Not until he heard the other boys moving around in the room did he look up from his books again, or even try and figure out how he was going to shower without them all finding out about him. But now he had no choice. Swallowing hard, he closed his Transfiguration text and eased apart his curtains. Teddy had the bed right next to his, and he was bent over his trunk, gathering supplies for the shower.
Now or never, Harry thought, and almost decided on never. Instead, he slid off his bed and grabbed one of his school robes, hurriedly donning it before Teddy turned around. When he did, Harry was already snatching up his shower bag and clean clothes and heading for the door.
"Potter," Teddy hissed. "Harry."
Dread curled in his stomach like moldy sausage. He considered making a break for it, but turned around instead. Teddy was standing not a pace away, his head cocked to the side slightly.
"Yeah?" Harry said.
"What're you doing?" He kept his voice low, as there were still two beds with drawn curtains. The schedule gave each student a half hour in their respective bathrooms, but some -- like Crabbe and Goyle, according to Draco -- put off their use of it till the very last second, if possible.
"Going to the showers," Harry answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Teddy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but why are you wearing that?"
"Er . . . it'll save me time. If I dress all the way in there. I, er, still have work to finish for McGonagall."
"Because of your detention? He kept you until almost curfew last night."
Harry was surprised that Teddy had noticed. "Yeah. I'm behind already."
Teddy wrinkled his nose a little, then shook his head. "Well, come on, then. I have to finish the reading for Binns, too."
They headed to the showers, and though Harry tried to be discreet, he could feel Teddy's gaze seeking him out as he drew the shower curtain closed before taking off the robe and slinging it over the top of the stall. Once more, he took the minimum amount of time possible to wash, and then dressed so quickly he realized only when dragging on his uniform trousers against the friction of water, that he'd neglected to towel off his legs. No matter, he'd done it, with no one the wiser.
Barely in time, too, as Draco entered the shower room along with Zabini, just as he was lacing up his trainers. Zabini glowered at him, and Harry pretended not to see, but gathered up the rest of his things, including the old t-shirt which he'd rolled up into a tight ball, and ducked past them.
The common room was quiet, still, though a couple tables had small groups of students at them, going over homework. Maybe Harry -- and Teddy -- weren't the only ones already lagging behind. Harry was supposed to be in a study group with Teddy, Zabini, and Millicent Bullstrode but he'd missed the first one, last night, due to detention. And he would miss tonight, too. For now, though, he could work more on his essay until it was time to go to breakfast.
Teddy joined him a quarter hour later, giving him another odd look, but he didn't say anything except to double check what chapters they were to read for Binns' class. They worked together in silence until 7:20, when Marcus Flint -- Firsties were required to call him "Prefect Flint" -- called the room to order and started lining them up to go to breakfast. Since first years were in front, Harry hurried to put his books away and made his way over toward the door.
Draco was first in line, with Pansy Parkinson just behind him, and then Harry. He hadn't had much chance to speak to any of the first year girls, and wouldn't know what to say to them, even if he had, so he avoided her eyes when she turned to peer at him, and barely managed to not offer to show her his lightning bolt scar. It was why most people looked at him like that, after all. He'd had twelve separate requests yesterday alone, never mind the ones on the Hogwarts Express. He hated it, really. It was far harder to hide when everyone stared.
After a moment, Parkinson sniffed disdainfully and faced front again, and Harry let out a breath he'd been holding.
"All right, you lot. Get a move on," said Prefect Flint and they started for the Great Hall. Just on the other side of the portrait, though, Flint put a hand on Harry's chest, making him flinch back before he could stop himself. Flint gave him a mocking smile and leaned in to whisper, "Mind your manners at breakfast, Potter. Try not to make a spectacle of yourself." He jerked a chin at Draco and continued, "Watch that one, if you don't know how to eat proper." And then his hand was gone, and he gave Harry a bit of a shove to catch up with the others.
Harry's face burned. He stared at his shoes the rest of the walk up to the Great Hall, and tried not to think about the fact that Teddy had been right behind him and had probably heard Flint's orders. But like he'd been told, once seated for breakfast, he kept an eye on Draco and followed his lead when it came to using utensils and taking food from the platters. His stomach, however, kept doing flip flops and he had little appetite.
He managed some pumpkin juice -- some of the best stuff he'd ever tasted, really! -- and a half slice of plain toast, though, and was just deciding whether to pour more juice, or just sit and wait for the other first years to finish, when the sound of flapping wings drew his attention. The "ceiling" of the Great Hall showed a sunny, bright day, but what was really astonishing was the number of owls suddenly swooping in through windows high above. Each of them carried something attached to their legs, or in their talons -- letters, small packages and the like.
Harry grinned at the sight. Owl post was so cool! He was very surprised, however, when a dark brown owl with a wingspan wider than Harry was tall, dropped a letter on his plate, then swooped up again and out of the Hall. The parchment, which was folded over once, had his name on the outside, so it was certainly for him. But who would send him a letter? Not the Dursleys, certainly, not after Uncle Vernon's reaction to owl post when the school was trying to send him his acceptance letter.
He broke the thin, green seal -- two snakes intertwined -- and opened it. The note was very short, with no proper greeting:
Go to the infirmary when you finish breakfast this morning, and have your forehead inspected. I expect to hear what treatment has been applied during your detention this evening. I will accept no excuses.
Professor Snape
Harry frowned over the letter so hard that Draco asked him what was wrong. "Oh, nothing," he lied easily. "I have to go, though. Snape's orders."
Draco's pale brows rose. "See you in the Charms, then."
"Yeah." Harry got up and strode to the end of the table where the Slytherin Prefects were. "I've been told to go to the infirmary," he told Flint, holding up his letter, and got a curt nod in return.
As he made his way up the wide set of marble stairs in the Entrance Hall, he wondered about Snape's directive. Why should his Head of House care if his forehead hurt? This morning, he'd asked if Harry had picked at it, but he'd been scowling, and Harry was pretty sure Snape thought he was lying about the nightmare.
With a sigh, and no closer to understanding the professor, Harry entered the Infirmary. A long row of beds lined both of the side walls, while the wall straight ahead was almost all windows and looked out onto the grounds. The room was very bright, with all the white linens and white walls, especially compared to the Slytherin rooms. A middle aged witch stood near a cabinet at the far end of the room, going through bottles one by one and marking a list in front of her.