Better Be Slytherin!

later, sick and tired and ready to collapse, having Legilimized all three Muggles, Severus then Obliviated them, replacing the memories of his visit with a pleasant evening in front of the telly, but adding in a particularly nasty nightmare curse for spite. Then he Apparated to Hogsmeade and made the long, exhausting trek back to the castle. He considered cancelling his detention with the boy tonight, but they really needed the translation of the Parseltongue, as it might give a clue as to who had been with the Dark Lord during the attack.

Perhaps, though, he should just have the Baron talk to Potter while the boy prepared more potion ingredients. The ghost seemed far better able to deal with the child – or was more consistent with him, at least – and Severus knew he was likely to be short and snappish this evening, even without Potter's temper thrown into the mix.

Yes, that would work. And it would have the added benefit of freeing Severus to visit the Headmaster and show him a few home truths.

TBC . . .

A/N:

I deliberately left the Legilimency of the Dursleys blank, so I can back fill later as needed. Also, this chapter was getting really long, and I wanted to put it up sooner rather than later. Hope you don't mind! I should have the next chapter out by Monday, most likely.

Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews! You're my apple pie, my three-legged race, and my fireworks at midnight. Love and hugs for all!

*Chapter 19*: Chapter 19

Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 19

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, well.

Summary: As a first year, Harry is sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, and no one is more surprised than his new Head of House.

Previously:

Perhaps, though, he should just have the Baron talk to Potter while the boy prepared more potion ingredients. The ghost seemed far better able to deal with the child – or was more consistent with him, at least – and Severus knew he was likely to be short and snappish this evening, even without Potter's temper thrown into the mix.

Wednesday morning, Harry woke with a headache, which he ignored to the best of his ability, until his scar starting hurting as well, during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He pressed a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. It burned, like a hot needle jabbing into his brain, which it had not done before, except for rarely during or right after a bad nightmare. In those situations, the burning was gone almost immediately, but this time, the torment kept going on and on and on . . . .

'Harry,' someone whispered, though the sound was like the crack of thunder in his ears. And then an elbow, in his side.

Harry opened one eye, just a slit, to find Teddy's face real close, his eyes making an obvious 'look over there' gesture, and Harry followed the direction of Teddy's look, to find Professor Quirrell standing almost over him, and glowering. Which wasn't at all like Professor Quirrell.

'Wh-wh-what is the m-m-meaning of this, P-p-potter?'

'Headache,' Harry said shortly. 'May I go to the Infirmary?'

The stuttering professor's eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod. Harry stood up to start gathering his books, but his knees buckled suddenly, and he had to grab the desk to keep from ending up on his arse.

'G-g-go with h-h-him, M-mister Nott.'

Teddy, who was already gathering Harry's books together for him, collected his own, too, with a nod, and slung the bags over his shoulder. 'You need help?' he asked Harry in a low voice.

'No.' Harry knew he did, really, but he was not going to show weakness in front of his fellow Slytherins, not if he could at all help it. He'd felt worse before, certainly, just not in his scar, and although he probably had nothing like Snape's experience with becoming accustomed to excruciating pain, he had lived day to day with at least a small amount for most of his life. So he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and not vomiting or keeling over as they made their way out of the classroom and down the corridor toward the Infirmary.

Oddly, they had gone no more than twenty feet from the Defense classroom before the headache eased, and the burning in Harry's scar vanished almost entirely. The sudden loss of that searing agony made him reel, gasping for breath.

'Harry?' Teddy called, his voice coming from far away. 'Let me go get Madam Pom--'

'No,' he rasped, bending over with his hands on his knees. 'It's okay. The pain's almost gone.'

Teddy's voice sounded strangled. 'Were you skiving?'

Harry shook his head, finding out the hard way that the torture wasn't truly over. 'No, it's weird. Like . . .' Like the only reason he had been in pain was because of his connection through the scar to Voldemort. Or a connection to his minion, someone who knew lots of curses and hexes. Like a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would.

'Come on,' he said, and grabbed at Teddy's hand. 'I need to find . . .' He trailed off, not sure who he could tell. Professor Snape was the obvious choice, but Harry was still angry with him for invading his mind the night before. And the Bloody Baron . . . well, who knew what the ghost would be able to do about this information. He wondered if it was something he should tell the Headmaster about, but he didn't want to disturb Dumbledore with complaints about a headache.

Even as he decided on not telling anyone, Teddy pulled away. 'No, you're not going anywhere except the Infirmary. You need to have a lie down. Your face is pasty, and in case you were wondering, Malfoy might be able