Unofficial Portkey Archive

The bruises made it hard to breath, but Harry thought he managed to avoid any cracked ribs. At worst, one of his ribs were bruised. While his sternum took quite a beating, his skin didn't turn yellow and purple like it did when Dudley would get in one of his moods. Purebloods weren't nearly as effective when it came to physical violence.

Nonetheless, the next morning was excruciatingly painful and Harry had to resolve being late to Transfiguration. McGonagall would be unhappy to say the least, but there would be too many questions if they saw him gingerly walking to the shower. Once he deemed the dormitory empty, Harry sat up, wincing from the ache in his core. Every step reverberated throughout his bruised body, but somehow, he made it to the shower and the hot air assuaged the pain for just a moment.

"Enlargo," Harry whispered at his shirt. Trying to squeeze his arms through the shirt would set his muscles on fire so he used an old trick to enlarge the shirt so it would just slide over him and then shrink it when it was on his body. Slipping into his pants took just as much effort and he had to settle with crudely tying his shoelaces with levitation. Anything to minimize physical movement.

It took twenty minutes, but he was finally dressed though he was profusely sweating. Casting a cleaning charm on himself, Harry finally made his way to Transfiguration, wincing all the while. He laid his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Opening it, he disregarded McGonagall's imperious stare and walked towards an open chair with a normal gait. It was painful, but Harry stilled his face, only allowing his jaw to clench tightly.

"Mr. Potter." Her icy tone made no room for compromise.

"I apologize, Professor McGonagall," Harry quickly answered, "It won't happen again."

"Assuredly, it won't."

When McGonagall turned her back to write something on the board, Tracey, who was a row in front of him, threw a ball of paper at him. Opening it up, he found her neat scrawl.

What happened?

Just woke up late. Crumpling the paper, he deftly tossed it back at her so it softly touched her back and fell to the floor. She only took a minute to respond.

Woke up late? You're never late!

There's a first time for everything.

Harry threw it back at Tracey again, but the paper suddenly whirled in mid-air and fell a few feet short. Draco picked it up with a giddy expression and unwrapped the crumpled ball. Judging by the disappointed wrinkle of his nose, Harry concluded that the scheming blond was disappointed by the lack of juiciness in the notes. Draco threw the crumpled piece of paper back at Harry, but it suddenly vaporized in mid-air.

"Mister Malfoy. Mister Potter. Is there something you two wish to discuss in person with each other?" McGonagall asked with an impatient tone and an arched eyebrow.

"Draco keeps trying to talk to me, but I'm just trying to tell him not during your class," Harry innocently feigned.

"Mister Malfoy." She fixed him with one of her patented glares. "I assure you that you will have plenty of time to socialize with Mister Potter after class. If you want, I could give both of you even more time to bond in detention."

"That won't be necessary," Malfoy growled.

"Good." McGonagall haughtily sniffed as she resumed teaching.

Making sure she was turned around, Draco whipped around in his chair and petulantly glared at him. Harry just waggled his eyebrows back at him, enjoying the torment.

The rest of the class wasn't nearly as eventful as McGonagall taught them the rules of transfiguring wood. Once or twice, McGonagall called on him to answer and he had to physically prevent an agonized groan when he spoke. Each word reverberated through his bruised ribs and he could only hope that no one would notice his hand start shaking when he did answer.

Finally, Transfiguration came to an end and Harry went to careful lengths to wait until the majority of the students stood up to exit the classroom. Unfortunately, Tracey was carefully waiting for him, talking casually to Blaise. Curse them. Why can't they be less thoughtful?

Indeed, it would be difficult to hide his ginger movements for a whole walk to another classroom. He could pretend to ask McGonagall a question, but he knew that Tracey would probably wait for him anyways. Instead, he walked out of the classroom under his own power without a hitch. Once he was outside, he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes as a new wave of pain overtook him.

"Harry?! Are you okay?" Tracey leaned forward to place an arm on his shoulder, but Harry visibly flinched. A flash of hurt crossed her face, but Harry's eyes were closed so he didn't register it.

"Yeah. I think it must have been something I ate last night," he added weakly.

"You didn't come back until everyone was asleep. Did the elves get you? Those little devils are evil. None of them ever like me," Blaise bemoaned.

"I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose." House-Elves would never even dare risk an accidental food poisoning, but neither Tracey nor Blaise thought much of them, so they accepted this answer.

"Well, do you want us to help you to the next class? Your face is so pale..."

"No, no," Harry brushed them off. "I'll swing by Madame Pomfrey's to see if there's anything I can do, but I'll meet you in class after, okay?"

"Just don't give whatever you have to me," Blaise shrugged, pulling against the bag strap on his shoulder. "Come on Trace. I have to talk to you some more about Daphne."

Tracey rolled her eyes but didn't leave right away. She placed a cool hand against his flushed cheek. He did his best not to wince as she frowned. "Please go straight to Pomfrey. Are you sure you don't need help?"

This time, Harry waved them away with his hand. "Get out of here. I"ll see that monster herself. You know she'll never let you hang around anyways."

"Let Harry go, Trace. He's a big boy. Pomfrey isn't going to steal him away from you."

Tracey lingered for a moment, but she followed Blaise along, casting one lingering look behind her to make sure Harry didn't suddenly collapse. Harry waited until their footsteps were gone before collapsing, falling over on his hands and knees. Thankfully, he had gotten far enough away from McGonagall's classroom and crawled to the nearest door to hopefully hide himself.

He wasn't quick enough.

"Potter?"

Hermione Granger was standing about ten feet away from him, her hair nastily bushy and her book-laden arms crossed in front of her like it was a shield.

Oh for Merlin's sake. Of all people to show up! Harry didn't say anything as he tried to bring himself to his feet, but every movement was like a spear being shoved into his rib cage. He couldn't even make it a few feet before staggering and leaning against the stone wall.

She started forward when he first lurched but caught herself, uncertain as to how to react. Her books were pressed even tighter against her chest, her knuckles visibly white. The conflict was obvious in her body language and Harry had to chuckle despite the pain it caused to his abdomen.

"I find nothing amusing about your predicament. You're hurt." Her famous lack of humor reared its ugly head.

"I'm fine," Harry grunted, finally pushing through a wave of pain to stand up straight with just one hand pressed against the wall. "Go on your way, Granger."

He held his breath since breathing was an exercise in agony. She took one step, her eyes never leaving his. It almost looked like she was satisfied with his health, but she took too long and he could only hold his breath for a limited amount of time.

"Oh fuck me."

He exhaled and felt a fire go through his passageway and erupt something within his abdomen. His legs squeezed together and fell from beneath him and only Granger's awkward lunge to keep him afloat prevented what would have been an unfortunate meeting between his skull and the floor.

"Potter! What is wrong with you?!" She gasped, her books scattered all over the floor as she awkwardly lowered him to the floor, careful not to go too fast despite his heavier weight.

"Into the classroom," Harry wheezed. She opened her mouth to reject that order, but closed it for some odd reason and assisted him into the empty room. Carefully propping him into a chair, Granger took a step back and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed his pitiful state.

"What happened to you?" she demanded.

"Got into a fight with the Whomping Willow. It didn't end well."

"Potter," she gave an exasperated sigh, "I don't have time for your stupid games. I'm going to go get Madame Pomfrey or get you to her."

"No!" Harry placed his arms around his delicate ribs. "No Pomfrey. Just...just give me a second."

"I think you're going to need more than a second."

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to find a way out of this situation that didn't require explaining the source of his injuries. Granger was annoyingly stubborn and didn't seem to take no for an answer. Furthermore, her over enhanced concern for his health was putting a damper on his plan of staying low. What to do? What to do?

"Do you know any Healing spells?" he asked.

She shifted uncomfortably. "A few. None that can help you."

"How do you know it won't help me?"

"I know broken ribs when I see them, Potter."

Oh do you? "They're not broken," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Maybe not, but you didn't get that just falling down the stairs or anything stupid like that. Falls usually focus the injuries on the limbs and neck since that is what you usually use to prevent damage. In order to get sufficient damage to your rib cage, it needs to be exposed. Last time Potter or I'm leaving. What...happened?" She spit the last two words out.

When Harry didn't answer, mostly because he was banking on the second part of her supposition, Granger gave another tired sigh and shook her head, her bushy hair waving about.

"Fine." Granger suddenly pulled out her wand from her robes, pointing it at Harry with a determined expression.

"You don't want to do that, Granger," Harry warned, despite his injuries.

"Potter, I'm taking you to Pomfrey. You're a stubborn idiot and I know those injuries weren't from an accident."

Her diagnosis of his injuries surprised him. Though there was nothing obvious from his physical appearance, she was still able to analyze him on nothing more than a few hampered movements. It didn't exactly take Merlin to figure out what was wrong with him, but what surprised him more was her incessant willingness to get him to Pomfrey. What had he done to earn him such a persistent faux-healer?

"You know very well I'm capable of disarming you."

And here comes the arrogance.

"Granger, I'm warning you."

"You can warn me all you want. Go ahead. I'll let you get your wand."

It was no use. Even if he was able to get his wand in time, his defensive spell or any sort of spell would wreak all sorts of havoc on his injured body. She had him pinned and there was nothing he could do to prevent her from disarming him. Does my reputation really cost so much that I would fight to keep myself from Pomfrey?

But then Harry thought of the four people who had taken turns kicking him while he was on the ground. To him, they were just nameless faces intent on sending a message. But to them, he was a symbol of his superiority over them. They didn't have to be in Granger's House to know that he had gone to the Hospital Wing. Is it worth it?

Apparently he had no choice.

That is until Tracey opened the door, her face contorted with alarm as she observed the awkward scene in front of her, Harry slumped in a chair with Granger pointing her wand at him. Blaise's head appeared above and behind Tracey's, just as perplexed. It took all of seven seconds for Tracey to get her wand out and even less time to start throwing accusations.

"Why you conniving, little Gryffindor witch," Tracey snarled at her.

"I want you to try, Davis. If you're as good as dueling as you are at math, this should be a treat." Hermione sneered back at her.

"Um, Harry?" Blaise questioned.

Harry's vision was swimming, the two girls in front of him coming in and out of view. His grip tightened against the side of the chair but it was no use.

"Oh fuck me," Harry said as he tumbled off the chair and fell into a merciful unconsciousness.

* * * *

"...severe damage to his abdomen! You can't possibly expect me to..."

"...necessary for the program. He will recover..."

"...and what about next time, Severus? What about..."

"...I want no word of this to..."

"...and his friends? What do we..."

"...not to mention rampant instability and dangerous..."

"...I want no more arguments, he is to..."

Harry didn't remember exactly what the people were saying around him as he swam in and out of consciousness. All he could feel was the soothing and warm buzz around his ribs as the spell repaired them. Black dots precipitated his vision as he opened his eyes to the sound of silence. The bleak, white ceiling and curtains told him he was in the Hospital Wing despite all of his efforts to avoid it.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," the smooth, oily voice confronted him.

"Professor," Harry grunted, turning his head to see Headmaster Snape sitting in a chair next to his beside.

"How are you feeling?" Snape always asked that in such a way to indicate he didn't really care but a response was necessary nonetheless.

"Pleasant."

"I would hope as much. Madame Pomfrey has informed me of your injuries. Would you like to tell me how you got them?" Snape avoided his eyes as he asked this question.

"I fell down some stairs. They went left when I wanted to go right," Harry answered.

"These stairs must have been animated to deliver such hefty damage."

"I think they had it in for me. Maybe you should get that sort of thing checked out around here."

"And these stairs...did you know what floor they were on and why Hermione Granger was with Tracy Davis and Blaise Zabini when they found you?"

"My memory seems to be a bit hazy. I'm sorry, Professor. I think I was on the fourth or fifth floor?" Harry postured some more, taking some amusement with Snape's not so subtle hints.

"Mr. Potter." Harry could almost hear a sigh in Snape's voice. "I understand your need for discretion. In such a highly competitive environment, any weakness can be perceived as exploitable, but the truth will not escape these curtains. Your injuries indicate a higher severity than a simple fall down the stairs. Rest assured, those responsible will be brought forward."

It would have been so easy to just tell the Headmaster what happened, but Harry felt something amiss. Is this another test? Is he trying to see how I handle this situation as well? There were little upsides to telling Snape. He would be seen as a weak tattle-tale, incapable of defending himself and running to the nearest teacher for help. His fellow Slytherins wouldn't respect him for that.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I don't know what you're talking about."

There was only a slight pursing of Snape's lips that Harry couldn't quite discern. Was it annoyance? Disappointment? Either way, Snape didn't look very happy.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I assume that if any stars try to change directions again, you will come straight to Madame Pomfrey?" Snape asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I'll probably try and make sure I avoid that staircase from now on."

"See to it that you do." Snape abruptly stood up from the chair, pushing open the curtains with both hands and sweeping out dramatically. He did it all in one smooth movement and Harry had to wonder if he practiced such an exit.

The Headmaster left and Blaise and Tracey soon appeared, opening the drawn curtains to see him. Blaise whistled lowly as he saw all the potions and remedies Harry had to take, as well as the wrap tied securely around his mid-section.

"Damn, Harry."

Suddenly, a panic overtook Harry. Did they see me with my shirt off? Do they know about the scars?

Even if they didn't, surely the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey must have known. After all, someone had to take off his shirt in order to see the damage. If they did that, surely they would notice the multiple scars on his back. He kept his back firmly against the bed, unwilling to let them see that.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Tracey asked.

"What's there to tell?" Harry shrugged and as he did, he was pleased to find that it didn't hurt. In fact, all of the small movements that had pained him so earlier didn't inflict nearly as much pain now.

"For starters, it looked like someone was taking a Beater bat to your stomach," Blaise answered.

There was no point in lying anymore. Harry told them the story of the previous night, omitting the more grizzly details. Still, Tracey's face paled considerably as she sat down where Snape previously resided. Even Blaise, known for being brutally remorseless, gulped uncomfortably as Harry described how they kicked him when he was down.

"Harry...that's awful," Tracey clasped her hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide as saucers.

"Does anyone else know? About my visit here?"

"Granger. She left a little while ago, but left you this." Blaise procured a single parchment and handed it to Harry.

Harry looked down at the parchment with keen curiosity. His name was scrawled on the top as "Potter, H." but that was all that he could read. The rest of it was written in illegible shorthand and looked nothing like the English language. There were numbers strewn all over the parchment, but none of them repeated to show a pattern. It was a cipher, cryptic and mysterious. The torn edges on the side indicated that it was definitely part of a set.

"She said you would know what it was for..." Tracey spoke slowly, her face guarded but her tone telling it all.

It's how she beat me.

"I don't know what it is," Harry answered, neatly folding the paper and placing it on his bedside table.

"It took me a while to calm Tracey down enough not to hex Granger on the spot. At first she thought that the Griff did something to you," Blaise explained.

"She didn't. Just poor timing," Harry kept his answers succinct when it came to Granger. "No one can know about why I was here. Make up something and stick with the original story, I got food poisoning. If anyone finds out why I'm here, they're going to..."

Harry didn't have to answer as Blaise and Tracey could both figure out why. Still, Tracey shook her head, the little ringlets covering her face.

"What about the four guys that did this to you?" she asked.

"Leave them to me. I have an idea about who they are."

"Who are they? I'm not as good at dueling as you, but I know a few tricks and a few people," Blaise said.

"I can't say right now, I need some more time. Just make sure that you tell everyone that I got sick of the food. They might not believe me and it might not matter if my attackers were from other Houses."

"If? You're not implying that someone from Slytherin attacked you, are you?" Tracey bewilderedly wondered.

"It's unlikely, but I'm not ruling out anything. Besides, we already know one Slytherin that doesn't like me."

"But even Malfoy wouldn't..." Tracey trailed off.

"Are you sure about that?" Harry arched his own eyebrow this time. "Can you two do this for me?"

Blaise nodded, more comfortable with the lie than Tracey. "I'll make a big show about you getting sick. Maybe it'll knock you down a few pegs on the Master List so people can start taking action on you again. Do you want me to spread anything else?"

Harry thought for a moment but found nothing for Blaise to dissemble. "No, leave it like that for now. I don't want to start creating a convoluted story. First, I find the people that did this and then we can work on a cover."

"We," Tracey corrected. "We will find out who did this to you."

"Of course, of course." Harry waved his hand dismissively.

Their meeting was interrupted by Madame Pomfrey, looking as terse as Harry had ever seen her. All of them had gone to the Hospital Wing at some point in time for some superficial injuries, but nothing that required an overnight stay or serious healing.

"I need to talk to Mr. Potter alone." When Pomfrey talk, everyone listened.

Blaise and Tracey nodded, the latter leaving slowly as she explained that she would take care of everything. After they were gone, Pomfrey silently tended to him, performing diagnostics with her spells as well as making him drink copious and disgusting potions. She had her lips held tightly together as if she wanted to say something but kept herself from doing so.

"I'm guessing you saw them." Harry saw no point in circling around the problem.

"I saw nothing, Potter. Just as I'm sure that no one did anything." Her voice was strict and harsh, her old face lined with disgust.

There was another momentary silence as Harry awkwardly stayed still while Pomfrey's wand was waved over him.

"It was a long time ago, you know."

She didn't answer until she was finally done with her medical tests.

"I'm a Healer, Potter. Wounds don't lie and neither do scars."

* * * * *

Harry was released from the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night without much fanfare. Still, he waited for Blaise and Tracey to arrive so they could accompany him to the Slytherin Common Room. Tracey had her wand out the whole way and Harry could tell she was a bit on edge from every shadow and noise. Somehow, Harry knew that the bullies wouldn't attack all three of them. Their problem was with him, not Blaise and Tracey.

Despite the potential fallout from a known visit to the Hospital Wing, Harry felt much better about his body. Everything seemed to be healed and there were no broken bones as Granger thought. The folded parchment was tucked neatly into his pocket and after Pomfrey had left, he had taken some time to review it. From what he could tell, there was no obvious way to crack Granger's shorthand, but she wouldn't have given it to him if he wouldn't be able to crack it all. He would need a quill and some parchment to figure it out and even then, he wasn't confident. Analyzing dueling and battle abilities were one thing, deciphering a code was another.

He didn't mention the cryptic parchment Granger had given him to Blaise and Tracey. Blaise was curious about the note and its belongings, but Tracey was more concerned about the intentions behind it. Truth be told, Harry didn't know the intentions behind it either. Why would Granger give him the obvious path to her success? Tracey and Blaise would catch on eventually, but only Harry knew of their little conversations. Granger had delivered her key to victory against her opponent. What are you up to Granger?

Intending to find the answer to that question, Harry made a few low-key inquiries on Granger's usual whereabouts. Her location was rather obvious.

The library.

As he walked through the hallways, he made sure to note reactions from people in his year. People always glanced at him as he walked by, most eyes flicking towards the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. While Harry didn't think himself as paranoid, he couldn't help but think that the kids in his year were staring at him differently. Most people regarded him with a strange curiosity or obvious resentment if one was a Gryffindor.

Yet, there was something else in everyone's expression today.

They looked at him as if they were sizing him up, measuring his ability. A few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors even looked down at him, radiating with obvious confidence. If Harry had any questions on whether others knew about the true reason behind his visit to the Hospital Wing, a quick walk down the hallway answered that for him. His attackers were in at least two other Houses and while the Hufflepuffs didn't usually look upon him with disdain, he couldn't rule them out either. Then, there was the problem of Malfoy. He was one of the few people that refused to let Harry have an easy time. Would Malfoy really go so far as to attack me with people from other Houses? That answer seemed to be no, but Harry wasn't sure anymore.

Blaise had done his best to loudly and obnoxiously make fun of Harry for getting sick over food and while there were a few amused chuckles from the rest of the Slytherins, the other Houses simply looked at him disbelievingly. They knew. And Harry knew they knew. It was just a matter of finding out who they were now.

Still, there were other things on Harry's agenda for the day.

Granger was tucked into the corner of the library, her desk preoccupied with dozens of books sprawled about. She was alone, of course, her nose almost touching the page of a book as she read and wrote at the same time. Harry leaned against a shelf, observing for a moment and not wanting to disrupt her infamous concentration.

"Figured it out yet, Potter?" she asked without looking up.

"You know I haven't. You mind giving me a hint?"

"No."

Could she be any less blunt?

Harry didn't come closer or pull out a chair to sit on. Still leaning against the shelf, he crossed his arms and asked, "Why'd you give it to me anyways? What's your game, Granger?"

She finally lifted her head from the book, her quill stopping mid-word. Her chocolate brown eyes regarded him coolly, but Harry could detect the smallest hint of...sympathy?

"I had no more use for those notes. I figured you'd need them."

"You took notes on me?"

"Don't be flattered," she scoffed, "I take notes on everyone."

"But that doesn't answer the question of why you would give it to me," Harry rebutted.

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "You give me a challenge, Potter. It would be a waste if you didn't keep up."

Harry snorted. "Does the rest of your House know you're this arrogant?"

"I don't care what the rest of Gryffindor thinks of me." A lie, Harry thought.

"And what are they going to think if they find out that you're giving a Slytherin some help?"

Looking up from her book again, Hermione shook her head at him. "Not everyone in Gryffindor hates you, you know. They see you as their top competition and it doesn't help that your friends throw petty insults at them very time."

"Weasley starts it half the time."

"Ron exacerbates the situation, but I don't see you doing anything to quell it."

"He's fun to wind up."

Hermione rolled her eyes at this and ignored him. It looked as if Granger wasn't about to give him a hint or clue on how to decipher her parchment anytime soon.

"Do you hate me?"

Her quill stopped scribbling, but she didn't look up. "No, Potter. Not yet."

Harry smiled at that, laughing to himself. "What book are you reading anyways?"

"You wouldn't know it. It's a Muggle book."

"Try me."

"It's called Ender's Game."

"Never heard of it."

"I figured."

A movement out of the corner of his eyes caused Harry to turn around. Neville Longbottom, arms filled with books huffed and puffed as he carefully navigated the messy pile and found some room to set the stack of books down.

"Got all of them, Hermione. I couldn't find the ones about..."

Longbottom trailed off as Granger made a show of looking at Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows at him as a form of hello.

"Oh," Longbottom's mouth formed a perfect O. "P-p-p-otter. What are you doing here?"

Harry had to bite back an amused chuckle and the glare from Granger told him that she would be none too pleased with him taking the mickey out of Longbottom.

"Just leaving," Harry answered. "Thanks again, Granger."

As he left, he could hear Longbottom's voice before he got out of earshot.

"What's he thanking you for?!"

* * * * *

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