The number of grassroots can be used to measure toxicity.
The paper was swimming with words but Harry reread the same sentence in an almost chant-like repetition. He felt if he were to move on, something inside him would snap then and there, a snap loud enough to alert the Ravenclaw seated next to him, maybe even Snape.
The number of grassroots can be used to measure toxicity.
The number of grassroots can be used to measure toxicity.
Eyes unfocused, he bounced his left foot up and down.
The number of grassroots can be used to-
“-Potter!”
Harry's head snapped up, eyes frantically searching for the source of sound loud enough to rupture his trance.
“Is my class too boring for you?” Snape drawled, “I would suggest you pay attention, remembering your last test score of an astounding 22 percent.”
Blush painted Harry's cheeks, ah yes, the last test. A test he bombed, tragically so.
A snicker was heard from the back of the room and Harry clenched his pencil, “Sorry, sir.”
Snape turned back to the class with a sharp turn and returned to his lecture. Harry tried to concentrate, he did, but his heart continued to beat faster and faster.
When class ended, Harry rushed to get out of the class, thinking of finally paying Madam Pomfrey a voluntary visit for once in his life. He could already see the headlines, “You-know-who rises to power after Harry Potter dies of a heart attack”. Harry managed a smile through his ever-tightening chest.
“Mr. Potter, if you would stay behind to discuss your last grade”
Harry winced mid-step, the old git had no mercy. Harry took a deep breath before stalking towards the front desk. He waved off Ron and Hermione, they could wait for him at the next class, magical creatures. Hermione gave a nod, Ron a concerned glance, and they both left the slowly emptying room.
Harry made an effort to remain composed. He was sure it was only the potions that were making his chest tight. And have a stomachache. And now that Harry thought about it, his lungs seemed tighter than usual-
“Tell me, Mr. Potter, how you expect to pass this class-”
Snape had started exactly how Harry expected him to, with an insult,
“-When you are practically sleeping during the whole lecture?”
Harry felt immediate anger at the accusation because he was trying. He could have asked to go to the nurse during class, or not even come at all, but he still tried to learn. Harry didn’t notice Snape’s searching eyes as he tried to breathe through his tightening chest,
“Sorry, it won’t happen again, sir.”
“One would hope so, it would be very anti-climactic for the Chosen one to kill himself from simple exhaustion before the Dark Lord has the chance to.”
Snape flicked his wand and a note flew into Harry’s hand, a late slip.
“Don’t even think about attending class in your same condition next time, or a mandatory visit to Madam Pomfrey will be in your future.”