In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 118: Ahoy Matey
Harry woke Monday morning to the mild headache, and the eyes within the thick hair that stared down at him, the two chimpanzees that'd become friends. Grass and trees of the Gabon savannah around them, him on the conjured sleeping bag.
"Good morning," said Gia, she stood nearby.
"It's Monday," Ron said, he was leaned back against a tree. "Hermione wants to see if we're suspended or not."
"I need to go," Harry said to the chimpanzees, "Don't want to, but need to."
Harry sat up first, the sleeping bag that vanished beneath him. Slight soreness to his ankles, feet, though he pushed and stood. Ron activated the portkey in his hands, Harry and Gia held on. Jerk behind the naval, Harry was pulled away.
"Weird," Harry said as he landed in their isolated dormitory at Hogwarts, "Not suspended?"
"Sure we'll get our wish soon enough," Ron said.
Harry took a pace, to The Daily Prophet spread open on the coffee table, the usual Monday feature at the bottom.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Problem Solver
Face it Wizarding World, it's time to vote with your purse, express your dissatisfaction with the vileness that has crept back into our lives. You thought the Boy Who Lived was your salvation, you wish that were true but know it's not. We need to banish this blemish and disease from our lives, to return to the wonderful world of magic we all know and love.
Eximo Macula is proud to help administer these rewards for removal of known threats to the wizarding community.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Shouldn't Have Lived. 1,512K galleons.
Ronald Weasley, Kiss Up King. 1,163K galleons.
Hermione Granger, Wannabe Dark Queen. 779K galleons.
Gia Prescott, Muggle Cock Holster aka Potter's pet. 495K galleons.
Bonus of 20,000 galleons per relation or friendship severed.
Removal of these problems would be greatly appreciated. All wagers and contributions can be sent to "Bye Bye". To claim a reward, submit relevant documentation.
"Poor investment," Gia said, "Better alive."
"Used to consider Hogwarts home," Harry said, "Feeling like that was a mistake."
"Really?" asked the familiar voice, the slow tap of the cane. The Headmaster who stroked the feathers of Fawkes, before he turned. "Somebody lured the bird with a buffet."
Harry saw it, the colorful vines of the anjser that lined the ceiling, the walls, and Fawkes who went up to chew on a berry. Dumbledore sat on the sofa.
"You know…some grass would be nice to this floor," Harry said, his feet that pressed down on the stone.
"I understand you made an impression," Professor Dumbledore said, "And that you'd like to support Mireille Mwanaidi Michel's efforts to study and protect the chimpanzees?"
"In memory of Hagrid," Harry said, "Figured the dragon reserves are already taken."
"Rubeus would be touched," Professor Dumbledore said, the eyes that twinkled.
Harry grinned.
"Another victim," Harry said, "Even Rita was turning a leaf but she was struck down and making a difference, like Percy was."
Harry went to the paper, with its printed pictures and words as reminders to the hatred that was brewing for him.
"I know how prophesies can lie, deceive." Harry paced to the fireplace, the flames that lent heat to him. Harry turned around. "I've heard credible rumors he's going to execute me." Harry glanced at Gia sorting pictures into the photo album. "So, I need to know how to kill Voldemort first—because we both know he's taken precautions."
"More direct than usual," Professor Dumbledore said.
"We both know how it works," Harry said, "June, right? Voldemort's favorite month of action."
"An annual plan?" the Headmaster asked.
"Seems like it," Harry said.
"True," the Headmaster replied.
"If I'm ready," Harry said, "It'll stop the execution."
Harry and the Headmaster continued their discussion.
"HARRY!"
Harry woke on the bed in their dormitory. Red hair of Ron towered over him.
"Short nap my arse—it's time for Quidditch practice," Ron said, "Gryffindor practice."
"Wait—what?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," Ron said, "Been a while, I know."
Light headache that persisted, Harry moved, stood.
"Ready?" Ron said, "I expect Ginny to already be down there."
Harry ducked, left the dormitory with Ron, and walked along the seventh floor corridor. Harry rubbed his head.
"Hospital Wing?" Ron asked.
"No, no," Harry said, "I'm fine, a proper night sleep ought to do it."
Footsteps, Harry's wand out, the invisibility, as did Ron.
"Actually," Harry said, "Race you."
Harry summoned his broom, jumped on. Ron did the same. Harry bumped the wall on the wean down the stairwell, and turned left on the fifth. Past the annoyed Professor Snape.
"NO FLYING IN THE CASTLE!" Professor Snape shouted.
Though Harry and Ron raced, Harry kept pace with Ron, the shoulder to shoulder being what Harry wanted. Harry bumped Ron on the shoulder, Ron bumped back.
"Minister," came Professor McGonagall's voice ahead, "Naturally I'm as concerned as you about safety at the match, and I think we've come up with a better solution."
A barrel roll, hugged the ceiling as they flew over the Minister and his aurors in the corridor. Down the marble stairs, the curse and the doors opened, into the strong breeze.
"Told Kline we need more weather," Harry said.
Clouds above, a light mist, and both flew down to the Quidditch Pitch. In the middle, the other players for Gryffindor, along with a pair of familiar red haired twins with a large box. Fred and George stood there in their matching green and gold suits.
"Interesting lineup," said Josh Brenner, the canary yellow on his clothes, the bare left arm that sported the EM tattoo.
Harry glanced at Professor Tonks near the edge of the stands, along with Oliver Wood.
"Focus on practice and you'll be safe from us," Harry said, "Strike and you won't enjoy the bounty."
Harry moved fast on the broom, before he landed. A moment later, Ginny, Neville, Euan, Colin, and Dennis stepped onto the field. Professor McGonagall held her emerald green robes upward to clear the grass as she came over. Oliver Wood walked across the field.
"Given recent security concerns and a sudden surge in required expenditures to compete," Professor McGonagall said, "Hogwarts is soliciting for benefactors, so that competition quality brooms are available to each and every Quidditch player. Naturally, every house will maintain a small selection of brooms for any student wishing to hone their flying skills during their study time."
"Long winded as always," Fred said.
"Each house will procure and maintain brooms for their house Quidditch team," Professor McGonagall said, "Mr. Fred and George Weasley have arranged for Gryffindor to be the first house to have team brooms, which will be in force for this upcoming match. If there's a shortage or an emergency, personal brooms may be used in a pinch."
Fred opened the box, the array of Firebolts, each with Gryffindor monogrammed into the handle, and the bristles with tassels of gold and crimson red. Harry turned his eyes toward Ron's.
"Bloody—" Ron started.
"Rather hand your broom over to the Minister for safe keeping?" Harry replied.
"Um…" Ron muttered.
"It's like Puddlemere," Harry whispered.
Harry stepped forward.
"Dare I ask to the funds?" Harry asked.
"Best if you don't," George said.
"Thought so," Harry said.
Harry reached, took a broom, and mounted it.
"It'll be so slow," Harry said.
"Faster than a Nimbus," Fred said.
"And bulky when not in use," Harry said.
Harry flew up into the air, the feet that felt sore, the breeze that mostly kept his headache at bay.
"Cool," Euan Abercrombie said, flying nearby, "Ginny made me alternate seeker—mind helping?"
"Um…" Harry hadn't considered a replacement to him on the Gryffindor team, he'd been the Seeker for as long as he'd been at Hogwarts. Even without his troubles, the seventh year would be his last, and he'd have to pass on the position. Took Harry another moment before he could stomach the courage. "Sure. We'll start with flying better."
Harry spotted Professor McGonagall leaving, heard a crow in the stands, the wind to him, but focused on this second year flying next to him eager to learn.
Dumbledore stroked the crimson red feathers of the bird on his desk. Fawkes watched the old man that Dumbledore knew he'd become, seasoned was the preferred term, but still meant his life's clock had neared the end of its sand supply.
"Nice of you to visit," Dumbledore said.
Doors that opened, the Minister entered with McGonagall and two aurors.
"I am sure your concerns are vital," Dumbledore said.
A puff of the eyes, the quick glare.
"I understand there's a match with Potter this coming weekend," the Minister said.
"As I already explained," McGonagall said, "I'm as concerned as you are about jinxing of brooms, that's why we're instituting a new policy, so Mr. Potter cannot know which broom he's flying on until the game."
The Minister turned a bit.
"It is…" Dumbledore turned the small desk calendar around, the previous dates crossed off. "Monday, and the match is not until Saturday. Bit premature to worry about Mr. Potter's participation until…Friday afternoon, given the past record on his attendance."
"Given the demands of wealth that have infiltrated Hogwarts Quidditch," McGonagall said, "We sought to level the playing field, so from now on, it is house provided, team managed, broom, so that any student, rich or poor, may compete without preference. Mr. Potter will now be required to use a team broom to play, one of eight right now."
"You made this up," the Minister said, his eyes that turned toward her.
"Minerva is a marvel at molding and melding the rules to make a fair and equitable outcome," Dumbledore said, "A quality I admire."
McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore, the thin grin, and turned her gaze back to the Minister.
"Should the Firebolt II actually be released by Christmas," McGonagall said, "The pressure to adopt would be high and unfair. Therefore, we will require the brooms in play be within one iteration of each other. So if Mr. Malfoy decides to adopt the Firebolt II for the Slytherin team, he will need to make sure every other house team has at least a regular Firebolt."
"It's good to combat the prejudices can form at this institution," Dumbledore said, "Wouldn't you agree?"
"Of course," the Minister said, "Still, what about Mr. Potter's proven tendencies?"
Dumbledore stroked Fawkes feathers.
"Origin of those jinxes were never uncovered," Dumbledore said, "In light of bounties to their heads, both parties need assurances the brooms will not be tampered with."
"Outside of practice those brooms will be securely stored," McGonagall said, "Currently considering locations that students rarely venture, like Mr. Filch's office, or with the bed pans in the Hospital Wing. Interlocking charms so neither of us can open the case without the other?"
"Sounds reasonable to me," Dumbledore said, "We could ask the board of governors—so many meetings, I'm sure they're happy with even more."
The Minister turned, left.
"Thank you," Dumbledore said to McGonagall, "Odds to Mr. Potter making it to the game?"
A bit more stroking to Fawkes. Dumbledore figured his worries about Harry weren't in vain.
The Seeker opened the canisters, the empty chambers, on the table.
"Nothing!" the Seeker snapped at the Chaser, "Your bloody toy is useless."
"Should be flawless," the Chaser said.
"Obviously Potter found one," the Seeker snapped.
The Seeker paced in the room, the feet to the stone.
"Without more samples, we're doomed," the Seeker said, "Even the ones we do—it's no longer perfect."
The Chaser moved the various copies of The Daily Prophet across the table, the pictures.
"Looks like a giant bite," the Chaser said.
"Shark bite," the Seeker said, "How Potter found a shark—bloody hell."
The Seeker sank into the arm chair.
"We know the pattern," the Chaser said, "Paint them on, it'll fool the cameras."
"Sure as hell not giving up," the Seeker said.
Harry woke Tuesday morning to a bit of a sore throat and the headaches.
"Bad sleep," Harry grumbled as he climbed off the bed in the dormitory, "Maybe its Hogwarts?"
Harry sat at the dining table, took his pills. He ignored The Daily Prophet on the table, and it's death toll for the latest international incident. Instead, Harry worked the food, though the stomach wasn't as much into it as his mind forced it.
"You're…" Gia felt his forehead. "Bit warm."
"Dunno," Harry said.
Harry glanced at Ron, the hand that massaged the shoulder for a moment.
"Sore muscles?" Harry asked.
Ron's glance at Harry. Harry stood.
"Half done," Ron said.
"Not hungry," Harry said, "Look, maybe it's a bad pill or something. Any more and I think I'll puke."
Harry turned, went for the shower. Harry grabbed the shampoo, began to wash, the aches to his muscles.
"Guessing we overdid it?" Ron asked as he entered the shower.
"Dunno," Harry said, "Doesn't add up."
"Anxiety?" Ron said, "I mean, we know we're unlikely to make the match."
"Yeah," Harry said, "Probably it."
Heat that seeped through the skin, the comfort of it, and Harry stood beneath the shower head for another couple of minutes. Harry dried, returned, a fast hard left, to the desk, and sat next to Gia. He watched as she shuffled a couple more pictures of them into the photo album.
"Got plenty of things to read, yet…" Gia started.
"You want a home," Harry said, "I know, instead…"
Harry's arms to the desk, his eyes that focused to the woods far outside the window. Clouds and sun, the morning that was starting to take shape.
"Right now, here's the best we can do," Harry said, "Even this…"
Harry knew the odds to the weekend, a delay seemed to mean the Death Eaters were busy cooking up new trouble. Harry turned, and watched as Ron left with Hermione.
"Your class for the day?" Gia asked.
"Usual," Harry said as he stood. Muscles that complained, the head that still ached like his throat. "I'll…" Harry crossed in front of the fireplace, to the sofa, when the door opened.
"Hope I am not disturbing anything," Professor Dumbledore said.
"You wish you were," Harry replied.
A snort, the tap of the cane.
"Ready to continue from yesterday?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"Bite sized pieces," Harry said.
Harry summoned over the spiral notebook and pen as he sat, across the gap from the Headmaster.
…
Hours had already passed as Harry felt the soreness in his throat, the headache that hadn't vanished, the aches to his muscles, as he sat there, listening to the Headmaster.
"Bit under the weather?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
"Something like that," Harry admitted.
Harry didn't feel like standing, any more than the Headmaster's hand trembled on the cane.
"I need to get ready for the staff meeting," Professor Dumbledore said as he stood, "If you took the reins, it'd spare me the agony."
Harry shook his head. A grin and a nod, the Headmaster's cane advertised his departure of the dormitory. Neville entered.
"Almost lunchtime," Harry said.
"Heard Finnigan's holding a rally," Neville said, "He's calling it a picnic by the lake."
Harry summoned the strength to stand, the aches that persisted.
"Harry?" Ron asked.
"Should probably see it," Harry said, "But…it could go south."
Harry glanced at Hermione, Gia nearby.
"Protect her," Harry said, "If trouble brews, we'll follow. Ron?"
Harry went to the window, where he spotted the crowd brewing. Harry summoned his broom.
"Guess I'll walk," Neville said as he left.
"We'll keep our distance from them," Harry said to Ron.
Ron summoned his broom. Both mounted. A cast of the invisibility, Harry flew out the window first, Ron followed. A bit of a dip, the wind and the sunlight on their skin, and they flew wide, over the lake.
"GIVING EVERYBODY FIVE MORE MINUTES!" Finnigan shouted.
Harry flew near and away from the shore, the small cliff overlook with its meadow of grass a bit above the lake. Wind against the soreness of his muscles, Harry took another lap, the feet slightly above the water, when he heard the scream. A fast return.
"POTTER!" Finnigan shouted.
Harry understood, the fingers weren't pointed at him, still under invisibility, but the one near a plank that jutted out away from the cliff, over the water, with maybe a six foot drop. Another scream, the young second year Ravenclaw Avery Redwood squirmed on the ground, beneath where a witch with Hermione's appearance, held the wand.
"CRUCIO!" shouted 'Hermione'.
Redwood squirmed across the plank. 'Ron's wand drawn, the shield that kept the curses from hitting any of the three.
Splash!
Redwood struggled for a moment in the water. 'Harry' cackled, laughed, as he conjured ropes around Stewart Ackerley. A push, and Ackerley sailed along the plank.
"In," Harry said.
An aim of his broom, the curse, the volley of red pulses, knocked each of the impostors down into the water, as his own invisibility dropped.
"Hit the deck!" Ron shouted.
Students who did drop, however, Finnigan's wand drawn, the shot of red, one that Harry rolled. Two Aurors, Archer from the right and Gairloch from the left, ran.
"STOP!" shouted Archer.
A fast turn, a start to dive, when Harry heard it.
"AVADA—" came Gairloch's shout.
An aim to the rock that flew up, intercepted the killing curse.
"Ignoring us is a capital offense!" Archer stated.
"Get—" Harry demanded, pointed.
"Who?" Archer spat.
Beneath Harry, where the three had been, only grass, as Harry landed.
"Didn't even do your job!" Harry spat, his eyes on Archer.
A flick from Ron, the wand that pushed Finnigan and Thomas back, whose wands flew. Archer, though, the glare at Harry, the ones that showed the bribe that had been paid, while Gairloch kept the distance, wand drawn. Finnigan and Thomas that watched.
"Don't tell me how to do my job," Archer said, "You're coming with me, we'll sort out your Dark Arts and your assistants."
Harry's glare, Archers, as they circled each other, the wands drawn in their hands. Everybody else still, watched, even Gairloch.
"Wrong," Harry said, "You're coming with me for corruption."
"Don't talk back," Archer said.
"Arsehole!" Harry snapped.
A curse from Archer, the duck and Harry's cheek bled. Archer's wand shattered, and Harry's wand retreated as he shoved Archer down to the ground.
"Where'd they find you?" Harry said, "Rent a Death Eater?"
Harry tried to rush, the soreness to his muscles, slower than it took for Archer to get back up.
"Signed your own death warrant," Archer growled.
Harry bared his wand, again, when he heard it.
"Avada—" Gairloch started, to the side.
Harry dropped and rolled, the green bead of magic struck Archer. A cold expression of astonishment, the eyes that ceased to interrogate, Archer's corpse hit Harry. Gairloch aimed again as Ron crashed down onto Gairloch.
"STOP!"
Harry bound in place, frozen like Ron and Gairloch were. Professor Dumbledore, braced by magic stemming from his wand, the wand drawn, the face full of fury.
"Mr. Thomas," Dumbledore said, "Get Madam Pomfrey here immediately."
A push of magic, the gust, that dragged Harry upward, through an open window, and slammed him down on the floor of the Headmaster's office along with Ron. A second gust, with a tad more elegance, Dumbledore clutched the desk as he stood there, with Finnigan and Gairloch. Harry didn't need Legilimency to understand the wrath within the old man.
"Interesting trick," Finnigan said, "Conjuring up doubles to take the heat."
"Explain why I have a dead Auror on the premises," the Headmaster said.
"We about had them," Harry said, "The impostors."
"I wanted and arranged for a picnic with my friends," Finnigan said, "They show up with their bitch and start throwing the Cruciatus, pushing my friends into the water—uncalled for. This pair fly in, picked the fight with the Aurors."
"Unruly and a nuisance," Gairloch said, "Gave them a warning, didn't stop them."
"You used a killing curse," Professor Dumbledore said.
"As is law enforcement policy with Dark Wizards," Gairloch said.
A wrath Harry was unaccustomed to seeing in the Headmaster, the blue eyes that remained fixed on Gairloch.
"Killing curses are unacceptable at Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said, "You are banned from Hogwarts and must leave immediately."
"The Minister's going to have a word—" Gairloch started.
"Sure he will," Professor Dumbledore said, "Use the fireplace, now."
Gairloch went for it, the puff of green, while the eyes turned to Harry and Ron. Harry's instinct blocked the inquiry from the twinkling.
"You let your temper get the better of you," Professor Dumbledore said, "Picking a fight with an Auror is unacceptable, even if he threw the first curse. Mr. Weasley, not innocent in this either, a word from you would've stopped yet you watched. Therefore, you are both suspended, on my authority, for a week—to return no sooner than next Tuesday."
Finnigan gave a grin.
"Have to collect our girls," Ron said.
"Miss. Prescott must leave," Professor Dumbledore said, "Miss. Granger has not been suspended."
"Without an escort," Harry said, "She leaves with us."
"That is her choice," Professor Dumbledore said, "You may fetch her if you wish, then leave."
Harry made for the door, Ron followed as the left the office.
"Bit footsore," Ron said.
Harry grabbed Ron's arm, the focus, the thought. A fast pinch, the twist, as they disapparated, apparated into the dormitory.
"Ouch," Ron muttered, nursed his right pinky finger.
"Must be the anger," Harry said, the head ached.
"So—" Hermione started.
"Suspended," Harry said, "Portkey, please?"
Hermione took out the Hogwarts Pin, Harry's old Portkey, and activated it. Gia, Ron, and Harry held on. Jerk behind the naval, they were pulled away.
"How bad was it?" Hermione asked.
"Almost had them," Harry grumbled.
Harry's sore feet landed in the shower at Puddlemere United, the heads idle.
"So damn close," Harry said.
"Lunch!" Ron snapped.
"I—I can't," Harry said.
Harry moved fast, the hard right, past the empty examination room, and into the box by the pitch, and grabbed a Nimbus 1000. His eyes that scanned, spotted it, and went over to the control. A press to the button.
"Alright," Harry said, "We want a category five hurricane."
Wind that began to blow out on the grass.
"Isn't that a bit much?" Ron asked.
"Start at level one," Harry said to the control, "Go up slowly but steady, one category every fifteen minutes."
"Nothing like a little wind," Ron said.
"Tornado in twenty," Harry said to the box. His eyes toward Ron, the anger of earlier, the desire to take it out. "We've been practicing it too easy."
Harry felt himself swept along as he ascended, into the rain and wind.
"BLIMEY!" came one holler from Amy Greystok above.
Harry was tossed about as he flew.
…
The Seeker regained consciousness in the room, to the Keeper who stood there.
"Half arsed plan!" the Keeper said.
"Potter came in hot," the Seeker said, "Did you at least arrest Potter?"
"Archer's dead," the Keeper said, "You bungled it."
"Next time," said Bellatrix Lestrange as she faded from Hermione's figure, "Let me do the planning—a bit more Cruciatus."
"Something's wrong," the Chaser said to the Keeper, "We need new hairs, a sharp eye can see the difference—juice ain't working right."
"I was hoping the idiots were good enough to catch," the Seeker said, "Or at least your bungling fools."
The Keeper paced in the room.
"Understand some pictures came out," the Keeper said, "At least it's not a total waste, and it'll keep the old fool preoccupied."
…
McGonagall stood there in the Hospital Wing.
"Aside from the one Auror," said Pomfrey, "The students all warmed up fine."
"Minerva!" said the Minister as he entered, the sky blue robes that billowed.
"If you'll excuse me," McGonagall said, "I need to see my boss."
"So do I," the Minister said, "That blasted statue would not move."
A glance to Pomfrey, McGonagall moved fast. Heels that hit the stone as she ran. Stone Gargoyle that moved for her, Pomfrey that followed. Into the office, Dumbledore slumped to the floor. Fingers that extended from the robes of white, Pomfrey felt the neck, the wand out.
"Not today," Pomfrey said, "How much magic did he do?"
"A lot, I expect," McGonagall said.
McGonagall conjured up the stretcher, and they hurried back down the stairs.
Minutes later, Gia set the tray down in the cafeteria, what should've seemed appealing, the soup, wasn't. Took a moment, the pain that came to her stomach, the urge to vomit on an empty stomach. Hermione's brown eyes to her.
"Feeling—?" Hermione started.
Gia shook her head.
"Healer downstairs," Hermione said, "Likely bored."
Hermione stood, they abandoned the food, and she helped Gia keep steady. Her head that ached, as they went back down the stairs, into the locker room, when Fred and George came in. Wet from head to toe with their clothes soaked, the twins glanced at Gia and Hermione.
"One guess to who ordered up that weather," Fred said.
"Pardon," Gia said.
Gia walked into the examination room, started to close the door, however, Notley opened it as he entered. Notley's brown eyes on her.
"I'm not…" Gia motioned to her head, and sat on the examination table. "Harry complained too…maybe its something we ate? About puked a few minutes ago."
Notley's wand out in the left hand.
"Your eyes…reddish," Notley glanced downward, "Bit of a rash—"
"I…" Gia started, the headache that cut her off.
"Mind?" Notley put his right hand to her forehead. "Fever."
Notley grabbed the folder with cartoons of trucks on it, the paper, the left hand that jotted down on the form.
"Definitely something," Notley said, "How long has this been going on?"
"Harry was feeling it yesterday," Gia said, "Started to notice it myself this morning, the headaches, the soreness."
"So it's contagious," Notley said.
"Oh," Gia muttered, the implication.
"One moment," Notley said.
Notley went to the door, opened it.
"Fred, George," Notley said, "Can you brave the weather and get Harry back in here?"
"Ron's complained," Gia said.
"And Ron," Notley said, "Hermione—have them wait."
Notley closed the door, turned back to Gia. Wand to her, the eyes that glanced, the twist as Notley pressed the panic button twice.
"Temporary quarantine to the stadium," Notley explained.
"That bad?" Gia asked.
"Not sure yet," Notley said, "If it were flu, I wouldn't be in a panic."
Notley's wand that went back over her, tapped the wand twice, and tried again.
"Weird…" Notley said, "Lemme double check."
Notley took the pace, reached for Comprehensive Compendium of Pathology, and flipped through its pages. A step back to Gia. A fast belch, the hiccup, her hiccup.
"We're in England," Notley said, "Except…you haven't been to, say, Central Africa?"
"Chimpanzees?" Gia asked.
"Close contact?" Notley asked.
"Does hugging count?" Gia said, "Should've seen Harry's face."
"When?" Notley asked.
"This past weekend," Gia said, "Arrived Friday, crossed the jungle…wait, there was that dead one we found."
Notley turned the pages, the wand to her.
"Yep," Notley said, "Only thing left in this, Ebola."
"Ebola?" Gia asked.
"Based on your description," Notley said, "I expect Harry to have it too."
Notley turned to his medicine cabinet, now with rubber seals on the doors, and he sorted through the bottles.
"Need…funny I didn't think to stock this," Notley said, "St. Mungo's will have it."
"We're banned," Gia said.
"I'm not," Notley said, "You're stable enough for me to make the errand. I'll clear the others, confine you and them in here until I return."
Notley left the examination room.
"Table," Notley said.
Harry entered, sat next to Gia. Ron leaned back against the wall, along with Hermione.
"Ben," said Coach Meyer's faint voice, "What's going on?"
Hermione shut the door, the eyes to Gia.
"Ebola?" Ron said, "What's that?"
"Fatal in muggles," Hermione said.
Gia pointed, and Hermione read into Notley's book.
"Oh," Hermione said.
Notley returned a few minutes later.
"Sorry," Notley said, "Errand will take a bit more time than I thought, anybody you got close with this weekend, or since then?"
"We were at Hogwarts," Hermione said, "Yesterday and today."
"If you don't mind," Notley said, "I'd like to alert Madam Pomfrey, let her know about this."
"Should do that," Harry said.
Notley left.
"You and your desire to be charitable," Hermione quipped.
"If I'd been on top today," Harry said, "Maybe we would've…"
Harry leaned into Gia.
"Suspended over the match," Ron said, "Like we expected anything else."
Twenty minutes later, Notley returned carrying a sack.
"Lucky that you have a healer," Notley said, "Magical or muggle, ebola is fatal when untreated."
"So, there's a cure?" Harry asked.
Notley poured and mixed two potions into a beaker, divided it into four.
"African mediwizards have a treatment," Notley said.
"We—the chimpanzees and the researcher," Harry said, "They ought to be warned too."
"After I take care of my patients here," Notley said.
Notley's wand out, the aim to Harry.
"You're the worst off," Notley said, "You'll feel a bit sore, stiff, for a while."
Gia consumed the bitter murky brown concoction. Harry's face contorted a bit as he took his. Ron and Hermione weren't pleased either.
"Obviously, nothing strenuous, like flying," Notley said, "Loiter around here until the headaches clear, and I'd like to see you tomorrow."
Gia nodded, the group stood, and went into the locker room.
"Heading separate ways?" Hermione said, "It's Tuesday."
Harry leaned back against the locker.
"Not like we have to," Harry said, "Only us trying to make you happy given…everything."
Ron leaned in, kissed her.
"He said—" Hermione said.
"Nothing about kissing," Ron replied.
"I'm…hungry," Harry said.
Gia walked with Harry, up the stairs, back into the cafeteria. Harry went light on the chips, the grilled cheese, and sat at a table.
"Not super hungry," Harry said.
"I'll take it," Gia said.
"Suppose Hogwarts was surprised too," Harry said.
McGonagall stood there in the Hospital Wing, watched the Headmaster for a few minutes, the shallow breaths on the bed, the eyes shuttered.
"We'll move him back once he's stable," said Pomfrey.
Sky blue robes, the Minister who returned, as Pomfrey went into her office.
"Oh," the Minister said.
"Overexertion," McGonagall said, "Given his age and condition, he knew the price, yet, he still values the life of others over his own."
"You try to make it sound noble," the Minister said.
"You clearly have no idea who you're dealing with," McGonagall said.
Date: Sat Mar 16 23:02:03 2024