AN: This was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. My prompt as Seeker was to write about Harry's scar.
Harry tossed and turned in his sleep. His legs wrapped themselves in his bedsheets, and he was effectively trussed. He cried out, his hands covering the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead. It pulsed into sick life, swelling with blood and evil.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" The young wizard mumbled sleepily, his head rolling back and forth.
"Stand aside you silly girl...stand aside now." Harry's voice was slurred with sleep.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead..." His eyes squeezed tightly, tears rolling down either side of his face.
"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy..." In his sleep, Harry saw a bright flash of green light.
A particularly sharp stab of pain woke him up. Harry shouted and fought his blankets, and he nearly twisted his knee until he realized he was simply in bed at Hogwarts. He untangled himself and tip-toed from his dorm into the bathroom, careful not to wake Ron.
Harry leaned towards the mirror. "I'm just taking a look, and as it's very early in the morning, would you please refrain from commenting on the state of my hair?"
"Certainly," the mirror whispered. "Not that it would help your hair whether I kept quiet or not."
"Thank you," Harry breathed quietly. He stepped in front of the mirror and held up his messy bangs in order to see his scar clearly.
The crooked line which marred his forehead was indeed pulsing. It seemed alive, and Harry felt a headache coming on just looking at the thing. He touched it, and a sharp pain shot through his head to the base of his neck.
Grabbing a washcloth, he soaked it with cold water from the sink, wrung it out, and lightly dabbed at his scar. The cool water helped immensely, and soon even the throbbing stopped. Harry refreshed the cold water on his washcloth three times, and each soaking eased the pain and fury in the lightning bolt on his forehead.
"Are you a wizard or not, Harry?"
The young man whirled about, startled. "Ron, you nearly made me jump out of my skin!" Harry looked somewhat sheepish. "I did try not to wake you up."
"Nah, mate, 'tis alright. Here, let me help." Ron pulled out his wand and cast a cooling charm at the offending scar.
Harry yelped, and the washcloth went flying. He grabbed his forehead and sank to his knees, tightly squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn it, Ron, I just got the thing to quit throbbing!" Harry hissed, rocking forward with a pained moan.
Ron grabbed the washcloth and cast a cooling charm on it. "Blimey, Harry, I didn't mean to hurt you." He folded the fabric as he had seen his mother do for his father on occasion and gently dabbed at Harry's forehead. "Harry, here. This ought to help you."
Sighing, Harry relaxed and held the washcloth to his scar. "Why didn't I think to cast a cooling charm on the washcloth?"
Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Muggle thinking, maybe?"
"It's getting worse," Harry sighed. "Ever since the Goblet of Fire spat out my name, my scar has been aching. This morning was the worst it's ever been."
"Have you been to Madam Pomfrey?" Ron asked, eager to make up for being such a berk to Harry over the Triwizard Tournament.
"No," Harry said, refolding the washcloth for better coverage. "Professor Dumbledore said the fewer people I told, the better." He sighed again. "My kingdom for an aspirin. Muggle headache tablets," he explained at Ron's confused look.
"Ah," Ron said, nodding at this bit of wisdom from the floor of the boy's lavatory.
Suddenly realizing that anyone could walk in and find them in an odd position, Ron quickly stood up and offered Harry a hand. "Here, mate, let's get back to sleep. I don't fancy being up this early on a weekend."
Smiling, Harry accepted his best friend's help.
After seeing Ron back to his bed, Harry crawled under his blanket, clutching the magically-cooled washcloth like a talisman. He relaxed on his back and sighed as the coldness ate into his scar, dulling the pain and pressure.
Harry still had a slight headache at breakfast later that morning.
"Are you alright?" Hermione leaned over and asked, her face full of concern.
"Yeah," Harry replied, piling his plate with sausage and bacon. The Gryffindor table was empty except for the three of them, so they could eat as much as they wanted. "Just a headache."
"You should really see Madam Pomfrey about that. She is used to hearing about all sorts of aches and pains, you know. Goodness, Ron, use a fork!"
Harry grinned at his two best friends. "It's alright, Hermione. Just a bit of rest this weekend will put me to rights, I'm sure."
"Oy, no rest for you!" said Ron around a mouthful of sausage. "You've got your challenges to prep for!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "So if it's schoolwork, it's not worth your time, but if it's Triwizard challenges, nothing else matters?"
Ron looked at her as if she had sprouted horns. "Blimey, Hermione, what are you on about? Triwizard challenges actually matter; schoolwork is, you know, schoolwork."
The conversation between Ron and Hermione faded as Harry's scar began pulsing again. He felt that someone was staring at him, and when he looked around he caught the eyes of Professor Snape.
Harry whispered at his friends, interrupting their argument over Ron's skewed priorities. "Hey you two, check out Snape. He's watching us, and he's paler than usual."
Hermione didn't miss a beat. "It's 'Professor Snape,' Harry, and yes, he's been watching us all morning." She narrowed her eyes. "He's been rubbing his left forearm off and on the whole time he's been here; something's going on."
Ron was offended. "Watching Snape a bit closely, aren't you?"
"It's 'Professor Snape,' you dunderhead!"
The ensuing argument faded into the background as Harry's scar pulsed once more. He watched Professor Snape slink away from the High Table and heard the dark wizard mumble something that sounded like, "Karkaroff."