you raise me up || harry potter

chapter 26

Harry grabbed the big piece and accidentally sliced his palm open. His back was turned to Snape, who didn't see the blood.

"Potter, I'm talking to you."

"I'm sorry," Harry gasped. "It just slipped—"

"You stupid boy, are you picking the pieces up with your bare hands?" Snape shouted furiously, pulling out his wand. "Reparo!"

The pieces flew out of Harry's hands to form a whole, sitting on the floor in one piece again. Snape stalked over and bent to pick it up, when he saw the blood dripping from Harry's hands. 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Snape snapped. "Stand up. Accio Wound-Cleaning Potion."

Harry immediately shot to his feet at Snape's command—which was a bad decision all around. Standing so soon after the first attempt made the static fill his head and his legs buckle again. 

"What—" Snape caught the sagging boy from under his arms, before placing him back on the ground. 

Harry dug his wrists into his eyes. "Can't see," he said. "I'm sorry for breaking your plate, Professor—"

"I'm a wizard, Potter." He sounded as though he was rolling his eyes. 

"Still," Harry mumbled, "I'm sorry. For disturbing you. And your potions."

There was a silence. 

"I think my Veritaserum will live," Snape said dryly. "Take your hands away from your eyes, do you want an eye infection on top of a skin infection?"

Harry held his hands out as Snape crouched in front of him with the Wound-Cleaning Potion, dabbing the solution onto the cuts. 

This is weird, Harry thought. But Snape gave no indication of discomfort or anger—in fact, he looked perfectly calm. Definitely weird. Harry's mind was beginning to clear, and hot embarrassment coursed through him. He had acted like such an idiot.

"Accio bandages," Snape said. He expertly tied them around Harry's hands, albeit a little tight, but when he was done Harry could tell Snape had probably done this before, what with exploding cauldrons and potion burns in the classroom. "It's best to let small cuts to heal on their own," he explained. "With the absurd number of times you've had to be magically healed, magical dependency is a danger."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. Snape gave no indication that he heard.

"Are you capable of standing, now?" he asked.

"Er... yeah," Harry said, slowly getting up to his feet. This time he did it with no further mishap. "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing. It's giving me a headache."

"So—" Harry clamped his mouth shut. Snape gave him a look before pointing toward the nearest chair. "Sit," he instructed.

Now, this feels familiar, Harry thought. He settled into the chair.

"Does this happen often?" Snape asked. "Fainting, collapsing, loss of vision, dizziness?"

Leave it to Snape to make him sound like a drama queen. "It's not... usually this bad. But I'm okay now, so I'll just—" Harry made a motion to get up, but Snape immediately held up a finger. "You are not excused," he snapped. 

Harry stayed put.

"I'm no Healer," Snape said, "But the best explanation I can conceive at the moment is anemia—or low blood pressure, by extension. Postural hypotension is a common symptom."

The word sounded frightening, though Harry would never have admitted it. It brought to mind all sorts of medical horrors and white hospital walls. "Anemia?"