Madam Pomfrey, being the experienced school nurse that she was, knew exactly what to expect after a Quidditch match, as well as the best way to deal with a large group of lightly injured students. Most scrapes and bruises (including Ron's swollen cheek, for which Harry gave him an apologetic look) took her mere moments to fix, and even healing one of the Slytherin Chasers who broke his ribs didn't take very long. Harry hung back and let the Healer do her work until he was the only one left in the hospital wing – barring Katie Bell, who turned out to have suffered a mild concussion and was currently confined to a bed.

"Mr. Potter, no surprise there," Pomfrey grumbled good-naturedly. "What ails you?"

"Scraped my leg," Harry explained.

The Healer tutted at the sight. Harry's pants were torn on the side where his leg made contact with the spectator stands, and he was bleeding from multiple shallow cuts. She vanished the ruined garment altogether and cleaned the wound before applying some pleasantly smelling poultice to it.

"That will do it for the cuts, but you have some severe bruising, young man. I'm surprised you managed to walk up here on your own."

"It hurt to walk, so I put a Numbing Charm on it."

Pomfrey sighed. "You really should have asked your friends to float you up here. Well, no matter. This healing potion will fix you right up."

Harry eyed the phial that was handed to him with suspicion. "Are you sure this is a healing potion, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter."

"But it's blue. Shouldn't it be red?"

"Mr. Potter, I have been a certified Healer for several decades now. I assure you, blue is a proper color for this type of a healing potion. Now drink it so I can have my tea break."

"That makes no sense whatsoever," Harry muttered under his breath, but downed the bitter-tasting liquid.

The matron nodded approvingly. "Let it work for half an hour, then you can go." She turned towards the other occupied bed. "Same to you, young lady, unless you still feel dizzy by that time."

"Got it," Katie replied cheerfully. She turned towards Harry and beamed, still high on the thrill of victory. "Good game, eh, Harry?"

"Brilliant," he agreed. "I just hope it's not our last one."

"Nah, don't worry. McGonagall loves Quidditch just as much as we do. I'm sure she'll get Umbridge to reform our team."

Harry wasn't so certain, but he didn't want to ruin Katie's good mood, so he didn't say anything. After a few minutes of companionable silence, it occurred to him to ask his teammate about something that had been bothering him since the end of the game.

"So, Katie, do you know why McGonagall had to confiscate my broom? Seems like a silly rule to me," Harry inquired, more curious than angry. He was expecting his Head of the House to return him his Firebolt any time now, after all.

"I think the school was forced to add that rule because of pressure from broomstick manufacturers," Katie explained promptly. "It's actually against the law to make any modifications to your broomstick, you know."

Harry was outraged. "Seriously? But it's my broomstick! It cost like four hundred galleons!" Of course, Sirius was the one that actually paid for it, but that wasn't the crux of the matter.

"Well, it's yours to use, but not to modify, tinker with, alter, or make copies of, if I remember the wording correctly. All of this should have been covered in the sales agreement you signed."

Oh yeah, Sirius had mentioned that to him in passing. "Aren't those things like 30 pages of small print that no one ever reads?"

"Yup. You're lucky you didn't give them your soul or firstborn child, really."

Harry groaned. "I guess greedy corporations are the same everywhere."


Poppy was relaxing in her office with a nice mug of hot tea. The hospital wing was blessedly empty, the last Quidditch victims finally taken care of. She set the cup down with a sigh when a bell on her desk went off, and stuck her head through the office door to see who had entered her realm.

"Back so soon, Mr. Potter?" she asked, not too concerned. The boy was moving on his own power, so he couldn't have been hurt too much. "Is your leg still bothering you?"

"No, nothing like that, Madam. It's just, well, I heard something interesting from Hermione. She said you could measure power levels."

"If you mean your innate magical power, then yes, I can do that."

"Could you measure mine?"

"I suppose that would be fine, Mr. Potter, but why?"

"Just curious about how strong I am. Why isn't this done routinely?"

"There's just no point, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey explained while digging through a cupboard for the rarely used item. "Even the least capable witch or wizard can adequately perform most of the spellwork taught at Hogwarts. It's the repeated casting that can be a problem. We mostly use this device to diagnose magical exhaustion, although that's a very rare occurrence."

The device in question looked like a rather fancy monocle with a golden frame and several dials. The nurse turned the largest of them and then simply looked at Harry through the glass.

"Well, your core is currently at about 1,000 thaums. I daresay you are going to be quite a powerful wizard when you come of age, Mr. Potter."

Oddly enough, the boy didn't seem too happy about it. He frowned and deliberated for a bit, then told Pomfrey that he'd come back in a few minutes and to please not put the magimeter away. She just shook her head at Potter's weird behavior and went back to her office to finish her tea.

True to his word, the young wizard did come back in a few minutes, although the school nurse had to do a double take at his appearance. Harry seemed to have dyed his hair yellow and spiked it up to the point where it looked quite ridiculous. Ignoring her raised eyebrows, the boy started flexing his muscles and... groaning?

"Mr. Potter, do you require a mental evaluation?" the Healer asked in a raised voice.

"I'm fine," Harry grunted back. "Do it... measure me... now!"

Pomfrey raised her hands in exasperation, but acquiesced. Somehow it seemed easier to just go with it, and, unlike the Headmaster, she had no qualms about choosing the easy way out. Raising the magimeter to her right eye, she fiddled with the dial, then stared at the straining figure.

"My word," she whispered in shock. "It's... it's over nine thousand!"

"Fucking sweet!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "It worked!"

Pomfrey moved the magimeter away from her eye and looked at it intently, then facepalmed. Her inexperience with the device was to blame.

"No, wait, Mr. Potter, I had it upside down. It's actually 1,006."

"Well, fuck."

"As a punishment for foul language, you will assist me in the hospital wing after class." Pomfrey did her best to hide her delight at getting some unpaid labor.

"Aww, fiddlesticks."


A/N: The 1,006 / Over 9000 joke is shamelessly stolen from the DBZ Abridged series by TeamFourStar.