Better Be Slytherin!

His face crumpled with pain.

'Harry?' Severus leaned toward him, reaching for his arm. 'What is it? Your scar?'

'Forest,' he gasped. 'Blood . . . He . . . he's thirsty.' When Harry pulled his own hand off his forehead, it came away slick with blood. Then his eyes rolled back in his sockets, and Severus barely caught the boy before he hit the floor.

TBC . . .

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! We've hit three thousand reviews! And over one thousand people have this story listed as one of their favorites; how cool is that??? You guys are da bomb!

Alas, due to my new job, my rate of updating may be a bit slower than previously. I hope to update every week or two, but if I fall behind a bit, please bear with me. My thanks, and Harry hugs for all!

*Chapter 35*: Chapter 35

Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 35

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Waaaah! None of this is mine!

Warnings: language, allusion to mild, non-graphic sexual abuse

Previously:

'Okay, okay. It--' Harry broke off, slapping a hand to his forehead. His face crumpled with pain.

'Harry?' Severus leaned toward him, reaching for his arm. 'What is it? Your scar?'

'Forest,' he gasped. 'Blood . . . He . . . he's thirsty.' When Harry pulled his own hand off his forehead, it came away slick with blood. Then his eyes rolled back in his sockets, and Severus barely caught the boy before he hit the floor.

Harry woke in the Infirmary. He knew where he was before he even opened his eyes, because of the smell and the feel of crisp hospital-issue sheets. When he did open his eyes, he shut them again very quickly. The light in the room jabbed into his head like a spike to the brain, even though it was the middle of the night, as far as he could tell from that split second of seeing.

God, his head.

'Harry,' said a low voice he recognized at once. Snape. Bloody hell, could this get any worse? 'I know you're awake.'

He nodded a tiny bit, but even that made his head go all woozy, and he pressed his hands to his temples, to hold his brains still.

The professor murmured something softly and Harry could hear the whisper of something moving through the air and then a sput of it hitting flesh. A second later, he heard a cork come out, and then, still using a quiet voice, Snape said, 'I have a potion for your pain. Let me help you sit up.'

'K.' Harry tried not to shy away when Snape slid an arm under his shoulders and drew him upwards, but it was too hard not to. He was already in pain, and he was always less able to hide his feelings when he was hurting. But Snape said nothing snarky about it, and when he had Harry sitting up far enough, he held a glass bottle to his lips.

'Drink,' he said, and Harry could almost hear the smile that accompanied his next words, 'and try not to dwell on the taste.'

'Thanks,' Harry said wryly, and was surprised by how rough his voice sounded. But he swallowed the potion as fast as he could, trying to let it touch his tongue as little as possible. Blech. There had to be a way to make potions taste better. In moments, however, he'd forgotten the taste as the stabbing pain faded from his head. He sighed in relief as Snape lowered him back to the pillows.

'Better?'

Harry opened his eyes to slits, experimentally, and was pleased to see that he could see, without agony. 'Yeah. Er . . . yes. Thank you, sir.'

'I am pleased to see your manners are as crisp as ever.'

Harry wrinkled his nose, not sure if he was being mocked or not, but he was too tired to worry about it.

'I need you to tell me about your vision, Harry.'

Giving the professor a quick look, Harry rubbed his hands over his face. 'Couldn't you . . .' He coughed to clear his throat; it felt raw, as if from screaming, but he couldn't recall doing that. He couldn't remember much about his body, back in Snape's office, in fact, after the pain began. 'Couldn't you have just gone in and looked while I was out?'

'I could have, if I never wanted you to wake up again.' At Harry's dropped jaw, the professor gave him a mild -- for Snape -- sneer. 'Legilimency is a very precise art, Mr. Potter, and the way you were thrashing around, with at least one other presence in your mind, if I had gone in as well . . . Let's just say the results could have been catastrophic.'