Chapter 11
RECAP
Upon opening it, Lucius chuckled warmly. He pulled out the simple pocket watch and knelt down to Boy’s level. “That was incredibly thoughtful, Harry. Thank you.”
Boy hugged them both and stepped into the floo, waving goodbye.
CHAPTER 11
Boy hadn’t stepped fully out of the floo at Potter Manor when he was sent sprawling. His shoulder hit the side of the fireplace and he turned awkwardly as he fell to the floor.
“And where the fuck have you been?” Sir’s voice boomed above him.
Boy stayed quiet.
There was a pop, followed immediately by a growl and a yelp.
“No! Bear!” Boy cried out, turning over to see Bear lying on his side unconscious. It was then that he realized his mistake. He spoke in private.
Heart thudding rapidly, he scrambled back as fast as he could. Apologizing would only make things worse, though he wasn’t sure how much worse it could get. He was already in an immense amount of trouble.
When Boy woke, he found himself on the little landing at the foot of the attic stairs. He had no idea how long he lay there, but with as stiff as he felt, it was clear that it had been a while. Lifting his arms, he whimpered lightly. It was mostly just sore. Keep going. He pushed himself up with agonizingly slow movements, but he was eventually sitting upright. Head swimming, he placed a hand on the wall. It might have been ten minutes, or it might have been an hour that Boy sat there, almost entirely motionless.
“Bear?” He croaked out harshly. Merlin, his throat hurt. “Bear! Where are you?”
The clicking on bare floorboards had Boy gasping in relief.
The massive furry frame moved cautiously down the stairs. He paused and dashed back up.
Boy could hear shifting, but he couldn’t figure out what it would possibly be. He didn’t own anything that wasn’t in his trunk, and whatever was shifting didn’t sound anything like that.
After a minute or so, Bear’s tail and back legs came into view. Whatever he was dragging sounded like fabric, but it was too heavy. What on Earth could-
Very carefully, Bear walked down the stairs backwards, dragging the mattress by his teeth. It had begun to slip a few times, but his brilliant doggy would stop and let it bump into the wall of the narrow aisle.
When the mattress finally got to the landing, while lying flat along the bottom steps, Bear squeezed through the small space and lowered his head so that Boy could grab onto his neck. Getting onto the mattress was slow and painful work, but after a while they managed and he held onto the top as tightly as possible. He didn’t want to slip off of it and tumble back down to the landing.
Bear edged back around and started pulling on the mattress.
With as thin as it was, Boy felt every step, but didn’t make a sound. As soon as it flattened out, Boy had Bear stop. There was still a fair distance to get back to where his bed usually rested, but he didn’t care. He just needed sleep.
Days and nights passed in a haze. Boy wasn’t able to keep track until New Years Eve. Sir showed up for the annual visit and he was well beyond drunk.
When he woke the next morning, he made a notch on the floor. He was going back on the fifth, and it was already the first. Only a few more days. Then he would be back in his broom cupboard in the dungeons, and far away from the Potter’s. Well, far from Sir and Ma’am anyway. For the most part, Jamie had avoided him in school since Bear had come into his life. Bear was such a good doggy. Scaring away the bullies and snuggling with him and his friends.
Despite having made friends before acquiring Bear, Boy was closer to his Wyhound. It was to be expected really. They spent nearly every waking minute together, only parting ways long enough for Bear to find somewhere to relieve himself or catch a small animal to eat (and bringing Boy some vegetables out of someone’s greenhouse).
Bear always smelled sweet after his hunting trips. Boy figured that wherever he was hunting had a strong scent. Either way, he made sure to cuddle close, breathing in the sweet yet spicy smell.
When there were four notches on the floor, Boy made absolutely sure to go to bed early. It wasn’t difficult, as he was always tired lately. He was always hungry, he hurt all over and what sleep he was getting was broken at best, nonexistent at worst. Even still, by nine o’clock at night on the fourth, Boy had relieved himself through the drawbridge and curled up with Bear. He was going home in the morning.
When the sun rose, Boy had already been awake for a couple of hours. His morning routine of healing himself (a bit more each day), spelling himself clean, eating whatever vegetables Bear brought and his morning stretches took anywhere from one hour to three. Today was a slow one, but that was to be expected.
One of the things Sir had begun to taunt him about was his ‘supposed’ magical ability, so he took it upon himself to prove the school board wrong. The morning after every visit, he would come back and mock Boy for still being injured. From there, he would simply belittle Boy for anything and everything he could think of. On several occasions, Jamie had snuck up the attic steps to watch his father. Sir knew he was there. Boy knew he was there. It didn’t stop him from sneaking around like he was getting away with something. When Jamie would ‘sneak’ up, Sir would put on a show, yelling more, doing his best to humiliate Boy, and while the various blows would soften just a bit, they would grow much more frequent. It hadn’t taken Boy long to realize that Sir was just doing that to conserve enough energy to draw out his visits. He was showing off for his son by beating on his other son.
Boy lay in bed with his book, munching on raw cauliflower. It was good, but still not very satisfying. Boy couldn’t afford to be picky. Sir had stopped feeding him after he’d gotten back from the Malfoy Ball. Eleven days. Twelve if Sir didn’t send anything before they left. Boy wasn’t holding his breath.
Casting a tempus, he was relieved to see that it was a little after nine. They would be leaving soon! The train began boarding at ten, and left at eleven.
Boy dressed meticulously in his school robes, making sure they were clean and properly arranged, before casting a disillusionment charm on himself and Bear. As they snuck down the first set of stairs, he added the silence bubble just to be safe.
They waited on the second floor, frozen in fear as Jamie ran past, less than a meter in front of them. Neither one moved for at least two full minutes. Taking a slow breath, Boy nodded at Bear to continue. Together they made their way down to the first floor.
Ma’am and Sir were in the living room, which was right across the hall from the sitting room. Plucking up his courage, Boy nudged the door open, barely enough for them to fit through, and quickly closed it the second Bear was inside. Moving as swiftly as his leg would allow, Boy hurried to the floo, knowing that the Potter’s would be ‘fashionably late’, meaning that they would want to wait until the platform was full so that they could be seen by more people.
“Alright, Bear,” Boy whispered, holding tight to the furry neck in front of him. “I know you can only apparate to me, so I want you to flash in the instant I leave, okay? Don’t hang around. If they see you in here by yourself, they’ll hurt you.”
Bear licked his face once, looking sad.
“Good doggy,” he said, taking a pinch of floo powder. “I’ll see you in a second. Platform nine and three quarters!”
He held his breath until he saw Bear appear next to him. Since there were only a few people on the platform so early, he led his doggy to a compartment in the back of the train. Folding in on himself, Boy lay on the bench, wondering if his friends would find him.
That made him smile. He would see his friends soon! It was barely after ten, so it might be a while. He could close his eyes for a few minutes.
“Oh, Kitten,”
Boy ignored the sing-song voice, too happy sleeping to get up. His nose scrunched when something booped it.
“Buh-Harry,” someone said, carding their fingers through his hair.
That was nice. He let out a content sigh.
“Amelia, can you get the trolley witch? He’s pretty warm.”
“Are you sick, Kitten?”
He shook his head, eyes still closed. “S’eepy.”
“Okay,” the other voice said kindly. “You can sleep.”
Something cool touched his forehead.
“M’kay,” he slurred, slipping back under.
Blinking blearily, Boy opened his eyes. He was confused. He was so comfy. Looking up, he saw an open book hanging right above his head. His pillow was someone’s lap and his legs were up on someone else’s lap. There was a pale hand resting on his chest.
He rubbed the grit from his eyes.
The book moved. “Hi there, Buh-Harry,” she said with a smile.
“Hi, Penny,” he yawned. “Sorry for falling asleep on you.”
Before he could sit up, she pushed him back down. “Did you know that the trolley witch has a medi license?”
Confused, he shook his head.
“Did you know that you’re anemic?”
Another head shake. “What’s that?” There weren’t many books on medical stuff in the Potter library.
“It means that you have a vitamin deficiency,” she explained patiently. “It explains your sleeping problems.”
His brows knit. “Can I fix it?”
“Yup,” Olive said, patting his hand. “You have a meeting with Madam Pomfrey as soon as we get to the castle which is about… half an hour from now.”
At that, his eyes widened. “I slept the whole way? You could have woken me. I wouldn’t have minded.”
“We tried,” Freya said, crossing her legs.
“Yeah, Kitten,” Amelia added. “That’s why we got the trolley witch. You were pretty out of it.”
Boy bit his lip. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Speaking of,” Olive said. “She gave me a Pepper-up for you until we get you up to see Madam Pomfrey.”
Chugging it down, Boy cringed as smoke poured from his ears. He coughed at the intense peppery taste. “Oh, that’s awful.” He didn’t like pepper even in small doses.
“Better than skele gro,” Amelia said with an overly dramatic shudder. “I had to take two anti-nausea potions after that stuff.”
“Why did you have to take that?” Boy wondered aloud. That was for regrowing bones.
Amelia snorted. “My older brother, Dante. He was trying to show off his new apparating ability when I was like eight or nine. We were supposed to be going to Fortescue’s, but I wound up in St. Mungo’s because the idiot splinched me.” She held up her hand and flexed her fingers. “Scared the daylights out of my dad, too. My pinky and ring finger bones were on the kitchen floor. Dante wasn’t allowed to leave the house at all that summer, and dad made him be my personal slave the whole time. Ahh, memories.”
“I’d have kicked his arse six ways to Sunday,” Freya said angrily.
Amelia just rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. “So protective.”
The train began to slow. This time, when Boy tried to sit up, he wasn’t stopped. “Wait, where’s Bear?”
Pointing toward the door, Olive stood up and stretched.
Bear, who was curled up in the corridor, picked up his head and moved into the compartment to lick Boy’s face all over, then backed out again.
The train came to a full stop and Boy, who had just begun to stand, was tossed into Freya. His knees slammed into the bench.
Gasping in pain, Boy slipped off of her lap and sat on the seat. He gripped the edge of the bench, struggling to catch his breath.
Amelia knelt down in front of him, her eyes full of concern. "Where's your brace, Kitten?"
Boy shook his head. "I can't wear it," he rasped out. "I've been using it too much. It'll make me sick."
"Well, shit," she sighed. "Okay, new plan. We're going to wait until the train is empty, then I'm gonna carry you bridal style, okay? It'll keep you from having to wrap your legs around me."
Boy desperately wanted to decline, but there didn't seem to be any alternative. "Kay," he relented weakly.
After a while, Olive gave them the thumbs up.
Biting down on his sleeve, he managed to avoid crying out as Amelia lifted him. He knew she was being gentle, but that didn't stop it from hurting. No, it wasn't hurt, it was past ordinary pain. This was full-on tears and can't-breathe crying kind of agony.
Just as he saw the night sky, the world went black.
When he came to, it was dark. Far off to his right, a lone torch flickered, casting strange shadows along the area. It illuminated the massive wooden doors that he was so familiar with. The infirmary.
He checked the time. It was about four in the morning. He let himself melt into the bed. That was the best part of being in the infirmary. The beds were so wonderfully soft and comfortable and warm.
A lumos was cast, and Boy saw Madam Pomfrey heading toward the loo. Her rooms must be attached to the infirmary, as she wore an ankle length nightgown and a simple housecoat.
Boy sat up and lit the torch above his bed with a quick sparking spell.
Madam Pomfrey yelped, putting a hand over her heart. "My goodness! You scared five years off my life!"
"Sorry," he mumbled, twisting his fingers together.
"Just give me a moment and I'll be right with you, dear."
He nodded.
When she came back, he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.
"How are you feeling, dear?" She asked sympathetically, smoothing his hair.
"Much better, thank you," he replied, still fiddling with the light blue blanket.
"I think we should have a chat, Mr. Potter."
Boy closed his eyes in resignation. "Yes, ma'am."
"Harry," she began hesitantly.
Boy looked up.
"Now, I know this might be difficult to discuss, but I have to ask. Have you been having issues with eating?" She asked. "Maybe making yourself ill?"
"What?" He was bewildered. "Why would I make myself sick?" What was she talking about?
"I spoke with Professor Snape just before you left for the holidays. He told me that you weren't eating properly. From your scans, I can see that you've been slowly starving for weeks, if not months."
"But I have been eating. I don't understand." Boy said honestly. "It's been… difficult, but I do eat."
"Okay," she said, encouraging him with a nod. "Can you tell me what's made it difficult?"
"A lot of the things I used to eat have been making me feel horrible. Sometimes I would get sick, and other times it would make my stomach hurt. So, I've made sure to stick to things that don't make me ill. Mostly just fruit and vegetables. It's best if they're raw. Broths are usually fine, but that's about it."
"Nothing dairy or meat based?" She asked, unsettled by the information. "No toast or porridge either?"
"None of it," he replied. "The trolley witch said I was anemic. Are they related?"
"It seems so," she said, thinking over the possibilities. "Can you think of anything else? Any symptoms?"
His brows rose. "Symptoms? So, I am sick?"
"That's what we're going to find out. Can you think of anything else that's been bothering you?"
"Um, I've gotten a few headaches. I can't seem to ever get full. Sometimes I get dizzy. I… I just don't feel right. Like… I dunno, off-kilter or something." While he hadn't really thought about it, he realized it was true. "It started in… October, I think, maybe November. Madam Pomfrey, am I dying?" He couldn't stop the tears from falling.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said softly, pulling him into a hug. "We are going to figure out exactly what's going on, and how to fix it, alright? No fretting yet, dear. Not until we have a reason. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am." He lied. Lying was wrong, but what was he supposed to say?
"Alright, dear. It's still a bit early, but I think we can convince one of the elves to scrounge up some fruit salad. How does that sound?"
He just smiled, not knowing what else to do.
At exactly 6:09 am, Penny, Olive and Amelia burst into the infirmary.
Boy didn't really react to their abrupt approach. He just felt numb.
"There might be something really wrong with me." His words weren't very loud, but he might as well have screamed them.
"What do you mean, Kitten?" Olive asked worriedly.
Boy hugged himself, as if doing so would keep him from breaking apart. "I have to stay here until Madam Pomfrey can figure it out."
"Does-" Penny cleared her throat. "Does she have any ideas?"
He shrugged. "Not that she's mentioned to me."
Silence fell heavily over the group. No one knew what to say or do. Penny crawled into the bed next to him and cuddled up tightly around him.
"You'll be fine, Harry. No one could let someone as sweet and smart as you go. You'll be patched up in no time, and making Flint look like the idiot he is in class. Yeah?"
"Sure, Penny." Just because he said, that didn’t necessarily make it true.
Madam Pomfrey made them go to breakfast so that they would be fed, though it was mostly because she wanted him to rest. Boy didn’t want to rest, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything else. He couldn’t believe how tired he was. Even in the attic, he’d slept. Maybe not perfectly, but relatively often. Then he slept through the entire seven hour train ride, then again until four am! How could he possibly still be tired? There was no logic to it!
But he still fell back to sleep.
“POPPY!”
Boy jolted awake at the shout. Letting out a huff, he sank back down into his pillow.
Madam Pomfrey practically flew out of her office. “Oh, my! Severus, what happened?!”
It was clear who Poppy was, but who was Severus? Boy peered around his privacy curtains.
Professor Snape was levitating two gurneys and he was furious. “One of these idiots thought it would be a lark to toss lavender into a swelling solution. Take them quickly. I have several minor injuries on nearly half of my class to attend to. Not to mention removing shards of exploded cauldrons from most of the surfaces in my classroom!”
With a flick of her wand, both students' gurneys were levitated to beds. She cast both injury and illness diagnostics charms over them. Without looking up from the scans, she spoke. “Severus, I’ll need you to come back when you have a free period.”
He nodded sharply and left.
For a while, he watched Madam Pomfrey fuss over the two students across the room, but his eyes just wouldn’t stay open.
Boy sniffed. What was that smell? It was fantastic! It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Sweet, yet spicy. He inhaled deeply, savoring it.
“...here again?” A silky voice was asking, sounding bored.
He would recognize Professor Snape’s voice anywhere.
“Because I need your help, Severus. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with the poor boy. You’ve had training far beyond my own and I am woman enough to admit that I am out of my league.”
“So send him to St. Mungo’s,” he drawled.
“That was my plan, but unless his health deteriorates to the point of imminent death, I cannot send him there without parental consent. I’ve attempted to reach Lily and James via floo, but there has yet to be an answer. Every hour on the hour, since ten o’clock last night.”
“Fine,” came the exasperated reply. “I need copies of all of his scans.”
There was a pause and the sound of flipping pages. “I see. Where is the full history scan?”
“Can’t do it without parental consent. Not unless there’s been signs of abuse. My hands are tied.”
“Congratulations, Poppy,” he said sarcastically. “You are the only medi witch I’ve ever met who actually followed the guidelines of propriety.”
“Knock it off, Severus. I’m worried. This goes beyond anemia. I just don’t understand what all the signs are pointing towards.”
“As I have the proper licensing, I will be able to do the scans myself. It will, however, have to wait until he is awake.”
“The poor dear has been asleep for nearly twenty hours now. He woke up once or twice, but not more than half an hour at a time.”
“I’m awake,” Boy said weakly.
The curtains vanished and the delicious smell grew stronger.
Maybe Professor Snape was wearing a new cologne. A gift from Yule, perhaps.
“Hello, Professor,” he mumbled, picking at his nails.
“Potter,” was his only greeting. “Tell me what symptoms you have been experiencing. I am aware you have spoken with Madam Pomfrey, however, I am in need of the list myself.”
So he told the man everything that he’d mentioned to the matron. “I felt perfectly fine before.”
“Before when, precisely?”
He had to think about it. “Oct-no. November. Yes, it had to be in November. It was after the troll.”
“Very well,” he said brusquely. “To go back that far, I will need to run a full history scan.”
“What?” He gasped. “No! Madam Pomfrey said it was against the rules!”
They stared at him in shock.
Professor Snape was quick to snap out of it. “For a medi license. As a fully trained Healer, that rule does not apply to myself. Now, you don’t have to do anything but lie still. You will feel-”
“No!” Boy shouted. Even he was surprised. He had never shouted at someone before.
Lifting a brow, the professor eyed him suspiciously. “I beg your pardon?”
“I… I… I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. Sniffling, he froze. Then sniffed again. His stomach growled loudly. “What is that smell?”
The adults went from shock to confusion in an instant.
Madam Pomfrey sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. Severus?”
How could she not smell that?! It was overwhelming in its intensity. He closed his eyes again, breathing in the intoxicating aroma, basking in it.
“No,” the professor said slowly.
Lightheaded, Boy swayed.
Professor Snape caught Boy firmly and helped him to lie down.
Boy’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s wrist with startling speed. The smell was so much stronger now!
“Potter!” He barked. “Release my arm immediately!”
The wrist he held jerked back, but he tightened his grip and pulled it closer. Inhaling deeply once more, he pulled back the man’s sleeve. The sharp, sudden pain in his upper jaw did little to distract him from that smell. Dear Gods! What is it? His stomach growled more loudly this time. There! Something had dripped down his wrist and dried, stopping at the base of his palm.
Utterly captivated by the little red streak, Boy didn’t hear the scream or the gasp. They didn’t matter. What mattered right now was tasting-
“Petrificus Totalus!”
“Stupefy!”
Boy knew no more.
Waking with a gasp, Boy tried to sit up, heart pounding. He was bound. Terrified, he pulled at the leather strips. “Madam Pomfrey!”
At the foot of his bed, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape and the Headmaster were staring at him.
“Please! Let me out! What is going on?!” Boy sobbed, tugging harder.
Completely ignoring him, Headmaster Dumbledore faced his companions. “I fear he may have to be removed from the grounds for the safety of the students.”
“Albus!” Madam Pomfrey cried. “You can’t be serious!”
“That is unnecessary, Headmaster.” Professor Snape said, the very face of calm. “As you can clearly see, he is not burning in direct sunlight. He is not an ordinary vampire.”
“Please let-what?!” Boy stopped struggling.
“You must reconsider, Albus!” Madam Pomfrey pleaded. “He is not a danger to the students, or anyone.”
“If he is displaying such clear signs of bloodlust, I cannot in good conscience-”
“Removing him from the premises will be more damaging than having him remain.” The Potion’s Master said. “If you will allow me to-”
“I am sorry, my dear boy, but-”
“WILL SOMEONE TALK TO ME?!” Boy shouted, panting. “What is happening to me? Please, just tell me.”
Moving to his side, Madam Pomfrey stroked his hair. “I think we all could use an explanation, Harry.”
When the Headmaster opened his mouth to speak, she cast a silencing charm.
“Thank you, Poppy,” Severus said, conjuring a wooden chair for himself. “As I said, Mr. Potter is no ordinary vampire. He does not display the appropriate symptoms, leading me to believe that he is, in fact, a hybrid. There is little to no aversion to sunlight.” He paused, looking at Boy.
“No, sir. It doesn’t bother me.”
“If he were a true vampire, his diet would have killed him at the first sign of his symptoms. Several weeks ago, I noticed that Mr. Potter’s diet consists almost entirely of produce.” Again, he paused.
“Yes, sir,” Boy confirmed.
“Furthermore, his leg injury would have healed itself, which is clearly not the case.”
Twice more, the Headmaster attempted to speak to no avail.
“And, finally,” he continued. “If he were a full vampire, he would have drained the first person unfortunate enough to cross his path the moment he felt his first hunger.”
“So… what am I?” Boy asked, afraid of the answer. He was some hybrid vampire! What was he going to do?
“I have narrowed down the possibilities to two creatures.” He replied. “One admittedly uncomfortable question for yourself will confirm my suspicions.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking.
“As your friends are older females, I must ask if you have felt any hunger-based urges during any of their menses.”
“Menses?” He asked, disgusted. “As in… their… monthlies?”
“That is what I was referring to, yes.”
“No!” Boy said immediately. “That’s… that’s gross!”
“As I suspected,” he said with a nod. “Mr. Potter, you are a Vílaupír.”
Lost, Boy looked at him. “I’ve never heard of a Veeloop-er thing. What is it?”
Hands folded in his lap, Professor Snape went into lecture mode. “The Vílaupír are Slavic crossbreeds, which quite literally translates to Fairy Vampire. You, Mr. Potter, are half fae, half vampire. There is precious little information on the Vílaupír, as none have been seen in more than two centuries. What is known, however, is that the vampire side gives them strength, speed and agility. They do suffer from bloodlust to a point. This is where the fae attributes come into effect. Fae, much like many creatures, have mates and are completely monogamous. As such, he will only crave the blood of his mate, and no other. The fae are also notorious for enhanced magical abilities. If I may examine your wand, Mr. Potter, I will be able to demonstrate.”
Vílaupír. Fairy Vampire. He would crave blood. Blood of his mate. But he was too young to have a mate! At least he would be fast and strong-Wait!
“My wand? Why?”
“Its materials will better explain. While I am no expert on the subject, there are some combinations of materials that require a magically strong person to wield them.”
“I don’t have it with me, sir.” He lied, but there was no choice. They couldn’t find out that he wasn’t using an actual wand, but a broken piece of discarded furniture. “Are you sure that I’m not going to hurt anyone?”
“I am certain, yes.” The professor said. “Poppy, would you assist me with a simple test?”
Interested, she agreed. “What do you need me to do, Severus?”
“Take my hand,” he said simply. When she complied, he sent a low powered cutting hex, no more dangerous than a papercut to her palm.
Boy watched in horror as the blood slowly welled up and dripped down their joined hands. “Why did you do that?” He demanded. “Madam Pomfrey, are you alright?”
“Harry?” She questioned, with a little smile. “You’re not even the slightest bit tempted by that, are you?”
“Tempted?” His brows rose. “Of course not, I-oh.”
The Headmaster tapped his wand on his throat, removing the charm with ease. “It appears, Mr. Potter, that apologies are in order. I am willing to admit my mistake. I am sorry.”
“Does this mean I’m not being kicked out?” Boy asked tearfully.
“That is precisely what it means, Mr. Potter.” He replied gently.
He sniffled, letting his tears fall. “Then can someone take off the straps? Or, at least the one off my legs? It hurts.”
“Oh!” Madam Pomfrey rushed to unbuckle his legs and Professor Snape began undoing the one on his hand. “Oh, dearie, I am so sorry! I will be right back, okay? You just relax.”
“Professor?” Boy bit his lip.
“Yes?” He asked, moving to the next buckle without looking away from his task.
“What happened before?”
“You will need to be more specific, Mr. Potter.”
“When you were here earlier.” He was so confused. “It’s all a bit hazy. I remember you were talking, but not what it was about, and then… did you stun me?”
“Actually, that was Madam Pomfrey. I was the one to immobilize you.” No emotion, just information.
“Why?” There had to be a reason. Right?
“Dear me, is it that time, already?” The Headmaster waked off, talking about having an important meeting.
Professor Snape hesitated and sighed. “Earlier today, I instructed my students to brew a simple swelling solution. As you are likely aware, certain ingredients are volatile to specific potions. One such instance being lavender. And I’m sure you are also aware of the dangers of adding such things to-”
“Why would someone do that?” He blurted, bewildered that someone would put everyone in danger because they didn’t pay attention!
“It does not matter. As I was saying, an explosion was the result. Several of the students were injured. I thought myself unscathed, and upon my return to aid Madam Pomfrey, we discovered that I was not entirely unharmed. There was a small cut on my arm.” He showed Boy a tiny rip in his sleeve. “It hardly bled and as such, I did not notice it.”
“Okay?”
“You did.”
“So, wh-” he cut himself off, realization dawning. His eyes widened. “But… but… that would mean…”
“It would appear that way,” the man replied, as calm as ever.
Boy hugged himself, his breath hitching. “I… I can’t. I’m too young for… that. Sir, I can’t be-”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Potter.” He placed his hands neatly in his lap. “I can assure you that I have no interest in pedophelia. At the present time, my feelings toward yourself have scarcely changed. If, after you reach your majority, things change, it will be a discussion for that time. Until then, our relationship will remain utterly platonic.”
“Sir?” He bit his lip. He really needed to break that habit. “Does… does that mean I’m… a homosexual?”
“Your biology seems to think so,” came the reply. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” What were the Potter’s going to say when they found out? Sir really would kill him. This would be the straw to break the hippogryphs’ back. Sir had been threatening him for years, but this would do it.
“With whom do you foresee problems?” The barest flicker of… something flashed across his sharp features.
“S- no one. Just wondering.” He fidgeted with his hands. “Um, sir. If it’s alright, I think I’d like to get some sleep.”
“Understandable, given the circumstances. You may wish to stay awake for a moment, as I believe Madam Pomfrey has been waiting for our conversation to end. She has your salve. I will see you in class.” With that, Professor Snape vanished the chair and left.