Mentality

Warning(s): None

Beta: CleopatraIsMyName

Chapter 19

Vindictive Joy

While on his journey to Madam Pomfrey's unit of Hogwarts, Harry felt a tense frustration at both the rhythmic pounding in his head, and the dizziness caused by his consecutive loss of blood.

Today wasn't going to go well, at all, just as he had prophesied earlier.

"Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey gasped, the hand previously handling a tray of medicinal potions launching up to cover her mouth in surprise. "What in the world happened?"

Harry realised he must have looked a lot worse than he felt, which was something awful if the dedicated thumping of his head was of any consequence.

"I have no idea," Harry muttered. "I just know that my head hurts, and I'm bleeding from my forehead."

Madam Pomfrey immediately directed the brunet towards his usual place in the ward, bustling about for his regular doses of potions. When she'd reached his side once again, Harry was laying back on the cool pillows and sheets, wondering just why this had to happen to him today, of all days.

"Sit up, Harry," she instructed fondly, gaze flitting to his forehead for the site of bleeding. A quick wave of her wand dissipated the blood. Her face tensed up in a frown, observing as a small trickle of crimson liquid flowed down from Harry's scar. "How long has this been happening?"

Thinking on the question, Harry asked, "Do you mean 'how long', as in how long has this been happening today, or if this happened before?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head in assent for the latter, and Harry answered sedately with, "This has only happened once before, when I collapsed out in the Grounds with Hagrid, I think. Everything about that day is a bit hazy, though."

She harumphed at that declaration, flicking her wand this way and that, checking for things which Harry could only guess vaguely.

"Alright," she sucked in her bottom lip for a second before releasing it and shaking her head. "Let me know the next time this occurs."

With that being said, she carefully measured out his first doses of medication for the week, along with a bit of headache draught to help dull down the incessant pounding in his head, followed up with a stern advisement to take it easy.

Harry nodded his head at her orders and jumped off the bed, leaving the Wing with a wave of his hand and a call of farewell.

When Harry arrived at the Dungeons, he made it just in time to meet up with his familiar group of Slytherin cohorts.

"Harry," Daphne greeted with a dimpled smile, shrugging her dark schoolbag further up her shoulder. Her gaze narrowed at his pale appearance and she asked softly, "Are you feeling okay?"

Harry waved off her concern with a gesture of his hand and an exasperated grin. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I already saw Madam Pomfrey. I just had a bit of a headache," and a bleeding scar remained unsaid. Daphne looked worried enough, and they'd only known each other for a few days, even.

She bobbed her head at his explanation as they stopped near the door of the classroom, though a gleam of suspicion remained lurking within her bright blue orbs. That gleam said more than words could, at that moment, of her certainty that there was more to Harry's little detour than just a simple headache. But before his perceptive friend could open her mouth and follow-up with another question, Professor Snape's classroom door swung open.

Harry felt grateful to whatever deity was faithfully watching over him for allowing him to dodge that bullet and hurried into the classroom, taking a seat next to Theo. The quiet boy gave a silent nod in Harry's direction, to which the brunet reciprocated similarly.

Carefully avoiding Daphne's curious concern took little to no effort as Harry set out his supplies, thankful that he'd managed to remember to grab his textbook that morning. The chatter of the room slowly dulled down to a murmur as the last of the students filed in and settled, waiting for their strict and intimidating professor to sweep into the room.

Seconds ticked by into minutes, and Harry was tapping his fingers in a sign of boredom on his tabletop. He was startled out of his musings about the type of wood the tables were made from - mahogany, maybe? - when Professor Snape burst into the room and slammed the door closed just as suddenly as he had appeared.

"Class," said Snape, eyes narrowed at every first-year in his classroom, dark and judgemental gaze flitting from one child to the next. Harry checked his sigh before it could escape at Neville's expression. The other boy's jaw was locked, brown eyes wide in a show of nervousness. Harry then realised Neville would never catch a break when he suddenly fell out of his seat, and a large majority of the students in the classroom began chortling.

"Poor Longbottom," Harry heard Blaise murmur. "He's doomed to be this year's dose of comic relief."

"How did he even fall out of his seat?" Millicent questioned in a low mutter. "He's been still since we got here."

Any and all possible answers were soon extinguished at Snape's bark for attention and utterance of five points from Gryffindor. Harry mentally winced at that. Neville, one of the first students to lose house points, already? Oh no.

At the call for essays, Harry scrambled for his homework and laid it out on the table, slightly crumpled from the handling it'd been put through over the past few days since it'd been assigned. To his left, Theo remained still, homework having already been set out since they had arrived, Harry would wager. In contrast to his own parchment, Theo's was neat and straight, not a wrinkle in sight. Harry made a mental note to ask his housemate about his observation, later.

The rest of class went by much faster than the first had, despite the predictably slow start. Snape paced down the rows of tables, drawling in explanation that the single hour they'd spend together on Mondays would be the theoretical portion of the class, while every Friday would be their practical session, elaborating on that being why Friday was extended an additional hour. This was, in fact, true for most classes, Harry learned.

By the end of class, Harry had taken more notes than he knew what to do with, and he was left to gaze forlornly at his barely legible handwriting.

He wished himself luck in deciphering his notes later on.

Next class was Defence Against the Dark Arts, the only one Harry was actually dreading, in light of which professor would be teaching the course. Professor Quirrell literally gave him a headache earlier, as it definitely hadn't been Snape, and Harry was already wishing his life was operating a bit higher on the scale of normality he'd conjured up within his mind.

The door to the classroom was already opened as the Slytherins arrived and trickled in, supplies for Potions having been traded out for DADA earlier on in their walk. Harry wondered if the group had been shown the way earlier by the prefect; and, if so, would Harry be able to memorise the path himself soon enough?

The atmosphere of the classroom was colder than it had been in Potions. Odd, in retrospect, considering Potions was held in the iciest section of the castle possible. A few posters littered the walls in a last-ditch effort to add some character to the plain room, though to no avail. All the images of various magical creatures did was creep Harry out.

The professor was already seated at his desk as they settled at their own.

"Welcome," the man announced quietly, standing up from his desk in a smooth motion, belied by his shaky demeanour. His footfalls were practically silent as the last of the students settled in, Harry sitting between Millicent and Blaise, this time. Theo and Daphne were further in front and Hermione and Neville sat closer than they had during Potions, though still at the opposite side of the classroom.

Quirrell's turban was the highlight of the lesson, however. Harry felt his gaze oddly drawn to the long, thick cloth, and not for any reason other than it didn't feel quite right. As the professor stepped in closer, shuffling feebly through the aisles that provided a wide walkway for him to transverse, Harry grew warier and warier, a firm case of goosebumps prickling the flesh of his arms and legs.

"M-m-mister Potter?" Professor Quirrell stuttered, gaze locked on Harry's own. "I-is there s-s-something you would like to sh-sh-share with the cl-cl-class?"

The problem with teachers was they always believed whatever the student was thinking was exactly what they would announce to the class.

Shaking his head in denial, Harry redirected his curious gaze to his desk and gritted his teeth.

Something wasn't right about Professor Quirrell. As weird as it seemed, Harry felt it down to the basest components of his very being: his bones, his hair, even his flesh felt that Professor Quirrell was an oddity, and not one Harry wanted to ever be caught in a room alone with for the rest of their year together.

Hopefully, such a thing wouldn't happen.

Glancing up at the professor again at his words of instruction, Harry felt that he could only hope.

After class, Harry groaned along with Blaise at the amount of homework they'd already been assigned, second official day of school.

"It's simply unbelievable how much they've managed to give us, in such a short period of time."

"No," Daphne shook her head in irritation. "What's absolutely unbelievable is the amount of whinging you've managed to voice, in such a short period of time."

Millicent smirked at Daphne before laughing at her comment.

"You're right about that, Daphne," the taller girl shook her head in disbelief. "How about instead of whining about it, you look into completing it?"

All Harry and Blaise did at her question was turn to each other and groan, once again.

"Do you mind?" Malfoy called from his perch near the corner of the room. "Some people are actually in the middle of finishing their work."

"Some people would notice that others don't care," Blaise made a swotting motion towards Draco, to the blond's irritation. "Leave us alone, Malfoy."

"My father will hear about this," the blond vowed, eyebrow arched. "And think about how your mother will feel, getting a Floo call from him at such a busy time of her... cycle."

Blaise launched up from his seat, the atmosphere of their small section of the common room now tenser than it had ever been before.

"Don't speak about my mother in that manner, Malfoy," Blaise's fists were now clenched in a show of his anger, wand still tucked away in his robes pockets.

"Or what, Zabini?" Draco stood up from his seat, each tap of his heeled shoes on the floor another upset to add to his already extensive list of rage-inducing tactics. "I already laid the terms on the table. Would you rather I also include an assertion about you striking me to my list of complaints, I may make to my father?"

Harry watched in confusion as the two boys stared each other down, Blaise's jaw twitching and fists slowly uncurling, Draco's eyes shining with a mixture of one part mischief, two parts vindictive joy. Whatever had happened to the boy Harry had met and spoken with and laughed with and was guided by, it was serious.

It was too much like Draco was a completely different person.

"Zabini," Pansy started from across the room, where she had been speaking with Draco before. "I recommend you back down, now. You know you can't win, at this point."

Blaise continued to stare at Draco up until the moment he finally backed away, though his stance still promised a reckoning if Draco decided to open his mouth once again, to hell with the consequences of whatever the blond was currently holding over his head.

And Harry was still confused. Sharing a look with Theo, whom was just as confused as Harry, Harry then shot a glance at Daphne and Millicent. Both girls were whispering to the other in concern, as if they understood what had just occurred between Blaise and Draco.

They both just shook their collective heads in dismissal of an explanation, and Harry withheld yet another sigh.

Oh, splendid. Yet another mystery Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to solve.

When Blaise finally settled back on the couch, he sighed and dropped his head in his hands. After rubbing at his eyes for a few moments, he packed up his things and promised to see them later on during dinner, deciding to forgo lunch for a long-needed rest, to which no one denied him.

Glancing down at his homework, Harry pondered the Draco Malfoy problem, all thoughts of Professor Quirrell and the woes of essays tucked away at the moment.

Seriously, what was going on?

Author's Note:

Thank you, everyone who has continued to follow, favorite, and review :D Reviews do make me really happy (so please, please, please just one?)! Hopefully, this story will continue to capture your interest! :3