"Yeah." Strangely enough, he wasn't ravenous, and it had been a while since he'd eaten at the cottage, hadn't it? Maybe, since he'd been at Hogwarts, Snape had been spelling nutritive potions into him, or something. Or better yet, Madame Pomfrey, because now it seemed to Harry that Snape wouldn't bother doing that himself, not now that he hated Harry again. Maybe all those memories of the cottage weren't memories at all, but dreams. They were so faded and blurry, Harry couldn't really be sure. Ha, he thought. I've always really, really wanted somebody to hold me and take care of me when I was feeling ill. Ten to one I dreamed all that just because I wanted it so bad.
At least the headmaster, and Madame Pomfrey too, had enough sensitivity to leave Harry alone for his meal. They didn't even offer to help feed him, or arrange for someone else to, and Harry was grateful for all of it. In the first place, he wasn't very good company at the moment, and in the second place, he really didn't want anyone watching as he fumbled blindly about. He made a right mess of everything: tray, sheets, his own clothes, but he didn't care. He wasn't even thinking about it, which probably explained why he was so clumsy. It wasn't like him.
But he had other things on his mind. Why was Snape so blasted mad at him? Surely Harry was the one who should be angry! Well, actually he was. Mostly at Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy, and Death Eaters in general, but Snape was mixed up in there somewhere, even though Harry wasn't stupid and he did understand what his teacher had done, and why.
But why was Snape so mad at him? So mad he wouldn't even talk to him! Just like he'd been about the pensieve, only worse...
Harry suddenly felt all the food he'd eaten try to rush back up his throat. He swallowed hard--dang, he was getting pretty good at forcing back queasiness--and felt again that peculiar sensation of needing to cry and not being able to. Because that was it, wasn't it? It all went back to that night when Snape had made him look in that horrid pensieve. Harry had demanded to know what went on at a Death Eater meeting, and Snape had been offended at the question, let alone the way Harry had gone about pushing it.
And now, he knew what went on at a Death Eater meeting, didn't he? He knew personally just how evil and sick and twisted that snakelike son of a bitch could get. And Snape probably thought he'd gotten what he deserved. He'd wanted to know, and now he did.
Great gasping sobs took hold of him as he shoved his tray away with both hands and heard it clatter on the floor. Collapsing to his side, Harry shoved a fist in his mouth, and bit down hard to stop his blubbering. So Snape was an unfeeling prick. So what? It wasn't like he hadn't known that from way back. But it hurt, even though it shouldn't. It hurt, it really did.
At least he was calm by the time Madame Pomfrey came to scourgify everything in sight, Harry included. Even better, she knew better than to so much as pat him on the head. Harry supposed she wasn't a licensed Medi-Witch for nothing.
"Come now," she said in brisk, professional tones. "It's time for the second half of your Sight Restorative Potion this evening."
She let Harry push up on his own, let him take the vial and drink it unassisted, just as she'd let him eat on his own, no matter the mess it made.
"Now, sleep, I should think," she continued. "Do you need anything else, Mr. Potter?"
Drowsiness was already washing over him. Something from the Potion? He didn't think so. It felt more like emotional exhaustion. "No," he said, flopping back. "Thank you..."
He was asleep before he even heard her moving away.
How long he slept, he couldn't have said. But at some point, he seemed to wake... though it was more like those drifting, dreamlike states he'd experienced in the cottage in Devon. He couldn't move, but he surfaced to some sort of awareness.
He heard voices, over by the door. Snape and Dumbledore, whispering, their tones low and hushed.
"...no," Snape was hissing. "No, Albus. Do not suggest this again."
"But surely," the headmaster softly insisted, "if you would just speak to him, Severus..."
"I will not speak to that irresponsible idiot if I can possibly avoid it, Albus, is that not clear to you by now? He left the house! You know what that led to."
"Severus, be reasonable. He didn't realize--"
"Oh, he never realizes, that one," Snape quietly snarled. "Never thinks of anyone but himself. But he should have, Albus. What are we to do now, to stay ahead of the Dark Lord's mad schemes? Thanks to him, the Dark Lord will never trust his secrets to me, again!"
"Severus--"
"No, I will not talk to him. And what is more, Albus, I am of half a mind to stop making his potion, as well. Let him suffer. I certainly can't bring myself to care."
A heavy sigh, and footsteps stalking away.
Harry bit his hand again, and told himself it was just as well he couldn't cry.
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Coming soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Twenty-Eight: After Midnight
Comments very welcome indeed,
Aspen
Chapter 28: After Midnight
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=28
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Twenty-Eight: After Midnight
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Harry woke up to the sound of a furious voice shouting in outrage, "What are you doing in here?"
Groggy, he opened his eyes. Reflex, since he couldn't even detect light levels. He pushed up with a groan, and asked, "Ron? Is that you?"
"Damned straight it's me," Ron snarled, stepping across the floor as though headed into battle.
Hermione's voice broke into the fray. "Put that wand away, Ron! His isn't out, and you might hit Harry!"
"Not," Ron sneered, "until he tells us what he thinks he's doing! Harry, why are you letting him sit in here?"
"There's no letting to it, since I was asleep until you started screaming your head off," Harry retorted, grumpy. "And I'm blind, in case nobody's thought to mention it! How should I know who's in here?"
A chair scraped back as someone stood up.
"Well, what of it?" Ron pressed, his voice directed over Harry's head, that time. "What do you think you were doing, hanging about in here while Harry's asleep?"
"I think," came Draco Malfoy's slightly sneering tones, "that I was waiting for him to wake up. I suppose I could have shouted to achieve my aim, like you did, but that's a bit common, don't you think?" Draco drew a breath. "So what did you think I was doing, Weasley?"
"Waiting to hex him, more likely!"
"You're the one with the wand out," Draco drawled, the toe of his boot tapping on the hard stone of the floor. "And really! If I'd had the slightest urge to hex him, why would I have been waiting around? I have much better things to do than waste my time."