"Er, you're welcome." Harry peered through the ghost at the corridor behind him, at the same wondering if doing so was considered rude. "Could you, er, tell me where I ended up? I seem to be a bit lost."
"I should say so."
Harry was pretty sure the Bloody Baron wasn't talking about just tonight, but he didn't feel like getting into some kind of weird philosophical discussion with a ghost, so he ignored that jibe and said, "I'm meant to be back at my common room, now. For a study group."
"Of course," the Bloody Baron said and stared into his eyes. The ghost's eyes were black holes, like the entrance to a cave in which something deadly lived and breathed and drew unwary victims in.
A cold feeling enveloped Harry from toes to ears. He shivered and backed away from the ghost, until he came flush against the wall behind him. "What do you want?"
"What we all want, Mr. Potter." The dark caves narrowed, trapping the lurking danger inside. "Peace."
With that, the ghost floated right through Harry, raising goosebumps all over his skin and making him feel bloody and exhausted and bruised, as if he'd been in a fight. One he'd lost. But before Harry could turn or make a sound or call him back to explain himself, the Baron vanished through the wall behind him.
Harry leant against the wall for a long moment, catching his breath. Using the smooth, damp stone for support, he forced his feet to move, one after the other, until he was well away from that cul de sac. It took forever, it seemed like, before he finally reached an area he recognized. Aside from still panting a little and with a trace of a hitch in chest when he breathed, he was mostly recovered by the time he entered the common room at last – or as much as he could be after being run through by a ghost. He made his way directly to the table he and his study group used each night. . . but no one was there.
And the common room was oddly quiet, too, especially for this first Friday. Only a few older students lurked about in corners . . . including a couple snogging in the shadows near the corridor to the girls' dorm. Harry had expected a lot more activity. Wouldn't everyone be excited about the end of the first week of school? Teddy had said as much, when commiserating with Harry over his week's worth of detentions.
Checking the time on the mantel clock over the fireplace, though, Harry shocked, but he understood why it was so quiet. How in the world had it gotten to be 2 am?
It had been the Bloody baron, he was sure of it. Something weird had happened when the ghost went through him. But he didn't remember anything . . .
"Potter!" a voice said behind him, and Harry jumped, turning around for the second time that night to face something less than pleasant. This time, the person was very much alive, and very, very angry. Snape continued, "To what do I owe . . ." before he suddenly trailed off, eyes widening. "Come with me," he ordered, then turned on his heel and marched back out the portrait door and along the corridor toward his office.
More exhausted than he could ever explain, Harry just sighed and trailed after him, through the dark corridors, and through the door that slammed open to admit them both to Snape's office.
Snape pointed at the chair in front of his desk. "Sit." Harry did, watching as Snape opened the door behind his desk that led to his private potion stores and stormed in there. He returned a minute later with several bottles which he placed in a row in front of Harry at the edge of the desk. "Remove your shirt."
"Sir?"
"Do it now, Potter. You are covered in blood. I wish to discover if any of it is yours."
Harry looked down at himself for the first time since the Bloody Baron had slid through him. To his horror and disgust, the front of his robe was soaked with blood, as was the button down shirt underneath. He peeled both away from his skin, making a face as the shirt stuck to him and he had to yank it away. Doing so stung, and he winced.
"What, pray tell, have you run afoul of this time?" Snape asked as Harry pulled off his robe and let it fall to the floor. His fingers shook as he undid the buttons on his shirt, and then he saw that they too – no, his whole hands! – were red and tacky with blood.
"I . . . I don't know, sir," he said, starting to tremble as the coppery tang of the blood hit his nose and the pulse of his heart sounded extra loud in his ears. He could almost feel it flowing through his veins. Lub dub. Lub dub. It wasn't until his shirt was open and he saw the deep gouge in his chest that he realized at least some of the blood was his own. And then the pain hit, and somewhere in his mind was a little voice telling him he was in shock and that's why he hadn't felt anything before, but in the next second, he locked eyes with Snape, shook his head uncomprehendingly, and dropped like a stone as the world turned black.
TBC . . .
A/N: A full departure from canon events of first year in this chapter, obviously. Hope that's okay with everyone . . . I should have a new chapter (in Snape's pov) out by the weekend. Big Snapalicious hugs for all who read and review! Thank you for your support.
*Chapter 12*: Chapter 12
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 12
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. Alas.
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:
And then the pain hit, and somewhere in his mind was a little voice telling him he was in shock and that's why he hadn't felt anything before, but in the next second, he locked eyes with Snape, shook his head uncomprehendingly, and dropped like a stone as the world turned black.
Severus managed to catch the boy before he hit his head on the stone floor, but only because he'd had years of honing his reflexes amongst negligent children and their exploding cauldrons. His next instinctive action was to stop the bleeding from the now-obvious chest wound.
He laid the Brat Who Lived to Give Him Heart Attacks out flat on the floor, cast a single Scourgify on the wound and once the wound was clean, closed it quickly with a swish of his wand. Next he checked to make sure the boy was still breathing and that he had a pulse.
The pulse was thready, but there, and the boy's breaths were rapid and shallow. He then pinched hard on one of Potter's earlobes, and the color did not return as quickly as it should. Damn. To keep the boy from dying of shock, Severus cast a single Warming Charm on the area to combat the dampness of the dungeon, then transfigured the chair and an empty jar into a heavy blanket and a thick pillow. The former of these he wrapped loosely around the boy, including underneath, adding another Warming Charm, and the latter he slid under Potter's feet.
Having staved off death for the next few seconds, Severus took a half moment to firecall Madam Pomfrey from the Floo to the right of his desk.
As he did so, he wondered why the hell had this boy been up wandering the halls at two o'clock in the morning. Especially since, according to the monitors on Severus' classroom and office, Potter had finished with his detention a good five hours before then.
Pushing those questions – which he would have answered, damnit! – from his mind as soon as she answered, he let Poppy know in a few terse words that her presence – along with at least one Blood Replenishing Potion – was required in his office. He hurried back to the boy as she gathered supplies and came through the Floo.
Potter's face was white as chalk, and wet with perspiration, but when Severus felt his forehead, he found it clammy. His pulse was still weak, but had not deteriorated, at least, and he was still breathing, though he had not regained consciousness.