Chapter 23: Saturday

The next morning, Poppy Pomfrey greeted the sunrise with a groan. The pale morning light felt as an assault on her eyes when she tried to open them, and a wave of nausea quickly followed. Poppy reached blindly towards her nightstand and grappled for her wand.

"Accio Medibag," she rasped, surprised at the weakness of her voice. She barely caught the little black satchel as it sailed to her from across the room. Braving the light, she cracked one eye open, and fumbled around in the bag for the bottle of headache potion. After downing a dose straight from the bottle, she felt the pain recede to a dull ache. The nausea however, remained. The Nurse lay back down and tried taking slow, calming breaths, hoping it would pass. Before it did, Poppy had fallen back to sleep.

~o~

Harry loved Saturdays! The grown-ups all seemed much happier on Saturdays, and Harry was often treated to outings, such as visiting Ron and Ginny at The Burrow, or going to Hogsmead for a new book or some sweets from Honeydukes. He rubbed his Draco Sleeve against his cheek and gave it a reassuring sniff, as he wondered what was in store for him on this Saturday.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his stomach grumbling, and he got up to join Madam Pomfrey at breakfast. Only when he opened his nursery door, his caregiver was not seated as she usually was, at the table with a cup of tea.

Harry looked around the rest of the room, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't on the sofa, in her reading chair or even at her little writing desk.

"Pomfee?" he called, "Where you?"

There was no answer, so Harry walked to her bedroom door and opened it a crack. He called a little louder, "Pomfee, I awate!"

Harry pushed the door wider and stepped inside. His caregiver was still asleep! Harry had never woken up first before. He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do – and then he had an idea.

Harry backed out of the room, and as quietly as he could, closed her door. He knelt before the grate in the main room and called, "Dobby!"

The elf appeared instantly beside Harry with a small 'pop'.

"Good morning, Harry Potter, sir. What can Dobby be doing for you, today?"

"Hi Dobby! Harry-Podder-sir wants 'a supise Pomfee wif bekfast!

Dobby looked about the room, brow furrowed. "Is… Harry Potter being alone?"

"No, siwwy, my gots you here. An' Pomfee – she aseep in bed."

"Oh," the elf sounded relieved. "What can Dobby be getting Harry Potter for breakfast?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead. What would be a special treat for breakfast? "How 'booouuuut, teacle tart! An' ice team, an' chotyate bitties? Oh, an' tea," he added as an afterthought. "Pomfee yuvs tea."

"Is Harry Potter sure that is what he wants Dobby to bring?" said the elf doubtfully. "For breakfast?"

"Yup," nodded Harry, pleased with himself. "Oh, an' my wants punkin juice too, pease, Dobby."

"Of course, sir," said the elf, basking in Harry's use of the word, "please." "Dobby shall fetch your breakfast at once!" and with that, he disappeared.

While Dobby was gone, Harry decided to set the table all by himself. He wanted to make it look just the way Madam Pomfrey did when she had company for tea, like Professor McGonagall or Madam Sprout. He was extra careful as he took down each teacup, saucer and dish, one by one from the breakfront. He had just set down the last dish, and had pulled the silverware out of the breakfront drawer, when Dobby returned with a heavily laden serving tray.

"Dobby has brought Harry Potter's breakfast," he announced with some trepidation, unloading the platters to the table. Noticing that there were three place settings, Dobby asked, "Is Harry Potter expecting a guest for breakfast?"

"Nope," said Harry, barely paying attention to the elf. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth, as he concentrated on setting the silver in a neat little row at each place. "Jus' you, an' me, an' Pomfee."

The house-elf's emotions still got the better of him whenever he was shown such courtesy. Dobby shed tears of gratitude, as he sniffed, "H-H-Harry Potter is such a kind, generous wizard…"

At the choked sound of Dobby's voice, Harry looked up quizzically. "Why am you tyin' Dobby? You not yike teacle? You wan' have toast an' jam? 'Cause we tan have dats, too. Don't tye, Dobby, pease."

It took great effort, but at that simple request, Dobby straightened his shoulders and made a rather phlegmy sounding reverse snort. "Dobby will not cry, Mister Harry Potter, sir," he promised, voice still wavering. "Dobby will go now and bring Harry Potter some toast and jam."

"Fanks, Dobby. Harry-Podder yikes a' have toast an' jam, too," he added reassuringly.

Harry finished setting out the silver and realized he'd forgotten the serviettes. They were kept in the drawer below the silverware, Harry knew. He tried to pull it open, but it wouldn't budge. Madam Pomfrey always had to use an unsticking charm to get it open, but, of course, Harry couldn't do that, so he pulled and pulled at the drawer handle until it suddenly gave way and came out of the breakfront entirely, crashing loudly on the stone floor.

"Oh, no, my botened it," whispered Harry plaintively. In a panic, he lifted the drawer and tried to fit it back in, but was startled by Madam Pomfrey's voice.

"Harry?" she called hoarsely.

He dropped the drawer on his foot, but before he even had time to register the pain, Madam Pomfrey lurched towards him and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

"Pomfee!" Harry rushed to her side. "Pomfee, wate up!" But the Hogwarts Matron did not move or answer him. Harry started patting her back the way his caregiver sometimes did to comfort him. But she remained unresponsive.

Just then, Dobby popped back in, holding up a large platter with stacks of toast and an array of jams in little crystal dishes.

"Dobby!" he pleaded to the startled elf, "Help Pomfee, she not wating up!"

"Dobby will get help," he said, and just as suddenly, disappeared, leaving the platter behind to crash to the floor.

Harry covered his ears against the noise of it, and crouched closer to Madam Pomfrey's prone form. "Pease… Don't yeave me," he whispered, unsure himself if his entreaty was meant for Dobby or for his caregiver. He rested his head against Madam Pomfrey's still form, slipped his thumb in his mouth and tried not to cry.

Dobby reappeared immediately and Professor McGonagall followed his arrival, stepping through the floo.

"Oh, my, Poppy! What's happened here?" The Headmistress knelt beside her friend and placed a palm gently against the Matron's cheek. "She's burning up – we must get her to St. Mungo's immediately!" The elder witch conjured a stretcher and set Madam Pomfrey upon it with a gently cast, "Mobilicorpus," and used a second spell to wrap her snugly to the stretcher with a blanket.

Harry stared dumbly, trying to see where the fire was. To his relief – and confusion – he could see no flames on his caregiver.

"Dobby, you stay here with Harry. I shall send for Mrs Weasley to look after him." With that, she floated the stretcher to the floo in front of her, got some powder from the ceramic jar on the mantle, and was off – leaving a very frightened boy and a very worried house-elf behind.

When Molly Weasley arrived, not five minutes later, neither had spoken or moved from his spot.

"Oh, Harry. You poor dear," Mrs Weasley knelt beside him and enfolded him in a tight embrace.

From the safety of Mrs Weasley's arms, Harry let his tears flow. He cried and cried, and Mrs Weasley let him, gently stroking his hair and whispering words of reassurance. At last, Harry's tears subsided, and Mrs Weasley gently guided him to the nursery.

"Dobby, I need to send some owls. Can you fetch me a quill, ink and some parchment, please?"

Dobby nodded eagerly, glad of something to do, and winked out. To Harry, Mrs Weasley said, "I think a bit of a lie down is in order, dear." Numbly, Harry crawled onto his bed, and Mrs Weasley drew the bedclothes over him. Harry took up his Draco Sleeve, put his thumb back in his mouth, and frowning around it, closed his eyes.

Mrs Weasley took a seat on the rocker by Harry's bed and conjured a small writing tray on her lap and a footstool. Dobby returned with the requested items and two owls who immediately perched themselves on the footboard of Harry's bed. Molly thanked the house-elf and sent him to tidy up the suite, before she turned to her missives.

Arthur Dear,

I've settled Harry down and plan to stay here for the duration – though I haven't a clue as to how long that will be. I am heartbroken to miss our Percy's birthday. Please tell him how sorry I am and give him an extra squeeze from me. The presents are hidden in the cupboard above the sink. They have been transfigured into a stack of dishes. A simple Finite should do the trick. The cake is in the icebox under a disillusionment charm. It's the jar of Aunt Murial's rosehip preserves. DON'T LET THE TWINS NEAR IT, and be sure to check the candles for jinxes and hexes before you light them. Arthur, dear, you know how Forge like to tease Percy, and I especially don't want anything to upset him today. You know how hard it was to convince him to let us celebrate as a family.

Don't forget to send Ron to Florean's to pick up the ice cream, and remind him to get vanilla, Percy's favorite – and NO strawberry, he's allergic.

Sorry to be leaving all this to you dear, but I'm sure you'll be fine.

Yours,

Mollywobbles

P.S. If the twins do give you any trouble, remind them that they are not too old to receive a howler from their mum.

She was about to attach the first letter to the Barred owl's leg (the other owl, a Great Gray, was looking rather worse for wear, reminding her sadly of Errol), when a tabby cat patronus with spectacle eye markings appeared before her. It said, in Minerva McGonagall's voice, "Please tell Harry, Madam Pomfrey will be fine. It's just a doxy virus that's been going around. The Healers think she will be well enough to return home by the end of the week. Can Harry stay at The Burrow in the meantime?"

"Of course, Minerva," said Molly.

As the cat faded to a silvery mist and disappeared, Molly heard it faintly say, "Thank you for watching Harry."

She quickly scratched out a second note for Arthur, telling him the news, and attached both to the waiting owl's leg. Molly sent the second owl, with some trepidation (he really looked quite exhausted), to Hermione Granger, explaining briefly what happened, telling her that Molly would be bringing Harry to The Burrow, and asking if she was free to visit him there in the next few days.

Checking first to see that Harry was indeed asleep – and he was – Molly set a charm alarm to nudge her if Harry so much as stirred. And then, she put her feet up on the footstool, leaned back in the rocker, and did something she never would have been able to do at The Burrow: she rested in blissful silence.

~o~

Rufus Scrimgeour set the hastily written parchment down on his desk with a toothy smile. Finally, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Young Weasley had come through for him again. Yes, he was notoriously pompous to others, and a bit of a bootlicker to his betters, but he was loyal. That boy was due for a promotion, and the Minister of Magic made a note of that on his 'pending acts' scroll.

Minister Scrimgeour knew he had to act swiftly and with force. He had several plans ready for an opportunity such as this. He sent his patronus to alert Auror Sanchez that "The Potter Play' was in motion. Sanchez's task was to pick up one Rita Skeeter and deliver her to the Minister's office for an exclusive. Scrimgeour could see the headlines now: POTTER GAURDIAN UNFIT – MINISTER OF MAGIC SAVES THE DAY.

~o~

Mrs Weasley woke, not to the charm alarm – for Harry was still fast asleep, but to the whoosh of someone coming through the floo in the main room. She got up to greet the new arrival; it was Hermione Granger.

"Oh, you are such a dear," Molly gave the girl a powerful hug and received one in return. "I didn't mean for you to drop everything and come now!"

"It's all right, Mrs Weasley, really. I was just doing some light reading. I had nothing special planned for today."

Molly imagined that 'light reading' for Hermione Granger was likely to be Arithmantic Innovations or New Theories of Magical Evolution.

"Where's Harry? He must be so frightened."

Mrs Weasley gestured to the nursery. "He's asleep. The poor thing wore himself out crying."

"I can stay with Harry if you like, Mrs Weasley. I know it's Percy's birthday today, Ron told me about your family party. I'm sure it will go better if you're there – Oh, no, uh, I mean… I'm sure you want to be there…" Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink as she trailed off.

Mrs Weasley smiled warmly at the young witch before her. "Right in two, Hermione. You know my boys well enough. I am a bit worried. It's not been easy to keep the peace between Percy and Ron and the twins. But, I don't want to leave you –"

"Honest, Mrs Weasley, it's no bother. You should go. I'll take care of Harry."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, my dear. In fact, I've no doubt you'll make a fine mother someday."

Hermione blushed again, and Mrs Weasley added, "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to imply… well, it's just that Ron speaks so highly of you – I mean of how patient you are with Harry." Molly could see by the deepening of the colour on Hermione's face that she was only making things worse. "Never mind, dear. Well," she hesitated, "I do want to go back to The Burrow – if you're sure…"

"I am, Mrs Weasley. I promise to floo call if we need anything."

"Very well, Hermione dear." She gave Hermione another embrace and took a handful of floo powder from the ceramic jar on the mantle. "You promise, now? Anything at all and you'll call me?"

"I promise." Hermione gave Mrs Weasley what she hoped was a reassuring and confident look, and then, the older witch was gone in a flash of green flame.

Hermione let out a deep sigh of relief. It wasn't that she didn't like Ron's mum – she did, really she did – but somehow, the Weasley matriarch always managed to say something that made Hermione turn pink with embarrassment. The only end Hermione could see to it was if she and Ron got married, and neither of them was ready for that. She knew from Ron that his mother was constantly dropping not-so-subtle hints to him on the subject – much to Ron's mortification, particularly if Fred and George were in earshot. Their teasing was relentless, and even cruel at times. It made Hermione glad she was an only child.

Hermione's thoughts turned quickly to Harry, when she heard him call from the nursery.

"Pomfee?"

Hermione entered the nursery and was greeted by Harry's look of disappointment and sorrow. It took the young witch back to the first time Harry had seen her after Lucius Malfoy attacked him. It was almost a déjà vu. Well, technically, she reasoned, it was not a déjà vu. Because she really had been there before. Sort of. Only the last time it was at Hagrid's, and it was his mum that Harry was missing. She couldn't help the tear that fell. Why was the world so cruel to Harry. He had given everything and here he was suffering again.

"Don't worry, Harry. Madam Pomfrey is going to be alright. She just got a little sick, and she needs the Healers at St. Mungo's to help her get better. Then she can come back home."

Harry said nothing, but gave Hermione a sorrowful look and put his thumb in his mouth. He curled his forefinger over his nose and held his Draco Sleeve with the remaining fingers. Harry's stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble.

Hermione smiled at him. "It's nearly lunchtime, Harry. Let's get you dressed and we can ask Dobby to bring something up for us to eat." Hermione looked through Harry's wardrobe, and didn't see the tears welling up in his eyes at this reminder of what had happened that morning. She laid out a t-shirt and pants, trousers and socks, and a blue button down shirt at the foot of Harry's bed. "Do you need help getting dressed?" Hermione had read that routines were comforting to preschoolers experiencing stressful changes. So she made her best guess as to what Harry's normal routine with Madam Pomfrey was. It appeared to be working, because Harry pushed back his covers and climbed out of bed.

"My need help wif da buttons," he said softly. And for some reason, that made Hermione want to cry again. Harry was so brave – whatever his age.

"Alright, Harry. Why don't you get started, while I arrange lunch. I'll be right back to help you with your buttons." Without waiting for a reply, Hermione left the nursery. It was a lot harder to do than she imagined, but she made herself keep to the plan of 'normalcy'. That didn't mean not talking about Madam Pomfrey being sick or Harry's missing her, but it did mean that she would not smother him with over coddling. That seemed very un-Pomfrey-like.

In the main room, Hermione had barely started to call Dobby's name when he crawled out from under the table, giving Hermione quite a start. "Dobby! What on earth are you doing under there?"

"Dobby is so sorry, Mistress Hermione. Dobby didn't mean to startle. Dobby just wanted to be ready the moment Harry Potter needed help."

"You are a true friend, Dobby." The elf looked so distraught, Hermione didn't have the heart to remind him not to call her 'Mistress'. "I know Harry appreciates you."

Predictably, Dobby's eyes welled up with tears.

"Could you possibly help by bringing up some lunch up for Harry and me. You're welcome to join us, of course – I'm sure Harry would like your company."

"Dobby is honoured to be asked, Mistress!" he whispered in amazement, and off he went – returning remarkably fast with their lunch.

Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the door.

It was Ron.

Hermione sighed. She had been fairly certain that Mrs Weasley's hope of a congenial family gathering was premature at best. But for once, she wished she were wrong. Ron's presence alone told her she wasn't. And the look on his face hinted at a spectacularly bad row.

"You may as well sit down. There's plenty of food, if you've still an appetite."

It was Ron's turn to sigh. He was relieved that Hermione hadn't asked him what'd happened at The Burrow (though he figured he was only getting this reprieve because Harry was there).

"Thanks 'Moine." He took a seat beside Harry and across from Hermione and Dobby (whom Ron noticed was not eating, but was beaming – as though he'd just won the World Cup), and began to fill the plate that had appeared before him. To Harry he said, "Hullo, mate. Wanna play snitch catch after lunch?"

Harry frowned, dripping spoonfuls of soup back into his bowl. He had an elbow on the table and was resting his chin in his hand. "Pomfee not feels good," was all he said without looking up.

"Yeah, mate. I know. But everybody gets sick sometimes. She'll be alright soon."

Rather than reassure him, Ron's comments caused Harry to glance up, a look of distress marring his face. "Evyone gon' be sit?"

"No, Harry. What Ron means," and Hermione gave Ron a pointed look, "is that sometimes people get sick. It doesn't happen all the time. But Harry," she put her arm around his shoulder. "When it does happen, like with Madam Pomfrey, we have Healers to help them get better."

This seemed to mollify Harry somewhat, and he absently slurped a spoonful of soup.

Ron rubbed his face hard and ran his fingers through his fringe, pushing it back. He gave Hermione a look that was both grateful and apologetic, and tucked in to some buttered rolls.

Their lunch was finished in silence, the dishes disappearing from the table (followed by Dobby, who didn't want to overstay his welcome), just as they did in the Great Hall. Harry didn't want to play with the snitch, his mood was still low, so they took a walk down to the lake instead. Hermione transfigured some fallen leaves into little sailboats for Harry and Ron to launch. Then all three tossed pebbles in the water, making ripples to move the boats farther out. Every now and then, Hermione would charm one of Harry's pebbles with a whispered spell, so that his would create ripples that more resembled little waves. By the time they left the lake, Harry was in better spirits, and behaving a bit more like himself.

"My-Nee? We go see Ahgi, next? Maybe he finded Darvey."

Hermione was glad to see Harry taking an interest in something. It was unfortunate, though, that it was in the pet that had run off. Still, she wanted to engage him, so she agreed, and the three friends walked as they had done so often in their school days, down the path to Hagrid's hut. They found their large friend by the small animal pens beside the back garden. Hagrid was tending to a jobberknoll that was missing about half of his feathers.

"Oi, you three! Good ter see yeh!" He waved a massive hand in greeting, but kept the other on the jobberknoll. It was pecking at his fingers with its sharp beak, but the half-giant didn't seem to notice.

They returned Hagrid's hullos, and Harry asked, "What happen dat bird's feavers? Ahgi?"

"Oh, Finley here?" It was astounding to think that Hagrid could have forgotten the bird in his hand, which was so viciously pecking at him. "Poor fella. Got into some balding beetles I was breedin'. Y'see, their, erm, droppin's –you'll pardon the expression, Hermione – makes a fertilizer that grows easy to shell peas. Turns out, they make for easy to molt birds as well. I was jest puttin' some sun salve on 'is bald spots, so 'e don't get burned. Almost out, too. Mebbe I'll walk yeh back an' get another jar from Madam Pomfrey."

At the mention of his absent caregiver's name, Harry's face fell. And before Hagrid could ask, Hermione explained, "Madam Pomfrey is in St. Mungo's, Hagrid. She fell ill this morning with a doxy virus and it gave Harry quite a fright." She hastily added, "But not to worry, The Healers are taking good care of her, and she'll be back in no time."

"I'm sorry ter hear that. Tell ye what, Harry, lemme jest finish wi' Finley, here, an' we can go pick some flowers to bring to Madam Pomfrey. Flowers always cheer me up when I'm feelin' sickly."

Harry nodded. He seemed taken with that idea, and he looked to Hermione for consent and even smiled a little when she said, "That's a great idea, Hagrid!"

"Uh, I'll help, too," said Ron, hastily.

"Oh no you won't, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione grabbed his sleeve and gave it a sharp tug. "We have things to discuss." To Hagrid and Harry she said, "We'll wait for you two here," adding, "Take your time," just as Ron squeaked out,

"Don't be too long!" He met Hermione's eyes, and Ron knew he was defeated. "Never mind," he mumbled over his shoulder, as Hermione pulled him towards the back steps to hear all about Percy's party.