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:
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.
'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.'
