Harry Potter and the Polka Dot Plague

Chapter 9 - St. Mungo's

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies was, Harry discovered, very much like a Muggle hospital, only without the fluorescent lighting. The same beige paint, the same endless corridors, the same harried receptionists who wanted you to fill out forms. Harry was deeply grateful for the presence of Professor McGonagall, who was brisk and efficient and willing to fill out forms on his behalf. It took only a few minutes for Harry to get settled into a comfortable bed in a private room, where a friendly-looking witch in white robes gave him a cup of horribly bitter green potion and a chocolate frog to eat afterwards.

"There you go," the witch said cheerfully. "That should take care of the Skittles in no time. If you like, you can watch them go."

Harry pulled up his hospital gown and watched the polka dots on his stomach blink out one by one. It was a wonderful sight, and the relief from the itching was more wonderful still. Once all the dots were gone, another witch came in to cast healing spells on Harry's knee and ribs.

"You'll be back to normal by morning," she reassured him. "Get some sleep now, it'll do you good."

"What about Professor Snape?" Harry fretted. "Will he be all right too?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," McGonagall said briskly, but Harry couldn't tell if she really meant it, or was just being comforting.

Harry thought he'd be too tense to sleep, but something in the potion must've relaxed him, because he drifted off surprisingly quickly and slept without dreaming. When he woke, it was morning, and Professor McGonagall's place by his bedside had been taken over by Dumbledore, who was drinking hot cocoa from a cup the size of a soup bowl. He smiled broadly when he saw that Harry was awake.

"Ah! Good morning, Harry! How do you feel?"

"Much better." Harry sat up, and wriggled his leg. Nothing hurt. "How is Professor Snape?"

"He, too, is much better," Dumbledore said, and Harry felt a great wave of relief wash over him. Dumbledore, unlike McGonagall, would never tell a comforting lie. "He has a concussion and a rather nasty skull fracture, and he'd lost a great deal of blood, but the Emergency Wizards at St. Mungo's have always been first-rate, and I must say they really lived up to their reputation last night. "You should both be able to go back to Hogwarts with me by the end of the day."

"Oh." Harry stared intently at the blue blanket covering his lap. "That's… good." He tried to sound enthusiastic, but didn't think he'd succeeded. He didn't need to turn and look in order to know that Dumbledore was gazing at him with those concerned, penetrating eyes.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"I…" Harry gulped and forced himself to look up and look Dumbledore in the face. "Sir, I think maybe it would be best if I didn't go back to Hogwarts."

"Not go back?" Dumbledore lowered his head to gaze at Harry over the rims of his glasses, which slipped down to the tip of his long nose. "Whatever gave you that notion?"

Harry felt himself blushing. He'd spoken without really thinking things through, and now it was really difficult to find the right words to explain. "Cedric is dead," he said finally, "just because he was around when Voldemort wanted me. And Professor Snape nearly died twice - first from the Skittles, then last night. If I go back to school… well, I don't suppose I'll get any more horrible contagious diseases, but Voldemort will keep coming, won't he? Ron's been hurt once already, and…" Harry shivered, remembering his dream from two nights before. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me."

"I see. Would you go back to the Dursleys, then?"

"Uhm. No." Not even Voldemort could make Harry want to live with the Dursleys all year. Besides, awful as they were, he didn't want them to get killed, either. "I just thought I'd go somewhere… I don't know… somewhere where there's no one around to be hurt."

"Somewhere without people, then." Dumbledore nodded sagely. "A remote mountain cave, perhaps? I believe Sirius Black could recommend a couple."

Harry bit his lip. "I'm not trying to be funny, Sir."

"I understand." Dumbledore leaned forward. There was kindness in his eyes, but no laughter at all now. "You want to protect the people you care about. It's a noble enough impulse. But the people you care about have set themselves in opposition to Voldemort, for reasons of their own. We're at war, Harry. A strange and secret kind of war, with no clear battle lines and no easy way of telling who's fighting on which side, but a war nonetheless. That means everyone is at risk. I wish I could change that, but I can't, and neither can you. All you can do is give your best. And your best, I can assure you, is not running away to live in a cave. Now, there will be no more talk of you leaving Hogwarts, is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." Dumbledore picked up his cup again and took another sip of cocoa. "I'm glad we've got that settled."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I blew Professor Snape's cover, didn't I? Malfoy and the others all saw him trying to protect me."

"That's not something you need to worry about, Harry. Severus did what was necessary, even if he did do it in an… unfortunately dramatic manner. Losing a cover is an inconvenience, not a tragedy."

Harry was not at all sure Snape would see it that way. Then again, Snape's cover wasn't really his main concern. "Do you think I'd be allowed to go see him for a couple of minutes? There's something I need to tell him."

If Dumbledore felt any surprise at hearing such a request from Harry Potter, he gave no sign of it. "Well, you're both supposed to be resting, but I'm sure a short visit will do no harm. Assuming, of course, that he's awake and willing to see you. I'll see what I can arrange."

"Thanks," Harry said. The thought of trying to converse with Snape, who was sure to be in an extra-bad mood after having his head bashed with a rock, did not fill him with warm and happy feelings. But when he thought about his behavior in the forest - and, more to the point, Snape's reaction to it - he knew he owed him an explanation.

Dumbledore left, returning a few minutes later with a set of clean clothes and shoes for Harry to wear.

"Professor Snape says you may come and see him; his room is next door. Try not to tire him out. I think he's still a little concussed."

Harry got dressed (it was a great relief to be out of the drafty and too-short hospital gown), walked out into the corridor, and knocked on the door next to his. After a couple of seconds, he heard Snape calling, "Get in here, Potter" in a distinctly uninviting tone. Harry gulped as he pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting up in bed, propped against a small mountain of pillows. His head was tightly bandaged, with bits of greasy black hair peeking out from under the gauze on one side. He looked very pale, but his black eyes glittered with their usual sharp dislike as he watched Harry walk across the room. It was almost comforting, really.

"Hello, Professor."

"What do you want, Potter?"

No small talk, then. That was probably a good thing. Harry took a deep breath. "Last night, in the forest, when I ran away from you… I just want you to know I didn't think you were in on the trap. I knew you were trying to help."

"Of course." Snape's voice was flat. "So you screamed, 'Get away from me!' and ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction. A perfectly natural reaction, I'm sure, to someone who's trying to protect you."

"I'm sorry. I-" Harry broke off. He had almost said, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," but it occurred to him that saying something like that to Snape was a good way to get himself poisoned in his next Potions class. "I was thinking about Cedric."

Snape frowned. "What does Diggory have to do with it?"

"It was too similar." Harry was starting to feel queasy again, almost as if the Skittles were coming back. He hadn't talked about Cedric's death since he had told the whole story to Dumbledore and Sirius the night it happened, and Snape was hardly his first choice of someone to open up to. But having come this far, he felt he had no choice but to finish. "There was a Portkey, and it turned out to be a trap for me. Cedric was killed just 'cause he was with me. Then last night, it happened again, and I knew Voldemort would kill you when he showed up. Especially if you tried to help me. I thought, if I kept away from you, maybe you'd be safe."

"How incredibly Gryffindor of you." Snape rolled his eyes. "And I don't suppose that it ever occurred to you to think, in the middle of all that displaced nobility, that I was holding the Portkey that would've instantly taken us both to safety if you'd just stayed around long enough to use it?"

Harry blinked. Stared. Blinked again. Snape's mouth twisted into the familiar, thin-lipped scowl Harry normally associated with botched potions and unwritten essays. For the first time ever, Harry actually felt as if he deserved to be looked at this way.

"I didn't think about the Portkey," he muttered.

"Obviously."

"I shouldn't have run. It was stupid."

"Once again, your talent for stating the obvious astounds me."

Harry sighed. There was no point in trying to explain; he'd probably just get insulted some more. Snape was clearly not in the mood to accept excuses or apologies. Leaving seemed like the best option, and Harry had just started to edge toward the door, when Snape suddenly spoke again.

"Professor Dumbledore tells me you've been prattling some nonsense about not wanting to come back to Hogwarts."

"He what?" Harry was appalled. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to repeat that particular bit of conversation to anyone, let alone to Snape. What could he have possibly been thinking?

Maybe he'd been trying to cheer Snape up. If anything could help Severus Snape get over a concussion, the thought of Harry Potter leaving Hogwarts was probably it. Except he wasn't really leaving, it was just a stupid thought, so why would Dumbledore…

"Listen up, Potter, because I'm only going to say this once." Snape's voice was a low, angry growl. "What happened to Diggory was Voldemort's fault. The proper way to deal with things that are someone else's fault is to get revenge. What happened to me was your own bloody fault. The proper way to deal with things that are your own bloody fault is to learn how not to make the same mistake twice, and make what amends you can. Under no circumstances is whining and running away to be considered an acceptable option. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Good. I know that it usually takes at least five repetitions to get anything through that thick Gryffindor skull of yours, but I don't have the energy right now. Get out of here and let me get some rest."

Harry was happy enough to obey, but something made him pause with his hand on the door handle. "You know, Professor, I think that was the nicest lecture you ever gave me."

"Scram, Potter."

"About the making amends part…"

"I'm sure I'll think of something by the time your next detention rolls around. Are you going or not?"

"I'm going." Harry ducked out into the corridor and shut the door behind him.

TBC