"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry said as he went a few steps into the room and let the door close behind him.
The woman looked up and smiled. "Yes." She put down the most recent bottle and wiped her hands on a cloth sticking out of her pocket. "Have you had an accident, dear?"
"Um, no. Not really." He moved forward, though he had to admit a bit of anxiety about seeing a nurse of any kind. "My, er . . . my Head of House wanted me to get my forehead looked at."
The woman frowned and closed the distance between them. "Let's have a look then," she said as she drew her wand and motioned him towards one of the beds.
Harry sat on the very edge of the bed, not wanting to mess up the linens, just for his forehead. He lifted his hair away from the scar and Madam Pomfrey gasped. Still holding up his fringe, Harry gazed at his other hand, in his lap. Stupid scar.
The medi-witch stood right in front of him, and her voice was all business as she said, "It's very red, yes. I don't believe it's infected, though. Let's see . . ." A tingle rippled along Harry's head starting from the scar. The sensation didn't hurt, really, but he still pulled back from her rather sharply. "All right, it's all right, Mr. Potter. There's no infection. I'm going to give you a salve for it, though, which has a topical pain reliever in it. I'll apply the first dose, and I want you to use it three times a day for the next week. That should reduce the swelling and give you some relief. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She bustled off to get the salve, and Harry let go of his hair. The jar she returned with was blue glass, the salve itself a light blue cream that smelt of oranges and cloves. "Fringe up again, Mr. Potter, that's it." Her fingers were gentle on his skin as they smoothed the salve into the skin around the scar. The aching eased almost at once, and the burning pain subsided. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard, almost undone by this simple kindness.
"There. Not too bad, was it?" Madam Pomfrey said, as she capped the jar and handed it to him.
"No, ma'am," he said and slid off the bed, avoiding her eyes.
"Three times a day, remember. And come and see me again if the pain gets worse, or if the ointment doesn't help." A pause. "Or for any other reason whatsoever," she added. She made it sound like an order, so he nodded his understanding as he made his way to the door.
Classes that day were much the same as the first, except he had a free period right after lunch and Charms instead of Transfiguration. He'd gotten his feather to fly using the Wingardium Leviosa on maybe his sixth try. Not as fast at Teddy or Zabini, but far better than Draco's two goons.
In Herbology, he once again tried to say hello to Ron Weasley, and the boys he was near, but once again, the red head turned his back with an ugly sneer. Harry pushed the hurt back away from him, like he did with most pain, and shrugged as he returned to the table he shared with Draco, Goyle and Crabbe.
"Waste of space, that one," Draco muttered. "I don't see why you bother."
Harry shrugged again, keeping his face as blank as possible. "He was nice to me on the train. But I guess he doesn't like Slytherin."
Draco snorted. "Of course he doesn't. No one does. That's why we have the first rule."
With a nod, but wishing he didn't understand, Harry turned his attention to Professor Sprout, a short woman with dirt crusted under her nails as if she did nothing besides garden. Recalling a few of his summers at the Dursleys, Harry could relate.
The rest of the day passed easily enough, he even got his Transfiguration essay finished during his free period, and started on the reading for Charms. After supper he went back to Snape's office, dread slowing his steps, but not actually stopping him until he reached the door. Drawing all of his courage, he knocked lightly and waited for the command to "Enter."
Snape was sitting over a pile of parchment, just as he had been last night. And like last night, he did not look up from whatever he was doing. "Cutting it a little close, weren't you?" he asked coldly.
He hadn't been late, he was sure, but almost a minute early. Still, better to agree than disagree; he'd learned that lesson early on. "Yes, sir. Sorry."
Pointing his quill at a chair in front of his desk, he said, "Sit."
Harry obeyed, but wondered what he was going to do for detention tonight, and why Snape hadn't just told him, like he'd done before. Knowing better than to fidget, Harry sat as still as possible, gaze on his hands, clasped together in his lap. Time passed, he couldn't say how much, before his Head of House put down his quill and settled his gaze on Harry. He could feel the dark eyes on him, boring into his head, but he did not dare look the man in the eyes.
"You went to the infirmary." It was not a question.
"Yes, sir."
"And?" A hint -- well, more than a hint -- of impatience.
"Madam Pomfrey said the scar's not infected, sir. She gave me a salve for it."
"Let me see it."
Harry lifted his head at last, and brushed back the hair from his forehead.
Snape sneered at him. "Not the scar, I know what that looks like. The salve."
Flushing, Harry rummaged in his book bag and handed over the blue jar. Snape pulled off the lid and sniffed the contents before nodding and returning it to Harry. "Very well. See that you use it as prescribed."
"Yes, sir."
After another minute of Snape staring at him while he studied the stone floor and tried to keep still, the professor moved some papers around on his desk and said in a perfectly toneless voice, "I have an additional list of rules for you. You're behavior at meal times has not gone unnoticed, even by those of other Houses. I require all Slytherins to maintain proper decorum, especially when in such a milieu."
Harry's stomach tightened with the implications. People talked about him all the time, as if something he'd done as a baby, and which he had no memory of was worthy of discussion, when he knew it wasn't. But if they were discussing his table manners instead . . . he felt sick. With the Dursleys as his only role models, and by proxy at that, as they rarely allowed him to sit with them for meals, how was he supposed to know what to do?
The pause was so long this time, that Harry realized he was supposed to reply, but it hadn't really been a question. He set his jaw and raised his head. "Yes, sir. Prefect Flint mentioned the problem to me earlier."
"Good. See that you incorporate these rules, effective immediately." Snape handed over the parchment, and Harry was annoyed to find his hand shaking.
"Yes, sir."
Snape's lip curled slightly. "You have not read them as yet, Potter. Do so now, that I may answer any questions you have."
Harry had been hoping to tuck the list away and read it somewhere private, later, but it seemed he was doomed to be humiliated again. Fine. He scanned the sheet, noting how many of the items were "don'ts" as opposed to "do's" and the number of times the word "appalling" came into play. Sweat was running down his back, and his hands shook horribly by the time he finished. Dimly, around the rush of blood in his ears, he realized his jaw was clenched, and he tried to loosen it before he cracked any teeth.
"Do I need to explain any of these rules to you, Potter?"
Briefly squeezing his eyes shut, he forced his face in a blank mask. This professor would not win, would not shame him further by seeing him lose control. Once he could speak without his voice cracking, he looked Snape in the eyes. "No, sir. They are quite clear."
The Professor's face was as blank as his own, no hint of a sneer now, no humor at his expense. Nothing. The tableau held for the space of a heartbeat, or an hour, before Snape gave him a tiny nod. "Very well. Dismissed."
Gathering his things quickly, Harry fled to the relative safety of the dorms.
TBC . . .
A/N: Next chapter (some time in the next week) will start out with this detention from Snape's POV and go on from there . . . Thank you, readers and reviewers and those who are both! Your support is my everything: You're my Holiday Weekend, my trip to the beach, and the cool breeze off the water in the heat of the midday sun. Love you all.