Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Harry Potter's Day Off

Author: Arachne

It was another typically beautiful Scottish spring day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. White candy floss clouds gently danced in a bright azure sky on a breeze scented by heather and puffapod buds. The sun sparkled on the surface of the lake, where the Giant Squid made a rare appearance to bask in the warmth of its glow. Even the Whomping Willow seemed to be in a good mood.

Inside the castle, however, a crisis was brewing. Not a crisis involving the Petrification of students, escaped convicts on the loose or the resurfacing of You-Know-Who--it was much more serious than that. No, this latest bout of trouble concerned the plight of Hogwarts' most famous and arguably most beloved student, Harry Potter. It was deemed serious enough to warrant an impromptu conference between the school's Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress to determine what could possibly be done to rectify this most dire of situations.

For inside the Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, The Boy Who Lived lay prone and listless in a bed, moaning and writhing in a state of near-delirium. His mouth seemed as dry as parchment, his tongue lolling like a slug. His eyes appeared glassy and unfocussed, though curiously, they still retained their usual vibrant shade of green. Every so often he would shudder and whimper, as if he were trapped in one of his more horrific nightmares.

"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore called softly to his lifeless student. "Harry?"

Professor McGonagall removed her hand from Harry's forehead, careful to avoid his scar. "I don't think he has a temperature. But he says his stomach hurts and he's seeing dots."

Harry blinked slowly, as if his eyes were being weighed down by a pair of Bludgers and it was a tremendous effort to keep them open. Dumbledore peered down at him though his half-moon spectacles. "Most disconcerting."

Professor McGonagall wrung her hands together desperately. "What are we going to do, Albus? Poppy says she's never seen anything like it before. Feel his hands--they're so cold and clammy!"

The Headmaster gently took one of Harry's hands between his own. "Perhaps we should get in touch with St Mungo's," he said thoughtfully.

"He doesn't want us to," Professor McGonagall replied, shaking her head and pursing her lips in a disapproving manner.

"Is that true, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry sighed, his body convulsing slightly. He attempted to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a raspy sort of wheeze. Panting profusely, he took a deep breath and tried again. "Please ... I'm really quite fine ... there's no need to make such a fuss. I can't miss History of Magic this morning. I'll get up." He made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, accompanied by much panting and wheezing.

Madam Pomfrey pushed through the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress and addressed her young charge. "You'll do no such thing. You'll stay right here until we can sort out what ails you."

For the past half-hour, the poor school nurse had been pouring over every page of 'Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions' as well as 'Magical Drafts and Potions' and 'Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions', trying to find a cure or antidote for Harry's sudden, mysterious affliction, to no avail.

"But we have a test today!" Harry protested weakly. "I have to take it. I want to do well in my studies this year, so I can pass my NEWTs and defeat Voldemort, and go on to lead a fruitful, productive life ..." He trailed off, obviously exhausted from the sheer effort of speaking.

"You are not attending any of your classes in this state," Professor McGonagall insisted. She turned to Dumbledore, her brow knit with worry. "Perhaps one of us should stay with him, Albus, while Poppy tries to determine what the nature of his illness is."

"No," Harry replied, rather firmly. "I'm fine. I feel perfectly ... ooohhh!" He let out a low moan and clutched his stomach, doubling over in his infirmary bed. At once, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall rushed towards him, while Dumbledore stood back, looking thoughtful.

Their ministrations to Harry's discomfiture were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Dumbledore walked away from the cooing women to open the Hospital Wing door, only to find Draco Malfoy on the other side, cradling his left hand, which was holding his wand.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?"

"Oh, good morning, Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy began in his treacliest voice and with his most dazzling smile. Always a good idea to butter up the Headmaster a bit, he reckoned, even if Malfoy personally thought Dumbledore was a soft old fool. "Is it possible to see Madam Pomfrey? I seem to have burnt my hand in Potions class, and I was hoping to have some of her wonderful healing paste for it."

The Headmaster stood aside to allow Malfoy into the hospital wing.

"Professor Snape was teaching us how to make a common housecleaning solution," Malfoy continued conversationally as they walked back towards Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. "But if you ask me, I don't see the point--I mean, that's what house-elves are for."

Dumbledore remained silent as they reached Harry's bedside. The nurse and the Deputy Headmistress were still fussing over their patient, their backs turned to the two others.

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey?" Malfoy drawled in impeccably polite dulcet tones.

Several moments passed before Madam Pomfrey replied. "Mmm ... yes?" she asked distractedly, without bothering to turn around.

Malfoy frowned slightly, perturbed he wasn't getting the attention he felt he rightfully deserved. Who cared about whatever trifling problem this pathetic little waster in the bed had? He was a Malfoy, and therefore took top priority over all others.

"Er ... I've burnt my hand on some Bundimun secretion," he explained a tad less patiently than he had to his headmaster, "and I'm in quite a bit of pain, and I want something to fix it."

Madam Pomfrey stood up and turned around, allowing Malfoy a perfect view of the mystery patient. His face registered instant revulsion.

"Well? Let's see, then," she demanded.

"Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "What are you doing here?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall reprimanded. "Mr Potter is feeling very poorly."

Malfoy rolled his eyes as a look of utter disgust came over his face. "Yeah, right," he muttered. "Dry that one out and you could use it in place of Mooncalf dung for fertilizer."

"That's enough, Mr Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey spoke sharply.

Malfoy was chagrined. "You're not falling for this, are you?" he howled at Professor McGonagall, "Surely you're not falling for this!"

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered dramatically. "Is that you? Malfoy? My vision's starting to blur ... Malfoy? I--"

"Kiss my wand, scarhead!"

"Silence!" Dumbledore's authorative voice rang out throughout the room. He stared down at the boy from his great height and spoke in tones that brooked no argument. "Mr Malfoy. I believe you came here for a purpose?"

Sullenly, Malfoy threw his wand down next to Harry's on the bedside table and pushed back the left sleeve of his robe. He exposed a slightly reddened patch of skin half the size of a Knut on the back of his hand.

"That?" Madam Pomfrey squinted disdainfully at the small mark. "Merlin's Beard, If you hadn't said that was a burn, I would have thought it was a freckle," she sniffed. "Very well."

She Accioed a tiny tube, from which she squeezed a small dot of orange paste onto Malfoy's wound and rubbed it in, tut-tutting as she did. "Seems a shame to waste a remedy this expensive on something so trivial."

Almost instantly, the burn vanished, but Malfoy made no move to leave. He was rooted to the spot as if trapped in Devil's Snare, glaring evilly at Harry.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said, because he knew Malfoy would not. "Mr Malfoy, your business here is finished. You will return to your class at once before I deduct points from Slytherin."

"Professor Dumbledore, you can't--you're not really letting him stay here? This is an outrage!" declared Malfoy. He knew he was stomping rather heavily across several sacred boundaries by getting a bit stroppy with the Headmaster, but Malfoy didn't care (besides, he knew his family would make yet another sizeable donation to the school to offset any trouble he may have gotten himself into). Seeing Potter lying there so smugly with half the staff of Hogwarts wrapped around his skinny little fingers made his blood boil. "I could have Bubotuber pus oozing out of my eyeballs, and I'd still have to go to class!"

Harry gave his sworn enemy a treacly-sweet smile. "Please don't be upset with me, Draco. You should be thankful you have your health."

A tear glistened in Professor McGonagall's eyes as she looked down fondly at her favourite pupil. All three faculty members turned to face Malfoy expectantly.

"Makes me want to vomit," he muttered darkly as he snatched up his wand and stormed out of the hospital wing.

After Malfoy's exit, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, who was staring thoughtfully at the bedside table. "It's settled then, Potter. You will stay here and get your strength back while Madam Pomfrey searches for a remedy." He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a finger to stop him. "Ah! No arguments."

Harry conceded defeat with an air of weary serenity, as if he had struggled valiantly but finally succumbed from sheer exhaustion, knowing this outcome was inevitable, anyway.

"I'll be okay," he assured them, with a weak, pathetic-sounding cough. "I'll just take some Pepperup Potion and sleep it off."

"I shall be in a number of conferences at the Ministry in London today, but Madam Pomfrey will know where I am, should you require me," Dumbledore told Harry.

"I will also be available, if need be," Professor McGonagall echoed, patting Harry's hand.

"It's comforting to know I have such caring, supportive teachers," he told them both solemnly. "You're both very special to me ... almost like parents."

The tear that had glistened in Professor McGonagall's eye now softly coursed down her cheek.

"Right then, Professors, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave," Madam Pomfrey began, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I have a lot of research to do."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly as Professor McGonagall stole one last worried look at Harry. As Madam Pomfrey began shepherding the pair away from her young charge, Harry called after her.

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey?" The three adults turned around. "I was just wondering ... is that dragon pox they have?"

He gestured towards the other end of the room, where Millicent Bulstrode and Justin Finch-Fletchley lay peacefully under the effects of a Sleeping Draught, recuperating from the mini-epidemic of dragon pox which had invaded Hogwarts the past fortnight. They were dotted from head-to-toe with Gunhilda of Gorsemoor's dragon pox cure--a paste made from Abyssinian shrivelfig, powdered moonstone, fluxweed, dragon's blood, daisy roots and pomegranate juice. It was not an attractive look by far (although it was almost an improvement for Millicent from her regular appearance). Across from them, Terry Boot also slept under the influence of a Sleeping Draught while he waited for the Skele-Gro to regrow the bones in his left leg. It had been smashed to smithereens during a particularly nasty Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match the night before.

"Miss Bulstrode and Mr Finch-Fletchley have dragon pox, yes," the nurse confirmed. "Mr Boot doesn't, although, he had it in second year, so he's likely immune to it now."

"Oh." Harry managed to convey many things with that one syllable, the most pressing of which was an impending sense of doom.

"Why do you ask?" Professor McGonagall enquired, her brows furrowed in concern.

"It's just that ... I've never had dragon pox before," he confided.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall exchanged worried looks.

"Surely you were inoculated as a ch--" the professor began, then cut herself short as he shook his head gravely. Of course Harry's wretched Muggle relations wouldn't have dreamt to vaccinate him against common childhood wizarding diseases--they hadn't even told him he was a wizard to begin with! Professor McGonagall felt a small surge of anger well up inside her as it always did when she thought of how badly Harry's relatives had mistreated him over the years.

"Perhaps you should just send me back to my aunt and uncle's," Harry suggested, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't want to contaminate the others with whatever it is I have, or possibly worsen their conditions."

The deputy headmistress felt her eyes tear up again. It was so typical of Harry to selflessly think of others during his own time of need. But sending him back to those horrible Muggles--why, it was absolutely unthinkable!

"That is out of the question," Professor McGonagall sniffed. "You're in far more ... capable ... hands here."

Madam Pomfrey appraised her patient with a critical eye. "Perhaps it would be best if we began his convalescence elsewhere, Minerva--not just for the benefit of the other students, but for his own sake, too. Dragon pox is highly contagious, and if he hasn't had it yet ... well, there's no telling how it could affect him in such a weakened condition."

"What did you have in mind, Poppy?" Professor McGonagall asked as the three adults moved towards the door.

"Is Rubeus Hagrid still away at that Dragon Research and Restraint seminar in Swansea?" Madam Pomfrey enquired.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall nodded. "I believe that runs until Thursday." "I'd like to quarantine Mr Potter in his hut, if possible," the nurse requested. "I can pop over throughout the day to monitor his condition."

Both women turned to Dumbledore, who was looking back at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment or two, the Headmaster turned back towards them.

"Very well, then."

"Excellent." Madam Pomfrey looked pleased. "I'll head over there now and begin preparing things."

Harry gave the gathered adults a tremulous smile--as if he were bravely drawing upon what was left of his inner strength to carry on existing solely for their benefit--then settled back against his pillow with the grace of a dying swan, closing his eyes and sighing softly.

The three staff members exited the Hospital Wing, their murmurings and footsteps echoing faintly as they disappeared down the hall. Several minutes passed in silence, the only sounds from within the room coming from the shallow rising and falling of its occupants' chests. Suddenly, one bright emerald green eye popped open, darting around to ensure the coast was absolutely clear.

"Brilliant," Harry said aloud. He flung off his bedcovers and sat up, a cheeky smile dancing across his lips. "They bought it."