It might have been nice if he was five years old . . . in fact, when he had been five, he would have appreciated the attention, since he had never gotten any from his aunt and uncle, no matter how ill or injured he was. But at more than eleven years, he was not a baby to be coddled, and he did not like it at all. It made him feel young, and stupid, and he always had a running voice in his head telling him he wasn't worth anyone's attention anyway.
Thus, it was a great relief when he was finally released from Madam Pomfrey's care after two full days of bed rest. His arm was healed, though she told him to take it easy, not to do any heavy lifting, and that he wasn't to play Quidditch or even fly, until he was given her permission. Patches of black, blue, yellow and green skin littered his arm, and he was vaguely impressed by the job he'd done on it, though he'd never say so. His ribs were still a bit tender, but at least it didn't hurt to breathe anymore.
When Madam Pomfrey told him he could go at last, he thanked her quickly, shoved the few gifts he'd been given – including another unsigned box of Chocolate Frogs – into his bag, and lit out of her domain without looking back.
The next few days were crammed with classes, restless nights, and frequent lectures from Flint about Quidditch safety and the necessity of using a bat when engaging the Bludger. Each evening he had a tutoring session with Professor Snape directly after dinner. The sessions did not last as long as the detentions had previously, only two hours or so, instead of four to five. And afterwards, Harry had time to hang out with his friends, and was even able to spend time with his own study group so he could keep up with current material.
Though it felt odd to have all this extra time, oddest of all was during the sessions, when Snape had been . . . not evil. Not even mean. Or, not very mean anyway. He actually explained things that Harry didn't understand in his readings, and went over problems he was having in his essays with a patience Harry never would have thought the man possessed.
He could not, for the life of him, figure the professor out. But he was very glad things had settled down a bit.
On the Monday after his release from the Infirmary, Harry and Teddy were in the Library. On the table in front of them was the new box of chocolates. They were testing the anonymous gift with some of the same spells as they'd used on the first one, to see if this one had been tampered with – no sense in taking chances – when Teddy said, "I saw Professor Snape watching you at lunch today. He wasn't snarling."
Harry snickered. "Weird, huh? I figure he must have been hit with Confundus or something."
"No doubt." Teddy cast one of the easier Revealing charms, to no effect, then looked at Harry askance. "Draco said he even came to see you in the Infirmary."
"Draco's got a big mouth."
Teddy grinned. "Yeah. But he knows stuff, too."
"What kind of stuff?"
With a shrug, Teddy pointed at the next spell in the book, and Harry spent a few moments trying out the wand motions, before he cast the charm at the box of Frogs. Nothing.
"What kind of stuff?" Harry asked again.
"About the professor. And your father."
Harry gaped at him. "What about my father?" He recalled what the Bloody Baron had told, about how Snape had not got along with James Potter, and that this was one of the reasons he might have had for treating Harry so shabbily. But the Baron had not been willing to elaborate. In fact, Harry had not seen very much of the Baron the last few days, although he always seemed to be there when Harry was alone . . . like he was guarding him or something.
It was sort of disconcerting.
But even more so was that Draco – and apparently Teddy – knew things about James Potter that Harry didn't. Of course, almost everyone did, really. All Harry knew was that his father had played Quidditch.
"They, um, didn't get along at school," Teddy said.
"I know that." The Bloody Baron had told him as much.
"Yeah." Teddy cast another spell, which made the box glow red for a brief second, but that was the intended effect, so there was still nothing wrong with the sweets. "But I mean they really didn't get on. Your father was in a gang of sorts, with a couple other blokes. They called themselves The Marauders."
"The Marauders?" Such a nickname sounded like something Dudley's crew would have come up with, and the comparison gave Harry a very uneasy feeling.
Teddy nodded, and pointed out the next spell, which Harry took his turn to cast. Nothing. Then Teddy said, "Apparently The Marauders didn't like Slytherins very much; they were all in Gryffindor."
Harry nodded. He'd known his father was, at least, as he'd played Quidditch for the Gryffindor team. "Who were the others?"
"I don't know all their names, but Sirius Black was one of them."
"Sirius Black?" The name sounded almost familiar, and then he remembered a conversation with Draco a few days ago about family trees and all that rot, which were apparently very important for purebloods like the Malfoys. "Isn't Black—"
"He was a cousin to Draco's Mum, yeah. The only Black to be in Gryffindor in like a hundred years or something."
Harry grimaced. "Like I'm the only Potter in Slytherin in pretty much ever."
Teddy gave him a sideways look and cast the next spell. Nothing. "Yeah, like that."
"So, they didn't like Slytherins," Harry prompted, not wanting to think any more about how much a freak he was, simply for the way he'd been sorted. He liked his House. Most of the time.
Teddy spoke slowly, as if unsure how what he said would be taken. "Well, see, they liked Snape least of all. I guess they were awful to him. Went after him all the time, four against one."
Stunned, Harry could only stare again. He thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but ganging up on someone like that was about the furthest thing from brave as he could imagine. The sinking feeling in his gut intensified. Had his father really been just a bully, like Dudley? It was possible, he supposed. Hadn't Uncle Vernon said over and over what a horrible person he'd been? Maybe he was speaking from experience. Maybe . . . maybe that's why they treated Harry so badly. He let out a low whistle. "No wonder Snape hates me."
"I don't think he does, though. Not anymore."
"I think he's just better at hiding it."
Teddy shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he's finally taking Rule One to heart."
Harry considered that possibility while he cast the last of their attempts to check the sweets box for curses. It was clean. "Yeah. Maybe."
"Looks like you got yourself another normal box of chocolates, Harry." Teddy almost sounded disappointed, like it would have been more interesting if there had been a curse on the box.
Harry had to agree that it would have, but such a result would not have been as tasty. "Looks like. Want some?"
With a snicker, Teddy said, "Why, 'cause Draco's not here?"
Harry laughed. "No, I'll try one, too. See?" He opened the box as if expecting it to explode, and when it didn't, he flipped out two Frogs, one for himself, and one for Teddy. "Here goes nothing!" and he ripped open the package and bit the head off the Frog in quick succession.
Teddy laughed again and opened his own Frog. "You're mad."
"As a hatter," Harry agreed around a mouthful of chocolate.
"We should try and figure out who's been leaving these for you. You may have a secret admirer. Some Hufflepuff girl, probably."
"Oh, thanks," Harry replied with a laugh and punched Teddy in the shoulder.
"No, seriously. Who wouldn't want to curry favor with the Boy Who Lived?"
Harry scowled. He hated that nickname, since all it meant was that his parents had died instead of him. "Cut it out, Teddy. I mean it."