"Mister Potter?"

Harry gulped when he heard the office door creak open, and Professor Frye call for him. The wait had been nothing short of agonizing – it was perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like three hours. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, and his breathing became more shallow and rapid. He slowly stood to his feet, his hand tensing up as he took slow, deliberate steps toward his head of house's office.

Professor Frye was seated behind her desk, shuffling a stack of papers. She cleared her throat. "Have a seat, young man." She gestured toward a brown plush armchair near the doorway. Harry tentatively sat down, unable to find the will to look the professor in the eye.

She clasped her hands and shook her head. "I have it on good authority that you deliberately defied the flying coach, and took off on your broom without permission. What are we going to do with you, Potter?" Although her expression was quite impassive, Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was masking feelings of irritation.

Once again, Harry felt the rush of guilt and shame, and let his head hang down. "I was just trying to defend my friend, Professor. I… I don't know what came over me. I guess it was my instincts kicking in, but maybe I should have stopped to think first."

Frye nodded. "I have also heard that you successfully defended your friend Miss Slater's honor." The corners of her lips tugged upward into the faintest of smiles. "If you would be so kind as to hand me her property, I will ensure that she gets it back before the day is over." Harry dug into his trouser pocket, and handed the necklace to Frye.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're not… going to get me thrown out of school, are you?"

"Not today," replied Frye in a soft voice. "While you failed to observe school protocol, there is no denying that your heart was in the right place. As far as the three Thunderbird miscreants are concerned, Professor Goode will handle that as she is also their head of house. Rest assured, you will not be the only one that'll be penalized." Her face hardened, and lowered her voice to a stern-sounding creak. "I cannot overemphasize how important following the rules are… they are in place for your protection, Potter. You will do well to remember that. You very easily could have ended up in the infirmary…"

Harry looked away for a split second, and pulled out a thorn from just behind his collar. He was about to toss it in the rubbish bin, before Frye stopped him. "Potter, wait. Let me see that, just to be safe." Harry handed the professor the needle-like leaf, who retrieved it with something that resembled a large pair of tweezers. She held it just a few inches in front of her face, and hummed as if confirming her suspicions.

"Deimotoxos agassizesnsis, or to the layperson, Hobgoblin's scourge," she murmured.

"Is that… bad?" gulped Harry.

"It is rather toxic, yes," she replied with a nod. "If left untreated, your torso and upper arms will be covered with purple pockmarks come morning." She barely stifled a chuckle. "Too bad we don't go over that particular species until second year; otherwise you'd have steered clear of the verge!"

Harry let out a groan of dismay.

"Don't worry, Mister Potter," she said softly. "It's easily treatable. Madam Romero can give you a potion, and you'll be no worse for the wear." Once again, her eyebrows furrowed, and her nostrils flared the tiniest bit. "Before we pay the good medic a visit, we must discuss the matter of the penalty for breaking rules. Methinks five demerits should do the trick…"

Harry hung his head again. "That's an automatic detention, isn't it?"

"Correct," replied Frye. "The details regarding your upcoming detention will be owled to you later on." Her expression softened once more. "That being said, I am still quite proud of you. You clearly have a strong moral compass, and Miss Slater is fortunate to have someone like you looking out for her." She flashed a warm smile. "I know you're a good student, Mister Potter. I consider myself fortunate to have you in my house, and Professor Fontaine feels the same about you being enrolled at Ilvermorny. You're a Hogwarts legacy, after all, and many of us are surprised you chose us."

Her expression brightened. "Even though you disregarded school rules, what's fair is fair… your courage and integrity should also be commended. Five points to the Horned Serpents."

Harry's shameful expression turned to one of shock. "Wow, Professor. I wasn't expecting that. Thank you."

"And I thank you for going after the necklace," replied Frye. She wagged a finger to gently admonish her pupil. "Please be more careful going forward, all right? If you don't think you can resolve a conflict without resorting to breaking rules, then you should defer to a faculty member. Nine times out of ten, that's the most reasonable way to resolve an issue, anyway."

"Fair enough, Professor," Harry said with a nod. "Thanks, erm… for giving me another chance."

"I think you're beginning to find out," purred Frye, "that many of the lessons you'll learn at Ilvermorny happen outside the classroom. I encourage you to be yourself, Mister Potter, but at the same time I also encourage you to be prudent. Don't bite off more than you can chew." She then stood up from her desk, and gestured for Harry to do the same. "I suppose it's time we paid Madam Romero a visit. This should take just a few minutes at the most."

Harry followed Frye to the infirmary. Although it was located on the first floor, it was on the total opposite side of the castle. To Harry's dismay, there were no shortcuts – just corridor after corridor. A sigh of relief escaped Harry's lips when he heard his house head point to her right. "In here."

Harry stepped inside what resembled a waiting room in a Muggle medical or dental clinic. There were perhaps three dozen simple padded seats that were assembled in groups of four or five, and small coffee tables with stacks of various periodicals interspersed between the clusters of seats. At the rear of the room was a window, which Harry assumed was to check in ill or injured students.

A middle-aged Black witch with short greying hair from behind the counter greeted Harry and Professor Frye. "Good afternoon, Leigh Ellen. How are you doing today?"

"Good afternoon, Shannon," replied Frye. "I'm afraid that young Mister Potter here has gotten tangled up in some Hobgoblin's scourge earlier today. Hopefully Madam Romero has some antidote on hand."

Shannon nodded. "Of course. She has been busy this afternoon – apparently several third-year students thought it amusing to curse each other with nasty boils this morning – but she should be able to squeeze a few minutes." She looked at Harry. "All right, young man. I'll need for you to fill this form out and return it to me… don't worry, it should take just a couple of minutes." She handed Harry a clipboard with a parchment and quill. "In the meantime, feel free to take a seat anywhere in the waiting room."

Harry nodded in appreciation, and took the clipboard and quill. He took a seat near the middle of the waiting room, and filled it out thusly:

Name (Last, First, Middle Initial): Potter, Harry J.

Year: First

House: Horned Serpents

Malady: Hobgoblin's scourge

Date of illness/incident: 4 September 1991

Other notes (if applicable):

He turned to Professor Frye. "Do I need to add anything else?" He handed her the clipboard for her to review. She quickly scanned it, and shook her head 'no'. She handed the clipboard back to Harry, and he took it to the receptionist's window.

"Thank you, young man," Shannon murmured. "We'll let you know when she's ready to see you." Harry breathed a quick 'thanks' before returning to his seat next to his house head. He grabbed the stack of magazines from the table in front of him, hoping to find something that piqued his interest. The Witch Scout Waypoint, Naturally (which apparently was a publication for shamans and druids), and then there was Quidditch Quarterly.

Harry had heard of quidditch before – that Rickey boy mentioned it on the Chinook just a few days ago – but other than the fact that it was a game that involved broomsticks, he didn't know the first thing about it. He initially ignored the articles; the moving pictures was what captivated him more than anything. This game is a little bit like ice hockey, he thought to himself. The moving photo of the Fargo Freeze keeper leaning on his back while grabbing a large ball mere inches from one of the hoops was more impressive than any hockey goalie save he'd ever seen. He flipped a few pages, and grinned at the moving photo of the Boise Balrogs' seeker performing a somersault while snatching a fluttering golden ball that somewhat resembled a golf ball with wings.

Quidditch looks awesome, he thought to himself. He busied himself by thumbing through the magazine, completely mesmerized by the lightning-quick action that was captured in every photo. He even began reading an article about rookie seeker Prometheus Ledbetter, who just last year was the Horned Serpent team captain. About halfway through, he was jarred back to reality when he heard his name called from the receptionist window: "Potter, Harry."

Harry set the magazine down, and approached the receptionist window once again. Shannon pointed to her right. "Through that door, down the hall, third door to your right."

Harry thanked the receptionist before proceeding to the exam room as instructed. Professor Frye followed him, and gestured for him to take the seat in the corner of the room, opposite from her end. It wasn't a long wait, and Harry heard some voices from the hallway – one of them had to be Madam Romero, he thought.

His hunch was correct, as just a few seconds later, a woman of about thirty-five entered the room. She was taller and slimmer than Frye, and had voluminous raven hair that reached halfway down her back. Her complexion was a creamy caramel, and had almond-shaped brown eyes that looked maybe a little large for her face, though not excessively so.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter," she greeted in a soft lilt. She then nodded toward Frye. "Good afternoon to you as well, Leigh Ellen."

"Good afternoon, Natalya," replied Frye. She gestured toward Harry. "Mister Potter here got tangled up in some Hobgoblin's scourge earlier today, and I'm hoping you have something on hand you can administer him so he doesn't wake up with any nasty blotches tomorrow morning."

Madam Romero nodded. "I should have something on hand. Just a moment please." She turned around and reached up toward a row of cabinets above her head. She opened one of the little wooden doors, and produced a thin glass phial with a rubber stopper; it was just about half full with a transparent, faint yellow liquid.

She pulled the stopper and handed it to Harry. "You'll need to down that in one gulp," she advised. "It's very sour, I'm afraid, but it's just twenty milliliters. Barely more than a tablespoon."

Harry nodded, and took the vial from Madam Romero. He closed his eyes, swallowed the antidote, and shook his head quickly several times as it was about as tart as lemon juice. "All done," he coughed out as he handed the empty tube back to the medic.

"Very good," she replied. "Thank you for not messing around, and taking it as directed." She made a slight groan. "Some students don't take our directions seriously, and without fail they always end up regretting it."

Harry nodded. "Is that all, then? Am I good to go?"

"You're good to go," confirmed Romero. "You might want to eat a little more lightly than usual tonight, as eating a heavy meal shortly after consuming the antidote could upset your stomach."

"So, like a sandwich or something?" asked Harry.

Romero shrugged. "A sandwich is okay. If they're serving a thick stew or prime rib or something, you can eat some, just don't eat all of it. And to be safe, you'll want to skip the dessert."

Before Harry could utter a syllable of complaint, Frye cut him off. "It's just a one-time thing, Mister Potter. If you have a hankering for something sweet, I'm sure a modest serving of fruit would work." Romero nodded in agreement. "Come on, let's get you back upstairs to the Horned Serpent tower. You might want to rest up for a bit before dinner; you can re-join your friends then."

Harry re-joined his friends at the Horned Serpent table, where he had a simple dinner of a turkey sandwich, carrot sticks, and fresh berries. He tried hard to suppress his grin during the meal.

"So I heard you got into a bit of trouble during your flying lesson today, Harry," Ana began, pointing a fork in his general direction. "What all happened, if you don't mind my asking?

"I found Tallulah's amulet after three Thunderbird bullies tried to intimidate us," Harry responded with pride. He winked at Tallulah. "Professor Frye said she'll have it owled to you soon."

"Oh, thank you Harry," replied Tallulah appreciatively. "I hope you didn't get into too much trouble over it. Coach Croom sure enough pitched a fit!"

Harry shrugged. "I got five demerits for breaking the rules… but I also got us five house points for standing up to those jerks, so it kinda balanced out I guess."

"You still have an upcoming detention," Tallulah pointed out. "Don't get me wrong, I'm very, very grateful you stuck up for me, but in hindsight, was it really worth it?"

Harry gave Tallulah a sincere look. "I don't regret it. I wasn't going to let them get away with it… besides, Professor Frye assured me that they'll be penalized for their actions as well." He bit his lip. "Oh, and I got stuck by some toxic shrubs while trying to retrieve your amulet. I had to visit Madam Romero in the infirmary not long after that."

Tallulah and Othniel winced, but Ana just arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess… Deimotoxos agassizensis?"

Harry nodded, while Tallulah and Othniel just gave Ana blank expressions. Ana sighed. "Hobgoblin's scourge?" Tallulah and Othniel just shook their heads, bewildered.

"That's the one… according to Professor Frye, we don't actually study the plant until second year," clarified Harry. "I wish I had known that when I came tumbling down off the broom… they looked harmless from thirty feet above! Anyway, I got a couple of thorns lodged in me… one near my shoulder and another on my chest. The toxins apparently can make little purple splotches on my body overnight if I don't take an antidote, which thankfully they had at the infirmary."

"What was the antidote like?" asked Othniel.

Harry shuddered. "It was really, really sour. Like, if you added battery acid to lemon juice kind of sour. Thankfully I didn't have to drink very much of it, like a tablespoon's worth. I'm just glad it wasn't like a whole bottle or anything."

"The antidote is derived from puckerberries," Ana said matter-of-factly. She smiled sweetly. "The very same fruit used to make the juice we drink with our meals! Of course, the juice is sweetened considerably… the antidote is far less adulterated."

"Nerd," replied Othniel, unable to resist rolling his eyes. Tallulah swatted him on the elbow.

"You'll do well to remember that this nerd's also going to make sure you get halfway decent marks in all your classes," Ana admonished gently. "You'll thank me for it later."

"We'll see," grumbled Othniel. He threw his napkin on his plate and began gathering his things.

"So, do you three want to meet me in the library again for another study sesh this evening? Is eight o'clock alright again?" Ana offered.

"Works for me," replied Harry. "We'll see you then!"