Afterwards, Harry couldn't even remember how he had gotten into the Hospital Wing. He knew there had been blood in his face, maybe on his robes and definitely on his hands. He knew there had been horrified eyes watching him and worried expressions on all the people he had passed. But all he had focused on was the way his heart was beating frantically and how he hadn't been able hear the pulse in his ears that had to be rushing and flowing.

He hadn't been able to hear it.

He hadn't been able to hear anything.

He couldn't hear.

o0o0o

The day had started out perfectly normal for the third years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry Potter and his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, were heading to the Great Hall to get some breakfast.

"That essay for potions was bloody hard!", Ron exclaimed, carefully skipping a fake-step on his way down the stairs.

"Oh, I don't really think so", replied Hermione thoughtfully, "With my notes from last week's classes I got trough it fairly quickly. I even put in some of the experiences we had while brewing!"

Ron scowled at her. "Hermione", he sighed in exasperation, "it's just not right to write down all those things Snape says. It's hard enough to pay attention and not make your cauldron explode. When am I supposed to take notes?"

Harry watched the two Gryffindors bickering, simply smiling at their morning ritual. There was always something those two would be able to argue about, be it homework or the colour of Professor Dumbledore's robes. He had learned early enough that it was the wisest and more entertaining choice to not interfere in their arguments. If he was honest, though, he did agree with Ron. He surely had no time to write any of Snape's remarks down while trying hard to not give the Greasy Git an opportunity to take points off.

They reached the Great Hall and took their usual spot at the middle of their House Table. Ron stopped arguing in favour of stuffing his mouth with banana pancakes and Hermione settled down with her copy of the Prophet and a cup of tea. Ah, sweet silence, Harry thought and smiled in his glass of orange juice.

They had potions first thing in the morning, so after Harry had finished his toast, the three of them got up to make it down into the dungeons in time for their first class. In the cold hallway, they met Neville, Dean and Seamus, already waiting and talking. Neville, though, seemed more subdued than usually.

"What's up, Neville? You look worried... Are you okay?", Harry asked and watched the Trevor-shaped bump move in the boy's robes.

"Um", Neville answered hesitantly, "It's... it's my grandma. I got a l-letter this morning and she... she is very s-sick."

Hermione took a step forward and squeezed the boy's shoulder at once. "Oh, that's terrible, Neville! Is she going to be alright?"

He shrugged helplessly, clearly miserable. "They don't know. She had to g-go to St. Mungo's. They are still trying to figure out w-what is wrong." The boy seemed truly upset but before Harry could say anything to cheer his fellow Gryffindor up, Severus Snape and a handful of Slytherins appeared in the hallway.

The Potion Master's black robes swept over the cold dungeon floor while he was unlocking the classroom with a flick of his wand. He disappeared into the room and the students followed shortly after. Harry and Ron threw their usual glares at Draco Malfoy and his two meaty bodyguards before settling down on their working bench.

However, Snape seemed to have different plans with them. "Today", he said in his low and menacing voice, "you are to choose a different partner than usual. Even though I have my doubts, I hope this will help you to be less incompetent. Inter-house pairs are not necessary." He shot a general glare at the Gryffindor section of his classroom. "Move!"

Ron quickly grabbed his bag and moved to sit with Hermione before Harry could even get up and look around. Neville ended up being the only one left so Harry glared at Ron for a second before settling down next to the distracted boy.

Neville should be Hermione's partner, he thought nervously while opening his book, he will probably mess up even more today. He watched Snape tapping his wand on the board and the instructions appeared.

"Hair Growth Solution", he drawled, "is far more complicated than other cosmetical potions you have attempted to brew so far. The combination of ingredients, if not measured or prepared correctly, will react violently." He shot a frightening look at Neville. "That means, you need to be careful and exact or you and your partner might be victims of a nasty explosion."

Harry felt Neville shudder next to him and couldn't help but gulp. Brilliant, he thought, count on Snape to chose a delicate and dangerous potion on a day like this.

To Harry's surprise and relief, Neville seemed to be able to focus fairly well. Harry let him prepare the easier ingredients and stir the liquid while checking whether or not frog brains and dittany leaves were a bad combination. However, as soon as the professor started to walk around in the classroom to observe the work, Neville's hand started to shake violently. Grinding his teeth, Harry prayed that the boy didn't end up cutting off one of his fingers. He was sure that human flesh was not required in Hair Growth Solution and wasn't so eager to find out about the consequences.

In the end, Neville's finger probably wouldn't have made a difference. As soon as Snape had reached their bench, Neville lost control of the ground roots in his hand that had been supposed to be added slowly while stirring and dropped them all in the cauldron. The liquid turned from lazy green to an angry red.

"Longbottom, you fool!", Snape snarled but Harry could clearly hear the sudden tightness in the man's words. The next thing Harry knew was that Snape grabbed Neville and held his hands over the boy's ears. "Get away from the cauldron, everyone", he exclaimed and dragged the shaking boy away.

Harry heard his fellow students move and instantly took a step back himself, but his ankle got caught in something. His bag's shoulder strap, he realized. He heard Snape's voice rise: "Potter, move!" But Harry stumbled and instinctually grabbed his chair to steady himself.

And then, it was too late.

It wasn't the usual cauldron explosion with stinky smoke and hot potion sploshing around. This time, Harry could feel a small shock wave hit him. Something in his head seemed to rip or crack. And then it was over and everything was still. The scarlet liquid bubbled over the edge nearly ridiculously slowly, not making a single noise. Harry looked from the cauldron up to his professor. The man moved his mouth but Harry didn't hear the words. Then, he realized, that there wasn't any noise at all. Snape just stared at him, moving his lips silently and the next moment, Harry could feel something wet on his upper lip. He slowly brought up his hand to his nose.

Blood. It was blood. He was bleeding. Helplessly, he stared at his fingers, unable to understand just what had happened. He watched the crimson liquid drop on his fingers and then someone - Snape, he realized - yanked his hand from him and he tried to focus on the man's face. He still couldn't hear him.

Why couldn't he hear Snape?

The man let go of his hand, grabbed his shoulders and now seemed to yell at him, at least the slight flush of his cheekbones and narrowed eyes made that impression. But there was something else in this expression, Harry didn't immediately recognize.

Concern. And a hint of fear.

o0o0o

Harry didn't know who had ended up bringing him to Mrs Pomfrey and he hadn't really cared. All he could focus on was the total absence of noise, thick and heavy on his mind. He stared into space while someone, probably the medi-witch herself, gently wiped his face with a tissue and then moved him to sit on one of the beds. For a brief moment Harry worried that he might spoil the white sheets with his blood, but the ridiculous thought vanished in the silence. He felt a vial on his lips and he obediently swallowed the potion. It probably tasted horrible but Harry didn't pay attention.

He was glad when his head met the pillow and he fell into the comfortable blackness of unconsciousness.