Chapter 31: Deafness is curable?
"My head, why does it always have to be my head?" I groaned, my fingers automatically finding their way to my temples with practiced familiarity.
The pounding sensation felt like someone was using my skull as a drum during a particularly enthusiastic percussion solo. "Seriously, don't I have other body parts? It's like someone's doing this on purpose."
The hospital wing came into focus slowly, its white walls and high windows almost painfully bright. Rows of empty beds stretched out on either side, their sheets pristine and perfectly tucked.
Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The not so familiar antiseptic smell mixed with the lingering scent of healing potions filled my nostrils.
In a chair beside my bed, a figure slouched against the wall, pale blonde hair falling across his face as he dozed.
Drake's usually perfect posture was completely abandoned in sleep, his expensive robes wrinkled in ways that would probably horrify his pureblood sensibilities if he were awake to notice, I realized that he really liked to sleep or maybe he was just tired not that I could blame him after magic and ice cream, sleeping was the best thing in the world.
A mischievous grin spread across my face despite the headache. Even through the pounding in my head, I couldn't resist the opportunity presented before me. I reached out, positioning my fingers just right, calculating the perfect angle for maximum annoyance, and—
FLICK!
"Ow, you bastard!" Drake's yelp echoed through the otherwise quiet hospital wing. He jerked upright, nearly toppling his chair in the process, his hand flying to the red spot forming on his forehead.
"What, gonna cry?" I taunted, watching him try to maintain his dignity while simultaneously checking his forehead for permanent damage in the reflection of a nearby metal tray.
"Seriously, I don't understand why I'm even your friend," Drake muttered, glaring at me with what he probably thought was an intimidating expression. Coming from someone who'd just been caught drooling in his sleep, it wasn't particularly effective.
"Because I'm adorable," I replied without missing a beat, batting my eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.
Drake froze, his hand still on his forehead, and fixed me with the most deadpan stare I'd ever seen. I met his gaze with equal intensity, neither of us blinking. The effect was probably ruined by my hospital gown and bed-head, but I maintained my serious expression with all the dignity I could muster.
The silence stretched for approximately three seconds before Drake burst into uncontrollable laughter. He actually fell out of his chair, his perfectly pressed robes getting even more wrinkled as he rolled on the floor. "HAHAHAAHAHAH!" he howled, clutching his sides. "You? HA! Adorable? I'm sorry, but dude, you make mirrors crack when you look at them, and even your broken reflection is better!"
"Yeah, whatever you say, bastard," I retorted, though I couldn't quite keep the smile off my face. It was good to see Drake acting like this instead of the proper pureblood heir, which I'm sure he was tired of acting as in the Slytherin common room.
"At least I don't snore like a congested troll."
"I do not—" Drake started to protest, but before he could finish, Madam Pomfrey burst into the room like an avenging angel in nursing attire. Her greying hair was perfectly arranged beneath her cap, and her greyish-blue eyes sparked with professional indignation.
She moved with the purposeful stride of someone who had spent years dealing with unruly students and their various magical mishaps.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice almost protective and annoyed as she spoke. "I said you could stay if you were quiet. Mr. Felix needs his rest. No, no, this won't do—out with you, out!"
Drake opened his mouth, probably to protest in any way he could, but Madam Pomfrey was having none of it. She grabbed him by the wrist and practically dragged him from the room, his protests about how having cared ones always helped uplift those who were sick drowning out as the door was closed well more like slammed in his face.
I winced at the noise—not exactly helpful for my headache, which just made me massage my temples with my fingers again.
Madam Pomfrey returned to my bedside, her stern expression softening slightly as she pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. The cool touch felt wonderful against my skin. "Hmm, that's good, your fever is down," she muttered, more to herself than to me.
I frowned in confusion. The splitting headaches after visions were normal, but fever? That was new. Speaking of visions, this last one had been... different. Instead of experiencing events through someone else's perspective, I'd been a sort of passive observer, tethered to Professor Snape but separate from him. Like a ghost watching someone else's memories.
The images flooded back with crystal clarity: young Snape, all awkward angles and barely contained fury, his magic dark but not yet corrupted. The bullying scene by the lake, where the four boys one of which could be the father of the Boy Who Lived bullied a younger Snape. And that redheaded girl, Lily who undeservedly got caught up in the situation and got called a racial slur for no fucking reason.
Then there was that final scene in the manor, the hooded figures, the sitting man on a throne, his red serpentine eyes looking at Snape, his broken and dark magic. Only one person fit those requirements, a person from my mom's stories.
The newest Dark Lord that had terrorized the Isles, the one who had talked so much about blood purity and had gone in an almost extermination of non wizards, Voldemort.
The mere thought of Voldemort's name sent an inexplicable chill down my spine. But something didn't add up—if Snape had been a Death Eater, why was he teaching at Hogwarts?
I'd felt his emotions through his magic; that kind of darkness doesn't just vanish. Does it? And why had the map triggered this vision? What connection did it have to Snape's past?
Then a memory surfaced, Snape killing of that muggle in cold blood. Avada Kedavra one of the three unforgivable curses, the killing curse. My memory doing it's work documenting it in my head, however the only thing that I wanted was to forget it.
"Mr. Felix." Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I blinked, forcing myself back to the present. The hospital wing seemed almost too bright after the darkness of my vision. "Yes?"
"You've been unconscious for the past three hours," she informed me, her professional concern evident in her tone. She began checking my pupils with her wand-light, muttering diagnostic spells under her breath.
"Wait, what?"
That was definitely not normal. My previous visions had only knocked me out for a few minutes at most. Mom would definitely need to hear about this development—assuming she didn't already know, given her Seer abilities.
Though her predictions were about as accurate as a broken clock, so maybe not and while it may sound hypocritical of me I had a feeling mine for some reason where 100% correct.
"Yes, quite concerning," Madam Pomfrey continued, running her wand over me in complicated patterns that made my skin tingle. "I wondered if it might be a secondary reaction to whatever potion those Weasley twins threw into the classroom. Though none of the other students experienced anything similar..."
"Maybe," I replied noncommittally, suddenly very aware that I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The thin fabric didn't do much to ward off the dungeon's perpetual chill. "Um, Mrs. Pomfrey? Where are my clothes?"
She pointed to a nearby chair where my robes and other clothes lay neatly folded. Not caring about her presence—I had more pressing concerns—I scrambled out of bed and went straight for my pants pockets.
My fingers found what they were searching for, the parchment, the map I immediately felt it's magic. Relief flooded through me as I felt the map's familiar enchantments, though now I couldn't help but wonder about its creators. Who were they, and what connection did they have to Snape's past? Somehow I felt like I already had an answer.
When I turned back, Madam Pomfrey was watching me with an amused smile that made me shudder more than the picture of Voldemort for a second, I tightened the robe around me, suddenly feeling very exposed.
A thought struck me then, one that had been nagging at the back of my mind for a while, ever since I'd started helping Bell with her silent casting.
"Mrs. Pomfrey?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering, is there a cure for hearing loss?"
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