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The Unicorn Prince

Chapter 5: Harry's strange new Allergy

Harry didn't get to talk to Ron about the Unicorn Maiden legend that night. Hermione had cornered Ron shortly after supper and soon they were engulfed in a jungle of homework and Prefect report papers.

Harry, wisely, retreated up the stairs, where he promptly set about getting ready for bed.

It did not take the boy very long to discover yet another problem. When he went to lay down he was alarmed to feel the marks on his arms start to burn. His blankets and sheets were then added to the list of 'untouchable' things.

It took him a few minutes to work out a way for him to sleep painlessly.

1. No shirt.

2. His blankets were pushed down to his waist.

3. He had to sleep with his arms on his chest.

It didn't make for a very comfortable sleeping arrangements, but you have to do what you have to do.

Sadly Harry didn't return to the sweet dream of the night before. Instead he was again assailed by his regular bad dreams and nightmares. That coupled with the multiple times he woke up because he'd shifted and his arms were no longer pillowed on his chest, was enough incentive for Harry to get up early.

It was still dark outside and he was exhausted, but he was tired of the pain, besides, he was freezing. He was in the common room before the blazing fire doing homework almost before he'd made the decision.

When the first rays of sun filtered through the high windows Harry decided it was time to go get dressed.

Back in his dorm Harry carefully maneuvered a shirt over his horn, making sure his forearms were left uncovered.

He had just fished out a pair of pants when fire lanced across his abdomen and lower back before shooting up his spine. Harry's breath hissed out as he yanked the shirt back over his head, mindless of the horn.

Panting, Harry brushed the tears from his eyes as the pain faded. That pain had definitely not originated from his arms where the spots were located.

Wondering just what was going on, Harry looked down at his stomach; sure enough, silvery spots met his eyes. Harry could guess there were similar markings across his lower back and up his spine. Where else had this strange disfigurement formed without his knowledge? Suddenly concerned Harry stripped off his pajama bottoms and boxers. There were additional scatterings of spots on his thighs and backside, and two circlets of silvery freckles around both his ankles.

He'd been so caught up in everything else that he hadn't bothered to look, but if things continued in this vein much longer Harry wouldn't have anything to wear other than his birthday suit.

Things were fast becoming out of control. Harry was ready to admit he needed help. His best bet would be to consult Madam Pomphrey. She was a doctor, right? And didn't doctors keep some sort of vow of Secrecy? Besides it wasn't like he was going to tell her about the spots. Hopefully she'd think he'd acquired some weird invisible rash-this was the wizarding world, anything was possible…right?

He sure hoped so.

The decision made, Harry wrapped the invisibility cloak around his shoulders cautiously, relieved when no pain arose. He didn't need to be caught in the corridors with no shirt on. He'd never live it down.

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The halls were freezing as Harry made his way to the hospital wing and Harry was relieved no one else was up yet because his footsteps were loud and echoed chillingly through the corridors.

Harry drew the cloak closer to his body and sped up, he felt like he was in a Horror flick and it was distinctly disturbing.

The hospital wing was deserted when he got there; not that he paid all that much attention to it. No, Harry headed straight to the door leading to the nurses office, slipping his cloak ff and hanging it by the door.

She wasn't there either, but that wasn't very surprising; it was only 5:30 in the morning, normal people were still asleep at this time of day.

Without hesitation, Harry strode to another door behind the desk next to one of the many potion-filled cabinets in the room, and knocked.

Five minutes later the door was pulled open by an older woman with curlers in her hair and wearing a hastily tied robe. "Mr. Potter? What in Merlin's name are you doing here at this time of day?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help." Harry replied politely, looking up at the older woman beseechingly

"Oh, very well." She answered with a heavy sigh and a nod of her head. She disappeared for a moment, and when she returned she was slipping her glasses on and carrying her wand in a loose grip.

Harry led her back thought the office and perched on the nearest bed, looking at her expectantly.

"Well, what seems to be the problem then?" She paused before frowning slightly, "And where is your shirt, Mr. Potter? You'll catch your death!"

Harry flushed and looked down, fingering the crisp white sheet he was sitting on, "That's the problem. I put my shirt on this morning, but it hurt so much I couldn't wear it for more then a minute or two."

"What do you mean it hurt?" Pomphrey asked, all business.

"Well, it burns, really. It doesn't start out that way, it builds from a slight itch and becomes so strong I can't stand it and have to take the shirt off."

"Hm…I see. And where does it hurt?"

Harry pointed out his stomach and arms, then went to explain about his back.

Madam Pomphrey ran check after check; test after test until Harry was hard pressed to hold back his shivers. He bit his lip as the healer cast one more spell, and he again felt the icy rush pass over him, leaving goosebumps on his skin. She ran her fingers lightly over one of his arms before stepping back and nodding decisively. "It's nothing to be worried about, you've just acquired a new allergy to the fabric of your clothes. I'll have Professor Snape make a potion for you. Return during lunch and I'll have it ready."

Harry opened his mouth to ask if he could stay there until lunch, but Madam Pomphrey beat him to it. "In the mean time, I want you to go to all your classes. Take this pain relieving potion, it should last long enough for you to take the other potion." Harry could only nod and take the potion from her hand. Then she was gone, heading back through her office.

Harry stood up slowly, collected his cloak, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. The other boys were still asleep as he crawled back into bed and pulled his curtain closed around him.

Would she really be able to fix this so easily? If so, maybe he should tell her the rest of it. Maybe she'd be able to get rid of his horrible horn and he wouldn't have to be an inhuman freak.

Yes, if this worked he'd think about telling her. Finally feeling relatively relaxed and marginally happy, Harry downed the potion.

Five seconds later Harry realized what a mistake that had been. He felt as if someone had dropped a chunk of frozen acid into his stomach. Then a web of icy fire shot through his veins and the skin around his horn burned white hot.

Harry gasped and doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach, the other tearing at the sheets of his bed. What seemed like hours later, but was really less then two minutes, the pain was gone and Harry could sit up properly. He was vaguely aware of the burning flesh on his arm where he'd accidentally touched the blankets.

Harry crawled to the front of his bed and leaned against the headboard, reveling in the cool, smooth surface against his flushed skin.

Harry sat there when the rest of the dorm started to stir. He sat there when Seamus, then Neville left to take their morning showers. He didn't move again until Ron stood outside his curtain telling him to hurry up or they'd be late.

Harry shooed him off telling him he was sick again and promising he'd talk to madam Pomphrey. Ron reluctantly left him behind.

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Harry sat there for hours until it was finally lunchtime and he was to go see Madam Pomphrey. Harry carefully crawled out of his bed, avoiding making contact with his bed hangings.

He hesitated, then picked up his invisibility cloak. There was no way he was going to march through Hogwarts without a shirt on, that was just begging for trouble.

Professor Snape and Madam Pomphrey were waiting when Harry arrived in the Hospital Wing. He waited until their backs were turned before slipping the cloak off and handing it up.

"Good, you're here." Madam Pomphrey said when she spotted him. Professor Snape just sneered at him unpleasantly. "The Professor has informed me you missed all your morning classes. I thought I made it clear you were not to ditch your lessons." The older lady reprimanded in obvious disapproval.

"You did." Harry agreed easily, "but the potion didn't work."

Both the Potion's Master and Healer frowned at Harry's words, "Strange." Pomphrey said thoughtfully, "It was probably passed the potency date, nothing to really worry about."

Harry didn't say anything to that as he walked to the closest bed. He knew it wasn't true, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

Madam Pomphrey took the potion bottle from a silent Snape and handed it to the boy. "Take it quickly, as I'm sure it won't be pleasant."

Harry sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, staring at the potion in his hands. He did not want a repeat of that morning, especially if Snape was in the audience.

Unfortunately there was still a possibility of it curing him (though he doubted it). It was possible the other potion was bad, just as Madam Pomphrey suggested.

So, ignoring his better judgment Harry lifted the container to his lips, braced himself for the worst, and downed the potion in one gulp.

Mere moments later he felt the frozen chunk of acid hit his stomach, then spread a burning cold through his veins. The skin under his horn pulsed and burned.

Harry curled into himself, falling to the bed in pain; his eyes as well as every other muscle in his body clenched, then relaxed. Harry sagged in relief, the pain subsiding after an eternity of agony. As his senses returned to him he became aware of another pain in his body. His side, and arms burned where his flesh came in contact with his bed linens. Harry sat up stiffly, and the pain faded.

Madam Pomphrey and Professor Snape were watching him closely. "If the other potion effected him like that, then I doubt the potion was at fault, Poppy. The boy's body is obviously rejecting the foreign magic."

As Snape spoke, Madam Pomphrey had taken to casting spells on Harry again. Spell after spell came at him, and Harry clenched his eyes shut at the avalanche of unpleasant sensations that assailed him. After five minutes he was no longer able to retain the grimace or shivers

Snape's eyes narrowed at him, "Pomphrey, stop. Your wasting your time, it seems Mr. Potter has become spell resistant as well."

Pomphrey hesitated, looking back at her colleague. "I've never seen anything like this before, Severus. How could this have happened?" Harry snorted to himself. He knew exactly how this had happened, he'd been turned into a bloody Unicorn, that's how. "Well, the boy can't very well tramp around the school half dressed. I'll talk to Dumbledore about it immediately."

Then she was gone again, leaving Harry in the unpleasant company of one Severus Snape.

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When Dumbledore found out about Harry's unfortunate predicament he'd given the boy the day off to go clothes shopping. Snape was the only Professor with no classes for the remainder of the day, and so was roped into being Harry's chaperone; or more accurately, his guard.

Harry glared unhappily at the spy's back as they waited for the salesman to appear. Five minutes later they were joined by a woman in her late twenties, "Hello, I'm Lisa Tuckman, what can I do to help you?"

Snape sneered at her unpleasantly, "The boy here is in need of a new wardrobe." He drawled.

The woman's eyes swept over Harry's form appraisingly before she looked into his eyes, "I can see why, come along."

Snape placed himself in a chair near the door as Harry followed the lady from the room.

"So, where's your shirt?" Lisa asked conversationally.

Harry blushed, "Uh, that's actually why I'm here. I seem to have developed an allergy to the fabric my shirts are made of."

"An allergy, huh? And the potion didn't set it right?" Harry shook his head, "alright, that's simple enough." The woman chirped cheerfully. She led him down the hall and through a door into a wonderland of cloth.

Rolls of fabric were stacked against the walls, piles lined the floor. "So, what were your shirts made of? Knowing that will help me know what to avoid."

Harry shifted uneasily, "I'm not sure, actually." He admitted sheepishly. It wasn't like he'd had a choice in what to wear, all his clothing had been Dudley's hand-me-downs, after all.

The woman chuckled, "Don't worry about it. Your not the first boy to be uninterested in 'girly' things like that." As she spoke she picked her way through the fabrics and soon she had a small stack of sample scraps. "Here, try these. Tel me if any of them bother your allergies."

Harry gulped, this meant he'd have to feel the pain again. As much as he'd love to avoid that, he knew this had to be done.

Mentally preparing himself, Harry reached for the first square of fabric. After holding it to his forearm for a little while he hissed in pain and removed it quickly.

"Cotton is out, then." Lisa sang as he picked up the next scrap.

A hiss of pain latter and Lisa marked 'satin' off the list.

Silk, leather, and suede were also no good; and by this time the girl was beginning to frown in concern.

When polyester, snake skin, and any other halfway normal material Lisa could come up with had the same results Lisa was obviously worried. "Harry." She said seriously as she set the latest scrap (wool) aside, "I'm afraid I don't have any more…muggle…fabrics to show you." At Harry's crestfallen expression Lisa quickly continued. "That doesn't mean that's all I carry, though. I also have a wide assortment of magical fabric."

Harry gave her a slightly bewildered look and she quickly elaborated, "'Muggle' fabrics, as we call them, are taken from normal plants and animals (sheep, cows, tigers, and such). But Magical fabrics on the other hand, come from magical plants and animals, (acromantula silk, dragon skin, and the ever rare fairy dust) Naturally, magical fabrics are highly expensive and worn mainly by the social elite (Malfoy, Parkinson, and Black to name a few)."

Harry stared at his hands in thought. If this didn't work than he'd be forced to either wear unbearably painful garments or walk around nude. Neither idea appealed to the boy and he quickly nodded his consent. Spending tons of money far surpassed the alternative.

Harry tentatively pressed a patch of dragon hide to his arm and waited.

A small…flutter, for lack of a better word…passed over the silver marks and that was it. No weird tingle in his horn, no irritation or itch, and no pain.

Harry looked up at the sales woman with an ecstatic grin. "It doesn't hurt!" He crowed in relief.

Lisa grinned back, "That's wonderful! Try the others real fast and then we'll go over styles and cuts you'd like."

Harry did as he was told with a much more cheerful attitude. He got similar results up until the last scrap. This small square of material was a light white-grey leather that was baby-bottom-soft.

As Harry pressed it against the skin of his arm he had two very different reactions, both equally as powerful as the other, and it was very unnerving.

Harry felt a strong shiver travel up his spine and a wave of disgust assailed him. Yet at the same time his magic hummed and pulsed in recognition, it almost felt like the fabric belonged to him like a second skin.

Harry frantically tore it from his arm. "None of that." He said on the verge of hysteria. "None of that."

After a few minutes his heart rate returned to normal, and Harry was calm enough to ask, "What was that?" A small part of him didn't ever want to know, but he readily suppressed that part of him and looked at Lisa expectantly.

Lisa was obviously a little put off by his strong negative reaction, but answered anyway, "Unicorn leather." Harry felt another shiver of repulsion travel over his skin.

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Twenty minutes later and Harry was equipped in a pair of black dragon hide pants with matching dragon skin boots with silver buckles. His chest was now swathed in a shimmery white acromantula silk poets shirt, and a blood red velvet-like cloak swept behind him in graceful folds. The rest of his wardrobe, including a weeks worth of school robes, would be sent as they were finished over the next week.

Harry obviously didn't carry enough money to pay for the one set of clothing he was wearing, much less an entire wardrobe filled with similar apparel, so Lisa showed him how to use Blood Credit. Wizards, it would seem, have a system similar to credit cards only much safer.

Lisa had whipped out a clean piece of parchment and a small silver knife. Then she had instructed him to slit his finger and let a few drops of blood fall on the parchment. After healing the wound Harry had signed his name over the crimson stains and watched in fascination as words formed across the page in what could only be his blood. It appeared to be a store record of what he'd bought, how much he'd paid, and a number of other important facts. He'd grinned and thanked her.

Snape took this all in with a strong glare on his face, and stalked from the store.

Harry collected his invisibility cloak, said a quick farewell, and followed his professor. Now they were heading to find what else he needed, bedding and quills. Snape was obviously displeased when he'd been informed that clothes weren't the only things Harry now required, but Harry wasn't very concerned about it.

What could Snape do anyway? Poison him? With the way his body was acting at the moment, Harry highly doubted that was even possible.

The next stops were not quite as long, but just as expensive. He'd had to special order a new quilt, sheets, and bed curtains, as well as a new backpack. His new set of quills included Phoenix feathers, griffin feathers, and hippogriff feathers.

Finally finished, Harry stepped out into the street just as an explosion erupted just down the street from him. Through the panic, confusion, and hysterical screams Harry heard someone yell, "Death Eaters!"

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By the time lunch was over Draco was positive there was nothing of importance in the library, not even in the restricted section. Draco only had one option left, and that was why when his last class was over he headed up the stairs to the trap door that guarded Trelawney's rooms.

Draco hated that this was the only option left open to him. Years of listening to his father talk bad about her was not without it's effects. Plus all the stories his classmates told him, he doubted she was a true Seer. He doubted she possessed even a drop of the magic that type of study required.

"Hello, Professor?" He called tentatively as he climbed into the classroom. And what a classroom it was! Veils were draped across the room, and there was a crystal ball on every table. A cupboard in the back held tea cups and kettles and there was a stove and sink in the corner. Candles and incense clouded the room with a thick perfumed smoke and three glowing orbs cast a yellow light over the room.

"Professor?" He called again when nobody answered. A moment later a curtain of beads parted and a woman draped in garish shawls and drowning in her own glasses, floated into the room…or tried to float into the room; she really was trying too hard, "yes, child?" She questioned in a wispy sort of voice.

Draco was even more convinced that she was a fake by her appearance alone; she looked like some kind of rejected gypsy.

He ignored his impulse to turn on his heel and leave, and jumped right on in, "I need your help, Professor. I've been having these Dreams since the middle of summer and I looked through the library, but I couldn't find much about them."

"I see, why don't you tell me about these dreams?" The older, deranged looking woman crooned.

Draco opened his mouth to explain, paused, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't." Draco hesitated before continuing. He didn't want to reveal himself o this woman, but he had no choice. He couldn't explain the dreams, and he had no way of getting the information he needed. "I'm a Seer, Professor. A True, full powered Seer, and I'm sure the dream has something to do with that."

The Professor's gaze sharpened and she fixed him with a piercing stare, "A real Seer? If this is true, show me."

For someone not well versed in Seer magic this request may have seemed unusual. Draco may not have been well educated in this area, but he understood perfectly. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "Alright." He agreed.

When Draco opened his eyes again they were no longer a cloudy gray, but bright quicksilver.

Okay, a couple of notes here, I don't know if Madam Pomphrey has glasses, if she doesn't sorry you'll just have to ignore that for this story cus looks like she's got them. And the second point, I know the whole spots thing has been done before as well as the new wardrobe...but trust me, it's never been done like this. I have a specific reason he can't wear normal 'muggle' clothes you'll just have to wait and see why.

Now, I have a question for everyone Does anyone know what a Snidget would look like? I found a mention of it on the internet and would love to use it in my fic, but I'm not sure what it looks like. Any help on this front woud be lovely. Thanks

Review!