Today is not Harry's day. Nope. But then again, what day is Harry's day? He always has a demented, ugly, hypocritical, lame excuse for a human being trying to kill him, plus a rather sexy (although you'll never hear him admit that), aristocratic, little snot who keeps trying to jinx him, and on top of all that, Snape had forced him to drink a potion.
At first, Harry wasn't worried. They had been making very innocent growth potions. Not something to worry about, right? Plus, he always did want to grow those extra few inches.
Though, it was only until after Harry had swallowed the potion that Snape revealed who had made the potion. I'll give you a hint. It starts with 'N' and ends in 'eville'. Harry almost fainted.
But alas, it was too late. So Harry was stuck in the hot and humid Great Hall, sick to his stomach and feeling like his head was about to explode, praying to Merlin that this was only a side effect of the potion, and that nothing else was wrong with him. (I mean, besides the obvious.)
"Oi!" Ron shouted, showering Harry with bits of peach cobbler. "You alright there, mate?"
"I just down a whole vial of potentially dangerous poison. Do you think I'm alright?" Harry shot back, pouting pitifully.
A look of horror immediately crossed his face. "D- D- Did I just-" he stuttered.
A similar look of horror spread over half of the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter just pouted. Pouted.
The world was coming to an end.
"No. No, I did NOT just pout. Nope, not me!" Harry 'Denial' Potter declared, glancing up and down the table and grinning manically, which only concerned his housemates more.
There was a beat of silence, before Hermione stared at him and asked, "Are you mental?"
Harry ran his hands over his face and through his hair. "I need some sleep."
Ron still had his eyebrows raised so high that they were hidden behind his hair. "Yeah, you do, mate."
So, after Harry finished dinner, which consisted mainly of chocolate pie, chocolate cake, chocolate cookies, chocolate shrimp balls (don't ask), and any other kind of chocolate imaginable, he trudged, feeling very bloated, up the stairs to the dormitory. He didn't bother waiting for his friends.
He reached the boy's dormitory and crawled into his four-poster bed, curling up on his side in pain. Ever since dinner, his stomach was cramping like crazy. Maybe he shouldn't have had all that chocolate. Mmmm… Chocolate… Just thinking about it was making him crave more…
He wriggled around in his bed, trying to get up when he smashed his head into his headboard.
Under normal circumstances he would have spat curses at the damned thing, but these were not normal circumstances. So instead, he burst into tears.
Which is when, Harry could see, it was time for him to go to the infirmary.
So, Harry sat up in a hospital a few minutes later, while Madame Pomfrey 'tut tutted' at him as she poked him in random places with her wand.
"So tell me again what is wrong, Potter?" she asked, jabbed the stick at his knee and muttering a spell that caused a tingly sensation to shoot up his leg and into his stomach.
Harry sniffled. "W-well, my stomach hurts, and my head aches, and I want chocolate, and-
and –" he lowered his voice and whispered, "at dinner today, I pouted."
Madame Pomfrey did all that she could do to stifle her gasp.
Harry gingerly touched his chest. "And my chest hurts."
"Your chest?" the nurse asked, prodding it with her wand.
"Ow!" Harry yelped, jerking back.
"Is it your heart, Potter?" Pomfrey asked, frowning.
"No. My chest," Harry shot her a look.
"Your lungs, then?"
"No. My chest!" Harry repeated, glaring. He could feel another pout coming on. Oh no.
"Mister Potter! Kindly tell me what hurts, before I decide to leave you in this misery!" Madame Pomfrey shot, frustrated.
"The- The area around my-" he hissed the next word, "nipples."
Madame Pomfrey's eyebrows shot way up.
"Your bre-" she started, but Harry cut her off with a wail.
"Oh dear. Now, how did this come to happen, Mister Potter?"
Harry hiccoughed pitifully, then shrugged. "Snape force-fed me a potion."
Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat. "A hormone potion?"
"No. It was supposed to be a growth potion," Harry corrected.
"Supposed to be?"
"Neville made it."
"Oh dear," Madame Pomfrey repeated, then placed a hand over her heart.
"Well, what's wrong with me?" Harry asked, eager to be normal again.
The healer resumed prodding him with her wand again, and said, "I'm going to have to do a few more tests, and get Professor Snape down here, but-" she paused to look Harry in the eye, "it appears that you have what we like to call, PMS."