Harry heaved a sigh as he sat in the stifling Divination classroom. Even in December, the room's relatively tight quarters and constantly roaring fireplace kept it exceptionally warm. That meant the windows were closed, and Professor Trelawney always had some sort of incense burning. The air was heavy with it, which did nothing for Harry's annoyance.

They were supposed to be doing star charts and predictions, and while he once found it amusing to fake predicting his own death (especially since the professor foretold such a thing almost every time they had class), he was beginning to realize he could make better use of his time elsewhere.

He glanced woefully at his bag that held the various research notes inside of it from his time pouring over books in his search for the elusive creature the egg hinted at. Right now, he could be in the library hunting down another lead. Instead he was jotting down planets and how they supposedly could affect his everyday life, although he didn't need a star chart to know he was dealing with constant struggles.

'I'm turning into Hermione,' he thought with a shake of his head. He couldn't help but think she had the right idea last year in walking out of the class. It truly was a waste of time for him, and the only good that came of it was that he was present the one evening Professor Trelawney had made a rare, true prophecy. He didn't doubt that divination could be a real subject (he was a wizard, after all. At this point, he had to believe at least anything was remotely possible to a certain degree when it came to magic), but only for those that were truly gifted in the art or had the Sight. Neither applied to him, and there were several times he doubted his professor had it either, or at the very least, it was extremely inaccurate.

"Something the matter, my dear?" came Professor Trelawney's whisper of a voice from over his shoulder.

"No professor," Harry was quick to reply, cursing the fact his sigh had caught her attention.

She hummed as she stood over him and looked over his work, noting the planetary placements at the time of his birth. She almost appeared disappointed.

"Pluto in Libra and Saturn in Virgo? Interesting. I would have expected one or both of those planets to be in Scorpio for you."

"Why? Does that mean death?" Ron asked from next to him. Harry nearly snorted, instead turning the sound into a cough. It wasn't entirely unbelievable with all of the incense in the air.

"Not necessarily," she said in her breathy voice. She moved to the front of the class, her many scarves and shawls swaying ever so slightly as she walked. "Pluto in Scorpio would signal decay or collapse. But yes, my dears. It can also mean a confrontation with death itself. In fact," she looked grim. "I see it often anymore."

Harry and Ron shared a look.

"Just last night, I had the urge to crystal gaze. As I sat here, absorbed in my neeldework, I felt the need to consult the orb. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths … and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?"

"An ugly old bat in outsize specs?" muttered Ron under his breath.

Harry bit the inside of his lip hard enough to nearly bleed in an attempt to keep his face straight.

"Death, my dears," she paused, adding to the drama of her declaration. "Yes, it comes ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower … ever lower over the castle." She looked over at Harry, eyes once again colored with pity.

Yes, this class was most definitely a waste of his time.

Harry was more than happy to leave the room once the bell sounded at the end of class. Descending the staircase underneath the room's trapdoor and breathing the fresh air was just as cleansing for his mood as it was for his lungs.

"If I had a galleon for every single time she said you were going to die, I could buy myself a Firebolt," said Ron. "At least we didn't get homework. I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector. I love not working when she is …"

Harry hummed in response, not desiring to give a proper answer with words. He couldn't help but think that when Hermione had homework, it was actually something worth learning.

'Not that I'll ever tell her that,' he chuckled to himself, earning a curious look from Ron. Harry shook his head.

"I'll join you for dinner, but I'll probably only grab a quick bite before I head to the library," Harry said as they started the descent on the changing stairs.

"Again?" bemoaned Ron. "Aren't you going to give it a rest for one night? You've been at it for days."

"Think of it this way," Harry grabbed his bag tighter as he made his way quickly down the steps, pausing for the next staircase to properly align. "If I don't figure this out, then Professor Trelawney's prediction might be right for once." He gave the red head a pointed look. "I managed to dodge a fire breathing dragon, but I'd rather not test my luck again."

"Right," Ron sighed. "Want me to snag you an extra dessert?"

"Treacle tart if they have it, thanks."

Dinner was a very quick affair for Harry before he headed back to what was quickly becoming his favorite table in a corner of the library near the Magical Creature section. He belatedly realized he had completely forgotten to ask Hagrid about the list of creatures he was looking at. It had slipped his mind after the run in with Rita and the odd behavior of the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

'What was that all about anyway?' he pondered as he perused several book titles, not entirely sure what he was looking for. 'Those things normally attack anything in sight. Why not this time?'

While out in the pumpkin patch, he'd been too surprised to question what was actually happening. But now, hours later in the comforting silence of the library, he looked back on the event with even more confusion and questions. It made no sense, really. Sure, Harry would say he was decent with animals. Snakes usually liked him, naturally (he wasn't going to count the basilisk). He got along quite well with Buckbeak. But some were definitely antagonistic, such as Aragog and his kin, or instinctually defensive, such as the Hungarian Horntail. Harry would have placed the skrewts in the last category. There was no reason any of them should have allowed him to approach in such a manner.

And that wasn't the only peculiar creature that came to mind today. Even though it was a quick flash, Harry was positive that whatever was watching him from the edge of the forest was not a centaur. It was too short, whatever it was, and he was positive he saw golden eyes and silver fur.

Seeing a strange creature in the Forbidden Forest wouldn't bother Harry too much except he got that bizarre, spine tingling feeling right before he caught a glimpse of it. Sure, there was a chance he was overthinking it and was trying to connect patterns that had nothing to do with each other, but something deep inside him told him that wasn't the case this time. No, a part of him was certain the two were connected.

'But what the hell did I see? What was that thing?' Harry's hand paused in the air over a random book, his eyes no longer focused on them anyway. 'And was it really watching us?'

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know that answer or not. Then again, he could just be paranoid. That wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

He shook himself before he could allow his train of thought to go too deep down that particular rabbit hole. He already had one mysterious creature he needed to figure out, and that one could actually mean life or death. One was never sure in this tournament. The other one in the Forbidden Forest, while questionable and the possible cause behind the strange tingling, hadn't proved itself to be a threat yet. For all he knew, it was a magical creature that happened to cause mild shocks by sight alone.

But then why had he been the only one in class to react that way? And why had that happened right after the First Task?

'No," he firmly told himself. 'One creature at a time. Figure out the egg, and then worry about the silver furred thing later.'


"Potter - a word if you please."

Harry paused in his typical end-of-class movements of swinging his bag onto his shoulder. It was a few days later, and Transfiguration had just ended. The entire class had just been informed of the upcoming Yule Ball. Several of the girls like Lavender and Parvati had been thoroughly excited at the prospect. The boys, however, weren't nearly as thrilled.

He waved off both Ron and Hermione, promising them he would catch up with them afterwards. Bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the front of the classroom to Professor McGonagall. She kept quiet until the rest of the class had filtered out.

"Potter, the champions and their partners traditionally open the Yule Ball," she began, but stopped upon seeing the boy's perplexed look. "What is it, Potter?"

"I'm sorry, partners?"

"Yes, your dance partner."

"Umm," he fought hard to not fidget in front of his head of house. "I don't dance."

"Oh yes, you do," Professor McGonagall replied. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school," she firmly added.

"Professor," he started cautiously, not wanting to raise her ire. "I don't know how to dance." Harry definitely did not consider himself graceful at all. At least not on the ground. Up in the air on a broom was an entirely different story, but poise and grace definitely wasn't his thing. He wasn't lying when he told the professor he didn't know how to dance. The entire class had just been warned to not embarrass the school in any way during the Yule Ball. He was certain he'd do exactly that if he was required to dance.

"Then you're going to learn," she looked at him evenly over the rims of her spectacles. "Make sure you get yourself a partner, and that is not a suggestion."

Harry nodded with a quiet "Yes, ma'am," before walking out the door. Waiting for him outside, instead of at their next class, were Ron and Hermione.

"What was that about?" Ron pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against.

"I was practically ordered to find a dance partner since apparently, all of the champions have to open the Yule Ball," he sullenly explained.

"Wait, by dancing?" Ron asked incredulously.

"That's what a dancer partner is for," Harry replied.

"Do you know how to dance?"

"No."

"Good luck, mate," Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. Hermione looked at him sympathetically.

"It really isn't that difficult to learn," she started slowly. "It's not like you're expected to have a dance choreographed, and even if it was, it'd be simple. This should be nothing more than a lead-follow formal dance."

"Well that's reassuring," Harry snorted. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm positive I'm not good at it, plus I need to find a dance partner. Oh, and let's not forget I'm still searching for the answer to that damned golden egg. Good thing I have plenty of time." Harry knew he was taking his irritation out on his friends, but he really couldn't help that some of the stress was starting to get to him.

Hermione pursed her lips.

"You don't know unless you try," she pointed out. "You could be naturally talented at it."

"Doubt it," Harry muttered.

"Oh, honestly." Hermione quickly stepped in front of Harry and whipped around to face him, stopping both him and Ron in their tracks.

"I'll make this quick so we aren't late, but I can't believe how much you continuously doubt yourself. You're setting yourself up for failure before you even try." At this point, Hermione was staring Harry down, arms crossed, her curly hair looking very much like the mane of their house's namesake.

"Look at what you've already done so far this year. Yes, you may have been pointed in the right direction with the First Task, but that was all you with your skill out there facing that dragon head on. And you were spectacular. Plus, you're hard at work on figuring out the Second Task on your own. Don't think for a second I haven't noticed how much time you've spent at the library. And let's not forget our first, second and third years," she looked at him pointedly. "When you put your mind to something, you do it, regardless of what stands in your way."

Hermione stepped forward, pointing a finger at his chest. "So, think of this as a challenge that needs to be met. You will ask someone to be your dance partner, and you will learn how to dance. And you will handle it with the same tenacity as you do with every obstacle you come across, because that's just who you are. And if you can't see it, then I'll be the one to remind you of it."

Vibrant, green eyes blinked owlishly at Hermione's declaration. He couldn't fight the blush that slowly colored his cheeks.

"Thanks, Hermione, really," he brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it, feeling a strange mix of both embarrassment and gratitude. "Although I'd much rather do another round with the dragon."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You'd rather face a fire breathing dragon again over having to learn how to dance and asking someone to be your partner?"

"Yes," he replied with conviction.

"How about this? I could teach you how to dance," she offered. "So that's one less thing you'd have to figure out. Then all you have left to do is find someone to ask to be your date."

"Wait, you know how to dance?" Ron asked in surprise.

"More like I've watched my dad teach my mum. It was rather simple, really," she shrugged.

A feeling of relief washed over Harry. "Hermione, you're the best."

Hermione offered a small smile. "Think of it as me finding a way to help you that wouldn't involve cheating in the tournament. Now c'mon, we need to get going or we'll be late." With that, she turned back around and started her trek once more.

Harry and Ron followed after her, a few steps behind.

"Wonder if she can teach me how to dance too," the red head murmured.

"Maybe if you ask her," Harry replied, feeling a tad more at ease over the entire affair.

"'Course, none of this will matter unless we find dates," Ron grimaced.

"Right…."

Harry had spent his entire time at Hogwarts so far over the last three and a half years trying to not die. That didn't leave much time for developing any semblance of a crush on someone. Yes, he noticed that some people were attractive, but liking someone was more than finding a person's appearance appealing. It wasn't lost on him that he was famous, and that some people would want to be seen with him for that fact alone, which was someone he most decidedly would not want as a date. Not to mention that anyone he asked would unfortunately end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet as the latest headline from Rita Skeeter. He wouldn't want to wish that on anyone he remotely cared for, and refused to give fame seeking individuals the opportunity to use him in such a way.

But he'd been ordered to find a partner, so a partner he would find.

Another part of him was more irritated at the fact instead of being worried. He had much more important things to worry about at the moment other than a ball. He knew his thoughts on the egg were bordering on obsession, but all he had to do was think back to that night Hagrid had invited him into the woods, and he first heard the angry roars of four dragons and felt the heat of their vicious fire to chase away any concerns that he was focusing too much on the topic to be considered healthy. That night had cemented how dangerous and absolutely ludicrous this entire tournament was.

In fact, his constant searching over the last few days had borne fruit. Well, more like an epiphany. While he still hadn't narrowed down exactly what was behind the screeching, he did realize the clue was probably more than just about the creature itself. Rather, it may be about what the creature represented, or perhaps even something the creature led to.

Harry came to that conclusion after realizing that facing whatever creature made that sound would have been far too similar to the First Task, and he doubted the tournament would repeat itself in such a way. Instead, he began to wonder what is the screeching, and what does it mean?

That meant it could be a language, which then led to a creature of high intelligence. But if that was true, then that meant he had to figure out how to translate it. And boy was that even more difficult than trying to figure out the creature itself.

While he could probably teach himself the translation charm, the problem was it needed a written form of the language that would then be copied over onto a blank piece of parchment in the caster's chosen language. Given that this was a verbal reciting of an unknown language, the translation charm wouldn't work. And it wasn't like he could write down what he was hearing since it sounded just like screaming.

But at least he had a new lead. And maybe, if he could still figure out what the creature was, he could narrow down a way of figuring out how to translate what he was hearing, too.

"Could you two walk faster? We have five minutes until Potions starts," called Hermione who had picked up the pace.

Harry bit back a groan, his pensive thoughts now soundly interrupted. He also walked faster, almost breaking into a jog. While he detested Professor Snape, the last thing he wanted was to show up late to his class and give the man a reason to detract house points, not that he wouldn't figure out some other way of doing so. Two hours stuck in the dungeons with the Slytherins and their testy head of house. Harry had a feeling it was going to feel even longer.


He really hated being right sometimes.

Potions was a rather agonizing affair, even more so than normal. It really shouldn't have been, though, if you considered what they were tasked with brewing: Calming Draughts. It wasn't a particularly difficult potion, utilizing only a handful of ingredients. Harry was by no means an excellent brewer, but he knew he was competent, regardless of what Snape said. The problem wasn't the potion itself.

Instead, the class, for a lack of a better term, had been increasingly 'overwhelming' for Harry.

It had started with ingredient prep. He was paired with Ron, and they had split the preparations in half. Harry opted to deal with any of the ingredients that needed to be sliced or minced. His years of being forced to cook for the Dursleys in his youth had taught him necessary knife skills, and it was one thing he prided himself on when it came to this class, not that he ever let anyone else know that. (And not that Snape would ever give him points for it.) So, he took to chopping the crocodile heart and finely mincing the lavender just shy of being turned into dust while Ron used a mortar and pestle to grind first the chamomile and then the peppermint.

Both lavender and chamomile normally have a subtle scent, especially dried chamomile. However, as they began to work, Harry couldn't help but notice their uncharacteristic floral potence. He caught the lavender first. It began subtly at first, much like how the flower's scent should be, but it slowly began to grow in its almost sickly sweet nature, almost as if someone occasionally sprayed lavender perfume across their workspace. The remnants of lavender oil, left over from the now minced petals, dotted his hands. Harry noted there was no way it should have smelled that strongly, even with the entire class preparing the ingredients.

But what was even more puzzling was that he could smell the chamomile coming from the mortar and pestle. Or at least that's what he thought he was smelling, given that its scent was normally so soft he would have had a hard time in the past detecting it unless he was drinking chamomile tea. However, he caught the sweet and fruity scent wafting from the mortar, the notes still both delicate and yet potent enough for him to notice, if not a bit stale given its dried state.

It was almost as if the proverbial dial for his sense of smell was being slowly increased one notch at a time.

Harry mentally shook himself, determined to stay on task and not give the professor a reason to dock points. But he grew confused once more when he moved onto the crocodile heart. It was bloodless, as all their animal ingredients normally were unless the potion called for it, but even as he chopped the crocodile heart, the smell of old blood slowly filled the air.

Never before had he noticed such a thing when preparing an ingredient like that. He wrinkled his nose as he worked.

"Everything okay?" Ron whispered. He looked for Professor Snape, making sure he was on the other side of the room.

"This thing stinks," Harry murmured back under his breath.

"Yeah, it's gross, but I don't smell anything," Ron replied quietly.

Harry looked up at him. "You don't smell the blood?"

"What blood?" Ron looked puzzled.

"Potter! Weasley!" Professor Snape barked from four desks away. "Preparing your ingredients does not require talking. Five points each from Gryffindor for not staying on task." Both boys flinched and turned back to their work. Ron grumbled under his breath as he ground the chamomile even more fiercely, determined to pulverize it in his irritation. Harry didn't say anything else.

However he bit back a groan once Ron started on the peppermint leaves as the sharp scent quickly took off. The bite of it was enough to almost clear his sinuses.

'What is wrong with me?'

The class didn't get any better once they started brewing. As potion fumes filled the air, it took almost all of Harry's willpower to not sway on the spot. Even though he stood to the side of the cauldron, it was almost as if he'd stuck his head an inch from the bubbling concoction. Taking a small step away didn't help either, not with so many cauldrons in the room. The smell of all of the fumes stuck to his skin, causing a dull ache to grow at his temples as the scent began to overpower him.

That notch had now reached ten, and Harry was hoping it wouldn't go past that.

Harry was amazed he and Ron were able to finish their potion without an incident, the color just a hint more purple than blue. He belatedly realized they'd probably added a tad too much lavender, but he really couldn't care. He simply wanted to get out of that classroom and away from the cloying scents. He carefully ladled their work into a vial and turned it into Professor Snape at the front of the room before gathering his things and almost bolting out the door, not even waiting to hear if Snape had any snide remarks for him or not.

Air filled his lungs as he took deep breaths once he got out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall. There weren't any heavy scents here, not in the vast room. But it took a few moments for the stinging to finally leave his nose, although the dull headache remained.

"Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione emerged from the dungeons a minute later, Ron in tow. "You took off like a man on a mission. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just …" Harry paused, unsure of how to explain. He took another breath. "Did the ingredients seem a bit more potent to you?"

"What do you mean?" the brunette asked.

"Everything just smelled stronger. Both the lavender and chamomile were potent enough that I could have been smacked by it."

"No, they weren't more potent than normal. The lavender to me smelled as if it had been freshly picked, but it was still subtle. Nothing like what you're describing," Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"Yeah, it was the same, mate," Ron added. "Even the crocodile heart." He looked over at Hermione, explaining the quick conversation he and Harry had while brewing.

"What? That's impossible," she shook her head. "The crocodile hearts were cleaned before we were given them. That's standard procedure for potions prep. Even a hint of blood could taint a potion. There's no way Professor Snape would allow for sub par ingredients in class."

"I know what I smelled, though." Harry ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration. "Hell, I wanted to pass out in class from all of the scents and fumes. I still have a headache from it."

"Are you sure you weren't standing too close to your cauldron?" Even as Hermione asked it, she didn't look so sure of her question herself. Harry simply leveled her with a look.

"Snape may pick on me in class and claim I'm an utter troll when it comes to brewing, but even I know better than that."

"Well, and I can't believe I'm even suggesting this, but could you possibly be tired or stressed from your research? You do have a lot on your plate," Hermione ventured.

"Maybe," Harry groused. "Although I don't think that's it." He sighed, looking at his watch. "Anyway, we have Charms in 15. Hopefully the further we get away from the dungeons, the less my head will hurt."

"We could swing by the Hospital Wing for a pain potion," Hermione offered as they started walking.

"Nah, I'll be fine," he reassured her. "Besides, that's too far out of the way, and we almost risked being late once today."

Harry later regretted not getting that pain potion before class.

A part of him still wondered if the potion ingredients were of a more potent variety for some reason, rather than there being something wrong with him. That began to change though once more students filled the classroom. As people filed in the last minutes before the lesson was set to start, Harry began to wonder if the other students had suddenly decided to wear more perfume or deodorant than normal, or, in some unpleasant cases, none at all.

He highly doubted it.

Next to him, he caught a whiff of old parchment and library books from Hermione, on top of her natural scent. While from Ron, he could smell the remnants of bacon grease from breakfast after the redhead had dropped a piece on his shirt, having completely missed his mouth while talking.

It was at that point Harry started to toy with the idea he'd been cursed.

But the concept really set in after class started. The day's lesson: Bombarda. After Professor Flitwick demonstrated the spell, unlike everyone else in the class, Harry flinched. It was loud. Too loud.

Hermione and Ron noticed the movement and looked at him with concern. Harry shook his head, but his mouth was set in a grim line.

If he thought Potions was bad, Charms was only going to be worse.

Sitting through an hour worth of explosions both large and small left Harry's ears ringing and his head pounding. Hermione had been kind enough to subtly cast a muffliato around them in hopes of deadening some of the worst of it, but it only took the edge off.

Their lunch hour was next, but as Harry nearly stumbled towards the Great Hall, he caught both the smell of food and the cacophony of the student body while he was only halfway down the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. He leaned against the wall, holding his head with one hand.

"Guys, I'm headed to the Hospital Wing. Go on to lunch without me, I'll catch up if I can," he muttered to his two friends. He was afraid of speaking any louder just in case his own voice made things worse.

"You sure, mate?" Ron asked, his voice also lower.

"Yeah, I can't go in there. It's just … too much." He winced as a peal of laughter rang from down the stairwell. "I'm going to see about that pain potion, and also check to see if someone got a spell off on me somehow."

Both Ron and Hermione shared a concerned look, knowing Harry avoided going to the Hospital Wing at any cost. It was telling that he was suggesting going there of his own free will. They nodded, promising to save him a seat in case he was able to join them.

Seven minutes later, Harry walked through the Hospital Wing Doors in search of Madame Pompfrey. The woman in question looked up as he entered.

"Mr Potter, what are you doing here?" She approached him from her office, looking him over for any obvious injuries. "Isn't it a bit early in the school year for you to be getting into accidents?"

Harry bowed his head sheepishly, knowing the comment to be true. He did have that nasty habit.

"I'm hoping you could give me a pain potion," he began quietly, one hand rubbing his temple. "I don't know why, but every scent around me is just too strong, and every sound too loud. My head's throbbing from it."

He was thankful the only scent from the Hospital Wing was decidedly 'sterile,' which was much kinder on his nose than anything else over the last few hours.

The witch hummed thoughtfully. "When did this start?" she asked, bringing out her wand.

"In Potions this morning.. That's when smells started to get overpowering." He stood still as she waved her wand over him in a series of complicated patterns. "Could I have been cursed?"

"Well, nothing's been done to you that would change your senses, at least from what I can tell," she lowered her wand. "Mr. Potter, besides sensitivity to smells and sounds, do you have any other symptoms? Such as sensitivity to light or altered vision? Nausea? A tingling in your extremities?"

"Nothing regarding light or nausea," he began slowly. "But I've had the occasional tingle down my spine since right after the First Task." Harry decided he'd keep the fact he also saw a creature in the forest the last time that happened, though. That could still just be a coincidence. After all, he hadn't seen anything the first time it'd happened.

Madame Pomfrey smiled.

"Ah, I think I may know what's going on. This might be a migraine."

"A what?"

"A migraine," she said gently. "It's like a headache, but far worse. Some people first notice aura's or missing spots in their vision. Others will get tingles in their arms or feet, or some will notice nothing at all until the pain sets in. But symptoms also include sensitivity to smells and sounds. Warning signs can show days beforehand."

"Wait, you're saying I started getting this right after the First Task ended?" Harry sounded doubtful.

"Well, tingling in your spine isn't textbook, but that could just be how your body was giving you a warning sign," Madame Pomfrey explained. "It's not uncommon for migraine sufferers to get one either soon or right after a stressful event. The final push could have been your Potions class, what with all of the ingredients in there and the scents they can give off."

The First Task had certainly been a stressful event, Harry reasoned with himself. But he'd had plenty of stressful events before. The series of challenges from First Year in searching for the Philosopher's Stone came to mind, as did battling a basilisk. And he couldn't forget about facing down what felt like an army of dementors last year. Why now?

He explained as much, although he glossed over some of the details of his adventures. He was positive she was fully aware of them. After all, he always woke up here. However, he'd rather not remind her of the fact that he was probably her most notorious patient of his year.

"Perhaps this was the proverbial stick that broke the hippogriff's back. Although migraines are usually hereditary. I'll admit, neither or your parents suffered them to my knowledge while they were under my care during their time at school, but it's possible an ancestor of yours suffered from them from time to time, and it only just showed up in you."

Harry bit back a groan. It would just be his luck.

Madame Pomfrey told him to wait for a moment as she went back to her office, returning a few moments later with a deep purple potion in hand.

"Here, I have just the thing for you. This will help clear it up, but it might take a bit." She handed him the vial. "I suggest you lay down for a while as the potion takes effect. Some prefer to be in a dark room until the worst passes. I'll write you a note for the rest of your classes."

"Until the worst passes?" He eyed the vial in his hand before looking back up at her. "How long could this take?"

"I'll admit, migraines are tricky," she looked at him with unfortunate eyes. "They can last between a few hours to a few days."

Harry did groan at that one.

"However, that potion should help take away the worst of it. But if you still have lingering pain after three days, or it gets worse again, you come back here and see me." She gave him a pointed look. "Have I made myself clear?" Even though her voice was soft out of respect for his pain, her tone held no room for arguing.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. Harry uncorked the vial and downed it, knowing very few potions actually had a decent taste to them. He didn't dare smell it, not wanting to tempt fate. This one wasn't any different, but it certainly wasn't vile compared to the Skele-Gro he took during Second Year.

"Good," she smiled and nodded, both at his agreement and in taking the potion. "Now, you go lay down over there," she pointed to a bed on the far side of the room that wasn't near any windows.

"Wait, can't I just go back to my room?" Harry's face fell at the prospect of having to stay after all. "It's just a pain potion right? No ill effects?"

Madame Pomfrey's stern look reappeared, instantly cowing the boy. "You will do no such thing. I want you to stay here at least an hour to make sure your pain levels are going down. Only then will I let you go, and then it's straight to your dormitory after that. I doubt you'll be fully functional until tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," Harry shifted the weight of his bag over his shoulder and made his way over to the bed, lying down as instructed. Madame Pomfrey moved the dividers enough to block the bed from view, and waved her wand, casting his small corner into darkness.

"Thank you," he said as he closed his eyes. The pain didn't ease in the darkness like he was hoping it would, but at least there weren't any loud sounds or strong smells to aggravate him further. The only thing left to do was wait for the potion to work, and take away this migraine, if that's what it even was.

But Harry still doubted that it was that simple. His gut still told him there was a connection between the tingling in his spine and the creature he saw on the edge of the forest. Besides, even Madame Pomfrey had said that particular symptom wasn't textbook for a migraine. As he pondered that, he tried to ignore another thought that began to creep on the edge of his mind: If this wasn't a migraine like Madame Pomfrey said, then what the hell was wrong with him?


Next up, we go back to Kurama and what he's been up to. Plus, more on Harry as he tries to deal with his 'ailment.'