Round 3 of the mini comp for QL. Keeper of the Portsmouth Plovers.

Assignment: A pandemic

Round 2 of the Houses Competition. Year 6 (Stand in) for Hufflepuff, Short.

Prompt: [object] Potion vials.

Word count: 1014

Betas: Dark Angel

Narcissa wasn't one to let her worry show, but when her only son, Draco, became ill, she couldn't keep her feelings contained. Should she call a healer? Or give him more potions to make him better? Perhaps a healer would be the best option, after all, he only seemed to be getting worse. She picked up one of the potion vial, eyeing the purple contents. There must be something she could give him.

"Mama," the five year old whimpered from his oversized double bed. The green sheets made him look even more pale than he was - at least, that's what Narcissa hoped.

She put on a smile and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair off his sweaty, hot, forehead. "Hey, little dragon. Did you sleep well?"

"I don't feel well," he complained, giving her a look of hopelessness that she hated. He depended on her. "Can I have more medicine?" he asked, pointing to the vials just out of his reach.

"You've already had more than you're supposed to," she explained, hoping he'd understand. The tears welling up in his eyes showed that he didn't care about how much he was supposed to have. "It could make you worse."

Draco shook his head before wiping his nose and eyes with the sleeve of his pyjamas - something that would usually get him told off for. "B-but… Mama."

Narcissa would not give in. Instead, with as much authority as she could muster, she picked up a cup of water. "Drink, little dragon, it'll make you feel better."

The five year old weakly pushed himself up into a seated position and accepted the cup. Slowly he lifted it to his parched lips and took a few sips. His eyes were almost drooping closed again - but at least he hadn't complained about his body aching this time.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, knowing he needed energy.

He started to shake his head, but before she had to chance to convince him to try something, the cup slipped from his hands as he attempted to stop the vomit erupting from his lips.

"I don't care what your father says, I'm taking you to St. Mungos. Three days is too long for a Malfoy to be unwell," Narcissa decided. She quickly wiped Draco's face and hands before picking him up. "Dobby," she waited for him to appear, "clean Draco's bed and tell Master Malfoy that I'm going to St. Mungos."

Without waiting for the inevitable reply from the elf, she strutted off. Flooing would be the best way to travel with Draco - she didn't want to make him any worse.

St. Mungo's was bustling; something was definitely going on. "Healer. My son isn't well."

The healer, a female in her twenties, paused what she was doing and looked at Draco. "Let's take him into a room."

Narcissa refused to let the healer take him from her and carried him into the required room. Reluctantly she laid him down on the bed, watching as he was examined. That began one of the longest nights of her life.

The following morning, after Lucius had told her how irresponsible she was to come here, they were finally told what was going on.

"What do you mean a pandemic?" Narcissa demanded, her eyes dangerously dark.

"Has someone cursed my son?" Lucius demanded.

The healer looked a lot less confident than she did a moment ago. "No, Mr Malfoy. We are currently creating a cure for the pandemic."

"Creating a cure?"

Narcissa didn't even feel the need to stop her husband from letting the anger control him. It wasn't a pretty sight, but her child was ill, and this person was telling her they couldn't help. "How did this happen?"

"It stems from one of the muggle illnesses that has been going around, so far, we have been able to fight it off enough. However, it has caused several deaths in the muggle world," the healer explained.

An older, and clearly more experienced healer, quickly interrupted their conversation before the other individual could continue. "My apologies for my co-worker. We have managed to keep your son from getting worse and are currently in liaison with a potioneer. It seems the muggle world has had a breakthrough. Your son is in good hands, and we will do everything we can to have him back to full health in no time."

It seemed she only cared about insurances. But the empty potion vials in her pocket and muggle needles in her hand told her a different story. They were planning on treating the children like muggles. How insulting. Though, Narcissa wouldn't make Lucius aware of this, even if it was insulting and beneath them; if it saved her son's life, it would be worth it.

Narcissa turned her attention to the room behind her when she heard Draco's voice calling out. Without hesitation, she left Lucius to deal with the healers and strutted into the room. He did look a bit better.

"Mama. I want to go home."

"I know, little dragon," she said softly, approaching the bed and sitting on the edge. "So do I. But the healers here will make you better."

Draco nodded. Even at five years old, he understood when to accept what was going on. "Was I bad? Is that why I'm ill?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Of course not. It was those evil, filthy, muggles who did this to you. Their dirty blood has infected you and other wizards too."

The young boy gasped. "Why?"

"Because they are diseases. You must stay away from them… even Mudbloods, they might be wizards, but they're still infectious."

Draco nodded quickly, his eyes turning unfocused. "I promise I'll stay away from them! I won't let them turn me or make me ill again! I promise Mama!"

Narcissa hugged him, saddened that his head was still hot and sweaty. "Good boy. The healers will find a way to cleanse you. They will make you better."

She watched as her son closed his eyes and hoped it wouldn't be for the last time.

Thanks for reading!