It might have been a very difficult few days for Harry, if it hadn’t been for Oliver.  

Oliver Wood was a seventh year, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team Captain.  He was determined to win the Quidditch Cup this year, his last chance at it while he was at Hogwarts.  Taking advantage of the unexpected free time, and the permission of Madam Hooch, he had the Gryffindor team out first thing the next couple mornings for practice.  He kept them out for two hours (the maximum allowed by Madam Hooch) for regular practice.  Most of Thursday, he had the team sequestered in an empty classroom, as they talked tactics.

Harry was pleased.  Not only was it something to take his mind off the general gloom of the common room, but it gave him a convenient excuse to “forget” to see the healers.

Hermione had had her appointment on Thursday and she had told Ron and Harry that it wasn’t a big deal, “They just run a few diagnostic charms and then ask some questions.” She’d said.  

Ron’s appointment was going to be one of the last ones.  Harry hadn’t asked him the exact time, because he really didn’t want to talk about any of it.  Ron didn’t seem worried either, but he said he’d had a few magical exams from healers and this sounded a lot like them.

“It’s not that different from getting a check up with a doctor.” Hermione had told Harry bracingly.

Harry didn’t mention to Hermione that the Dursleys had never taken him to the doctor.  The health nurse at school was all he’d ever seen.

Harry had looked in the mirror this morning.  Most of the bruises had faded away to yellow and green blotches and the wheals from Vernon’s cane had faded, as well.  Harry still didn’t like the healers to see them.  He wasn’t entirely sure why.  Maybe just that he didn’t like to explain that he’d blown up his aunt and had gotten smacked for it, like a baby.

Perhaps he could take a fall from his broom.  That way, if the healers did catch up with him today, he could explain the lingering marks.

That seemed to gain appeal as he grabbed his Quidditch robes and broom.  He was out on the pitch before the rest of the team, so he took a few fast practice laps around the field.  

When Oliver and Katie Bell had walked out with Fred and George, Harry pulled up sharply on his broom handle, throwing himself onto the ground.

He sat up to spit the dirt out of his mouth.  His glasses were bent, but that wasn’t a problem.  He pulled his wand from his sleeve and muttered a quick “Occulus Reparo”

“All right there, Harry?” asked Oliver.

Now that Harry could see, he took Oliver’s proffered hand, staggering up, “Yeah, fine.  Just took a tumble.  I’m okay.”  half the mud from the pitch seemed to be clinging to him.  His hair was full of the stuff.

“Well, come on, then.” said Oliver clapping Harry on the back.  Harry saw that Angelina Johnson had come out now, “We’re all here, so let’s get a move on.”

It was one of the better practices they had had as a team.  Oliver was planning to use the same team as last year, unless someone was astonishingly good at tryouts, he’d said.

It was coming up on ten o’clock when Oliver finally called a halt. Harry gave the others a quick wave and told them he wanted to get the mud out of his hair.  He didn’t want anyone asking him if he’d been to his appointment yet.  Quite apart from the fact that it would make his forgetting the thing less plausible, it was getting to feel like an alarming subject to him.

He slipped into the shower and was out of the bathroom before anyone had a chance to speak with him, even in passing.  

Afterwards, he headed to the very back of the library.  There he stayed, until students were going down to the Great Hall for lunch.  A little bored with studying, Harry followed them out.  But not to go to lunch.   He worried that someone who realized he hadn’t been to his appointment might see him.  Instead he walked out to the grounds.  The day had turned fine and he fancied a walk.

It seemed everyone had gone inside for lunch.  Harry settled down by a favorite rock,  overlooking the lake.  It was close to the Whomping Willow, so it wasn’t a highly trafficked area.  The rock itself was large enough that he wasn’t easy to see if he sat on the far side of it.

No matter how much Harry tried to avoid it, his mind turned to Neville.  A solid lump seemed  to have lodged itself permanently in his chest.  

For a long time, Harry watched the giant squid, idly playing with weeds near the shore.  He couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling, not really.  

He’d never known anyone who had died before.  Well, there were his parents obviously, but he hardly remembered them.   Neville was someone he played exploding snap and chess and gobstones with.  He lent Neville notes and had stood up for him.  Neville was the reason he’d been chosen for Seeker in his first year.

This morning he’d woken early.  Because of Neville’s empty bed, he’d waited a full five minutes before using the bathroom.  Until he’d woken up properly, he assumed Neville was in there.  It had made him feel stupid and it had also given him an almost physical feeling of disorientation.  It was a little like dizziness, like the vertigo of doing one too many barrel rolls on a broom.  The world had changed shape and he hadn’t recognized the new shape.

Harry sniffed, glad that no one was around to see.  He used his robe to dry his wet glasses.

The shadows had gotten long, by the time Harry reckoned it was safe to return to the castle.  He had dozed off in the sunlight and woke up a little cold when the sun went down behind the trees.  

Hungry now, Harry glanced at his watch and saw it was dinner time.  He shook himself and walked slowly back up as the shadows gathered around the grounds..

A movement in the shadows of a tree got his attention.  Harry lit his wand to see if he could see what was there.  Two reflective, green eyes gazed out from beneath the Whomping willow.  Strangely, the tree was as still as marble, for a moment.

Harry took two steps forward and the Willow swung a branch warningly at him.  The two eyes flickered and went out.  

The Great Hall was a little more lively than it had been this morning.  Harry glanced at the head table and saw that the healers weren’t there.  He supposed they were gone for the day, and breathed a sigh of relief.  He saw Ron and Hermione sitting at the end of the table and slid in beside Ron.

Hermione met Harry’s greeting with a face full of anxiety, “Where have you been?” she demanded, sharply, “You missed your appointment.  Professor Lupin was looking for you.”

“Oh, right.” Harry said quickly, trying to school his features into a properly blank expression,   “I was at Quidditch Practice.  Oliver’s idea.  I guess I forgot.” Harry said, lightly, ‘And then I had a load of homework to finish.  I guess I’ll have to see them when they come back on Monday.”

“Oh, but they’re not coming back Monday.  They’re working the weekend.” replied Hermione, “You better go find Professor Lupin and talk to him.”

Harry shrugged, “All right, I’ll go find him after dinner.” he said, in what he hoped was a convincing manner.

“Yeah, you should.  He seems pretty decent.  He won’t be too put out, if you talk to him.” Ron was being uncharacteristically quiet, the last couple days.  Now Harry noticed that he’d gone a little red, “Maybe we can get this over with, at the same time.”

Harry nodded.  He had no intention of looking for Lupin after dinner, or any other time.  If he went with Ron, there would be no getting out of it, but if he hid out, until Sunday evening, the healers would be gone.  It’d take that much more effort to reschedule the exam and would be that much longer for the marks to heal.  

With any luck, it would be that much more likely to get lost, in the general chaos of the beginning of the school year.

With a better appetite than he’d had all week, Harry turned his attention to his food.  It might be hard to get rid of Ron and Hermione, but if worse came to worst, he could hide out in the library in his invisibility cloak.

He felt vaguely uncomfortable as he thought this.  He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like to let Ron and Hermione know why he was skiving off the exam.  It was just because he didn’t like being poked and prodded, he told himself.  The healers would, more than likely, want to talk about his scar, and he hated that.  

There again, it was one thing to see Madam Pomfrey when he’d injured something, but quite another to have people staring at him, as though he were some sort of freak.  Surely they would do, when they saw the marks still visible on the backs of his legs, and the bruises on his chest  (he wasn’t sure about the ones on his back, he hadn’t looked at those for a few days).

It wasn’t anyone’s business why he didn’t want to see the healers, he decided firmly.  If Ron and Hermione couldn’t understand that, it was their problem.  

Harry ate as quickly as he could, wanting to get out of the teacher’s line of sight.  He had found out years ago, that if stayed out of adults’ way, they soon forgot about him.  Well, unless they needed someone to blame for something.  He had avoided looking at the teacher’s table, trying not to draw attention to himself.  That was why he didn’t see Lupin and Snape until they were standing right behind him.  

“Mr. Potter.” said Snape’s cold voice, causing him to choke on his last bite of potato.

Harry coughed hard, turning with watering eyes to look up at the looming professor.  The man was standing so close, that Harry had to crane his neck to see him properly.

“Y-yes, sir?” Harry asked when he managed to get his windpipe cleared.

“You missed an appointment this morning.” Snape said in a low, menacing voice, “Which part of this directive are you having trouble with?  ‘Mandatory’ or ‘Everyone’?”

“I-uh-I just forgot.” Harry replied in a small voice.

“Ah.” replied Snape, silkily, “I see.” he paused a beat, “Well, fortunately, I have some time this evening.”

“Sorry?” Harry felt the first inkling of panic in his stomach.

“Professor Snape is qualified to do these exams, Harry.  Since they all have to be done by Monday morning,. The Professor and I have spent the afternoon rounding up today’s stragglers.” Professor Lupin said, kindly.  He was standing beside Professor Snape, but he seemed to be trying to be reasurring.

Harry felt his face turn beet red, as the words sunk in,  “Isn’t Madam Pomfrey...?”

“Madam Pomfrey is currently in London, testifying at Longbottom’s inquest.” Snape replied coldly, his eyes narrowed, “So, you,” Snape paused and gave Harry an unpleasant little smile,  “Will have to make do with myself.”

Lupin opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth with a snap when Snape grabbed Harry’s robe by the collar and pulled him to stand.

Harry flinched away, with a small cry.   Both hands going up, instinctively, to protect his face.  He felt, rather than heard, the tables around him go quiet.  Feeling unutterably stupid, Harry slowly lowered his hands.

Snape’s eyes darted from side to side, “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your...inattention.” he said loudly, “And a detention for insolence, Mr. Potter.  My office.  Tonight.  Move.”  Snape snarled, grabbing Harry by the upper arm.  Then he added, in a deadly quiet voice, so quiet that only Harry heard, “You’ll have plenty of time, after we’re done in the infirmary.” He turned, gestured for Lupin to precede him, and dragged Harry along side.

As Harry passed them, he heard Seamus Finnegan remark quietly, to Dean Thomas, “Snape’s having a go at Harry again, things must be getting back to normal.”  

Despite the unfairness of the detention, having everyone think he had been mouthing off to Snape again made Harry feel better about being marched out of the Great Hall, in front of the whole school.

Harry gave Dean and Seamus a smirk over his shoulder, and the noise of the hall resumed.