A/N: I was suddenly inspired to write this…

Disclaimer:

Harry: Starry owns us!

Voldie: No she does not, you scar headed fool! No one owns me! No one! NO ONE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-

Hermione: Er I'm obviously interrupting something but…er… Starry doesn't own you. JK Rowling owns the both of you.

The Unexpected

Dumbledore was walking back and forth outside a top-security room in St. Mungo's.

What he'd dreaded for fifteen years had finally happened. Harry Potter might not survive! Oh, no- Voldemort hadn't captured him or tortured him into insanity. Harry Potter had.. had.. had dragon pox. This disease, ineffective to muggles, killed one out of a million wizards every decade. It was just Harry Potter's bloody luck that he was one of the very few.

It wasn't that Dragon Pox wasn't a deadly disease. People just stopped getting it, around a thousand years ago. Unfortunately, after getting the burn from the Hungarian Horntail in his fourth year, he'd slowly been infected.

Dumbledore stared at the sign reading, "Harry Potter". Through the small window on the door, he could see the piles of flowers and stuffed owls, each gift with a greeting attached. Harry's friends had been in tears. Hermione broke down every few hours, crying for her dying friend. Ron, extremely unlike himself, was quiet and wouldn't talk much. Hermione's tears were nothing compared to Mrs Weasley's. She wept buckets, wailing about 'that sweet, sweet boy!".

Dumbledore, himself, managed to get teary-eyed. He, now, let out a sigh.

If Voldemort knew about Harry's state, it would be easy to finish him off. That is, if Harry didn't die from the 'pox' first. What Dumbledore had feared for about a decade had become real. The Wizarding world was about to lose hope.

In midst of thinking all this, Dumbledore was about to let out a rather girlish scream, out of frustration, when he found himself being blasted out of the way.

He shot up, his wand held out. He was about to hex the rude, rude person but he found that the stranger had vanished. Oh well. Dumbledore thought. He'd just go back to moping about how he was doomed. Where was he, again Oh. Right. Losing hope and fear becoming real…Dumbledore absentmindedly popped a lemon drop in his mouth. It didn't occur to him that what he'd been fearing might be happening right now, inside the room that he was oh-so-carefully guarding.

Meanwhile…

A stranger appeared inside the top-security room in St. Mungo's.

He was tall and dressed in black. Some may have mistaken him for a dementor, but Lord Voldemort was much more dangerous than that. He drew his hood back, revealing his pale skin and blood red eyes.

The sleeping boy was unaware that his arch-enemy was in his room, staring at him, with what seemed to be barely hidden anger in his eyes.

"WAKE UP, POTTER!"

Harry Potter practically leapt out of his hospital bed. Frightened out of his mind, he shoved his glasses on and sat up. His mouth dropped about a foot as he took a good look at the rude intruder. He saw an angry looking Voldemort, pointing his wand at him. He sighed. This never seemed to get old.

He was about to die. Oh well. At least he would do it, heroically. Maybe someone would say that he died, defending the sick wizards in St. Mungos…

He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. It certainly came. Something fluttery seemed to cover him.

"Open your eyes, Potter!" He heard old Voldie hiss.

He wasn't dead? Oh. This was new…

Harry opened his eyes. He picked up a bit of what had been thrown at him. It was a rose petal. Looking at it, weirdly, Harry looked all around him. Voldemort had covered him with flowers. Was Voldemort trying to smother him to death with plants?

"Potter. I have a bone to pick with you." Voldemort snapped, looking very pissed.

"Er. Okay…" Harry replied, politely.

Harry had never been more surprised in his life, when Voldemort flew at him and gave him a… hug?

Blinking, Harry tried to push the (obviously anorexic) killer off of him, but Voldemort just wouldn't let go. "Could you.. get off me?" Harry asked, carefully. "You're squashing me… and you're… slimy!"

After a minute later, Voldemort finally got off him. Harry tried to regain his breath.

"What are you doing her-," Harry started to say, before he was cut off.

"DON'T DIE!" Lord Voldemort screeched.

Harry clutched at his heart. He could swear he heard an animal drop dead.

"Erm. I'm sorry?" Harry tried, still confused.

"SORRY? You think that's ENOUGH?" Voldemort shrieked, "How can you DIE? After all these years of bonding?"

Voldemort broke off with what sounded like a sob.

"You can't die of Dragon Pox, Potter!" Voldemort continued yelling, "I have to kill you!"

Harry, again confused, stared at Voldemort. "Er. You could always kill me, now, you know…"

Voldemort stopped ranting to himself. He seemed to consider this for a moment or two. He finally burst out with, "But it won't be the same!"

Getting off his bed and limping towards Voldemort, he patted the killer's shoulder. "There, there."

"Get back to bed!" Voldemort screamed, suddenly. "You can't heal, if you don't get rest!"

Harry looked taken aback. "Okay, okay! You don't have to get all crazy…" Then he remembered Voldemort was crazy.

When Harry had finally leaned back on his bed, Voldemort continued. "How can I not kill you? I mean, ever since you were a baby, I tried! You're kind of… special to me! I'm destined to kill you! You can't just drop out like that! You're a coward! A coward, I say! I hate you!"

Harry listened to all of this, politely. He didn't interrupt him. Harry knew Voldemort needed to get his stress out, somehow. But he was taken by suprise when Voldemort wrenched him out of bed and held him up. Harry looked down his feet, dangling in the air.. This was rather uncomfortable.

Voldemort began shaking him. "Get better, Potter! I order you to get better! I have to kill you! I've been trying to do so for fifteen years! I can't give up now!"

Harry blinked again. "I can.. try."

"You can't try! You WILL get better, do you hear me, scarhead? Otherwise you'll ruin my reputation!" Voldemort screeched, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air.

Harry dropped to the floor, hard. He groaned and lay still, hoping the pain would go away.

Voldemort stared down at him, after a moment of silence. "Potter? Did I… kill you?"

He looked very hopeful.

Just when Voldemort was about to break open the champagne that he'd brought with him, Harry sat up. "I don't think so."

Voldemort groaned. He threw the champagne bottle out of the window.

"Fine, Potter! Be that way! Be stubborn! Be a Gryffindor! Be the fat headed freak that you are! But I'm warning you..! You get better and let me kill you, okay?"

Voldemort thrust a fruit basket into Harry's hands.

Harry didn't quite know what to say. Inspecting the unexpected gift, he said uncertainly, "Erm. Okay, then."

Voldemort looked pleased. "Great! I'll be off, then. I have an appointment for a pedicure at- Nevermind! I meant, I have to kill someone! Tata!"

He rushed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

That was unexpected. Harry thought.

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Dumbledore strutted outside the top-security room in St. Mungo's. Giggling to himself, he burbled, "All hope is lost!" He had gotten high from a handful of lemon drops.

The door he was… ah.. supposed to have been guarding opened. Lord Voldemort stepped out, very casually, as if he did this every day.

Voldemort stopped. He saw Dumbledore, now rolling around on the floor, singing Wannabe(Spice Girls). Raising an eyebrow, he quickly walked away.

That was unexpected. He thought, as he apparated away.

A/N: I know most of it might not have made sense, but I really tried to make it funny. But then my friends say I make lame jokes :/

Oh well. Hope you enjoyed it :)

Review will be appreciated :D