Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Harry Potter's Day Off

Author: Arachne

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In the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts, news of Harry's mystery illness spread like wildfire, thanks, in part, to Harry himself. In order to keep the likes of Snape and Malfoy off his back and rally support from his classmates (not to mention compassion from his teachers), he deemed it necessary to drop a few pertinent details about his critical condition to a few of the more gullible members of the student body.

"Please--do not pull my wand," a Hufflepuff by the name of Jeremy Thackeray said very seriously into a fireplace in an alcove off a second-floor corridor, where Harry's head had (much to Jeremy's surprise) appeared a couple of minutes before. "How desperate is the situation?"

"Well, have you ever seen a flesh-eating slug attack a decaying corpse? It kind of feels like that." First years, Harry snickered to himself.

"Son of a witch!" breathed Jeremy in disbelief. "Wait--are you having me on?"

"Of course I'm not having you on," Harry replied weakly. Out of sight from Jeremy, he briskly flicked his wand to and fro like an orchestra conductor--only, instead of musical notes, a symphony of ominous-sounding groans, coughs, wheezes and hacks were produced. "Do I sound like I'm having you on?"

"Son of a witch!" Jeremy exhaled.

"Who are you speaking to?" Theodore Creevey asked, approaching his friend near the fireplace.

"Harry Potter," Jeremy replied, shaking his head in astonishment, both from speaking to The Boy Who Lived, and from learning that said Boy was apparently dying.

"Really?" Theodore hopped up and down with a sort of reverential admiration and excitement that would have put his two older brothers to shame. "He's getting me out of remedial Potions!"

Just then, the bell rang, signalling the beginning of the next class. The remaining students in the corridor scurried either down the stairs or into a nearby classroom.

"Thanks for letting us know how you're doing, Harry," Jeremy spoke into the fireplace. "We've got to fly--but chin up, eh?"

"Crap. I hope he doesn't die," Theodore moaned to a portrait on the wall of two witches drinking tea. "I can't hack any more Snape." The witches in the picture nodded sympathetically.

"Oh," Harry wheezed pathetically. "Right. Put me on to someone else, then, would you?"

"Sure," Jeremy said, eager to comply with the wishes of a seventh year--especially one this famous and popular. "Hang on."

He looked around the near-empty corridor for another student. Just then, a girl with long, straggly, dirty blonde hair drifted by, her wand firmly tucked behind her left ear for safekeeping. She looked lost in her own little world and uncertain as to which direction she should be heading in, or how she even came to be walking down the corridor in the first place.

Jeremy called out to her, gesturing towards the fireplace. "Ever seen a flesh-eating slug in action?" he grinned, hoping to unnerve her, but the girl merely blinked, her large protuberant eyes peering at him.

"Yes, actually," she replied thoughtfully. "Daddy and I went to Kenya on safari last summer, and I saw one attack a Blibbering Humdinger carcass." She shuddered. "It was horrible."

Jeremy looked at her strangely, then tugged on Theodore's robe and quickly pulled him away towards the marble staircase.

Unfazed by their sudden departure, Luna Lovegood turned and peered into the fireplace. "Hello?" she called out. Harry's face peered back at her. She greeted him calmly, as though this were an everyday occurrence. "Oh. Hello, Harry."

"Oh, er ... hi, Luna," he replied, unable to look her in the eyes. After Luna had joined in the fight against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries at the end of fifth year, Harry had come to think of her as something of a friend. Not to mention her strange but enduring fixation with Ron, which both Harry and Hermione had come to find endearing over the years. Ron, however, was completely unused to such female admiration--particularly from a female as unusual as Luna--and so tended to be more flustered around her than impressed.

As if reading his mind, Luna enquired after his best friend. "How is Ronald, Harry? He must be very ill, he was sent home last week. I do hope he wasn't bitten by a Nargle. I did warn him to stay away from them."

"No," Harry replied vaguely, "not a Nargle bite. Just ..." He thought a moment. If he let Luna in on what was going on, Ron would throw a wobbly and he was wound up enough as it was. Besides, the more people who knew, the greater the risk of being caught. Probably best to say nothing, Harry figured. "... just dragon pox. He's still pretty sick."

"You will tell him I enquired after him, won't you?" Luna asked eagerly.

"Erm ... of course," he smiled weakly, trying to swallow his guilt. "Of course I will."

"And what is the matter with you, Harry? I heard you were dying," she said very matter-of-factly. "Is it serious?"

"I don't know ... I hope not." He sighed dramatically. "I think I may need a kidney transplant."

Luna nodded at him solemnly, as if this was perfectly within the realm of reality.

Snape paced the length of the large, panelled staff room, a black storm cloud almost visible over his head. At a nearby table Sibyl Trelawney sat on a dark wooden chair, demurely sipping a cup of nettle tea. He had been startled to see her, as she very rarely descended from the North Tower, but when she began an explanation of her presence (something about a mishap involving too much incense and not enough ventilation in the Divination classroom), his interest quickly waned and refocused on the bane of his existence at Hogwarts.

"I don't trust Potter any further than I can throw him!" Snape spat, each word louder than the last.

"Well, with your bad knee, Severus, you really shouldn't be throwing anybody," Professor Trelawney noted, her spindly fingers popping a piece of Ginger Newt into her mouth. Snape coldly fixed his beady black eyes on her. "It's true," she smiled serenely.

When he finally spoke, each word was clipped and slowly enunciated through gritted teeth. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with either of my knees, Professor Trelawney."

"Well, of course not," she agreed breathily. "Not yet. But my crystal ball indicates you should be particularly careful around the dungeon staircase on the nineteenth of this month."

The Potions Master's eyes glittered an almost malevolent shade of black. He spoke in low tones, but there was no mistaking the venom in his voice.

"Harry Potter is a dangerous influence on the other students. He breaks and bends the rules as he sees fit, continually thumbing his nose at authority. His arrogance is worse than his father's, if that's possible. Moreover, he is never punished and never suffers the consequences of his actions. He gives the rest of the students very bad ideas."

Professor Trelawney sighed unhappily. "According to my predictions, I'm afraid your concern over Mr Potter's behaviour may very well be all for naught, anyway."

Snape ignored her, continuing his rant. It was no small secret he had aspirations to Dumbledore's post when the elderly wizard eventually retired, but right now, he considered the young Mr Potter to be a major impediment in achieving that goal. After all, Snape fumed to himself, if he couldn't keep the likes of Potter in line, how would he be deemed fit to run an entire school?

"The last thing I need at this juncture in my career are hundreds of Harry Potter disciples running around Hogwarts, carrying on like he's the second coming of Merlin! He jeopardizes my ability to effectively assist in the governance of the student body."

"Makes you look like a bit of a Mountain Troll is what he does," Professor Trelawney nodded knowingly. Snape's eyes narrowed even further in an icy fury. "Well, he is very popular, Severus," the Divination professor continued. "Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, prefects, pure-bloods, Muggle-borns, Squibs, ghosts, staff members, house-elves, portrait-dwellers, suits of armour, owls, even Moaning Myrtle ... they all adore him. They think he's a wicked wizard."

Snape's ordinarily sallow complexion turned a particularly violent shade of purple, causing his face to resemble a particularly nasty bruise. "That's why I have to catch him this time," he hissed, slamming his hand against a large wardrobe for emphasis. "To show the rest of the students the example he sets is a first class ticket to Azkaban!"

Professor Trelawney drew her spangled black shawl around her shoulders a little more tightly. "Why Severus," she drawled mistily. "You sounded like Cornelius Fudge just then!"

Momentarily taken aback, he blinked at her blankly, but a note of something almost resembling pleasure unmistakably crept into his voice.

"Really?"

"I'm serious, Ron, this is ridiculous," Harry fumed. "Making me hang about waiting for you!"

From his sickbed in the Weasley living room, Harry's best friend groaned at the head that had re-appeared in the Burrow's fireplace yet again. "Why can't you let me just rot in peace?"

"Ron, d'you realise what it is I'm doing here?" Harry was growing increasingly exasperated. "Snape has it in for me, not to mention Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins. If any of them catch me, I'm done for. And if Dumbledore, or McGonagall or any of the rest of the staff catch me, I'm also done for--probably even more so. I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing it for you."

"Chuh!" the lanky redhead scoffed. "As if."

"Look, just--be a man!" Harry shouted at him. "Take some Pepperup Potion, get dressed, and get yourself to Hogsmeade! I'm tired of this." But before Ron could open his mouth to protest, out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed the flames on the other side of Hagrid's fireplace begin to change to a green colour. "Crap--hang on a minute, someone else is coming through."

Harry pulled his head out of the fire and glanced at the wand in his hand nervously. Pointing it at the spot where he had been speaking to Ron, he exclaimed "Reducio Silencus!" The green flames on the left side of the fireplace dulled and shrank, while those on the right side continued to glow even brighter. Sprinting across the room, he dived under the covers of Hagrid's giant bed and scrambled to shove his wand underneath the massive goosedown pillow, just as Dumbledore's head appeared in the right side of the fireplace.

"H-hello?" Harry panted.

"Harry?" The headmaster frowned slightly. "You sound dreadful."

"Really?" Harry replied through a wheeze. "I thought I was improving."

"Were you resting?"

"I was trying to catch up on my Divination homework. I'm worried about falling behind." He managed a series of weak coughs. "Professor Dumbledore, would you excuse me a moment, please?"

"Of course." The headmaster paused, looking at Harry peculiarly. "Are you quite sure you're all right, Harry?"

"Oh, yes. Quite all right. I think I just need to catch my breath. Excuse me." He fished the ebony-wood wand out from underneath the pillow and pointed it at the Headmaster's head as respectfully as possibly.

"Reducio Silencus."

Dumbledore's head and the surrounding green flames dulled and shrank until they almost disappeared to the naked eye. Harry took a deep breath, hopped out of bed and walked over to the fireplace, where he cast the opposite spells at the small ball of green fire on the other side.

"Engorgio Sonorus!"

The flames burned brightly once again, filling up the entire left side of the fireplace. Harry stuck his head in quickly. "Ron? It's Dumbledore."

"Oh, nice one, Harry. Bloody marvellous!" Ron sounded panicked. "Leave me out of it."

"If you're not at Hogsmeade within the hour, you can find yourself a new best friend!"

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. "You've been saying that since first year."

Harry glared at him, then pulled his head out of the flames, which returned to their normal orange colour. He returned to Hagrid's bed before casting a quick "Engorgio Sonorus" at the tiny flickering green flame that had become Dumbledore.

"Sorry about that," he smiled weakly when the Headmaster had reappeared. "All this talking has made me feel a bit faint. I think perhaps I should lie down for a while."

"Indeed. Stoke up the fire, pour yourself a glass of pumpkin juice and get some rest," the long-haired elderly wizard replied, watching Harry through twinkling blue eyes. "You should take full advantage of a day like today."

"Er, yes, Professor Dumbledore." Now it was Harry's turn to frown slightly at his headmaster's cryptic comment, or perhaps it was just his guilt gnawing away at him. "Well, er ... g'bye."

Dumbledore nodded, then his head disappeared with a soft pop. Harry leaned back against Hagrid's headboard and exhaled deeply, his eyes closed. He thanked Merlin and all his lucky stars for having escaped such a close call.

A moment later, he sat up, swinging his legs around to the ground. Harry redressed quickly, then grabbed the wand again and tapped it against the pillows on the bed, muttering an improvised incantation. Slowly, the pillows reformed themselves into a rough-hewn, Harry-shaped dummy. He glanced about the hut, his eyes settling on the straw that lined Fang's massive basket. Perfect! Except for the small matter of Fang himself, sleeping contentedly on top of it. Harry crept over to the basket and gently scratched under the giant dog's drooping chin. Fang made a contented whimpering noise and shifted position slightly. Harry quickly grabbed a handful of straw and tried another Transfiguration spell. He was rewarded with a mop of black yarn. Shrugging, he tucked the wand behind his right ear then placed the yarn carefully on top of the dummy's head, pulling the heavy patchwork quilt up to its neck. Another tap of his wand and his blue-and-white striped pyjamas transformed into a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt and a bottle-green jumper. On his feet, where his slippers previously had been, were a pair of black Doc Martens.

Quickly, Harry searched the hut and found a small mirror in a rough-hewn wooden frame. He held it up to himself, peering at his reflection. The same unmistakable messy hair, green eyes and lightning-bolt scar stared back. With his other hand, Harry traced the path of his scar with a fingertip. Grabbing the wand from behind his ear, he gently touched its tip to his scar. He whispered a Vanishing Spell and his scar dulled from a vivid scarlet to a silvery pink. He repeated the incantation and the scar faded further, this time colouring a silvery white. Once more ought to do it, he thought, and tapped the wand to his forehead again. Harry blinked and pushed a tuft of hair out of the way, revealing smooth, pale, unblemished skin where his scar had been. He stared at his new reflection in the mirror for several moments, mesmerized.

The next part would prove to be a bit more difficult. Harry opened Hagrid's back door and crept along the short path to his pumpkin patch. He bent down, crawling around on his hands and knees until he found what he was looking for--a tiny grey field mouse. Scooping the creature up, he carried it back into the hut and placed it down gently on the bedside table. He had to think a few moments before remembering the proper charm to cast to bewitch the mouse into a peaceful, deep sleep. Once he was satisfied it was resting contentedly, he carefully aimed his wand at the small creature.

"Sonorus," he whispered. Immediately, the almost inaudible noise the mouse made when sleeping increased until it sounded like the soft snores of a child.

No, that would never do, Harry frowned. He shook the wand rapidly, as if trying to get the kinks out, then tried again.

"Sonorus!"

The snoring grew louder and louder until it mimicked the sounds of a 17-year-old boy. Perfect. Next, Harry filled a small crimson sack with Floo powder from Hagrid's fireplace, which he tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. Walking over to Hagrid's back door, he rested a hand against the doorknob and surveyed his handiwork.

"I'm so disappointed in Ron," Harry lamented, glancing over at the clock on the wall with a sigh as he opened the door. "Twenty Sickles says he's sitting in front of his fireplace, deciding whether or not to Floo to Hogsmeade."

Indeed, at the Burrow, Ron sat in front of his fireplace for the next 15 minutes, his eyes tightly shut, his right hand gripping a flowerpot containing Floo powder.

"He'll keep showing up ... He'll keep showing up until I go over. He'll make me feel guilty ... This is ridiculous!" Ron banged the flowerpot down on the hearth. "Okay, I'll go. I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go--crap!"

Dejected, Ron picked up a handful of glittering Floo powder. Just as he was about to toss it into the fireplace, there was a sudden noise, and a pair of well-worn Doc Martens, followed a figure clad in black and green came tumbling out of the flames. Harry stood up, brushing the soot out of his sooty-coloured hair.

"Y'know, no matter how many times I do that, I still can't get bloody used to it," he mused, polishing his glasses with his shirttail, as Ron looked on, completely gobsmacked.

"... Into the next century, there were a series of summits in the wizarding world to find a solution to this problem. Does anyone know what the result of this was? Anyone? Anyone? ... The result was the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, passed in? Anyone? Anyone know the year it was passed? ... It was passed in 1692, and placed the responsibility for maintaining the secrecy of the wizarding world ... where did it place this responsibility? Class? Does anyone know? ... The responsibility was placed squarely on the heads of the Ministry ..."

Without Harry and Ron around to cause mischief, the class was even longer and more dull than usual. Hermione had long since given up trying to pay attention to Professor Binns. Out of sheer curiosity, she had read up on the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy back in second year, and was more than well-versed in its various treatises and acts. She was currently passing the time by doodling "Mrs Hermione Jane Granger-Potter" over and over again (in invisible ink, naturally, lest anyone see) on a scrap piece of parchment.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the door, looking anxious. As Professor Binns beckoned her in, Hermione's mood instantly lifted. While the teacher and the nurse conferred in hushed tones at the front of the class, Hermione began shoving her quill, parchment and History of Magic textbook into her satchel and flashed a knowing smile at Lavender and Parvati.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione looked suitably startled as Madam Pomfrey called her name. "May I have a word with you, please?"

The rest of the class stopped their various activities and watched with great interest as Hermione nodded gravely and stood up, adjusting her robes. She whispered confidently under her breath to her dormmates, without actually looking in their direction. "Dead Gran."

Outside the classroom, Madam Pomfrey's usual abrupt manner and reserve seemed to melt away a little as she took one of Hermione's hands in her own.

"I'm so very sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, dear, but your father just sent word ... your grandmother has just passed away."

Hermione swallowed the smile that was twitching at the corner of her mouth. Mistaking the girl's quivering lips for the onset of tears, Madam Pomfrey clutched Hermione to her rather ample bosom and patted her on the head. "There, there, now ... it's perfectly fine. Let it all out ... that's it, dear ..."

Meanwhile, across the staff room table, Snape arched an eyebrow at Professor Trelawney. "A dead grandmother?"

She nodded in affirmation. "That's what I heard. Poppy Pomfrey notified Miss Granger. I had a strong feeling something like this was going to hap--"

"As did I, though for profoundly different reasons," the Potions Master interrupted with a dark glare. The Knut had just dropped for him, and his look of mere scepticism now morphed into one of the utmost suspicion. "Hermione Granger."

Professor Trelawney frowned. "Well ... yes. Of course."

"Potter's ... associate."

"Goodness, Severus--is that what the children are calling it these days?" He flinched as the tinkling sound of her laughter echoed off the room's stone walls. "Apparently Sir Nicholas caught them doing quite a bit of 'associating' last week in the Prefects' Bathroom--though I daresay you needn't be blessed with an Inner Eye to have seen that coming a mile awa--"

Snape almost winced in pain as he held up a hand to stop the Divination Professor from delving further into that particular subject and the imagery associated with it. Curiously, he turned to face an old oak wardrobe against the wall on the other side of the room, staring at it in deep thought. He addressed his colleague in a low, almost dangerous tone. "Get me Mr Granger's contact information from Professor McGonagall's office immediately."

Professor Trelawney blinked in startled surprise. She was about to take him to task for his rudeness, but judging by the mutinous look on his face, thought better of it. As she rose from the table, the flames from one of the two large fireplaces which flanked either end of the room coloured an acid green hue.

"Hello?" she trilled to the fireplace, where the face of a middle-aged man had just popped into view and was looking around uncertainly. "This is the Hogwarts staff room ... who's there, please?"

The man had a narrow but pleasant-looking face topped by thinning salt-and-pepper hair. He cleared his throat and spoke with a rather posh accent. "This is Mr Granger, Hermione Granger's father."

"Oh! Fancy that, Severus--it's Mr Granger!" Professor Trelawney exclaimed. "Would you still like his contact information?"

Snape gave her a withering glare, then fixed his beady-eyed gaze on the head in the fireplace. "Severus Snape."

"Oh, Professor Snape. How do you do?" Mr Granger began. "I'm so relieved I finally got through--I'm at a public fireplace in that Diagon-whatsit place and wasn't sure I had followed the instructions for this blasted thing properly. Wasn't even sure it would work, to tell the truth, but there you go. I've been trying to reach the Headmaster or Headmistress, but neither seem to be available at present."

"Indeed." His voice oozed sympathy laced with poison. "And how are you today, sir?"

"Well, we had a spot of rotten luck late last night, as you may have heard."

"Yes. Most unfortunate ... my heart simply bleeds for you."

Mr Granger blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Er, well, we've--we've got a lot of family issues to sort out, and the funeral's today, so if you wouldn't mind excusing Hermione, I'd be most appreciative."

"My pleasure." The corners of Snape's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Just produce the corpse, and I'll see to it Miss Granger is available. I'm afraid I shall need to see this dead grandmother for myself."

"Severus!" Professor Trelawney stared at her colleague, outraged. Clearly, her sixth sense hadn't seen that coming.

He stepped away from the fireplace and spoke to her conspiratorially. "There is no cause for alarm, Professor Trelawney--this is Harry Potter, the unctuous little twit. Do you really think Muggles can use the Floo Network to make calls? I'm setting a trap, and he's going to fall straight in."

From the fireplace, Mr Granger frowned in confusion. "Er, sorry--did-did you say you wanted to see the body?"

"Indeed," Snape replied coolly, turning back towards him. "You dig up the old bat, and I'll dig up your daughter. That's Hogwarts' policy."

Hermione's father seemed stunned. "Oh ... right."

Snape was beginning to enjoy himself--this was better than taking points from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff combined. "Tell me, was this your mother?"

"No ... no--my wife's mother."

Just then, a bright flash of green from the other fireplace distracted Professor Trelawney. Excusing herself, she walked to the opposite end of the room addressed the flames.

"Hogwarts staff room."

A familiar face materialised in the fireplace. "Oh, good morning, Professor Trelawney. I'm looking for Professor Snape. Do you happen to know where he is, please?"

For the second time in as many minutes, Sibyl Trelawney felt like she'd ingested one too many Alihotsy leaves, such was her hysteria. She blanched, babbling at Harry's head in disbelief. "But-but-but ... how-how ... er--just a moment!"

Racing back towards Snape, she arrived just in time to hear him bellow, "Tell you what, Muggle, if you don't like it, why don't you shove the pointy end of my wand up your--"

"SEVERUS!" Professor Trelawney shouted, gesturing frantically in a futile attempt to silence him.

"What!" he hissed.

She pointed dramatically to the far end of the room. "Harry Potter!"

Severus Snape froze. Slowly, his eyes turned towards the other fireplace, followed by his head and eventually, his body. Like a Dementor, he drifted towards the head in the fireplace in an almost trance-like state--only, when he reached it, instead of sealing Harry's fate with a Kiss, he merely stared at him with an expression of mute horror.

"Er, hallo, Professor Snape. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm feeling rather poorly today and I was wondering if it would be possible for one of my dormmates to bring me any Potions assignments I may have missed from this morning's class? Thank you."

Harry's face disappeared with a soft "pop". Snape felt as if the entire room had been hit by an Impedimenta Curse as everything seemed to go into slow motion and his whole world suddenly ground to a crushing halt. Cold beads of perspiration ran down his spine as his pulse quickened in his throat. His waxy pallor faded to the colour of sour buttermilk. The distance from one end of the room to the other felt like it had tripled in length as he began to walk back to the other fireplace, like a prisoner being led to the gallows. Hermione's father regarded him expectantly, wearing a thunderous expression.

"Mr Granger?" Snape's voice rose about half an octave on the last syllable. He swallowed, then continued in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Er ... I-I-I think I owe you an apol-apology, uh, sir."

"Well, I should say you do!" Mr Granger fumed.

"I-I'm deeply sorry for--"

"I should think you'd be sorry, for Chrissake!" Hermione's father was full of righteous indignation. "My mother-in-law dies, I spend half the morning trying to remember how to find this bloody Diagon-whatsits place so I can try and reach my daughter, risking life and limb to try and use this blasted thing, and then you start slagging off my family in our time of grief? What in the devil are you playing at?"

Snape struggled to explain himself, his normally icy veneer dissolving faster than a glacier hit by a Melting Spell. "I-I-I ... I really don't know, sir--I didn't think--I didn't think I was speaking to you--I thought I was speaking to someone else! I would never intentionally address you in that manner--I cannot begin to convey how deeply embarrassed I am--"

"Pardon my French, but you are a complete arsehole!"

"Absolutely," he yammered, an acute sense of self-preservation overtaking any pangs of humiliation he might have felt. "You are absolutely correct!"

"This is far from finished, do you hear me?"

"In-Indeed I do, Mr Granger!" Snape cursed the fact that his wand was currently lying atop his desk in his office in the dungeons. He would have gladly given every Galleon he owned to have it in his possession at that moment, in order to cast a Memory Charm on the man--wizarding ethics be damned.

"Call me sir, you vile little worm!"

"Yes-yes-yes sir!" Snape gulped. "Yessir!"

"You just mind your p's and q's, mate, and remember who you're dealing with!"

Having just left the fireplace in Molly and Arthur Weasley's bedroom, a figure descended the stairs at the Burrow just in time to overhear "Mr Granger's" last remark.

"Potter," he smirked in his best impersonation of a certain intrepid spy and master strategist. "Harry Potter."

Ron dodged out of view from the fireplace in the living room and stared at his best friend blankly. Harry sighed. "Never mind, it's a Mugg--"

"I'm a bit scared, Harry," he interrupted in a whisper, running a hand through his newly-greyed hair, "this is more than a bit over the top. What if he recognises my voice?"

"Impossible!" Harry grinned as he sat down on the floor in the corridor. "That tiny drop of Aging Potion you took on top of everything else worked wonders. You're doing brilliantly!"

"You reckon?" Ron grinned back, then motioned for his best friend to be quiet as he stepped back in front of the fireplace. "Snape! I don't have all day to row with you, so I shall make this perfectly clear: I want my daughter outside Hogsmeade train station within the hour, by herself. I don't want anybody--"

From below Snape's viewpoint, Harry yanked hard on Ron's trouserleg. "It's too dodgy--he'll think something's up! Cover it!"

A mild panic washed over Ron's face as he ducked down to Harry's level. "You!"

"Talk!"

"You!"

"Talk!" Harry shook his head. "No!"

"Snape!" Ron barked up into the fireplace, scrambling to come up with a new plan. "Listen here, man--I've had a change of mind! I want you out in front of that train station with Hermione--I'd like to have a few words with you, by God!"

Harry howled in disbelief and swiftly connected his foot with Ron's bottom. "On second thought--I don't have time to speak with you right now, we'll meet up soon for tea!"

Ron quickly pulled his head out of the fireplace and abruptly disconnected the conversation, then whirled around to face Harry. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Have you gone mad?"

"Why'd you kick me?"

"Have you gone mad?"

"Why'd you kick me?"

"Have you gone mad?"

"I asked you first!"

"How on earth are we supposed to get to Hogsmeade that quickly? Above and beyond the fact that Hermione's father is a Muggle and wouldn't have the first clue what Hogsmeade is, let alone how to even get there from Diagon Alley!" Harry huffed. "It's a 15 minute walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. And we're stuck all the way down here in Ottery-St-bloody-Catchpole, in the South of England, and we're supposed to magically get back up to the Scottish Highlands in a matter of minutes? Without Apparating licences? Even I'm not that bloody good, Ron!"

"Well, you got down here in a matter of minutes from all the way up there," Ron sulked.

"I took the tunnel under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, then Flooed here from Hogsmeade," Harry conceded. "But we can't just Floo back there and pick up Hermione--how are we supposed to do that if Snape is there with her? He's expecting her father--her Muggle father--to show up!"

Ron exhaled angrily. "I said she should be there alone, and you went berserk."

Faced with this truth, Harry instantly went into defence mode. "I didn't--I didn't kick you. I ... lightly tapped you with my foot."

"You kicked me," Ron corrected. "Look, don't ask me to take part in your ruddy crap if you don't like the way I do it, all right?"

An angry silence followed, which Ron eventually broke by reeling off a list of Harry's myriad transgressions. "You make me get out of my sickbed, you make me nick some of Fred and George's secret stash of Polyjuice Potion and raid their hair strand collection, you make me turn into some random stranger that looks nothing like Hermione's dad, you make me make a phony fire call to Severus Snape--the man could grind my goolies into oblivion!--and then you deliberately hurt my feelings."

"I didn't deliberately hurt your feelings," Harry responded contritely.

"Really." Ron's face was almost as red as his hair, which had begun to return to its normal colour. He snatched up the flowerpot full of Floo powder and shoved it at his best friend.

"What--"

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "Go and get bent, Harry--I want you to leave." With that, he turned sharply on his heels and angrily stalked away.

"Oh no, Ron--Ron, no!" Harry set the Floo powder down on a nearby table and chased after him. "Aw, mate, don't do that!"

"Bugger off," Ron muttered, as he kept walking down the corridor.

"Ron--steady on! Ron!" Harry caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "I didn't mean to lose my rag. I'm sorry. I was out of order."

Ron considered him a moment, the wrinkles and lines on his face beginning to slowly melt away. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. But ... you did bugger it up though, right?" Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry quickly cut him off. "Not that it was completely your fault."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well," Harry winced, already dreading the inevitable battle he knew the next words out of his mouth would spark, "to get this sorted, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for a bit of a favour."