Better Be Slytherin!

internalized – that same thing over the course of his life? How many times had others made him feel like he had to get along by himself, that he had no one else to rely on? He had been severely neglected by his relatives, that was certain, and seemingly had not been given any refuge at school either. Severus did not care to ponder that particular issue any longer for the moment, but he had to set the boy straight.

'I was not actually giving you a choice,' Severus told him.

Potter's eyes blazed again, though the rest of his face was as blank as a new canvas. That was his weakness, Severus realized. The boy could not lie with his eyes to save his life. His voice came out rather strangled as he said, 'Fine, sir.' Then he drew a deep breath and swallowed, looking away again. 'Can you . . . can you go now? I'm really tired.'

'Very well,' Severus said and got to his feet. But he had to get in a parting word. 'Madam Pomfrey has informed me that the nutritive potion you have been taking will do you no good without actual food to drive it along. Assuming she allows you to leave the infirmary in the morning, I will expect to see you at all meals tomorrow, and each day thereafter. And after dinner, starting tomorrow, we shall begin catching you up.'

'Yes, sir,' came the quiet reply, and Severus took his leave.

Madam Pomfrey did not, indeed, let Potter leave the infirmary the next day, insisting he needed another day of full bed rest. Severus did not see the need to speak with Potter again during the day, but he did advise Flint to make sure one of the other Firsties got his assignments to him and several of his books as well. He rather thought the boy would appreciate something to do. As well, it would make it easier when Severus began their tutoring session after dinner. He did not mean to put that off any longer than necessary.

He would have thought Potter understood that, and so it with some consternation that he met the boy's annoyed, 'What now? Sir?' when he arrived at the infirmary at just half six.

'We are beginning our tutoring,' Severus said with much more calm than he felt, and choosing to ignore the snappishness in Potter's tone. 'You seem to be most behind in History of Magic, thus we will focus on that subject this evening.'

Potter glared at him for one long minute, then let out a deep sigh and said, 'Yes, sir.'

When it seemed the boy was just going to sit there, Severus said, 'Would you not prefer to take notes?'

With a quick glance at his right arm, which was still in a sling, Potter said, 'No, sir, that's all right.'

Oh, for pity's sake. 'Have you never heard of a dictaquill?'

Potter frowned. 'No . . . should I?'

No, Severus thought, he probably hadn't. Not living with those Muggles, at any rate. As patiently as he could, he said, 'A dictaquill will take notes for you; they are not generally allowed at Hogwarts except for under circumstances where the student is unable to take notes on their own. Madam Pomfrey should have several specimens, just for this purpose.'

'Oh.'

'Shall I see if she has one?'

Potter squinted at him. 'Please.'

Severus tracked down the Medi-witch, and the quill in question, and returned to the boy, who was pressing his palm to his head. When he caught sight of Severus again, Potter's hand dropped from his forehead as if it had been burned.

'You scar is hurting again.'

'No, not really.'

'Do not lie to me!' Potter flinched back, pressing himself against the headboard, and Severus modulated his tone, though he crossed his arms over his chest in his own defensive maneuver. 'It is idiotic, not to mention completely unconscionable for you to try and hide this situation. If your scar is indeed a link to the Dark Lord, then you need to advise me whenever you have the slightest sensation in it. Do you understand?'

'I . . . Yes, sir. Of course.'

'I don't think you do. This is your life we're talking about here. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time you were attacked?'

'I haven't! I just . . . it's . . . well, my scar hurts almost all the time, sir, and I doubt you want me running to you every five minutes whinging about it.'

That stopped Severus for a moment. It was true; he didn't want the boy whinging to him constantly. But at the same time, he wanted to know when the scar was 'active.' After a short pause, he said, 'Does it always hurt the same way?'

Potter's eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head. 'Sometimes it just aches.'

'And sometimes, it does not?'

An almost wry smile touched the boy's lips. 'No. Sometimes it burns.'

With a slow nod, Severus asked, 'Have you noted a pattern as to when that occurs?'

'Not really,' Potter admitted. 'Though it seems to happen more at night. Usually after . . . er, I mean, if I wake up at night.'

'After a nightmare?'

Surprisingly, the boy's face flushed, and he shrugged up one shoulder, as if that were an answer. Why should he be embarrassed about nightmares?

'What are your nightmares about?' he asked.

'Doesn't matter,' the boy mumbled.