The first Saturday of November, dawned gray and threatening, a hint of snow in the bite of the breeze. Ron and Harry had sworn that they were not going to be like Oliver Wood before a game, and instead tried to keep the locker room chat before the game upbeat. They took the field to a roar of the crowd, and the amplified voice of Dean Thomas, who had taken over for after Lee Jordan graduated.

“And the Gryffindor team takes to the air! Co-Captains Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, seeker and keeper respectively; Ginny Weasley, Katie Bell, and Natalie MacDonald, chasers; and beaters, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke!”

The Slytherins were already in the air, and Madame Hooch blew her whistle after releasing the bludgers and snitch, the quaffle in her hand. She mounted her broom and threw the red ball into play as she took off from the ground.

Harry sailed high over the pitch, watching the play beneath him as he scanned for the glint of gold. The quaffle passed through The Slytherins hands, before Ron blocked their first attempt at a goal and Ginny took it for Gryffindor.

“Weasley passes the quaffle to MacDonald, who is slammed by Slytherin captain Malfoy and drops it. But Bell recovers it and GRYFFINDOR SCORES!!!” Dean was yelling. “Slytherin in possession. Montague takes the quaffle, passing to Warrington, who passed to Baddock, who passes back to Montague…they approach the goal…Weasley dodges a bludger hit by Crabbe…Montague makes the goal for Slytherin.”

Harry soared overhead, as the quaffle went back and forth, searching for the snitch. Malfoy continued to hover in the midst of the game, slamming into various Gryffindor players. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be doing their best to slam bludgers into Ron or Ginny, whether they had the quaffle or not, clearing intent on hurting. Harry stayed well away from them, concentrating his energies on searching for the snitch. Scoring went back and forth, the Slytherins striking out at Gryffindor players at every opportunity.

Thirty minutes into the game, the score stood at Slytherin 70 and Gryffindor 60, and finally, Harry saw a flash of gold at the base of the Slytherin middle goal post. Taking his Firebolt into a steep angle dive, Harry hurtled toward the ground. The snitch darted up in to the air and off towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch as Malfoy joined the chase, and the crowd erupted. Tuning out the noise, Harry focused on the tiny gold ball as it zipped down the field about fifteen feet off the ground. Malfoy pulled level with Harry but was unable to pass him, and with his left hand started punching at Harry. Dropping below Malfoy, Harry leaned into his broom and gained a precious broom length on the Slytherin. The snitch zigzagged up and then right, with Harry in hot pursuit, Malfoy struggling to get ahead of him. Gripping the Firebolt with his left hand, Harry flattened himself on his broom, and reaching as far as he could, snagged the snitch.

Sitting up, Harry held his right hand up in triumph, grinning ear to ear, still twelve feet off the ground. Above the roar of the crowd, he heard a familiar voice scream his name, and puzzled, turned his head to the left toward the stands, his eyes finding Snape who was on his feet. Just then, the world exploded in a rainbow of agony and everything went black.

The pain in his head was incredible, the side of his face and neck felt stiff. It was too much work to open his eyes, and he felt like he was drifting in a fog. Voices penetrated the edge of his consciousness.

“Any change?”

“No, he’s still unconscious.” The soft voice was slightly hoarse. “I sincerely hope that you are going to do something about Crabbe, you know that was a blatant attack.”

“Yes, I agree, and he has been removed from the team. Malfoy and Goyle have been warned that any similar actions will be dealt with severely.”

“Any idea as to whether Crabbe was put up to this or not, Severus?”

“The Headmaster is under the impression that the three of them were sent back to Hogwarts with instructions to hurt Potter any way they could. The appearance of the Dark Mark may have been the signal to start.”

“What excuse did Crabbe give?”

“He said he had only wanted to scare Potter, to teach him a lesson, as he was such a spoiled…”

“Spoiled, Harry?” The slightly hoarse voice sputtered. “The boy who was forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs for 10 years, lucky to get scraps to eat, spoiled? The boy who has no memory of ever being held or hugged or kissed by anyone in his life, nor ever having had a birthday or Christmas present, before coming to Hogwarts, SPOILED!”

“Remus! Calm yourself!”

Harry frown at the agitation in his godfather’s voice, but was comforted as he heard Dumbledore’s calm tones. The fog in his head made it hard to think, he knew they were talking about him but couldn’t grasp why.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I was just shocked I guess. Severus, have you any idea what Harry’s life was like growing up?”

“I had imagined that he was cosseted and coddled, what with the Potter wealth and his fame.”

“You could not be further from the truth, Severus. He was an indentured servant, taken grudgingly by his mother’s relatives, told his parents had died in a car crash, given hand-me-down clothes, and used as a punching bag by his cousin. And that is just what little he has told Ron and Hermione. He didn’t even know he was a wizard until Hagrid found him on his eleventh birthday!”

“Severus, I thought you had found this out when you gave Harry Occlumency lessons last June.”

“No, Headmaster, he never explained the memories I witnessed, I assumed they were his worst memories, those of being bullied by his cousin.”

Harry decided he didn’t want anyone talking about him like he wasn’t there, and tried to force his eyes open, but they didn’t want to cooperate. He lifted his hand towards the voices, knowing his godfather was close.

“Rem…” His throat wasn’t cooperating either, it seemed.

His hand was grasped firmly and he felt the bed give by his leg. “Harry?” Remus’ voice was soft and gentle. “How do you feel?”

“What…hap…” Harry’s throat was dry and scratchy, and another set of hands gently held a goblet to his lips, careful not to move his head.

“Take a sip, Harry, you’ll feel better.”

Harry obediently took a mouthful of liquid and swallowed. Cool water slid down his throat. “What happened?” He asked, managing to open his eyes a slit. He could see shadows, the glow of a torch flickering somewhere, and the blurry outline of his godfather. The pounding in his head became more pronounced as he tried to turn toward the shape he knew was Professor Dumbledore standing beside the bed. A third dark figure stood near the foot of the bed.

“It’s alright, son, don’t try to move.” He felt Remus lean over his legs, bracing his hand along Harry’s hip. “You were hit in the head by a late bludger. Do you remember the game?”

Harry tried to think around the throbbing that seemed to be concentrated along the right side of his head. He felt the cool, long fingers of his Headmaster brush his forehead, and tried to smile. “I remember catching the snitch, and we won the game. And then…” He struggled to remember, his eyes trying to focus on his godfather’s pale face.

“After you caught the snitch, a bludger hit you in the head before you could land. Luckily, you turned your head at the last minute and took a glancing blow instead of a solid impact.” Remus leaned closer as he spoke, still gripping Harry’s hand.

Harry licked his lips, there was something else, and he frowned in concentration. “I heard someone call my name from the stands. It was…Professor Snape. I turned to look for him in the crowd.”

There was a gasp from the end of the bed. “How did you ever hear that over the crowd?” Snape’s astonished voice came from the foot of the bed.

Harry made the mistake of trying to lift his head, and moaned as pain exploded in it. Closing his eyes tightly he could see flashes of color in the darkness, as Dumbledore cupped his hand across his forehead, and Remus’ hands braced themselves on his shoulders.

“Harry, if you insist on moving, I am afraid you will be in a tremendous amount of pain. If you stay very still, you should be alright.” Albus Dumbledore told him gently. “You took a blow to your head and neck, and then fell about ten feet to the ground. Madame Pomfrey was not very happy when she saw you, but says you should be fine in a few days.”

Harry swallowed and attempted a grin. “Why is it always my head?” He whispered as he opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

Remus let go of his shoulders and chuckled as he sat back up, his hand resting on Harry’s knee. “It’s dinner time, Harry, you’ve been out all afternoon.”

Madame Pomfrey came bustling in, and spent several minutes fussing over Harry, before holding a goblet of familiar dark blue potion to his lips. Harry drank dutifully, his head pounding and closed his eyes.

“Alright, I want everyone out, he needs to rest now.” The nurse told them.

“ I am not leaving. Remus said quietly, still sitting on the edge of the bed. Harry reached out a hand again, which his godfather took firmly in his warm grasp.

Albus Dumbledore put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Poppy, I agree with Remus that someone needs to be stay with Harry, all things considered. I promise we will not disturb him, or get in the way of your duties.”

Madame Pomfrey left the bedside muttering under her breath, pushing curtains around the bed to give them a little privacy. Harry closed his eyes, the blurriness of his vision without his glasses bothered them. He felt safe and secure, his hand firmly held by his godfather.

“I don’t think Harry should be left alone, Professor, not after what happened this morning. I will just stay here with him.” Remus said in a low voice.

“You need to eat, Remus, and get a bit of rest at some point.” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

“I will relieve Lupin, Headmaster.” Snape’s voice was equally quiet.

“Thank you, Severus. I will arrange to have some food brought up for you, Remus. I will come back in the morning and sit with Harry for awhile then.”

Harry drifted off, hearing the voices continue to speak quietly, but too tired to try and listen. Soft blackness engulfed him and he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

It was dark when Harry opened his eyes, the only dim light coming from somewhere on the other side of the privacy curtains. He could just make out a figure standing next to the bed, a blurred outline in black. A jolt of apprehension hit him, it wasn’t Remus or Dumbledore standing there, and his mind flashed back to the conversation he had heard as he went to sleep. His head throbbed painfully, but his mind seemed clear, and Harry tried to turn toward the nightstand where he knew his glasses and wand would be. He slipped off the pillows that propped him up, and the wave of pain that hit him was so severe it took his breath away.

“Potter!”

Harry cringed from the sharp tone of voice, trying to pull back from the hands that caught at him. Panic rose in the back of his throat, but Harry struggled to think clearly, knowing he had to get to his wand, fighting against the restraining grasp.

“Harry, it’s alright, you are safe. Please, relax and let me get you back on the pillows.” The hands grasped his shoulders and held him still, letting the calm, quiet voice seep in to his consciousness.

“Professor Snape?” Harry asked astounded as he clutched at the hands that steadied him, his head spinning painfully. “Remus…”

“Was exhausted, Harry, and is asleep in the bed right outside the curtains.” Snape told him quietly, as he maneuvered Harry back up on to the pillows.

“Why…help…? You hate me.” The whispered words spilled out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them, the pounding in his head almost unbearable.

He felt the bed give as Snape sat next to him, and his glasses materialized in front of him. Harry took them with muttered thanks and eased them on to his head. A bandage covered his right temple, and the right side of his head very sore. The man sitting next to him came into focus, and held a goblet out to Harry. Harry reached for it, but found that his hands were shaking too hard to hold it. Embarrassment flooded through him as Snape steadied the goblet so Harry could sip some water. Handing back the goblet, Harry sank back into the pillows, his eyes following every motion the older man made.

“Really, Mister Potter, I am not going to bite you.” Severus Snape sighed. “I do not hate you, contrary to what you might believe. Although I will admit, that there has been past…friction, and I may have been rash in my initial assessment of you.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to what Snape seemed to be trying to say, but was saved the need as his stomach rumbling loudly. Snape looked at him quizzically for a moment.

“Accio tray.” Snape muttered and a small oval tray flew from a nearby table, and Harry was relieved to see fruit and sandwiches on it, as he was not about to let Snape feed him.

“What time is it?” Harry asked as he accepted a sandwich, taking a small bite. The right side of his face hurt when he chewed, and he swallowed quickly.

“It is almost dawn Sunday morning. Potter, you are not eating.”

“Hurts to chew, but its okay.” Harry told Snape quickly, as the Potions Master took the sandwich from his unresisting hand. “I’m fine.”

Snape turned toward the tray he’d placed on the bedside chair, poured something from a flagon, muttering. Turning back, he pressed what felt like a small stick into Harry’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it.

“Try that, Potter.”

Harry brought it tentatively to his mouth and after a hesitant taste, found that it was a sweet ice-lolly that tasted like pumpkin juice. He sucked on it eagerly, the coolness felt good going down his parched throat.

Several minutes later, Harry handed back the stick to Snape, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, studying him intently. “Thank you, sir.”

Harry closed his eyes against the scrutiny, uneasy about the presence of the man who had gone out of his way to loathe him for the past five years. Snape had always hated him, merely for his resemblance to his father, and Harry was not sure that he could accept anything else from the man. Weary, sleep overtook him again.

Light flooded the hospital wing when Harry opened his eyes next. He closed them quickly, the light harsh on his blurry eyes. Cautiously, he opened them a little at a time, being careful not to move his head. Glancing around, he was surprised that no one was with him.

“Accio glasses. Accio wand.” He thought, and both his glasses and his wand flew into his hand. Slipping on his glasses, he was glad to see the room come into focus.

“Well done, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore’s voice sounded to his right, and a figure moved into Harry’s limited line of sight. Cool fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, as the Headmaster, clad in sapphire blue robes, moved to sit on the right side of the bed. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Harry sat quietly for a moment, assessing. “My head isn’t pounded quite as badly as last night, Professor.”

“Professor Snape said that you only had some pumpkin juice during the night, Harry.” Dumbledore’s light blue eyes were concerned as they peered at him. “He was of the impression that the soreness of your jaw made chewing painfully.”

“Yes. Sir, a little.” Harry told him. “Is Remus okay”?

“Yes, yes, fine, Harry. He should be back any moment, as I sent him down to breakfast.” Dumbledore looked at him intently, the piercing look that Harry felt could see into his soul. “You must be very careful, Harry, as you realize that Voldemort would do anything to get you in his hands.” He said quietly. My intent is not to scare you, but to make you more aware of what’s around you. The Death Mark over Hogsmeade in particular is a sign that Voldemort has his eye on us.”

Harry met the concerned blue eyes. “Yes, sir, I will be, but I never expected this thing with Crabbe, it was a surprise.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, and Professor Snape has addressed all of Slytherin House, as any other assault on you or any other student will be grounds for immediate expulsion, without exception.”

“What about the Hogsmeade weekends, Professor?” Harry asked. “Couldn’t that be dangerous?”

“I am reluctant to let students go to the village after what happened on Halloween.” Dumbledore agreed. “Especially with the possibility of someone coming back under the Imperious Curse.”

The curtain was pulled back and Remus appeared with a small tray of food, followed by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. A delighted smile lit Harry’s face, and he slowly ate the porridge and scrambled eggs his godfather brought him as he listened to his friends chatter on about the bludgers hit and chaos that followed. Remus stood beside the bed, his hand resting lightly on Harry’s shoulder as he watched, and Professor Dumbledore watched with a twinkle in his eye.

Madame Pomfrey kept Harry for three more days before proclaiming him recovered enough to return to the dormitory and classes. She banned him from any Quidditch practice for another week. Harry was so glad to be back in his own four-poster, that he did not even complain about all the homework piled up waiting for him.