Disclaimer: Not mine. pout
Summary: As a first year, Harry is sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, and no one is more surprised than his new Head of House.
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Previously:
"Good night, Mr. Potter."
"Good night, Professor," the boy said, and leaned back heavily on his pillows, eyes closed already.
Harry did not wake again until afternoon, and then slowly, blinking heavily through gummy lids. It took long minutes for him to remember where he was: the school Infirmary. Again. After fumbling a moment for his glasses, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling far above him. The white ceiling had numerous patterns in it, whirls and dots and cones in the plaster or stone or whatever it was made of, and he traced some of these with his gaze as he tried to remember what had happened the night before.
The had a clear picture in his mind of the corridor where he'd met the Baron, and then the odd conversation with the ghost, but he felt -- like he had somewhat last night -- like he'd been missing some parts of it, as if the Bloody Baron was responding to things Harry hadn't said. And he remembered the aching, tired feeling -- still present, even after Madam Pomfrey's healing and potions -- after the Baron was gone, and the long trek back to the Slytherin common room. He could not remember, at all, how he'd come to have the chest wound and lose all that blood.
And Snape . . . he could have sworn, for a split second while they'd been talking in his office, before Harry had fainted -- and wasn't that going to be a joy to live down! -- that he'd seen concern in the man's eyes. Harry knew better than to think adults -- any adults -- could ever be concerned for a burdensome freak like himself, so he wondered what Snape was playing at. He also knew better than to display weakness, experience had taught him that showing any signs of a "soft white underbelly" was like begging to have it ripped open by dogs.
Madam Pomfrey appeared beside him, pulling him from his musings, and he gave her a small smile. She returned it, a little wryly, shaking her head as she handed him a potion in an opaque bottle. He took it from her but did not drink. "Mr. Potter. I would appreciate it if you could spend a good portion of the rest of the school year not under my care."
"'M'sorry," he told her and ducked his head, watching her through his fringe.
Her eyes narrowed. "I do not mean it like that, young man. I merely dislike seeing you requiring treatment again. I believe you have quite enough to be going on with, just getting used to magic and a new school, without throwing blood loss and shock into the mix. Now, drink that; it's to aid your body in replenishing your blood."
He tipped the potion back, shuddering at the metallic taste -- almost like blood, except with an after burn.
She handed him another potion, this one orange, in a clear bottle. "This is for pain. It's not as strong as the ones I dosed you with last night, but if you need something more,you will let me know."
He wouldn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes narrowed again, like she knew what he was thinking, but Harry just smiled innocently and poured the potion into his mouth. This one was nasty tasting, like phlegm and almost as thick, but he drank it all down. Once it hit his belly, a warm feeling spread through him, loosing the tight muscles in his shoulders, neck and back, and he sighed gratefully.
Madam Pomfrey watched him, nodded, and took back the empty bottles. "Please let me know if you need anything, Mr. Potter. It is what I am here for, after all."
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"Yes, ma'am."
She sighed then shook her head. "You had some visitors earlier. A Mister Nott and Miss Bullstrode. They seemed to think they could fritter away the entirety of the afternoon at bedside. I sent them out, but I daresay they will return." She gestured to the bedside table, where several Get Well cards stood on end, along with a couple boxes of what looked like Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "And you have some gifts from those who hope you're well enough to leave soon."
"Am I?"
"Not by a long shot. Tomorrow evening will be soon enough, if you are recovered sufficiently." Her gaze sharpened, and he could not help but be caught by it. "You did almost die, after all, Mr. Potter."
"I did?"
"Yes. If Professor Snape had not found you and administered treatment for your shock, it is unlikely we would be having this conversation. You should have come to me immediately. Did you not realize you had been injured?"
"No, ma'am. I was tired, but . . ." He shrugged. "Not until he had me take off my robe, and I could see the blood and all."
Madam Pomfrey nodded slightly, her gaze thoughtful. "Well, try and get some more rest," she said. "It will take at least today for your body to make up the rest of the blood you lost. We'll see how you're doing tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."
She gave him a brief smile, and went back to her office. Harry reached for the box of Bertie's Beans and read the tag on top of it. "Get Well Soon, Harry. From Slytherin House." He knew that when normal people were sick or in hospital, they often got treats and cards and such from friends and family. When Dudley had his tonsils out, for instance, he'd gotten so many new toys and treats, he'd been swimming in them for weeks. But Harry had never been given anything like this before. Of course, he'd never gotten a real present at all before, until Hagrid gave him Hedwig. It made him feel . . . weird. Pleased? Embarrassed? He wasn't sure.
Instead of thinking any more about it, he opened the box and picked out a cream-colored bean. Mmm, coconut. His second one was pink and tasted of grapefruit; a little sour, but good. Maybe this was a batch of just good tasting ones. The next one he tried, though, a light green, was brussels sprout, and he almost spit it out. There went that theory.
He picked up one of the boxes of Chocolate Frogs next – as there were two – and the card said, "Hurry up and get out of there, Harry, 'cuz I miss your Charms. From, Millie."
Harry grinned. He liked Millicent; she had a good sense of humor and was awful protective of people – like him – who stood up for her in turn. He was looking forward to seeing her later, and Teddy, too. He got along real well with Teddy, though the skinny boy was sometimes hard to figure out. And the way he stood up for Harry, with Zabini, especially . . . well, it was the first time Harry had ever had anyone do that for him, too.
Harry nibbled on a frog – the card was of Dumbledore, who he already had three of – and looked at one of the free standing cards. One of them was from the Slytherin Quidditch team, and as far as he could tell, everyone who was currently on the team – Marcus Flint, Terrence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, Nathan Bole and Miles Bletchley – had signed it. Some of them – notably Higgs and Flint – had also jotted a bit about how Harry had better be up on his broom for practices this week, or else. Harry had to smile. Even vaguely threatening, the card was cool, with zooming snitches and bludgers all over it. And it gave Harry a feeling of belonging to something, which he had been wanting so badly when he first arrived here.
The second card was signed by all his year mates, including Draco and – even more surprisingly – Zabini. He wondered what they'd had to give him to get him to sign. A few possibilities occurred, and Harry snickered to himself while reaching for the second box of Chocolate Frogs. There was no tag or card on this one at all. Weird. He moved things around on the small table, in case it had fallen off, but there was no tag or anything like it to be found. Harry placed the box carefully to the side, a little leery of opening it, without knowing who it was from. Maybe Madam Pomfrey knew. He'd ask her later. It would be a shame to not eat the Frogs, just because someone had forgotten to sign the gift.
