To Harry's astonishment, once the first week had gone by, it got easier. It felt rather like the very first week at Hogwarts ever. There were differences in classroom locations, professors, and even the greenhouses in which they were to study. It took getting used to – as it took getting used to that it was Ginny at his side and not Ron. But he eventually sorted out that Defense Against the Dark Arts was in the old Charms room, Charms was along the third floor corridor where a three-headed dog had once guarded a trapdoor, the greenhouses were on the bluff above the lake, and Transfiguration was precisely the same, down to Professor McGonagall's pulled back hair and tight-lipped look. He expected that she did not allow much change in her life.
More difficult to adjust to was the presence of his parents, but even then, Harry found himself reacting with less extremes when they came into sight, more often than not in the company of one another. As a prank, James had sent her a rather vibrant bouquet of singing lilies, which burst into twelve-part harmony whenever she entered the common room. Harry thought she might like it, for she smiled whenever she thought no one saw her looking at them.
What he liked, he realized after a couple of weeks, was that here, in 1977, he had the kind of anonymity he'd not had since he was living full time on Privet Drive. There was some small interest and stir at the idea of new students, but that died quickly once professors began piling on schoolwork.
"It's almost like we're ghosts," said Harry, as they walked from double potions with a Professor Slughorn, who was as ebullient and charming as Snape had been dark and condescending.
"What?" Ginny asked, looking at him, askance.
"I mean… not really ghosts," Harry amended. A trio of fifth year boys watched them as they passed. Harry could not help but notice that the school population – many of which were boys – found Ginny the more interesting Peverell by far. He glared in their general direction, trying to remember what he'd been trying to say.
They turned a corridor.
"Take her for example." Harry jerked his thumb toward the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw's house ghost. As far as he knew, no one knew her name. "No one knows who she is – who she really is – just that she's here."
The Grey Lady, as though sensing he was speaking about her, gave him a pointed, haughty look and took a sharp right turn into a wall.
"I think I see what you mean," said Ginny, shifting her books in her arms. "They see us, but they don't know us?"
"Right," said Harry. "Yeah. That's it exactly." He paused. "It's a little refreshing."
Ginny didn't say anything, just continued to walk beside him. After nearly a month in close proximity to her, the sort of proximity he'd once shared with Ron, he was starting to be able to read her as well as her brother.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
She looked up at him, blinking. "No… well, maybe a little tired. I think you're right about people seeing us but not knowing us. How could they? But"—and she laughed a little—"I prefer to think of myself a bit more substantial than a ghost."
"Of course," said Harry. "It was a dumb thought," he admitted.
"Not dumb," she said, shaking her head.
It took two full weeks of class for Harry to realize something was missing — or, rather, someone. His professors were a mix of those he knew and those he didn't: Professor Slughorn and Old Bones were new to him, teaching subjects that their future counterparts were not old enough to do so. His favorite, by far, was Old Bones, who was an uncommonly gifted teacher and likely some relation to Harry's classmate, Susan Bones. Slughorn, immense and affable, was a welcome antidote to Snape, who had been sinister and cruel.
Snape, Harry realized, halfway through September, was nowhere to be seen. Over the next few days, he enlisted Ginny to help him look for him. "Thin, sallow-faced bat," Harry told her.
"I remember what he looks like," said Ginny. "He's the only professor who ever gave me detention."
"What'd he do that for?" asked Harry, for aside from the incident with Riddle's diary, Ginny had always struck him as a rather conscientious student.
"Oh, he was—" But then, to his surprise, she cut herself off and ducked her head. "You know, I don't want to get into that," she said, shrugging. "It wasn't really anything. You know how much of a prat he was. So you haven't seen him yet, eh?"
"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "And we ought to have done, right? He's in seventh year with, you know."
"Right," said Ginny.
Over the next week, in addition to minding his almanac, consulting it whenever even so much as a hint of moisture entered the air, watching his parents surreptitiously, and tutoring Ginny in Transfiguration – the rest she did just fine on her own, despite being a year behind – Harry looked for Snape. There was no sign of him at any of the meals, though he arrived early and left late. Ginny helped him a couple of times, reporting she hadn't seen him in any of the corridors she walked through on the way to classes she didn't share with Harry.
Though Snape's absence was rather more pleasant than Hagrid's, there was a still an odd hole created by his absence.
"Are you looking for someone?" James asked one afternoon, around a mouthful of food.
Harry shook his head. It was lunch in the great hall; students shouted at each other across the large space, food appeared on platters in the center tables at regular intervals, and people streamed from one side to the other. Lunch was far less structured than dinner. But, even then, three weeks into the term, who would Harry Peverell, new student, know well enough to look for them across the great hall?
Thankfully, Ginny had an idea.
"I have been," Ginny announced, just as she stabbed a slice of cold ham, giving the fork a shake to remove it from its neighbor, stuck to it with jelly. "Before we ever even got here… well, we heard about some incidents." She grimaced. Harry stared at her, wondering where she was going with this. "We've got a list of people we ought to stay away from… you know." Her voice lowered. "Most of them in Slytherin."
"I – like who?" James asked, shoving his half-full plate aside and leaning toward her.
"Um…"
"Like Malfoys," said Ginny.
"Oh, yeah, they're a bad lot," said Sirius, who appeared interested as well. "There's only one at school right now, though, and she's in first year."
"The Notts?" suggested Ginny.
Sirius and James exchanged looks. "None of those here."
"Mulciber—"
"Oh, yeah, definitely stay away from him. He's the tall Slytherin boy over there, laughing with his mates… the one with the tie around his head."
"We had a… bit of an altercation with him last year," Sirius put in. "He was harassing Professor McKinnon's little sister. You've met her, I think. We put a stop to it, but he's the type to try again."
"And Snape?" Harry interjected, as casually as possible.
It was as though he'd tossed a few doxies at them. Both Sirius and James reeled backward, straightening up, giving each other a commiserating sort of glare. Beside them, Remus, who Harry had been only vaguely aware was listening, sighed. "Now you've done it," Remus murmured. Near him, James and Sirius scoffed.
"Him," said James. "He's in with Mulciber and that crowd."
"Whatever you do," said Sirius, "don't mention him to Evans."
"Or," said James, suddenly looking nervous, "don't mention him to Evans while I'm around. I don't want her reminded of… anything."
Remus snorted.
"What's that about?" Harry asked.
"It's… nothing," said James. "It's just… whoever you were talking to was right. There are people here, students, who… well, they're not so much into Defense against the Dark Arts, but into the Dark Arts themselves. You've a good list of people who might be on that."
"And this Snape is on it," said Ginny. "So which one is he?" she asked, pointing at the Slytherin table, quite unconcerned if anyone saw her. Harry pressed his leg against hers, trying to tell her to be careful without actually saying it.
"He's not here," said Sirius, who'd gone back to his chips.
"Got some sort of internship," scoffed James. "He's doing an independent study."
"We can do that?" Harry asked, astonished.
"Next year, in seventh," said Remus.
"But it's deuced difficult to get one," Sirius put in.
"Lily applied, too," said James, looking down the table where Lily Evans sat with a group of girls, laughing with them. "To the same one, actually."
"We all know why Snape got it instead of her," Remus muttered.
But the subject didn't persist beyond that, other than that James mentioned offhand that the git – in his words – would be back for the spring term. Harry sat back, grateful Ginny had opened this discussion in such a way that didn't give any clue to their true identities. So Snape was gone for the entire term? Harry had to hide his smile through the rest of lunch.
His father and Sirius left, taking Remus with them. Harry lingered. "Well," he said, finally, as Ginny packed her bookbag, "that's the best news I've had all day." The warm weight of her leg against his thigh disappeared as she stood, leaving his own thigh feeling oddly cold. "An entire term with Snape gone!"
"It's our lucky year," Ginny said, chuckling. "C'mon, Harry, let's get to class. We don't want to be late for McKinnon, do we?"
HPHPHHPHPHPHPHP
Five minutes after class was to start, Professor McKinnon staggered through the door holding up the end of a very large crate. Someone stumbled in after her, grunting with pain.
"Is that Sirius?" Ginny whispered.
"Think so," said Harry.
Somehow, Professor McKinnon and Sirius managed to bring the crate to the front of the room, settling it with a ringing sort of thump. Both then stretched with a groan. Harry covered his smile when he saw Sirius's youthful face drop into a hopeful sort of smile, with none of its usual sass. The older version had not been joking when he'd mentioned his crush. He cut a glance at Ginny, who was already looking at him, and looked away swiftly before he started laughing.
He supposed she was cute in a short blond sort of way — she had a nice smile, too — but that didn't matter to Harry. What mattered was that for the last couple of weeks, she'd proven to be a shockingly competent professor. In the 90s, it seemed to be a galleon toss whether their professor of DADA would be competent, and another galleon toss as to whether they'd be doing Voldemort's bidding or not. It was refreshing not to have to wonder if this one was going to try to kill him or not.
Harry relaxed against the back of his chair and drummed his fingertips against his desk.
"You'll need your wands," said McKinnon, jerking her chin. "We're doing a practical lesson today."
A vicious snarl rose from the crate: a scuffle broke out from within. Wood shavings burst out from it as the fight continued. The nails threatened to burst. Still, Professor McKinnon was smiling.
"Do you still need me?" Sirius asked, in what Harry thought was a hopeful tone.
"No, I've got it from here," said McKinnon, shaking her head. "We'll see how the sixth years do. If you're late for Charms, tell Professor Flitwick you were assisting me."
Sirius bowed – gave her an actual bow, bending forward at the waist – to Harry's shocked amusement, then slipped out of the classroom and out the door. Inwardly, he could not stop chuckling. He would have to use the mirrors tonight… young Sirius had had it bad for Professor Marlene McKinnon—
-who rapped her knuckles on Harry's desk as she brushed by his desk. "You'll need to pay attention! These things are wily." She continued on to the back of the classroom. "You know… I was not always a professor. In fact, I've spent most of my years out of Hogwarts at my family's shop… perhaps you've heard of it?"
Everyone in the class laughed.
"Fair enough," she said. "But I feel qualified to teach this class, nonetheless. We find our ingredients and our materials out in the field, you see. And some of these things are well guarded. We McKinnons"—her voice lifted with pride—"have fought everything from claurichauns to banshees to—"
"Merlin!" squeaked a Hufflepuff girl. Her Irish accent was made all the clearer by her fear. "You're not going to bring in one of those, are you?"
"No, not a banshee," said McKinnon. "Though I had a thought to take the seventh years out to the edge of a bog, just so they can taste the change in the air—"
"—I've never been more glad than to have lost a year," muttered Mary McDonald. Her toad let out a moist little ribbit, as though he agreed with his owner.
"Banshees aren't the only things we McKinnons have dealt with," said McKinnon. "Back in the 1500s, when the Greek witches and wizards were fleeing their own country due to persecution, they made their way to Ireland. Anyone remember the creatures they unwittingly brought with them?"
No one answered.
Then, to Harry's surprise, Ginny raised her hand.
"Miss Peverell?"
"Was it – was it the medusas?"
As though in reply, there was a loud screech and answering growl from the crate. More wood shavings dusted from it. The sharp sound of a whip nearly deafened Harry, and a jagged crack appeared on one of the planks. As though sensing weakness, the creatures within threw themselves at it. The crack widened and spread. Harry closed his fingers around his wand: he did not expect the crate to last much longer through such abuse.
"Indeed," said McKinnon. "You are correct, Miss Peverell. Take a point for Gryffindor." Then, clapping her hands, she said. "I hope the rest of you can think on your feet and you remember how to neutralize them. I'd say you have five… four… three…"
Harry was on his feet before she got to two: This was a good thing, for the very first medusa then ate its way out of the crate. First, he erected a shield between himself and the creature, widening the shimmering shield to include Ginny. Then he eyed it, trying to remember if he'd ever even heard of such odd things, let alone learned of how to neutralize them. It was a bizarre-looking creature: it had a long, snakelike body that sported six stumpy little limbs – vestigial legs. Its head was that of a venomous snake: flat-topped, wide, and triangular. But, from its head, it sported wriggling, writhing tails, as though it was a snake with twenty other tiny snakes sticking out of it.
"Gross," he groaned.
Beside him, Ginny huffed out a laugh. "So gross," she agreed.
He looked at her, smiling a little. "So much for me being the one to tutor you," he said easily. "How do we get rid of these things?"
There were five of the creatures. His shield had been a good idea; the five of them swarmed around it, ignoring both Harry and Ginny, in favor of terrorizing the other eight students. Mary McDonald squeaked, holding her toad tight, and climbed atop her desk. One of the medusas twined around the leg of the desk and slithered up within seconds. Mary let out a true scream, then, pointing her wand at the creature and yelling: "petrificus totalus!"
The medusa froze and toppled off falling to the ground.
"That seems a likely solution," said McKinnon coolly. "However, watch."
All the medusas were swarming around their fallen companion. Harry watched, lips twitching with a feeling that was close cousin to both disgust and amusement, as they ate the fallen medusa with a rare gusto. Bits of it were tossed into the air and caught by the smaller snakes protruding from their heads, each of which were now sporting mouths. No sooner had the last morsel disappeared, when the medusas began to glow – and to grow. Light moved under the subtle patterning of their scales. Each lengthened by a foot, their fangs growing longer, eyes a brighter red.
"Oh no," Mary McDonald whimpered.
"They love rocks," said Ginny. "They can actually turn their prey to stone if they're big enough… these are juveniles, thank Merlin."
"I would advise not turning any of them to stone again," McKinnon said, moving about the classroom with the confidence of someone who clearly knew how to protect herself against them. "Group up into pairs and try to come up with a solution. You'll be graded on the thought process you use, not necessarily how perfect your solution is. Pretend you're a McKinnon and you're after a treasure and you've got to defeat a herd of Greek vermin to get to it."
"So do you know how to do it?" Harry asked Ginny, maneuvering the shield around so they could skirt around a couple of desks.
"No," said Ginny, shaking her head. "Not that I remember, anyway… I only remember them from – well, I was pretty obsessed with creatures that could petrify their prey there for a while." Her expression was remote. Harry could guess the root of that obsession easily enough. "I think I remember something about water…"
Another glance at the medusas, and another thought struck him. Horror welled up inside him. Were the medusas enough like snakes that he could talk to them? His thoughts zoomed: what if his classmates found out? There were loads of people who sympathized with Voldemort… what if he was told there was another Parselmouth at Hogwarts? For the first time since running from the Inferi, since meeting up with the young Lucius Malfoy, since fleeing to Hogwarts and finding himself under the protection of Albus Dumbledore once more, cold dread gripped his insides. It was the frozen, gnarled hand of a Dementor gathering up his organs one by one and squeezing…
A gentle touch on his arm brought him out of his dark reverie. For a moment, he felt oddly dizzy, as though he'd just stood up too fast. But then it was gone, and there was Ginny, an odd little smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and her hand still on his arm.
Oddly shaken, Harry opened his mouth to speak.
But Ginny beat him to it. "There are a couple of things I wanted to try," she said. Her hand slipped away, leaving a tingling little path on his forearm. "Would you hold the shield? We can switch, if you want—"
"Oh, no, I'll hold the shield!" said Harry. "You're the expert—"
"Hardly," Ginny snorted.
"Well, you knew they existed before today…" said Harry.
"Okay, well… I'll try," she said. Her voice dropped. "But remember, I'm not even meant to be in sixth year."
"You won't make an arse of yourself," Harry said. He jerked his thumb back toward the other students, where chaos reigned. "You're doing fine."
"Because I—"
"Hmm?" said Harry, when her words abruptly cut off.
"Nothing," she said. "C'mon. Let's get to work." Then, blowing out a breath, she shoved up the sleeves of her robes, and shrugged her shoulders. Light caught on the buttons on the front of her robes, distracting him. The last vestiges of his sudden dark mood drifted away.
It ended up taking them the majority of the class to neutralize a medusa.
Five minutes before the end of class, Harry stood on a desk, watching with bewildered amazement as the situation around him worsened. The medusas were everywhere, slithering around the desks, glaring menacingly at the students, and hissing at them. Harry dared not try to talk to one – even if he could manage it, he did not want people knowing he was a Parselmouth. He had not needed to explain this to Ginny, for which he was grateful. Instead, she had taken charge, and was now – rather desperately, he thought – weaving a net made of magic together with her wand and a quill she'd found on the floor.
There was the sound of the screech of rock against metal. The medusa directly in front of them were now fighting with the net, screaming its fury. All the snakes issuing forth from its head were now hissing, biting, and attacking the silvery strands.
"You did it!" Harry crowed, as the net tightened, fully engulfing the medusa.
Professor McKinnon swept over. "Well done!" she said. "You two were the first… excellent methodology."
Harry beamed along with Ginny.
"Take three points each for Gryffindor," she said.
"Even me?" Harry said. "But I didn't do anything!"
"You provided an excellent shield for your partner."
"Yeah, Harry," Ginny put in, "I couldn't have done it without you."
"Neither one of you were even touched," Professor McKinnon said admiringly. Her head jerked, and she made a little roll of her eyes. "We might have to send Dougal to the hospital wing."
The bell rang not long after. Harry, now buoyant, walked beside Ginny. They were the first two out the door, having completed their assignment. All they had to do now was write a small report on their methods and compare them to the advice in their textbook – advice neither Harry nor Ginny had known existed until the end of class. All that was expected of them was an inch of parchment…
"Since we've got a free period next, want to work on our… you know what?" Harry dropped his voice and leaned toward her a little so she could hear him.
"I would, but… I think I must've slept poorly last night," she said. "I might take the free period and use it for a nap.
"Oh… okay," said Harry. "I'm sorry you slept poorly."
"Thanks, Harry," she said. "You know, I think I'm going to detour to the loo. See you, Harry."
She turned rather abruptly, then, heading off down a corridor. Harry paused a moment, shaking off an odd little sense, and continued on his way. He'd do his small assignment for class, then he could go back to the library. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he could be researching ways to time travel instead of leaving everything in Sirius's hands. Sirius knows what he's doing, he reminded himself. He was doing whatever mysterious things necessary to contact that witch – that Dorcas Meadowes.
Thus justified, he decided that even though Ginny wasn't there, he could work on their mutual broom problem alone.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Hours later, Harry knocked on the door. "Ginny?" he called. "Do you still want to work on the – you know what?" he looked around, warily, but no one in the common room was paying him any attention. Well, unless he counted Nimue, who was watching him with the slitted-eyed patience of a cat sizing up her prey. "I didn't see you at dinner!" he said, even louder.
There were faint sounds coming from within her room. It seemed to take an hour for those shuffling sounds to reach the door. It opened.
"Harry," she said in a thick voice, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.
"Ginny?" he said, worried. Then: "Ginny!"
She toppled to the side, barely catching herself against the wall. "I don't feel so good," she whispered, still swaying.
"Merlin," he said, grabbing her up and having her lean on him. Even through his robes, her face felt hot. "You've a fever," he told her. "I'll take you up to the hospital wing—"
"I just need to rest," she said feebly.
"No," he said firmly. "Look, you're burning up. She'll give you a bit of Pepper-Up Potion and you'll feel better. C'mon, Ginny…"
She murmured something. Harry thought it might have been another refusal, so he ignored it. Instead, he led her away from her door and through the common room. Curious, a couple of others looked up. "All right, Peverell?" Remus asked, brow furrowed.
"Yeah," he said. "I think she's sick, so—"
"I'll help you get her to the hospital wing," Remus said firmly, standing up and setting his book aside. He adjusted the lopsided prefect's badge on his chest. "It's a bit complicated to get to there, and she looks… well."
"Thank you," said Harry, meaning it.
Ginny shuffled along with them, clearly miserable, and refused help at the portrait hole, glaring at both of them with glazed brown eyes before nearly falling out the other side. With an inward sigh – honestly, Ginny was the most stubborn person he knew – Harry followed her and, with Remus, helped to lift her to her feet. After that, she seemed to have lost her resistance, for she sank against him and let him do most of the work.
"How long have you been feeling poorly?" Harry asked.
"Since Ancient Runes," she said. "Had a – bit – of a – headache."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Remus murmured.
Harry caught a look at him out of the corner of his eye, catching Remus in the act of wiping his brow on the sleeve of his robes. Even as a teenager, weariness seemed etched permanently upon his face – his mostly unmarked face, Harry realized. Some of the worse injuries Remus had had were in his future. Too busy thinking, he stumbled over one of the steps, nearly dropping Ginny.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's okay," said Ginny.
"Hogwarts takes a bit to get used to," said Remus.
"Mm," said Ginny. "It does, doesn't it?"
"And you two haven't been here before, have you?" said Remus. "Remarkable, honestly. Most people have a time remembering which staircase leads where, but Harry, you're a natural!"
Harry laughed weakly, jostling Ginny upward, straightening her. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and from there, it was easier going. "We stayed here a few days before the rest of you arrived, honestly," he said. "We learned a bit." Then, remembering, he added: "And this isn't the first time I've been up here," he said, grimacing.
Remus nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Usually, we need to nudge new people on a bit more. Us prefects, I mean." He paused. "And you were unconscious last time you were brought up… and we go an entirely different way… well, I just thought you'd need help." Then, eyeing Harry, he fell silent long enough for them to cross a short corridor that was home to Nicodemus the Noodle-headed and a suit of armor that had the helmet of a deep-sea diver rather than that of a knight. "You get along better than most new students, first years or not," he said lightly, after a long silence.
"Do you get a lot of new people?" Harry asked, curious.
"About one or two every year," said Remus.
"Years," Ginny repeated blearily.
Harry looked down at her. There was a flush climbed up in her cheeks, now, competing with the color of her hair for most vivid red.
"First years," she added, blinking at him.
"Yes," said Harry, as soothing as he could, "we are like first years."
She snorted.
At last, they came to a most familiar corridor: Harry had spent enough time in this hallway that Ron had once jokingly remarked that they would set aside one of the beds for his own exclusive use. An odd little pang went through him, and he paused for a second, swallowed, and walked on. It hit him at odd intervals, the fact he was so far away from Ron and Hermione, and that he was now attending school without them. They welled up in his mind until he was near dizzy with it, stopping again outside the door.
This time, Ginny looked up at him. "Harry?" she mumbled.
His tongue was thick in his mouth. "I'm, uh… let's go in."
"I'll go tell Madam Pomfrey – she's the matron, if you've forgotten – you're here," Remus said, hurrying ahead of them.
Harry gave his head a shake. A part of him wanted to sink against the wall. The other part of him – the more gallant part – reminded him very sternly that Ginny was counting on him: she was sick, wasn't she? He closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the cool stone surface of the wall. Go on, then. You need to get moving. With his chivalry prodding him, Harry shoved himself away from the wall, then moved them forward.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of the door to the hospital wing, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over robes, and gave Ginny a quick look up and down, lips pinched together in a serious moue. "Let's get her in bed," she ordered.
Remus moved to help. Together, with Ginny taking shuffling footsteps forward, they made their way to the closest bed. Otherwise, the ward was empty of everyone.
"I can do it," Ginny mumbled, slipping out from under his arm, and moving toward the bed, where she flopped down with a heavy sigh.
"You're okay? You've got it?" Harry asked. This was very belated: she was already on the bed. He frowned at her, blinking.
"'m okay," she said. "I'm just tired."
"And you've got a fever, I expect," said Madam Pomfrey, hurrying over with three little bottles now tucked in the pockets of her apron. "You look a bit peaky, dear. What is your name?"
"Ginny," said Ginny. "Ginny Weasley."
"She means Peverell," said Harry. "It's Ginny Peverell."
"Right," said Ginny. "Peverell."
There was a look of bright concern on Madam Pomfrey's face. Her lips compressed even more, and she wasted no time in taking out the smallest of the bottles and pouring it into a spoon. "You'll need a bit of this, Miss… Peverell." The pause was faint, but there.
"Weasley was our hippogriff," Ginny said, after swallowing. She lay back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. "Buckbeak Weasley Peverell IV."
She was clearly trying to cover for her own mistake, for which Harry was very grateful. "He was a good old hippogriff, Buckbeak Weasley," he put in.
Madam Pomfrey was looking from one of them to the other. "That sounds… like an interesting pet," she said.
"Our godfather is an interesting man," Harry informed her.
"Ah," said Pomfrey. She bent over Ginny, pressing her hands to her forehead, peering into her eyes, and checking her pulse. Harry strayed closer.
"I'm going to go, if you don't need me," said Remus.
Harry had forgotten he was there.
"You could help your friend get in bed," Madam Pomfrey suggested. "I'll need to check him when I'm done with her; she's sicker, but—"
"What?" Harry said. "I'm not sick! I'm just here—"
"Your words are slurred, your eyes are glassy, and you're looking a bit peaky, dear," she said. This was, Harry realized, one of her more common refrains. "Just pop onto a bed, will you? And if you aren't sick, you aren't sick."
Remus cleared his throat, jerked his head toward a bed, and then began edging out of the room, as though if he stayed any longer, Pomfrey would force him to pick a bed as well. Harry had to admit that although he was not sick, he was rather tired and strangely dizzy, though he imagined that was from thinking too hard about the time travel. When he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt no small amount of relief.
"Tell me what you did today," said Pomfrey.
"Studied," said Harry.
"What was your schedule? Were you in the greenhouses?"
"No," said Ginny.
"Potions?" the matron pressed.
"No," said Harry. "We had double Defense Against the Dark Arts and a free period."
"You two are sixth years? Was it a practical lesson?" she was now brandishing a brass instrument and peering into Ginny's mouth with it. "Were there hexes used?"
"No," said Ginny, once it was Harry's turn to have his mouth looked at. "It was a practical lesson, but – but it was creatures—"
"What kind of creature?" Pomfrey asked.
Harry rubbed at his arms, where a tremendous itch was growing. He squirmed on the bed, trying to get comfortable. "Medusas," he said, scraping at his itch. It wasn't going away. If anything, it was growing worse. "Professor McKinnon had us neutralizing medusas.
The brass healing instrument slipped from Madam Pomfrey's grasp, landing on the floor with a resounding clang. Her eyes were blown wide with shock, mouth agape. "What did you say?"
"Medusas," supplied Ginny.
"Oh, Merlin…"
HPHPHPHPHPHP
Many confusing things happened over the next hour. Harry could scarce pay attention to it all, not with the way his head had begun to throb. First, a group of students had streamed out of the back room, all wearing white aprons, drawn to the hospital wing as though by the clang.
One of these students was his mother. Her dark red hair was twisted up behind her head; a tendril had come loose and stuck to the fabric of her witch's hat. Harry stared at her. Was this a class? What was it? Why was she here?
Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands. "Keep back. Come no closer than six feet."
Several students muttered to each other, but all did as they were told. "Now. We have two students who present with glassy eyes, fever, itch, and dizziness. What ought I to have done first?"
"Gotten a history." This was said in a straggling chorus by a handful of students, including Lily.
Madam Pomfrey gave a sharp nod. "We can usually suss out what's going on in a history: where they've been, what they've touched, if they've been in any duels, if they've run afoul of a potion, a plant, or a curse. Healing is as much investigation and observation as it is magic."
Harry's head was swimming.
"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, "if I have students who have all those symptoms and have been in the close proximity of medusas, where is my investigation leading me?"
"To an unfortunate conclusion," said his mother. "In addition to the symptoms, medusas could increase the likelihood of it being an outbreak of the pox."
Murmurs rose from the group.
"This is a hypothetical, isn't it?" There was a nervous, fidgety boy chewing on his lip. He backed away when he noticed Harry looking at him.
"I heard the sixth years did medusas today—"
"Who even are these kids?"
"Madam Pomfrey, my grandparents died from the medusa pox—"
"Oh, please, it's impossible… we would have known already if the pox was coming around again—"
"Not," said Lily, "if these were the first two victims."
A thick silence descended.
"Madam Pomfrey," one girl whispered, "is it true?"
"It requires more investigation," said Madam Pomfrey. She flicked her wand, and potions bottles began zooming toward her from the apothecary cabinets behind them. "It also requires privacy. The medusa pox – if that is what this is – is best investigated by as few healers as possible. You are dismissed for the rest of the day. I will be in contact with each of you should this break be extended. In the meantime, I want an essay on proper procedure."
All looking shell-shocked, the students filed out one by one. Lily was the last to leave, Harry noticed.
"Harry," warned Ginny.
Harry pulled his attention away from the door to find three potions bottles flying ominously close to his head. Madam Pomfrey had scurried away, mumbling something: Harry was left to opening his mouth and having potions spooned into it by no one. As soon as he swallowed the third, the itchiness faded to a dull awareness. As soon as that was managed, he rolled over onto his side.
"How are…?" He gestured toward her.
Ginny grimaced. "I wish my mum were here," she muttered.
It was very odd indeed that his mother was there and hers was not.
Harry shifted on the bed so that his arm was flung out; he tipped his head toward the ceiling. It was odd. He had not been in the position that he had someone in his life when a Weasley did not. She was Ginny, not Ron, but still… His thoughts slid upwards and sideways, even as Pomfrey performed magic all along the ward, muttering to herself, and keeping her distance from both Harry and Ginny. Occasionally, she glanced back at them. "Well, that won't keep anyone out, but it'll give them a fair warning… and now I've got to tell Dumbledore…"
Dumbledore. What would he think of this fresh challenge sent his way? It was not Harry and Ginny's fault they were now sick, was it? But what if Dumbledore was growing weary of the complications, weary of the wait to find that Dorcas Meadowes, and weary of the additional danger there was in having Harry at Hogwarts. Harry closed his eyes. Dumbledore did not even know the true extent of all of it: he had no idea that from the time Harry had been a baby, he'd been marked by Voldemort as an enemy.
Harry swiped his hands on the bedclothes. Sweat was beading on his forehead now. The feelings he'd had while contemplating revealing himself accidentally as a Parselmouth were coming back, broiling in his stomach, spreading up to his head. Dizziness washed over him and his marks resumed their itch.
"We have not met, but that's my godson down the way."
This voice jerked Harry out of his odd, panicked stupor.
"And my goddaughter."
Sol Black was a commanding presence in the hospital wing, striding forward despite Madam Pomfrey's admonishments. He wore the older style of robes he had noticed the other professors wearing, one that had buckles across the chest and opened to reveal loose, piratical looking trousers. There was an air of quiet menace surrounding him, but this did not deter Harry from experiencing a sudden rise in annoyance with his godfather. Harry did not think that anyone else had noticed that he'd added Ginny as an afterthought, though even in his more exhausted state, this annoyed him. True, Ginny wasn't his real goddaughter, but their easy existence here in the past depended on a certain amount of subterfuge.
"Why d'you keep forgetting about her?" Harry demanded. But no one seemed to have heard him except Ginny, who rolled over to face him.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said.
"But—"
"I'm not going to be barred from their presence, I'm afraid," said Sirius. Whatever Harry had been about to say was lost; for into the furor came one more figure.
"What's happening, Madam Pomfrey?" asked Lily, poking her head in. Somehow, without any of them noticing it, she'd snuck in, perhaps caught up in Sirius's shadow.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Harry smothered a grin.
"Miss Evans," Madam Pomfrey said, aghast.
"I saw him go past the barrier," said Lily.
"And I'd like to know why there is a barrier in the first place," said Sirius, cutting over whatever Harry's mother was about to say. The menace about him was no longer quiet.
"Because," Madam Pomfrey, "I suspect your godchildren have got the medusa pox, and I've got to establish a quarantine until—"
"The pox?" Sirius's voice cracked out like a whip. "What do you mean, he's got a pox? How in Merlin's name could that have happened?" Astonished, Harry watched his godfather: Sirius's sudden panic seemed real. "What do you mean… the pox? Where on earth could he – they – have come into contact with a medusa—"
"That would be in my class, I'm afraid." This time, it was Professor McKinnon who appeared at the door, also ignoring the magical barrier. There was no trace of a smile on her face; indeed, blue eyes were wide and solemn and darting back and forth between Harry and Ginny. "They had a practical lesson today—"
But Madam Pomfrey let out a little scream of rage. "Another of you?" This time, she drew her wand, pointing it at the door. "I have rules, you know. And they aren't my rules. At the first sign of a pox, we're meant to contain it. Well. You three came in when I made it very clear that no one was to do so. Now you'll just have to stay."
"I don't mind," said Lily, swiftly and eagerly. "I've never seen a pox before."
Harry was gaping at her, head tilted to the side. She cut him a glance and smiled.
"I'd like to be a healer," she said, cheerful, then, turning to Madam Pomfrey, added: "You were just explaining on the first day of term that if I wanted a chance, I had to seize the initiative."
"I didn't mean – that wasn't—"
"I'm seizing the initiative," said Lily.
Pomfrey's eyes narrowed. "I ought to have you scrubbing out bedpans – without magic."
"I know." To Harry's surprise, Lily's smile was only growing wider. "But instead, you'll put me to work."
Pomfrey's shoulders slumped. "Very well, Miss Evans, if you wish to go a round with medusa pox, it's your own skin. And I mean that quite literally. The spots will come on, hard and fast, painful and itchy. Then, they will begin to—"
"Yes, yes, they'll petrify," said Lily. The smile was wiped from her face. "But Madam Pomfrey." Her tone edged toward desperate. "If I've experience with helping on a pox case… well, St. Mungo's will at least have to consider me, won't they?"
Pomfrey gave her a long look. "I would hope so. Very well. Go along, then, you know where. I'll meet you when I'm done with the others."
Lily hurried along to the side wall, opening a door that Harry had always thought was a cupboard. It slammed shut behind her. Harry stared at it a moment longer: Had he known that his mother had wanted to be a healer? He fidgeted with his blanket. His thoughts muddled when he tried to think too hard about it. Head pounding, he turned his attention back to the scene playing out before him.
Sirius was watching Professor McKinnon very closely, who was enduring a stern talking-to from Madam Pomfrey.
"—which I appreciate, but as I said—"
"There are precautions to take when bringing in creatures." Pomfrey was hitting her stride. Her strident tone reverberated around the room. Harry did not think he had ever seen the kindly matron so upset, not even during the worst moments in the future. "I would think that you would know that, seeing how your family has at least a modicum of experience with these creatures. But honestly! Bringing medusas into a school, when they could have come from anywhere and brought any sort of—"
"With all due respect, Madam Pomfrey," Professor McKinnon said, firm and cold, "I may be new at being a professor, but I am well aware of the restrictions. I borrowed these particular medusas from Newt Scamander himself… I believe he was the one to write the literal book on how to prevent the germs come from magical creatures from spreading illness through the populace."
Madam Pomfrey seemed to deflate. "They're from—they're really from Scamander?"
"Yes." Professor McKinnon said nothing else, merely folded her hands in front of her and raised her eyebrows slightly.
"It's true that – well, did the medusas travel far—"
"No. Scamander handed them to me himself. Hagrid wasn't even involved."
Harry rolled his eyes toward Ginny, only to find her looking at him. It had been a surprise to find Hagrid away from Hogwarts; previously, in the future, Harry had not thought that anything but a stint in Azkaban or a special mission devised by Dumbledore himself could have taken Hagrid away from his games-keeper duties. Though, Harry had to suppose that a sabbatical taken to help Newt Scamander update his famous text – called Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them – was something Hagrid would do.
"There's not much fantastic about medusas," muttered Ginny.
"And do you still have them?" Pomfrey challenged. "Are you willing to submit them for testing?"
"I certainly don't care," said Professor McKinnon. "But you may want to send Scamander an owl. He might have an opinion."
Pomfrey blew out a breath. "I'll see to that—"
"Forgive my interruption." There was something in Sirius's tone that snapped both witches to attention. Harry did not think he sounded at all sorry. "But I would like that seen to right away."
"Madam Pomfrey—"
Harry thought he might have been the only one to notice a shadow detaching itself from the curtains that separated Ginny's bed from the rest of the hospital wing. It was Lily, back again, with her hair pinned up under a white scarf. She did not notice him watching her. Instead, her brow was furrowed as she stared at a spot somewhere on Ginny's neck.
"Exposing them—"
"I did no such thing. And besides, they saw the medusas today. I thought it took longer for symptoms to take hold."
"While that's usually the case—"
"When can you find out if they've got it or not? They'll need proper treatment to start immediately."
"Merlin." This was from Madam Pomfrey, who was swaying on her feet. "A pox outbreak at Hogwarts. I never thought I'd have to face such a nightmare."
"Snap out of—"
"Madame Pomfrey."
Everyone fell silent and turned to stare at Lily, who jabbed a finger at Ginny. "She's got spots, all right, but look at the shape."
Pomfrey tiptoed closer, peering down. Her mouth formed the shape of an 'o'. "But… that's…?"
"It looks like two small marks, like two lines," said Lily. "And look, another one, similarly shaped, just above the collarbone?"
Suspense hung heavy in the air. Harry shoved his glasses further up his nose and peered closer. His insides squirmed: there, on the normally smooth, creamy skin were two red marks that looked like raised slashes. "Is it the pox?" he rasped out.
"Don't try to talk, Harry," said Sirius, coming to stand next to him and put his hand on his shoulder. "You're to conserve your strength."
"If I didn't know better…" Madam Pomfrey murmured. "But surely…"
"The spots show none of the characteristics of the medusa pox," said Lily.
"You're right," said Pomfrey, "and how can you tell?"
"Upon showing on the skin, a distinct petrification is noticeable around the edges of the lesion," said Lily. "Miss Peverell's have just come up, true, but there is no discoloration, no crumbling of the skin, no white halo around the lesion. In fact, they are shaped—"
"Like the number eleven," said Pomfrey, with a sharp nod. "And why is it a surprise?"
"Because it's almost always children who get elevenths, not adults. Or even young adults."
Both of them turned at the same time to stare at Harry and Ginny; both their heads were cocked, both appeared to be attempting to solve a puzzle.
"We've been living very quietly," said Sirius. His hand tightened on Harry's shoulder. "In fact, these two have never been ill a day of their lives… I suppose now they're around everyone at Hogwarts, they're bound to catch some illnesses."
His excuse sounded weak to Harry, but Pomfrey straightened and nodded.
"I suppose if they're only around adults… that would explain it. Well! I must say I'm relieved I didn't have to notify both Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's that we've an outbreak of the medusa pox…"
"I'll go on and send an additional owl to Newt Scamander, shall I?"
Harry started, having forgotten Professor McKinnon was still there. Still, he sensed her relief was great as she fairly sagged to the floor.
"Yes, yes," said Pomfrey, waving her hand. "And elevenths! I will have to tell Dumbledore—"
"Ah, ah," said Sol Black, who seemed – in Harry's fevered state – to resemble Sirius Black very little. His face was swimming in Harry's vision, nose growing to ridiculous proportions, and shrinking once more. "I would like to know how all of this came about."
Harry's hand fell to his side, and he half-shut his eyes. It was more and more difficult to capture the conversation above him… all he could think was one thing:
They didn't have medusa pox after all.
A colorful sort of stupor settled over Harry, then. Streams of green and blue whirled around him, blotting out the words the adults were saying. They paid him hardly any attention at all, even Sol Black, who was leaning on his cane.
"He and his, ah, sister—"
These words fell like pebbles against Harry's mind. His legs moved, and the floor came up alarmingly close to him.
"—get out of bed, yet, Harry—"
"—won't hurt them—"
"—strength was for the pox. But it'll work against elevenths, it just didn't need to be quite so potent—"
"Swear to me now it will do no harm."
"It will not. In fact, Lily — Miss Evans — can brew something to help."
"Mum." Harry sounded quite like one of the frogs Old Bones liked so much. "Mum."
"Poor lad," said Sol Black. "He'll ask for his mum when he is ill."
"Don't we all?" asked Madam Pomfrey.
It was this moment that Harry let go trying to make sense of the words around him. He allowed himself to fall back into the welcoming embrace of the colors on his cot. The pristine white of the sheets nestled him close. The cool blue of the pillowcase hugged him. And the bright fire across the way warmed him. This is nice, Harry thought as he floated. He had been in pain all day, he just hadn't noticed it. Instead, he noticed its lack, freeing him to smile.
"—looks like they're enjoying it at least—"
Harry chuckled. Ginny, across from him, giggled, too.
"—give them an hour or so. I have Miss Evans making what they need for elevenths. I don't keep it here… how is it they've never had it before?"
"As I said — we live a quiet life."
After that, they said no more. Harry drifted along the gentle current of formless thoughts. Constellations moved behind his eyes. There were murmurs, but nothing more substantial. A cool, minty potion dripped down his throat. Bit by bit, the colors let him go, unwrapping themselves from around him. Harry relaxed his arms, dropping his pillow onto the floor. Light smeared in his eyes; he had to blink, several times, before he recognized who was sitting next to him.
"Lily?" he said.
"That's me," said Lily. "You should be feeling a bit more yourself now?"
"What happened?" Ginny rasped out. "What was that?"
Lily grimaced. "Well, it's meant to help with the pox — and it does — it isolated the itchiness so it doesn't spread anywhere else — but there are… side affects."
"Like completely losing your mind?" Ginny asked.
Harry was not yet so articulate. "Insane," he grunted.
"I've never had it, but I've heard it described as… an unusual experience."
"It certainly was that," said Ginny.
"How did you stop it?"
Lily held up a bottle. It was empty but for a few drops. "I made something to counter it," she said.
"Are you going to be a healer?" Harry asked, who had never thought to ask if his parents had had a profession they'd had to abandon prior to going into hiding with their small son. "Is that what you are — er — going to be?"
Lily was quiet a moment. "It's what I want to be. But I won't."
"Well, why not?" Ginny asked, astonished.
"Yeah," said Harry, "why not?"
Lily flicked him a look, then huffed out a chuckle. "You two really are sheltered," she mumbled, then brushed her hand over her forehead, leaving a swipe of green potion behind. "What I want to be and what I can be are two different things. I may want to be a healer; I may have all the grades and the NEWTs, but I still might be barred from becoming one."
"But how?" Harry asked. "I mean… I know why, but how?"
Lily held up her hand. "One, I may make it into the academy, but I could be failed deliberately. Two, if I somehow made it through, there's the compulsory mentorship aspect of the training, and entire year shadowing a healer… the healer has right of refusal, and believe me, they do refuse Muggleborns. Especially now. And three"—she ticked one more finger down—"there is a bill about to be passed that would limit what vocations Muggleborns may have—"
"Limit the—"
"—and no one wants a Muggleborn healing them," said Lily. Her eyes were wide and sad. "They make up all sorts of reasons, like… we're more likely to spread disease, that our wands don't work as well for us, that we simply couldn't understand wizard physiology. Most of it is just… hippogriff dung. But the reality is…"
"Well, I like having you as a healer," Harry said, loyal.
"As do I," Ginny said swiftly.
"I'll open my own hospital, and you two can come in whenever you get strange childhood illnesses," Lily promised, drawing a cross over her heart. Then she laughed. "You two… that was sweet." She shook out her hair, gaze already turning down the ward. Harry did not want her to leave, but did not think she would be waylaid any longer.
Still, he cast about. "Well… what are you going to do?"
"Oh…" said Lily, shifting from one foot to the other, looking down the ward again. "You know James Potter — the Head Boy? His dad's a potioneer… has his own company and everything. He says if I get the proper NEWTs, he'll give me a job. It's not healing, but"—her shoulders lifted in a shrug—"I do love potions." A polite smile flickered on her face. "You two feel better, okay? Glad it's just elevenths and not the medusa pox!"
Then she was gone.
Harry fell back. The pillowcase crinkled as he did: it was thin and papery, and it crinkled again when he turned his head to look at Ginny. She was nestled under the covers, curled up on her side, looking at him.
"I had no idea," Harry said, as soon as he was positive – absolutely positive – that Lily was out of earshot, "that my grandfather was a potioneer."
"I didn't know either," said Ginny.
"All everyone usually talked about were them," said Harry, meaning his parents. "Nothing about grandparents… nothing." And it was true. James might have sprung up from the ground at eleven years old, ready to take on Hogwarts, marry Lily, and have a son. "Grandparents…" he repeated.
"You know, actually, I think I ha-ha-have heard of him," Ginny whispered, around a tremendous yawn. "A long time ago… it's in a b-b-b—"
"Book?" Harry suggested, taking pity on her. He eyed her with sympathy; between the two of him, he thought elevenths might be worse for Ginny than for him. Her face was still flushed and her eyes still glassy, as though the fever was winning against the potions they'd been given. "You should get some rest," he said.
"Mm," she said, eyes fluttering closed.
Harry adjusted into a more comfortable position, ignoring the crinkling sound of his bedclothes adjusting with him. It was unfair, he thought, that Lily should not be able to be the healer she wanted to be. Harry was fairly certain that what work his parents had done was for the Order of the Phoenix: they had been young, in hiding, and fighting a war. Had his grandfather employed her, though, with her just out of Hogwarts? It could be… he didn't know much about them, his parents. "I don't even know their names," he muttered to himself.
"Fleamont. Fleamont and Euphemia, I think." Ginny's soft whisper startled him, as he'd thought she'd dropped off into sleep.
When he sat up on his elbow to look at her, he did find her asleep: eyes closed, lips slightly parted, hair all a tangle. It had him doubting that he'd actually heard her say those names. Had he imagined it? Fleamont and Euphemia… they were old names: Fleamont was slightly comical. He tested them out, weighing them in his mind. There was a familiarity there, or so he told himself. Indeed, there might be an echo issuing up from the depths of his memory.
"Fleamont and Euphemia," he said aloud, testing it. He thought Ginny might be right.
But there was no more muttering to himself after that: Madam Pomfrey came, heels clacking against the floor, brandishing another spoonful of potion at him. "You may not have a pox, but you've still got to rest," she said, as he swallowed the bitter liquid. "Your sister has the right of it."
"She—"
"And I'll just draw the curtain, won't I?" Pomfrey bustled about, plumping the pillows, and using her wand to coax curtains around both Ginny's bed and his.
It was the potion that had him so suddenly grumpy, he decided. Just a moment ago, it had been cozy and warm, even, but now – instead of resting – he was tossing and turning inside his curtained off space, until he despaired of ever falling asleep. It was into this stew that Sirius stepped in, brushing back the curtains, and peering at him.
"Whazzit?" Harry said thickly.
Sirius sat on the end of his bed. It was very quiet now in the hospital wing; only Ginny's light snores that drifted under the flowery curtain that shielded her from sight broke the silence. "Harry," he said abruptly, scrubbing his unshaven jaw with his hand. "I'd like you to tell me when things like this happen… why didn't you use the mirrors?"
Harry cleared his throat. "I didn't have a chance," he said honestly. "I saw that Ginny was looking ill… I thought I was just helping her up here. I didn't think I was going to stay." His skin crawled, and he scratched at his forearm.
"Don't scratch it," Sirius said. "You'll just make it worse."
Harry gritted his teeth; it was only with great reluctance that he stopped scratching at it. "What's it called again?" he asked, annoyed. "Elevenths?"
Sirius leaned forward. Then, looking both to the left and the right, he drew his wand, and murmured a word Harry didn't quite catch. "There," he said, satisfied. "That's for if anyone's listening… though I suppose there's not a lot of subterfuge done here," he admitted. "But yes, elevenths was a childhood sickness wizarding kids used to get."
"Just wizarding?" Harry asked. "Why's it called elevenths?"
"Dunno," said Sirius. "It was your mother who wanted to be the healer, not me. I know it's in a list with some other sicknesses, but I dunno why they're lumped together. I think the first one is one of the poxes…? You can look it up in the library when you get out."
Harry did not think he was that curious about it: he'd rather spend his time in the library – when not studying, of course – working out how he could ride a broom again without falling flat on his face. "I guess," he said. "And you had it?"
"As a matter of fact," said Sirius, "I did. Wizard parents used to send out owls when one of us caught it… then a bunch of families with young kids would get together… my mum called them the "eleventh hour" parties, because all the kids would run around together and get each other sick."
Harry was staring at him. "That sounds like madness," he said.
"Well, as Pomfrey said, it's not as bad if you get it when you're little," said Sirius, shrugging.
"How come Ginny hasn't had it before?" Harry asked.
"Ah, well, it was eradicated some time in the 80s," said Sirius. "It stopped being able to spread, so the illness itself died out. No more eleventh hour parties." He shook his head. "Elevenths…" he murmured, a bleak look covering his shadowed face. "We're lucky it was elevenths."
Harry bit back a retort. With the way his odd-shaped spots were itching, he did not feel in any way lucky. "It's not lucky," he muttered, under his breath.
"It could've been the pox," Sirius said, having obviously heard him. "That's what they were so worried about, you know. Although I know Marlene: if she said she took every precaution with them, she took every precaution with them." He shook out his black hair. "She wouldn't have let in any diseased creatures; she knows her stuff."
Harry yawned, covering it with his hand. As to Professor McKinnon, she seemed competent enough. But unless he was more feverish than he thought and had hallucinated the earlier scene, Sirius was not exactly an objective witness. The young Sirius Black had a crush on their professor… and that had not changed in the intervening near twenty years. He smuggled a grin out of sight. "Would pox have been any worse?" he asked.
Startled, Sirius looked at him. "Oh yeah," he said, nodding crisply. "Pox is a lot worse than elevenths… which, even if you get it late, like now, doesn't kill you. Pox is vicious… some are worse than others… dragon pox. Medusa pox isn't one of the worst ones, but you could have had bits of you permanently petrified. And it kills. Poxes are killers, even of young people." His face fell again. "I've lived through an outbreak of medusa pox," he said, tone now cold and remote. "I was shocked at how many people it took… your—"
But his voice fell away. "My what?" Harry asked, yawning again.
"You're tired," said Sirius.
"That wasn't what you were about to say," Harry pointed out.
"But it's what I did say," Sirius countered. "I shouldn't be nattering on like this when you've got a fever, Harry, I'm sorry. Just… let it suffice to say that I'm glad you're going to be out of it in the next couple of days. All you'll have to worry about is the itching."
At that, his forearm nearly burned with the need to be scratched. All thoughts of the pox slipped his mind as he gritted his teeth and tried not to touch the spots that had sprouted on his arms. There was even a light, ominous tingle on the side of his neck that told him another couple of spots were congealing on the skin there, preparing to torment him with the attention they demanded but was unwise to give.
Sirius was now brandishing a small bottle at him. "You'll want this, I expect," he said, coming to his feet and pulling the cork out of the bottle. "Pomfrey gave me this to give to you… it'll help you sleep. C'mon, Harry, sit up."
Harry looked at it, scrambling to sit up. "Is that what Lily made?" he asked.
Sirius peered at it. "You know, I think it is," he said.
Harry took it; it slid down his throat. Was it his imagination, or did it taste much better than the one Pomfrey had given him earlier? Sirius murmured a bit more as Harry settled, but his thoughts were already starting to scatter. When he left, he left the curtain open on one side, allowing him to see the sky outside. Just then, at the moment he looked, the prediction done by the frogs came true: a light rain began to patter against the window, providing a soft drum to his thoughts, which were shifting from wakefulness to dreams, until finally – at last – he succumbed entirely.