A/N: *Grins* Took a while, but it's here. Originally, this was going to be the "charrie-turns-into-female/male" fic, but I rewrote it after I realized what a cliché that was. Gah. Anyway, here. Here's where Murphy's Law hits. Hehehehehe. And here it hits Harry… this is still slightly exposition. Just wait until the Trio hits… *Laughs evilly* Read, dammit!
Chapter 2--Of Potions and Folded Parchment
Harry awoke to his bed shaking. With as muddled as his mind was, it took a few moments for him to realize that this was not usual. He looked up; this was quite more work than it sounds. It required ungluing his eyes and wrenching his neck up from its seemingly permanent position.
Ron was the perpetrator. "Come on," Ron said. "We've got about four minutes 'til Potions and Snape will murder us! Come on!"
This rang clear. Harry sat up as quickly as possible. "Four minutes?" he said weakly. Ron nodded. "Bloody hell."
Approximately four and three quarters of a minute later, Ron and Harry ran into the potions dungeon, panting for breath. Harry fell into a coughing fit that only slowed when he saw the look on Snape's face.
"Professor, *cough* we were *cough* just a little *cough*--" Harry collapsed onto the desk miserably.
"I don't care for your excuses. Twenty points." Ron winced. "I return to my lecture on lacewings," Snape said. He turned away from the students and began to lecture.
Draco glanced at the list of ingredients he had stowed in his pocket. Lacewings, monarch caterpillars, nothing all that bad except... Dementor extract? Extract from a Dementor, sure, but from what part of the--
Halfway through this thought pattern, in self-protection, his mind deleted the idea entirely.
This was going to be difficult to get, whichever part of the Dementor it came from. Then again, the potion was called a Sensory Activation potion. As of right now he could barely see, barely hear and he had no sense of smell or taste. An activation of senses would be a likely cure, and if it wasn't, who wouldn't mind waiting a few days in the hospital wing?
Everything was looking so optimistic that Draco tried all the tricks that killed the ladies. His swagger was almost back, except it was a little stunted because he had to shield his nose with a handkerchief or Kleenex in case of a mucular explosion. It wasn't helped by the fact that every one of his muscles hurt and standing vaguely upright and carrying a knapsack was damn near impossible.
In the smirk, however, he persevered. He had sunk to a level he hadn't before--general dermatological magic--and adjusted the rosy tint of his nose, that would have been vaguely charming had he not been a pale blonde, with a Lightening Charm. It lasted 40 minutes, so he had to run to the bathroom and replenish the spell at those times along with his Kleenex. As he had been reminded in childhood, it takes 43 muscles to frown and 17 to smile. A smirk, he figured, was an average of the two, and the pain of using 30 muscles, though a lot, was a pretty good sacrifice to make to at least not feel entirely pathetic.
He held it long enough to smirk at Granger, then crashed back onto the Potions tabletop--this time having the presence of mind to fall with his head to the side. He could barely hear her say, "Is Malfoy dying?" and Crabbe was shaking him awake.
Crabbe said one of the longest sentences Draco had ever heard him mutter; "Look, there's Potter."
Draco was about to waste the effort of saying something sarcastic, but dismissed it and looked over. His face twisted into the best representation of glee that took the least amount of effort, leaving him looking more like a ferret than he probably would have believed.
Snape was crouched over Potter's tabletop like an overgrown vulture dripping with grease. Potter had just gotten another 20 points taken from Gryffindor because he, too, apparently had fallen asleep about the same time as Draco had. Ahh, favoritism. Potter huddled into himself and snuffled into a tissue.
The poor bastard's got my cold, Draco realized with a jolt of sadistic glee. Misery may love company, but misery with a very persistent head and chest cold loved no company better than its archenemy.
Draco painstakingly pocketed the list of ingredients and tried to pay attention. It wasn't like he'd miss anything he didn't know.
He'd try to get the extract of... well, the extract from Snape and if not, he'd steal it. He'd make the potion and then! he'd sell it to Potter for 20 sickles a drop.
Ahh, to be young and villainous. He tried to laugh villainously, but just ended up in a coughing fit that didn't end until Crabbe whacked him across the shoulder. But it was the effort that was important.
He'd make this potion or die trying.
-------
Why do you need extract of Dementor?" Snape had a look of extreme mistrust on his face, masked as his usual... suspicious look. Anyway...
"Potion, sir," he said. "To help with... my cold."
"Let me see the list. You know what potions are legal or illegal, I am sure of that. If you even give an inkling that you are brewing up poisons, you will be expelled."
"Of course not, sir," Draco said, and was surprised that he meant it. Stupid honesty. It wasn't a villainous trait. He attempted a scowl and handed Snape the list.
"From Varied Potions? Hmm. Yes. Sensory Activation, correct? Well, it seems to be in order. Yes." Snape nodded to Draco, opened a cabinet behind him, and took out on small vial. "How much do you need?"
"Ten drops, sir." That was twice the amount needed, but it paid to be cautious. Snape handed him a vial with ten drops of silvery liquid that was presumably the extract.
"Be careful, it's... very potent."
"Sure." Draco trudged out of the dungeon, into Slytherin common and fell headfirst into a couch. Blaise Zabini gave him a critical look and tossed her dark hair.
"Hey, Malfoy, you don't look so good."
"Thanks," came his voice from the cushion.
"Need any help?"
"No, I'm fine."
"That position looks painful."
"Every position is painful."
"Oh." Blaise blinked. "So what were you talking to Snape about?"
"My salvation," Draco said into the cushion. He struggled up and regarded her levelly. "You don't have anything else to do. Want to help?"
She realized that this was a cry for help from the proud Slytherin boy. "Sure," she said. "What is it?"
"A potion."
"Ah, for this cold of yours?" He nodded. "I'll get my things," she said, and went up to the girls' dorm. By the time she got back, Draco was just settling into the chair by the fire. "What do we need?"
He tossed her the list and she caught it. Blaise wasn't a Chaser this year for nothing. "This it?" Her eyebrows raised as she saw the last ingredient on the list. "Extract of Dementor?" she said weakly.
"Don't think about it. It's not a pretty train of thought. Anyway, I have it. Do you have the rest?" Draco sneezed violently into a Kleenex, consequently destroying it.
"Bless you," Blaise said offhand, "and yes." She opened up a box and flourished the ingredients. She hooked her cauldron over the fire and said, "Let's see.. what's first?"
He gave her the most condescending look he could. "The water."
"Oh." She shrugged and said, "Aqueus!" and water sloshed into the pot. "Now what?"
"The lacewings, the caterpillars, armadillo bile and the raven feathers. In that order. Then let stew for five hours."
Blaise sighed. Draco coughed. This was going to be a long, long night.
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The potion was nearly done five hours later.
"Thank God," Draco said as the potion bubbled dark blue. "Now I add the extract and I drink away." He levitated the cauldron right in front of him, poured in the extract and watched it turn the potion to a shade of light blue. He directed it over to the table and poured it into three long vials. He pocketed two and raised one to Blaise.
"To health," he said, and drank the whole thing.
To any sane person, this is a definite warning sign that, though the subject may actually heal the person saying this, it will definitely not be good for the mental health of this person.
In other words, Draco is now going to be royally and hilariously screwed.
It was viscous, thick like honey and Draco gagged as it burned a hot trail down his throat. Blaise grabbed him as he nearly fell facefirst to the floor and pushed him back into the chair. He fell into a coughing fit, then stopped.
"It's gone." He sniffed. "It's gone." He touched his eyes and opened them wide. "I can see! I can hear! Dear God, free at last, free at last!"
Blaise applauded, and grinned at him. "That's great, Malfoy," she said.
"Bastard. I've been flipping my hair at him for five years and he doesn't even look at me. What a waste of a MarvelBra. Well, he'll never get to see me with my shirt off, the arrogant git."
He flinched up, glared at Blaise. "What did you say?" he said.
She blinked ingenuous eyes. "I said 'that's great'," she said. "What do you mean?"
"What did you say about--" He pressed his fingers to his temples. "Never mind. I have to get some sleep." Draco started to leave, but he stopped as he saw Blaise starting to go to her dorm with her things. "Oh, and Blaise?"
She looked up at him. "Hmm?"
"Save the MarvelBra for Avery. He thinks you're ravishing." Draco swept away before Blaise could hit him with anything.
Sensory Activation potion? He ran into his dormitory, grabbed Varied Potions and flipped to the page he marked.
Sensory Activation Potion
Will enhance all deficient senses and increase one's initial sensitivity to the world and people around them.
1.5 L water
Five grams dried lacewings
2.5 grams monarch caterpillar
.5 L armadillo bile
5 raven feathers
5 drops extract of Dementor
There was a funny tear at that part of the page. He smoothed it down and felt a crease there. Draco's stomach dropped. The page was folded over. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the page.
Do not decrease or increase any amounts in this potion. Take only ten drops. Every ten drops last for two weeks and there is no immediate cure except time.
He shuffled through his pockets until he got one of the two vials of Sensory Activation potion and stared at it. It was at least twenty five drops. He looked in the mirror in vague horror. "Mind-reading," he said out loud, and consequently fainted.
A/N: Funny yet?
