’s, how’s, where’s and why’s, yes, but he wanted his friends to be involved, too.
Or is that selfish of me? Harry frowned at his homework. Should I try to keep them out of all of this? They wouldn’t like that.
“What a serious face, Fred.”
“Oh, quite, George.”
“Ickle firsties are so cute -”
“Studying so hard like that.”
“Hello, Fred; hello George,” Harry glanced up, pushing his homework aside.
“Of course we’re studying,” Hermione said. “We have exams!”
“Oh, to have first year exams,” Fred slid an arm over George’s shoulders.
“And first year papers,” said George. “For all of our second year exams. Then we’d pass for sure.”
“For sure.”
“But, you both do so well.” Hermione frowned at them.
The twins laughed and slid into the seats opposite them before Madam Pince could order them all out of the library.
“See, we have a drive,” Fred began.
“A special plan,” continued George.
“An idea - ”
“A dream -”
“A goal -”
“It’s really quite outrageous.”
“Wonderful, but outrageous.”
“Fantastical, but outrageous.”
“Stupendous, but -”
“We get it,” Hermione snapped. They grinned at her.
"You want to open your own business,” Harry said. Then he wanted to smack himself when Fred and George snapped their attention to him.
“And just how -”
“Would you know that?”
“A good guess? You said you had a plan.”
The twins gave each other a long look. “Maybe, just perhaps. You may be right,” Fred said.
“But what’s it to you?” George peered at him.
Harry shrugged. “Nothing. But good luck. I’m sure whatever you intend to start will do well.”
“You’re a strange, strange kid,” George shook his head, rising.
“I think we’ll keep you around,” Fred winked and they left.
“I never understand how they do so well and never study,” Hermione moaned into her hands.
“They’re good at magic,” Harry shrugged. “Is this right, Neville?” He pushed his Herbology homework at the boy.
~*~
November seemed to fly by. The problems in Slytherin House seemed to have straightened themselves out, since Draco and Nott started talking to them again about a week after Gryffindor’s win over Slytherin. It made History of Magic much more bearable. Nott had also traded seats with Pansy Parkinson, so he ended up in the seat across the aisle from Hermione. The five of them used the long, boring class usually as an impromptu study hall, although once Nott introduced Hermione to the wizarding version of hangman, the witch had been intrigued enough to ignore her books and play several rounds. It helped that in the wizard’s version of the Muggle game, players had to guess at spells, not words. The one drawback was that the little figure on the rope was animated.
Before Harry knew it, it was mid-December. They woke one morning to find the grounds covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Hermione and Neville had to peel Harry off the ground he had been laughing so hard - but he couldn’t tell them why. Oh, that must have pissed off old snake head, Harry had thought, hands trembling as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.
The weather took a turn for the worse near exam time. The Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires most of the day, but the corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.
The worst was Snape’s classroom, for several reasons. The Potions Master refused to heat the dungeon, turning the room so cold they could often see their breath at the start of class. They had to huddle around their cauldrons until their combined heat turned the temperature tolerable.
Potions class was also miserable because of Ron and his constant glare. Dean seemed to pick neither side, so Harry was left with a potions partner who refused to speak to him unless it was about the potion in front of them. On top of it all was Snape, who seemed to be watching with sharp, dark eyes, every single move Harry made.
It was rather distracting.
As the Christmas holidays approached, Harry signed up to stay over the break. McGonagall had given him an odd look, but Harry hadn’t met her eyes. The less time he had to spend with the Dursleys, the better.
“But won’t you be lonely?” Neville asked at supper.
“No, I reckon it’ll be the best Christmas yet,” but not ever, he wanted to say. He pushed the ache in his chest away with mental hands. His grief still lingered; he thought that he may never be rid of it. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.
Ron and his brothers were also staying, Harry had learned from Fred. The twins had established a routine of bothering the first years a few times a week in the library - they had been thrown off at first by the sight of Draco and Nott, but soon were including the Slytherins in their teasing. The Slytherins took longer to warm up to the twins.
The Friday before the holiday break was their last Potions class for the semester. Snape was in rare form - Gryffindor lost three points just from Ron and Seamus’ laughing. Harry lost a point for ‘dawdling’ by the ingredient bins. Even the Slytherins were taken aback by their Head of House’s vehemence. Harry kept his head down, not wanting to look over at Draco and get points taken off for distracting the blond.
Bloody git, Harry rubbed at his head as they all filed from the class. He’d been having headaches again - I really need to talk to Ollivander. I wish he would answer my letters.
“All right, Harry?” Neville asked as they drew even with a tree-laden Hagrid.
“I’m fine. Hi, Hagrid, want any help?”
“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Harry.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione gave the tree a skeptical look.
“Wingardium leviosa!” said a voice behind them. Hagrid gave a yelp of surprise as the tree lifted out of his arms.
Harry turned to see Draco standing there with his wand out and a delighted expression on his face. “I did it!”
“Well there, now,” Hagrid blinked at the Slytherin. “Thank yeh kindly.”
Harry was fascinated by the sudden pink tinge to Draco’s nose and cheeks. “I was just experimenting,” the blond tossed his head. “Do you, uh, need this some place?”
“What is this?” Snape’s soft hiss came from behind them. “Showing off, Potter? How very Gryffindor.”
“I’m not -”
“Five points -”
“I did it,” Draco snapped. “Sir. I’m the one holding the spell. Me.”
At Snape’s slow blink, Harry let out a breath. “Five points to Slytherin for your volunteer work,” Snape spat and strode off, robes flapping.
“I cannot stand that man,” Hermione grumbled.
“Oh, now, he’s a mite testy every Christmas, but he’s not so bad,” Hagrid said. “Much thanks, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll take it back, if’n yeh want.”
“No, I’ve got it. Where to?” Draco’s chin inched into the air at Hagrid’s obvious skepticism.
“This way, then. It’s for the Great Hall.” They followed the grounds keeper into the hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree,” Professor Flitwick said. “Put it in the far corner, would you?”
“S’not me, Professor. Young Malfoy here is helping.”
“Wingardium leviosa!” The Charms teacher clapped his hands. “Well done, Mr. Malfoy!” The diminutive teacher bustled up to the blond and ushered him away to the chosen corner, chattering at Draco the whole way. Hagrid followed, almost hovering over the tree in case it fell.
“I could have done that,” Hermione frowned at them.
“But would you have gotten points for it?” Nott arched an eyebrow at her.
“I wouldn’t have done it for points. Hagrid needed a hand.”
Nott snorted and looked away. Harry followed his gaze. The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
“It’s so pretty,” Hermione whispered and then blushed.
“I’m doubly glad I’m staying, now,” Harry nodded.
“You’re staying over the break?” Nott turned an inquisitive look on Harry.
"Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s better here,” Harry shrugged. “Let’s go ask Professor McGonagall how she keeps the trees from being set on fire.”
“There’s a spell for that,” Nott laughed. “Don’t your relatives use it?”
“No. My relatives are Muggles.”
Nott made a face, but stayed quiet.
“We should be headed for the library,” Hermione pointed out. “Professor Snape gave us that essay to finish over break and I want to get started on it.”
And search through books, Harry didn’t add. Hermione had been searching for any reference to Nicolas Flamel that she could get her hands on - Harry wasn’t sure if he should let on that he knew or not. Hermione’s tenacity towards research seemed greater this time around, her natural curiosity undimmed from the weeks of isolation she must have endured in Harry’s previous life.
How things change, Harry shook his head. The ache behind his eyes was growing into a steady throb. He rubbed at his temples, trying to will away the pain.
“Mate, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey,” Neville tugged at Harry’s elbow. “You’ve been feeling off for days.”
“I’m just tired,” but he gave in at Nott’s speculative look. The last thing he needed were nosy Slytherins poking into his business. They waved Hermione off towards the library, promising to find her at lunch.
Madam Pomfrey wasn’t alone in the hospital wing. Snape was there as well, tall and imposing in his black robes against the bright and cheerful hall.
“Potter,” Snape scowled at him as they approached. “What are you doing here?”
“Harry’s not feeling well, Madam Pomfrey,” Neville burst out, before Harry could answer the man.
“Having your sycophants hold your hand all the way to the nurse? You do take after your father.”
“He’s been unwell for days,” Neville rallied back, surprising Harry - and Snape, if the man’s scowl was any indication. “Madam Pomfrey?”
“This way, Mr. Potter. I’m sure it’s just a cold. These things do happen this time of year.” The nurse ushered Harry away from Snape’s dark gaze.
Madam Pomfrey cast a number of spells on him, but they all came up clear. The woman was perplexed, but let Harry go with a headache potion when the bell rang for lunch. Snape was gone by the time Harry and Neville left the wing, thank Merlin. Of all the people to run into, Harry rolled his eyes.
The potion did the trick. Harry was pain-free for the rest of the day, even during the rush study session Hermione had scheduled for that evening. Harry saw Hermione and Neville off the next day, unable to catch a glimpse of Draco or Nott in the madcap rush of students for the train.
The castle felt emptier with most of the students gone. Harry evaded Ron and Seamus, who had chosen to stay over the break as well, on his way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Harry secluded himself in his bed, pulling the curtains tight. He added a few privacy spells on top of them. Then he let his wand fall to the coverlet and put his head in his hands.
I need to write Ollivander again, he swallowed against a sudden rush of nausea. What’s wrong now? He closed his eyes and descended down into his mind.
Nothing looked out of place. The doorframes were whole, healing the cracks and damage that had been done in the summer. None of the locked doors were ajar, and Harry couldn’t tell if the memories of his adult past were any foggier. So, why do I feel so awful?
Harry pulled out of his mental pathways and curled up on his side, pulling the comforter over his body. I miss them, he blinked at the bed curtains, feeling the burn in his eyes. Lily would go mad for Christmas. I had to bake cookies almost every other day for them. At least Aunt Petunia had been good for something, he snorted. Most of the cookie recipes Harry had known had come from Aunt Petunia’s fancy cooking magazines.
Harry had loved Christmas with his children. He loved going out and buying presents, seeing them tear into the wrapping paper and the way their little faces would light up. Ginny had gone with him once or twice over the years, but his wife did all of her shopping alone, for the most part. Harry offered every year, wanting her to come with him - but Ginny’s schedule often became hectic during December. The Quidditch season went on a small break for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, but that was all. Ginny had many articles that were due for press deadlines around that time. Harry had no problem stepping in for the children, going to their primary school plays or baking treats for their classroom parties. Harry enjoyed doing that for his kids. It was something he’d never had and it felt good to be able to do it for his own children.
Harry fell asleep curled up in his covers and had good dreams for once. He managed to slip out early the next morning before Ron or Seamus woke up. He was not as stealthy at avoiding the twins at breakfast, though.
“Harry, Harry,” Fred dropped into the seat next to him. “You’re young! You’re not supposed to be up so early!”
“Then what are you doing up?” Harry shot back.
George slid in on Harry’s other side. “We’ve a pact with the devil,” he leaned in close and wiggled his fingers in Harry’s face.
“Doubt it,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Oh, but you’re no fun.”
“What are you doing up so early?” Fred jumped in.
Harry shrugged. “I just…do.”
“But why? Don’t you sleep in at home?”
Harry snorted before he could help it. “No.”
“No?”
“No?”
“Do tell,” they said together.
“There’s…nothing to tell,” Harry hedged.
“Really?”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Harry sighed.
“So you just wake up early.”
“And do what?”
“Well,” Harry began.
“Play with ponies?”
“No!”
“Twiddle your thumbs?”
“Dance with candles?”
“Pick pixie pockets?”
“I cook!” Harry laughed. “Okay? I have to cook, so I have to get up early to put the bacon on so there’s enough for Uncle Vernon and Dudley.”
“Really,” said Snape from behind them.
Harry flinched and ducked his head. How does he keep sneaking up on me like that? “Uh,” he glanced over his shoulder at the man.
“We try to cook,” Fred said. “I’m pants at it. Mum won’t let us near the kitchen anymore.”
“That,” Snape said. “I do believe.”
Harry made the mistake of looking up at the man’s face. Dark eyes were focused on him. Harry felt the slide of an unfamiliar mind against his, dark and cool, like water from the bottom of the lake - the hot burn of bacon grease against his fingers as he pocketed the burnt scraps before Aunt Petunia could throw them out - a broken plate and the way his ear burned from Uncle Vernon’s cuff - the lance of pain, foggy and distant, distorted as a dream as a man screams hexes at Harry’s broken body -
Harry snapped his head down, breaking the gaze. Shit. Oh - oh fucking shit. If Snape - if Snape saw…
“Indoor voices will be observed, Misters Weasley and Potter. Do mind the holiday rules. They are meant for everyone to obey.” Snape seemed to hesitate, flicking a scowl at Harry and then stalked away.
I hate that man sometimes, Harry let out a shaky breath. He was starting to feel achy all over, as if he was coming down with the flu.
“All right there, Harry?” Fred put a hand on his shoulder.
“I think I’m going to go see Madam Pomfrey again,” Harry said. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Get better, mate,” George called as Harry left the hall.
Pomfrey was surprised to see him again so soon, but that time her spells did turn up a diagnosis. She made Harry get into bed and gave him a number of potions to take - Wizard’s Flu, Pomfrey called it. She said it would pass in a day or two.
Harry tried to sleep, even as the ache in his bones grew throughout the day and night. Nightmares dogged his dreams. Foggy memories mixed with dream-time imagination made for bloody battles and all that he loved being killed again and again in front of his eyes.
Once and a while he dreamt of Snape - Snape, that horrible git, the tall looming threat in Potions, the bite of his hand on Harry’s shoulder, the way he would shout, loud and vicious and just like Uncle Vernon, Merlin, no, not to dream about Uncle Vernon, and the sharp, biting fingers were back on his shoulder, dreaming of Snape again, surely he was dreaming of Snape again, looming over Harry in the dark, dim room, looming like Voldemort, like Dementors, the green flash and his mother’s scream, Merlin why, his mother’s scream, why would he always hear them scream…
Harry woke, once, bathed in sweat as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, her spells casting cool relief to his fevered skin. The shadows twisted around his bed - Merlin, I must be sick, that almost looked like Snape standing in the corner - and then Madam Pomfrey was urging a vial for Harry to drink. He tossed it back, wishing it were fire whiskey instead and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
He woke the next morning, weak and a little dizzy. Madam Pomfrey told him that he was over the worst of it and to not tax himself and to keep warm. She shooed him off to Gryffindor Tower after lunch, only after procuring a solemn promise from him that he would rest and keep warm for the rest of the holiday.
Harry had to stop from time to time on the way back to the tower. He was still a little dizzy, but more than that, it felt like someone was following him. He was alone every time he checked, though, so he chalked it up to the lingering effects of his nightmares.
It had to be, right? Right.
Chapter Fifteen