Chapter 10

Epidemic

Dumbledore sighed as he entered the hospital wing. Every bed was taken, and more had been conjured to accommodate each new student or even teacher afflicted.

Just after his speech the first night, it seemed half of the students, and even Giles, and Snape had suddenly, and inexplicably collapsed.

There appeared at the outset to be no connection between those still comatose individuals, not as a whole. He couldn't say for all of them, but Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, and Severus Snape, as well as Willow Rosenberg did have one thing in common.

There was at least one thing in their life, one major thing, they would like to have changed. Upon questioning, Mickey informed him that Joe and Giles both felt the same way. It had struck a chord with him and he'd consulted his books. Failing to find what he was looking for, he'd gone to Giles' office and found the answer there.

The Aithreachas Curse. Though, less of a curse, more of a magical disease really. Following his hunch further, he'd had Joseph MacLeod checked for bites, or wounds. Sure enough, on the back of his neck was what seemed to be a normal bug bite, but Pomfrey had checked it and it was far from ordinary.

Joe had explained that he'd thought he'd seen an old friend and followed her into the forest. Clearly he'd been lured there so as to be a carrier for the curse.

The curse put anyone falling under it's effects into a coma, and while they were asleep, they lived out the way they wish their life had been like. It was a deceptive weapon, used to remove enemies, but keep them alive. It was mostly used for demoralization. For the curse was not the problem. It was the cure.

Madame Pomfrey looked up at him from the bedside of one of the infected, a grave look on her face. "The longer we wait, the worse it will be Headmaster."

"I know." He said quietly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and placed his hand on the shoulder of the comatose Harry. "I am so sorry," he murmured. "Poppy, prepare the cure."

"Wotcher Rupert." Jenny grinned. Her grin widened when he grimaced.

"I'm not sure which is worse." He said. "You using British slang, or when you used to attempt a British accent."

Jenny laughed, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "What does that mean anyway?" she asked.

"What?"

"Wotcher?"

Snape watched them file into class, his eyes narrowed. How much had they forgotten over the summer? Well he would soon find out. The chatter ceased abruptly as he charmed the class-room doors shut with a bang.

"Welcome to your final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts." He said in his low, dignified voice. "Let's see how much you learned."

A wave of his wand released the Bogart from the wardrobe. Another wave, and several Pixies and Sprites were darting to and fro determined for mischief. Before long the room was filled with creatures, from the merely annoying, to the truly dangerous. Naturally there were protective spells up to prevent anyone from being seriously harmed. But they were there to learn to defend themselves against black magic and the creatures born of it, and he knew no better way to learn it, than to do it.

He swelled with pride, not that he'd tell them so of course, with the speed and efficiency with which they dispatched all the menaces he'd unleashed. Even Longbottom, bumbler though he was had done well. Much to his amusement, Draco and Potter made a rather good team when they weren't trying to hex each other into next term.

Narcissa would be proud. Their boy was going to do great things, he was sure of it.

"It's ready." Poppy said, holding the incense sticks gingerly in one hand. Together, she and Dumbledore set one stick by the head of each of those infected. Dumbledore swallowed hard, and held his wand out.

"Ready?" he asked.

Poppy nodded silently and held her own wand ready.

"Aduro!" they said together.

To be continued…