Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Harry Potter's Day Off

Author: Arachne

Breathlessly, Malfoy reached the Hogwarts front entrance. He raced past the pillared statues of winged boars on either side of the gate and took off like a Firebolt up the narrow cobblestone road towards the castle.

"Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall panted as she reached the entrance behind him. "I demand you stop THIS INSTANT!"

"Whatever's the matter, Minerva?"

She whirled around to find Dumbledore strolling up to the main entrance, peering at her curiously.

"Everything!" the Deputy Headmistress fumed. "I have just returned from the Ministry of Magic, where Mr Malfoy was detained for forty-seven violations of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery! In addition to playing truant and flagrantly using magic at various locations all over the country today, it would appear his choice of alibi involved breaking into Hagrid's home--no doubt to torment poor Mr Potter--and making a false Floo call to the Ministry, claiming to have been attacked by a vampire! And as if all that weren't enough, Albus, I have just had to intervene on Mr Malfoy's behalf to persuade a Magical Law Enforcement Squad Officer not to charge him with grievous bodily harm!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like twin blue stars. "I think we should permit Mr Filch to string him up by the ankles in his office."

At the same moment that Malfoy reached the castle's front entrance and veered to the right, heading straight for Hagrid's front door, Harry tore across the last stretch of the Forbidden Forest. He resurfaced a few minutes later at the edge of Hagrid's property, and weaved his way through the pumpkin patch to the back door of the hut, where he sank down on the ground, wheezing and gasping for breath.

Suddenly, a badly mauled black shoe entered his line of vision. In silent horror, Harry's eyes slowly trailed up the torn, dirty trouser leg to which the shoe was attached, past the mud-caked, ripped cloak, to the sallow, triumphant face of Severus Snape.

"Potter."

Mutely, Harry's eyes widened. He could hear his own heartbeat pulsing in his throat, taste the acrid tang of fear in his mouth, feel his blood run cold. His terror was palpable, and he knew Snape could sense it, too, judging by the sadistic smile on his face.

"I have dreamt of this moment for seven years," Snape said in a soft, dangerous voice. "How does another year of Hogwarts sit with you? With a special emphasis on Potions, Legilimency and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all under my close, personal supervision."

The weight of his words and their implications was suffocating. Harry was unable to speak, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to do anything except frozenly stare back at the Potions Master. This was it. The game was truly up. He found himself wishing that Voldemort or one of his minions would suddenly appear and put him out of his misery.

Just then, the back door opened to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy. He surveyed the scene before him with a mixture of satisfaction, superiority and something Harry would later recall as being akin to ... pity?

"Hi." Malfoy nodded briefly to Snape, then turned his attention to Harry. "Thank Merlin you're all right. Everyone's been worried sick about you."

Harry stared at his arch-nemesis (at Hogwarts, anyway), eyes agog. Snape's expression morphed from victorious to bewildered to outright disbelief in less than a nanosecond. Such was the depth of his shock over the unexpected and seemingly ruinous arrival of--and even more so, betrayal by--his star pupil, he found himself rendered incapable of uttering any sort of speech.

"Thank you for escorting him back, Professor Snape," Malfoy continued politely. He glanced at Harry, his eyes flashing a warning. "You'd best get back to bed, Potter--Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall will be in to see you in a moment."

For his part, Harry wasn't sure whether Malfoy had been hit on the head with a Bludger, accidentally swallowed a vat of Confusing Concoction or had been the victim of a Confundus Charm, but regardless, he wasn't about to look a gift unicorn in the mouth. Bemusement now replacing the shock in his own eyes, Harry stood up slowly, affected a stooped posture, gave a pathetic wheeze and shuffled pitifully into Hagrid's Hut.

"Can you imagine someone as ill as Potter trying to get himself home from St Mungo's?" Malfoy shook his head and gave a short trill of laughter. "Gryffindors!"

His expression changed then, and he withdrew an object from the pocket of his robes, an object he had seen many, many times over the past seven years. When Malfoy opened the door, he had been all set to gleefully expose Potter's truancy and clear his own name in the process, until a little red-headed voice had cut into his conscience. "You ought to spend a little more time sorting your priorities out, and a little less time worrying about what this other bloke does."

On reflection, Malfoy reckoned his priorities were a) getting out of the mess he had somehow managed to find himself mired in, and, b) (and more importantly) spending some quality time snogging the stuffing out of one Ginny Weasley. His devious Slytherin mind quickly concocted a way to do both. He deduced that the trouble he had gotten into for Flooing the Ministry was entirely his Head of House's fault--after all, he wouldn't have had to make the call in the first place if Snape hadn't barged in on him at Hagrid's like that. Not that Snape was meant to be breaking into Hagrid's and spying on students, either--oh no, neither Dumbledore nor the Hogwarts Board of Directors (on which Narcissa Malfoy now sat, in lieu of her husband) would be pleased to hear about that, he thought with a self-satisfied little smirk. Indeed, Snape could kiss his ambition to succeed Dumbledore good-bye if this little indiscretion ever found its way out into the open.

Malfoy reckoned the object he had discovered on the floor of the groundskeeper's hut would come in rather handy for extortion purposes. Not only would it force Snape to vouch for Malfoy's vampire story or risk being implicated himself, Malfoy also planned to use it to manipulate Snape into devising a cover story for the Slytherin's whereabouts during the day. Although Malfoy knew damn well he hadn't left the grounds, let alone violated the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery almost fifty times, it appeared Dumbledore, McGonagall and the Ministry were still very much under this mistaken impression. A personal endorsement and alibi from his Head of House would go a long way towards righting this injustice and restoring Malfoy's good name.

Of course, blackmailing Snape meant rescuing Potter by default, and whilst it greatly pained Malfoy to do so, he knew it would indubitably put him in good steed with one Ginevra Weasley, thus all but guaranteeing numerous future trysts atop the Astronomy Tower. It would also serve a perfect dual purpose by placing Potter in his debt--all the better to torment the runty little scarhead. All in all, it was a failsafe plan.

Malfoy gave his Head of House a cold smile as he held up the object in his hand.

"By the way, Professor Snape? You dropped your wand on Hagrid's floor."

He threw the wand like a javelin into the pumpkin patch, then slammed the door shut. It bounced off a small pumpkin and landed on Fang's head, rousing the boarhound from his stupor. Immediately, the dog lunged for Snape, growling and barking and baring his fangs.

Inside the hut, Harry and Malfoy listened to the sounds of their Potions Master being attacked.

"Almost like music to your ears, isn't it?" Malfoy said cheerily, then frowned as he cocked an ear towards Hagrid's bedroom. "Except for the snoring, that is. Incidentally, what the devil is that, Potter? Did you record Longbott--"

"I don't understand," Harry interrupted. "Why would you, of all people--"

Malfoy held up a hand. "No time to explain now--Dumbledore and McGonagall will be here in a minute. Suffice it to say, rescuing you wasn't done entirely out of the goodness of my own heart." He crossed over to Hagrid's fireplace and poured out a handful of Floo powder from a jug on the mantelpiece. "Just, ah, put in a good word for me with the Weaselette, eh?"

Harry looked at him, puzzled, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Malfoy threw the Floo powder into the fire and jumped into the green flames.

"Slytherin common room!" he bellowed, and vanished an instant later.

Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of what had just happened, when he heard an unmistakable Scottish burr approaching from outside.

"... and to top it all off, I cannot find Severus anywhere!"

"Bollocks!" he exclaimed, and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes, almost tripping over the dummy he had fashioned that morning, which now lay at his feet thanks to Malfoy's earlier temper tantrum. Harry shoved it under the bed, along with his shoes, then jumped under the thick coverlet and pulled it up to his chin so it would hide his Muggle clothing.

McGonagall's voice echoed from the front porch. "Finite Incantatum!" A moment later, Harry heard a squelching sound as the front door acknowledged her voice and was freed from its wards, permitting McGonagall and Dumbledore to enter the hut.

Harry lay back against the pillow, feigning sleep, only to be distracted by the continuing snores of the little field mouse, deep in slumber on Hagrid's bedside table.

"All those gifts on the porch," McGonagall exclaimed, her voice growing closer with every word. "Why, I never knew Potter had so many admirers!"

In a panic, Harry extracted the still-squirming Snitch he caught at the Puddlemere match from his back pocket. With his other hand, he picked the sleeping field mouse up from the table and gently draped it over the Snitch, then released the tiny golden ball into the air.

The bedroom doorknob began to turn.

The Snitch soared up to the ceiling, fluttered there a moment, then carried its tiny passenger out the small window high up in the wall ...

... just as the bedroom door opened.

Harry lay still in Hagrid's bed, his breathing shallow and rapid. His skin was flushed, and a sheen of perspiration visible on his face. The papery skin of Professor McGonagall's hand pressed gently against his forehead.

"He's still awfully warm, Albus. I'm afraid he doesn't seem to have improved at all since this morning."

"Mr Potter?" Dumbledore peered down at him. "How are you feeling?"

Harry's eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at the Headmaster with what he hoped was a serene expression, as he tried hard to remember everything he learnt from Snape's botched Occlumency lessons in fifth year. "One hundred and fifty per cent better, thank you, sir."

Professor McGonagall gave Dumbledore a beady-eyed look and continued to hover over Harry with deep concern.

"I'm much better, really," he insisted. "Please, don't make me miss class again. I want to go to school. I have to graduate next month and ..."

"Potter, you're ill," she chided gently. "There's no reason to push yourself and make it worse."

Harry gave a deep sigh. "Perhaps you're right, Professor McGonagall."

"Quite." She tucked Hagrid's patchwork quilt in around him and he made contented noises, snuggling down under its warmth. "Now, I have some rather pressing matters to discuss with the Headmaster, but I'll see to it Dobby brings you a nice bowl of Mulligatawny soup. Madam Pomfrey was unable to tend to you properly today as she has her hands full with the dragon pox outbreak, but I'll have Miss Granger check in on you later this evening to see if you need anything. I just received an owl from her on my way here. You may not have heard, Potter, but Miss Granger was absent from classes today on account of her Grandmother's funeral. However, she decided to return to Hogwarts early as not to fall behind in revisions for her NEWTs. I daresay she will not mind taking a quick study break to ensure your welfare."

Harry didn't trust himself not to cry out with glee if he opened his mouth, so he settled for nodding at the Deputy Headmistress as solemnly as he could manage instead. Then he made the mistake of glancing at Dumbledore, who peered down at him intently from behind his half-moon spectacles. But instead of meeting Harry's eyes, Harry was horrified to realise the Headmaster's gaze lingered higher--on his forehead. Instantly, he paled, and the euphoria he had been feeling disintegrated into cold pinpricks of dread that tingled up and down his spine. I forgot to reverse the Glamour Charm ...

Harry's heart sank as the Headmaster's eyes slowly travelled down to meet his own. Dumbledore looked at him expectantly, his light blue eyes twinkling mischievously, and if Harry didn't know better, he would swear that the old wizard was barely suppressing a smile. "Well, I suspect the ... spring fever ... that overtook Mr Potter has almost been wholly excised from his system. In fact, something tells me today is likely the only time he shall ever experience such an affliction. Wouldn't you agree, Mr Potter?"

Harry tried to cover the small gasp that inadvertently escaped his lips by clearing his throat. "Er, yes--yes, Professor Dumbledore," he managed to mumble.

"Well, then," Dumbledore gently guided Professor McGonagall to the door. "It's time we were off, Minerva. Mr Potter looks exhausted, and I imagine he could do with some rest."

"Indeed, Albus. Sleep well, Potter."

"Good night," the Headmaster said in a singsong voice, with a wave and a little smile. He gave his favourite student a discreet wink before shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him.

Harry couldn't believe his luck--perhaps Trelawney was wrong, and he wasn't born under a bad sign after all. All he knew was that between escaping Snape's clutches, Dumbledore letting him off the hook and Malfoy actually helping him, today had been truly surreal--never mind the actual events of the day itself.

"Yeah," he sighed, interlocking his hands behind his head as he lay back on the pillow, "I said it before and I'll say it again--life moves rather quickly. If you don't stop and look about every so often ... you could miss it."

The grin he wore stretched from ear to ear and for the first time in his life, Harry was filled with hope, and the belief that when the end finally came, Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance.