Author's Notes: Hello! Please thank goingbacktosquareone the almighty beta! I don't think I have anything further to say ... just that I hope you enjoy the chapter and appreciate the fact you haven't had to wait terribly long to find out after that horrible, nasty cliffhanger ... *smiles innocently*

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Harry sat in bed, annoyed. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. It was a pity no one cared. He thought about trying to plot his escape again but there was probably a permanent sticking charm and an unbreakable charm on the window. If they’d leave him unguarded at night he could sneak out, he knew all the squeaky steps. They’d probably rigged the back door …

Harry sighed heavily — of all the times to have left his Invisibility Cloak in his trunk.

For three days now he’d been a prisoner. For three days he’d been forced to eat soup and be prodded by Augustus Pye and his clipboard. For three days he’d had the slightest fever in the history of the world. For three days he’d had green cheeks. For three days he’d sneezed pathetic little sparks from his nose every three hours.

Apart from that he was perfectly fine.

Harry scowled at his gaoler. Percy, immersed in his book, didn’t even react. Harry sighed heavily and Percy turned a page, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It won’t do you any good,” Percy remarked, running a finger down the page and stopping near the bottom. He tapped his finger thoughtfully.

“What?” asked Harry belligerently.

“The sighing,” Percy remarked idly. “It won’t make Mum let you out of bed.”

“I’m not sick,” Harry grumbled.

“In fact. if you hadn’t tried leaving that first day,” Percy continued, “she wouldn’t have known you were a flight risk-”

“Shut up, Percy,” muttered Harry. Percy just shrugged and turned the page.

Harry glared at Percy’s bent head for a minute or two before he slumped down and pulled the covers up to his ears. He stayed that way until he heard the door creak open and Percy’s chair scrape on the floor.

“Hiya, Harry!” boomed George. Harry grunted.

“He’s particularly obnoxious today,” Percy commented as he shut his book with a snap and left. George laughed.

“You pink yet?” he asked, plucking at the edge of the blanket and peering at Harry.

“No,” Harry said gloomily, “still green.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said George cheerily.

“I don’t have Dragon Pox,” Harry whined.

“We don’t know that,” George said with a grin.

“You just want to keep me where you can see me,” Harry complained. “I feel like a museum exhibit.”

“Really?” George said, sitting down and propping his feet on the edge of Harry’s bed. “I would have thought you felt like an experiment — what with all the poking and prodding by that Healer guy.”

“If I never see Augustus Pye again it will be too soon,” Harry ground out.

Andromeda had Flooed Arthur and Molly straight away when she’d found him asleep and green on her sitting room floor. Although Harry had felt fine at the time and had felt fine every moment since then, he had been tucked up in bed at The Burrow and Healer Pye had been summoned imperiously by an irate Molly Weasley.

Pye had been absolutely fascinated by Harry all weekend and he routinely came every two hours to see if Harry had developed any sort of spots, sores or rashes. The development of a very mild fever late on Friday evening had sent Molly into a near panic but it had prompted Pye to suddenly grab Harry’s foot and begin inspecting between his toes.

Although he’d woken up on Saturday morning still with the faint green tinge, Harry had deftly crept out of bed and down the stairs only to be bundled back to bed by Molly Weasley who was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. His protests fell on deaf ears when he tried to get out of bed a second time: Molly threatened to tie him to the bed.

“Dragon Pox is very serious, Harry,” she’d said, measuring out a disgusting-looking purple potion and thrusting the spoon under his nose. “But because that imbecile has managed to … infect you in an unconventional manner we simply don’t know what we will be dealing with. It’s far too risky to give you the cure. Thank goodness Teddy appears to be fine but this irresponsible Pye man should be strung up!”

“I don’t think I have actual Dragon Pox,” Harry said, dodging the spoon. “He did say there were mild side effects.” Molly eyed him grimly.

“No offence dear, but you’ve not seen Dragon Pox before,” she said as she angled the spoon into his mouth. “I’ve seen it seven times. This is just the beginning.” She patted him on the cheek, and left the room while Harry gagged and choked on the potion. Someone had been assigned to sit with him ever since.

It had been three whole days of staring at the four walls of his bedroom. Harry had tried to sit by the window at one point but decided the rant George went on when he found him there wasn’t worth it. Molly had knitted almost two entire Christmas jumpers in his presence and Percy had read an entire Ministry manual on weights and scales. Arthur kept bringing him pieces of Muggle electronics to tinker with but Harry usually had less idea than Arthur did what they were and when they’d managed to scorch the ceiling on Sunday morning, Molly had banned her husband from ‘over exerting that poor boy’ and Harry had instead been forced to endure losing six successive games of chess to Ron.

Ron thought it was highly amusing that his mother had confined Harry to bed. He’d not managed to hide his laughter when he told Ginny that Harry wouldn’t be coming to Hogsmeade. Her resulting Bat-Bogey hex had caught not only Ron, but a group of unsuspecting third year Hufflepuffs behind him. Professor Crockwell had given her a week of detentions and forbidden her from leaving the castle to visit Harry. Hermione was busy being both Head Boy and Head Girl and found herself unable to get away, but she’d insisted Ron bring Harry some fruit.

Harry stared glumly at the bowl of wilted grapes and soggy bananas that sat on his bedside table. He hadn’t gotten any worse in the past three days and he was bored and missing Ginny dreadfully. If there was one thing Harry was sure of, as he sneezed on cue, he didn’t have Dragon Pox. Ron had told him of his own experience and how miserable he’d been.

“I had crusty purple spots within hours,” Ron had said with relish as he took Harry’s Queen with one of his pawns. “When I sneezed I nearly set my bedroom on fire!” Harry watched his own pathetic sneezing sparks drift harmlessly towards the bedspread, fizzing out before they landed with a woeful pffft.

Harry watched George lean back in the chair, whistling and studying the ceiling.

“You know I think there’s another scorch mark up there,” mused George. Harry looked up at the mix of scorch marks, burns and potion stains on the ceiling of the twins’ old bedroom.

“Yeah, your dad and I blew up a transistor radio yesterday,” Harry said.

“Oh, so that’s why he’s not allowed up here,” George said, grinning.

“You’ve got to spring me, George!” Harry said suddenly.

“And suffer both the wrath of my mother and my wife?” George asked, eyebrow raised. “No way.”

“But I haven’t even got Dragon Pox,” Harry whined. George eyed him with amusement.

“Angie’s gone very domestic all of a sudden,” he said with a smirk. “You’re a good outlet for all her sudden domesticity.”

“No offence, mate,” Harry said grumpily, “but Angelina makes the worst soup ever.”

“That’s what makes you a good outlet,” George said. “Otherwise I’d have to eat it all.” Harry glared at him but George just laughed.

“I’m bored,” Harry sighed. “I can’t believe you won’t let me go. I’m not sick.”

“You could be. Besides, you are not going to deprive Mum of this priceless opportunity to fuss,” George said. “Anyway, I would have thought you’d be happy to stay in seclusion after the Daily Prophet today.”

“Well, I’m not allowed to read the paper, am I?” Harry scowled. “I might get over excited.”

“Really?” George asked, leaning forward, his feet hitting the floor with a thump. “Oh, you have got to read this!” George bounded out of his seat and practically ran to the door. He threw it open and pointed his wand down the stairs shouting, “Accio Daily Prophet!”

The newspaper came sailing into the room and George caught it with a triumphant smirk and flourished it at Harry.

“I love how you can still make the front page,” George said. “Here, let me read it to you. The Headline says Potter, Perfect Playmate!”

“It says what?”

“Harry Potter was spotted at St Mungo’s late on Friday afternoon,” George read. “Well known for his defeat of You-Know-Who, not once but twice in his short life, Mr Potter normally attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to obtain his N.E.W.T.S. But it seems he has a few responsibilities that keep him away from that hallowed institution on occasion.”

“Still can’t say Voldemort, can they?” Harry grumbled. George ignored him.

“Seen in both the foyer and at the children’s inoculation clinic, Harry Potter appeared to be discharging godfatherly duties. Mr Lester Scrogg and Miss Cynthia Button confirm that they spoke to Mr Potter in the foyer of St Mungo’s where they were waiting in to be seen for minor spell damage.

‘Ever so polite, he was,’ Miss Button confirmed, ‘wanted to know where to find the kiddies getting those potions.’

‘Not because he has a kiddie of his own,’ Mr Scrogg confirmed, ‘got a godson, he has.’

‘It was very exciting,’ Miss Button added, ‘seeing a hero like Harry Potter in the flesh. I was ever so nervous and me second head did like to insult him; so very embarrassing.’

While Mr Potter did indeed attend the children’s inoculation clinic our sources have revealed that Healer Augustus Pye has since spent a considerable amount of his time visiting Mr Potter and speculation is rife that our young hero is not well.

‘He seemed perfectly fine,’ Mrs Penelope Westbourne says of Mr Potter. ‘He did a marvellous job of keeping my Claudia amused at the clinic and he didn’t look unwell. He did look a bit flustered when they finished but the little boy — his godson — was screaming his head off, so I’m not surprised.’

Nevertheless Mr Potter has not been seen since this visit to St Mungo’s, Professor Crockwell at Hogwarts confirming that Mr Potter has not yet returned to school.

‘Most inconvenient,’ was the only further comment she deigned to offer.

This publication has sought confirmation from Mr Ronald Weasley, well known for his association with Mr Potter. Mr Weasley however, was unable or unwilling to confirm anything. When confronted yesterday, Mr Weasley repeated words we are unable to print. One may conclude that Mr Weasley has infected Mr Potter with the same affliction to which he succumbed last year at the onset of the school year. It is rumoured that Harry Potter is sequestered in a private facility undergoing treatment for Spattergroit. His return to public life could be long and arduous and we at the Daily Prophet will keep you appraised as news comes to hand.”

“How would I get Spattergroit from Ron when he had it eighteen months ago?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Oh that’s not the best bit,” George said smirking. “There’s a little side story and a darling picture. Could Harry Potter be the catch of the century? He’s handsome; he’s handy with a wand; he’s good with children. Is there nothing Harry Potter cannot do? This candid photograph of Mr Potter was captured at St Mungo’s on Friday with Mr Potter’s new leading lady, one Miss Claudia Westbourne who charmed the robes off Mr Potter with her demure smile and her forthright nature.

‘He was so sweet with her,’ remarked the unnamed source from which we procured this exclusive image. ‘If I wasn’t a married woman, I’d snap him up meself!’

While we don’t know the current status of The Boy Who Lived, ladies; we’ll make it our mission to find out! We don’t want to let this catch slip away!”

Harry stared at George in horror. He watched as George flipped the paper around to show a picture of him and Claudia building a block tower while Teddy sat in Harry’s lap. The heading above the inset picture read Tiny Tots Steal Potter’s Heart.

“When did it become a secret that I’m going out with Ginny?” Harry asked, slowly reaching for the paper and re-reading the article.

“Not sure,” George said, “but Kingsley agreed to re-route all your mail to the Auror Office when a Singing StrippaOwl arrived this morning.”

“A what?” asked Harry blankly.

“Singing StrippaOwl,” George repeated. “You can get them from those disreputable places down in Knockturn Alley; the ones that sell naughty wizard magazines and questionable potions.”

“What exactly does a Singing StrippaOwl do?” asked Harry, not at all sure he wanted to know.

“It sings to you,” George said with a wicked grin. “But the part that everyone buys it for is so you can put your own photo in it. There’s this potion and you paint it on your photo so that when the recipient opens it, your little photo starts taking its clothes off.”

“I’m disturbed that you know how to use them.”

“Oh, I’ve never sent one,” George said, shaking his head. “We dared Lee to go buy one once and the git sent it to us.”

“So all my post is going to the Ministry now?”

“Yeah, Kingsley said he’d forward the important stuff to you.”

Harry looked again at the picture in the newspaper. He sighed heavily and wondered if there would ever be a time when he could anticipate truthful reporting.

It was another twenty-four hours before Molly Weasley lost her fight to nurse Harry’s non-existent Dragon Pox. Growing more bored and irritated by the minute, Harry had contemplated pulling his wand on George and escaping out of the bathroom window, praying his cushioning spell would work when Augustus Pye, sighing heavily, had pronounced Harry fit and well just before tea time on Tuesday.

“A most curious reaction,” he had said when pressed for further comment. “None of the other reactions have ever included the sneezing.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have Dragon Pox?” Molly asked suspiciously. “He’s still green.”

“Quite sure, quite sure,” Pye said, nodding furiously, “just a mild reaction to the inoculation.”

“So, I can go now?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Yes, yes,” Pye muttered absently, scribbling on his clipboard. “Don’t drink any Gourdyroot tea; we don’t know if that will react to the potion.”

“When will he stop being green?” Molly asked with a frown. Augustus Pye shrugged.

Harry didn’t particularly care what colour he was, he scrambled out of bed and began hunting for a clean set of clothes.

“Is he immune now?” Molly demanded. The Healer shrugged again. Molly huffed at him.

“I’m going to get dressed now,” Harry said slowly. “I would appreciate some privacy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Molly said, smiling at him. “Try the red jumper, your skin is going to clash with that blue.”

“I’ll look like a ruddy Christmas decoration,” Harry muttered as she and Pye left the room.

He dressed quickly and gathered together his things for the journey back to Hogwarts. Ruefully he glanced at himself in the mirror; his green cheeks made him look like an alien from one of Dudley’s horror films. Harry pulled his socks and shoes on before heading down the stairs and into the kitchen where Molly was complaining about Augustus Pye.

“It was bad enough when he tried those ridiculous stitches on you,” she said to Arthur as she waved her wand at the cauldron on the stove, “but to go experimenting on babies! Really, there’s a perfectly good cure for Dragon Pox, it’s ridiculous Muggle rubbish!”

“Now, Molly,” said Arthur with a frown. “Muggles are perfectly capable in their own way — very ingenious actually.”

“Inoculations, I ask you,” Molly said, throwing her hands into the air. “Would you be so accepting if he’d made Harry really ill? I’m still not at all sure he should be going back to Hogwarts.”

“Now, now, dearest,” Arthur said smoothly, “you know as well as I do that getting back to Ginny will be the best medicine.”

“Yes, I can guess what medicine she’ll give him …” Molly trailed off as Arthur coughed violently; waving at the doorway Harry was standing in. Harry felt his face heat spectacularly and wondered what if he was still green or if his blush had managed to turn his face red.

“I won’t stay for tea,” Harry forced out. “Thanks, really … I’ll just …”

“Minerva said to use the Floo,” Arthur said gently. “Just pop into the common room — she organised for a tray to be left there for you.”

“Now, you come straight home if you get worse,” Molly said as she stepped over to him and felt his forehead. “I still don’t trust that Healer.”

“I’m fine, really,” Harry said. “Thanks for everything but I really need to get back and … sort some things out.” He sighed heavily, thinking of the article in The Daily Prophet. Somehow he needed to establish that not only was he unavailable, he had to convince the world he didn’t have Spattergroit.

“Take care, Harry,” said Arthur as Harry scooped up the Floo Powder and spun away in the green flames.

Harry cursed as he stumbled out of the fireplace in the common room. There were days when he preferred Portkeys to using the Floo, and that was saying something, given his loathing of Portkeys. Harry threw his bag on the hearthrug and sank into his favourite armchair in the deserted common room. A plate and goblet were sitting on a nearby side table and Harry summoned them over to him. The plate landed deftly in his hands but he dropped the goblet half way to him. Shrugging, Harry summoned it again and filled it with an Augamenti spell, smirking at his own spellwork.

Harry made short work of the plate of food, relishing the chance to eat something more appetising than Angelina’s soup. He stared idly at the plate, wondering what to do with it. If he left it, a house elf would have to come and collect it — was it worth Hermione’s ire? He could take it down to the kitchens himself, which would mean running into every curious pair of eyes in the school on his way back. Harry smacked himself on the forehead before leaping up and darting up the stairs to rummage in his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak.

Gathering up the plate, goblet and cutlery, Harry left the common room and started down to the kitchens. As he got to the lower floors of the castle he saw a few scattered students wandering back to their common rooms, the library or various clubs meetings.

“D’you think it’s true?” he heard a girl on the second floor landing ask her companions. Harry recognised the group as Eve, Louise and Marie, the three first years who lived at Sirius House. Harry slowed down, curious, because he didn’t often see them together at Hogwarts. Eve was a shy little thing was rarely seen with anyone but her brother Matthew, and he was a Hufflepuff so hardly ever then. Louise and Marie had formed a sort of camaraderie but they’d never appeared particularly close. It was Louise who had asked the question. Eve didn’t answer her, she continued shuffling along, looking at the floor.

“Well, it makes sense,” Marie said thoughtfully. Harry trailed after them even though they were leading him away from the kitchens.

“How does it make sense?” Louise scoffed. “Just because he’s got some musty old house-”

“Exactly,” Marie said. “If you had a big old house, wouldn’t you want to live in it?”

“But … we live there,” Eve said suddenly, her small voice barely audible.

“Yeah, for now,” Marie said darkly.

“Why would he go to all that trouble to set it up if he was just going to throw us out?” Louise demanded.

“Did you really think it was more than one holiday?” Marie asked scornfully.

“It better be,” Louise said. “I left my favourite jumper there.”

“I never stayed more than six weeks in any place last year,” Marie said harshly, stopping outside an empty classroom. “There isn’t anybody who wants to keep kids like us.”

“But it said he likes kids,” Eve’s voice trembled, echoing throughout the empty corridor.

“I bet you anything we’ll be stuck here at Easter,” Marie said savagely.

“What about the babies?”Louise said, folding her arms across her chest and looking smug. “Mrs Chumley said they had paperworks.”

“Well … they’re babies,” Marie said with an eye roll. “Everybody likes babies.”

“I wish somebody liked us,” Eve said in her small voice, shuffling her feet.

“Well, get used to it,” Marie turned on the little Ravenclaw harshly. “He’s going to get married and then he’ll want his house back and we’ll have nowhere to go. Again.”

Harry had heard enough and grabbed Marie and Eve by the elbow, hauling them into the empty classroom, forgetting entirely that he still had his Invisibility Cloak on. The two girls screamed and Louise launched herself after them.

“Damn,” Harry swore, letting the girls go and yanking the Cloak off. The three girls were staring at him, wide-eyed. “Sorry, I forgot I was invisible.”

“You’ve got an Invisibility Cloak,” Louise said with awe. Harry nodded, running his free hand through his hair awkwardly.

“Listen, what you were talking about-”

“Were you listening?” Marie asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Harry answered her baldly. “What on earth have you been hearing that makes you think I … want Sirius House back because I’m getting married?”

“It’s all over the Prophet,” Louise said matter-of-factly.

“Mavis Tavistock said you were going to get married because you’re all clucky,” Marie said.

“And Johnny Garber said that when people get married they need a new house,” Eve added.

“But you’ve already got a house,” Louise chimed in.

“See,” Marie said triumphantly, “I told you he’d need it back.”

“Who is Mavis Tavistock?” Harry asked faintly.

“She’s in third year,” Louise said.

“Ravenclaw,” Eve added.

“She’s pretty smart,” Marie said. “She doesn’t get things wrong.” Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“Can you start at the beginning?” he pleaded.

“You’re green,” Marie said bluntly. Harry glared at her. She only shrugged in return.

“Well it all started on Saturday,” Louise began. “Filch was checking everyone going to Hogsmeade — I was watching from the staircase because I like to see who’s going with who and what the girls are wearing. Hermione Granger was helping him but it didn’t look like he appreciated her help. Then Professor Crockwell came out and she looked like she was going to Hogsmeade, too, but she never ended up going because that’s when Ron Weasley came.”

“I like Ron,” Eve said dreamily.

“He kissed Hermione,” Marie giggled. Louise rolled her eyes.

“I hope someone kisses me like that one day,” Eve said. Marie jabbed her in the ribs and the little Ravenclaw looked up at Harry and blushed tomato red. Harry turned to Louise, considerately pretending he hadn’t seen Eve’s embarrassment.

“Anyway,” Louise said in a long suffering tone. “That Neville guy came to say hello, right, and Ginny Weasley was with him.”

“Neville wasn’t going, was he?” Marie asked.

“I don’t know,” Louise said. “That’s not exactly important here.” She glared at the other girl.

“Ron told Ginny you were sick,” Eve supplied. “He was laughing. I don’t think Ginny thought it was very funny.”

“Professor Crockwell definitely didn’t,” Marie added. “Not when all those Hufflepuffs started shrieking.”

“They had these big green bat things!” Eve exclaimed.

“Tristan Snodgrass sneezed all over Professor Crockwell,” Louise said seriously. “It was disgusting.”

“She was really cross though,” Eve said. “She made Ginny stay and clean the trophy room.”

“She got crosser at Ron,” Louise argued. “She yelled at him because you weren’t going to be at Hogsmeade.”

“We all thought Ron was just joking — to annoy Ginny,” Marie explained. “But then you didn’t come for tea either and I think it was after Ginny got the letter and set fire to Gerald’s roast beef that Professor Crockwell said she had to have detention every day for a week.”

“Ginny got really cross,” Eve added in an almost whisper.

“She’s been unbearable since,” Louise confirmed.

“Mavis said she heard from her cousin Felicity that Tim Westbrook told her that Bridie Woods knows it was because you dumped her and weren’t coming back because you were going to get married to that drummer from The Lone Witches,” Louise said, all in one breath.

“Why else would Ginny be so cross,” Marie asked rationally. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“And when was it that you decided that this meant I was going to throw you out?”

“Well, I didn’t think it would,” Louise said, shifting nervously. “But Mavis reckons that the article in the Prophet was just so people wouldn’t be shocked when you announced your engagement.”

“And Phyllis White said we wouldn’t have anywhere to go when you moved back into your house and started filling it up with all the babies,” Eve said quietly.

“What babies?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Yours,” Louise said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry was beginning to regret asking them to start at the beginning.

“Look,” Marie said suddenly. “Can you just tell us straight whether or not we need to sign up for the Easter holidays?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “You’ll be going home for the holidays.” The girls watched him warily.

“Are the babies going to be there?” Eve asked. Harry nodded. Eve took a deep breath. “Mrs Chumley?” Harry nodded again.

“Can I sleep in the same bed?” Marie bit her lip. Harry nodded.

“That’s your bed,” he said. “It’s your home. No one’s going to throw you out.”

“But … we haven’t got paperworks,” Louise said, “not like the babies.”

“You do, actually,” Harry said. “It should be finalised by summer. It says that you live at Sirius House and that Mr Weasley and Mrs Chumley and Mrs Tonks and I will make sure you’ve all got enough food and enough clothes and will go to school every year. That way everyone knows where you belong.”

“I like Mrs Chumley,” said Eve.

“No one’s throwing you out,” Harry repeated again. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“But are you marrying that drummer from The Lone Witches?”

“No!”

“Well, I don’t know why Ginny’s so upset then,” Louise said, shrugging.

“Probably the Spattergroit,” Marie said. “What is Spattergroit?”

“I haven’t got Spattergroit,” sighed Harry, “just like I’m not marrying the drummer from The Lone Witches.”

“So why are you green?” Eve asked. “I think … you’re getting greener …” At that moment Harry sneezed. The pathetic little sparks puffed out of his nose and fizzed only inches from his lips.

“Never mind,” Harry sighed. He threw the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and looked directly at Marie. “You’re going home for Easter, and every holiday after that.” Marie nodded meekly and Eve beamed at him.

“Thank you,” the little Ravenclaw said.

“No problem,” Harry said. “I need to go sort a few more things out — obviously. Next time, come and ask me, don’t listen to Mavis, all right?” The three girls nodded.

“You should go find Ginny,” Louise said with a smirk. “I heard she’s going to eviscerate you.”

“What’s eviscerate?” Marie asked. Harry shook his head as he pulled the Cloak over it and left for the kitchens.

Harry dodged students who were now streaming out of the Great Hall and swarming around the Great Staircase to get back to the kitchens. He snuck inside, narrowly missing discovery by a group of Hufflepuffs when he stuck his hand out to tickle the pear. He took his Cloak off and stood uncertainly in the doorway trying to figure out what to do with his used kitchen utensils and was immediately bowled over by a small flying figure who wrapped itself around his knees, wailing.

“Harry Potter mustn’t be dying!” squeaked a house elf pitifully. It was Winky, dressed in a filthy tea towel, tears trailing down her cheeks and dripping off the end of her nose.

“I’m not dying,” said Harry gently, trying to pry the little house elf from his person. “I’m fine.”

“The newspapers-”

“Exaggerate a lot,” Harry said, crouching down to look the little elf in the eye.

“You is green,” Winky said, sniffing.

“I know,” Harry lamented. “I don’t know when I’ll stop being green.”

“You has Dragon Pox?”

“No!” protested Harry.

“You is green,” Winky said firmly. “You has Dragon Pox.” Suddenly the little elf winked out of existence. Harry stared blankly at where she had been before he shrugged and put his used crockery on a table and turned to leave. He got no further than a few steps before Winky popped back into existence in front of him.

“Harry Potter has Dragon Pox and is going to the hospital wing,” Winky said, grasping Harry’s leg. With a sickening lurch, Harry found himself in the middle of the hospital wing.

“Winky!” The little elf winked out of existence before he could say anything else.

“Mr Potter!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, looking startled, her hand at her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said irritably.

“I say, Mr Potter, are you … green?”

“It’s just my cheeks-”

“I thought you had Spattergroit,” the Matron fussed as she bustled over and peered up at him. She reached up and grasped his chin, turning his face sideways to inspect him before she harrumphed emphatically.

“I don’t have Spattergroit!” Harry said in sheer frustration. “I don’t have anything!”

“Molly did say you were indisposed …” Madam Pomfrey reached up and pulled his head down inspecting the top of his head. Harry wriggled out of her grasp but she pierced him with a steely look and pointed to a chair imperiously. Harry sighed heavily and sat down.

“I’m fine.”

“People who are fine, Potter, are not green.”

“Look, it’s just-” Harry’s words died in a strangled gurgling sound as Madam Pomfrey poured a thick grey-green potion down his throat unexpectedly. Harry glared at her.

“It’s clearly Dragon Pox,” Madam Pomfrey said, “and I don’t need you infecting the rest of the students.”

“But … Pye said that everyone’s had Dragon Pox by the time they get to Hogwarts,” Harry said sticking his tongue out and trying to will the disgusting taste from it.

“Pye?” Madam Pomfrey inquired. She turned and glared at Harry. “That … charlatan!”

“What did you just give me?” Harry asked, giving up on trying to expel the taste of the potion with thin air and scrubbing at his tongue with the end of his jumper sleeve.

“Dragon Pox cure,” the Matron said briskly.

“But — but Pye said he couldn’t give me that because he didn’t know how it would react to the inoculation-”

“Inoculation?” Madam Pomfrey asked in a very disapproving tone. She eyed Harry grimly. “That man is a menace to good wizarding medicine. Why would he inoculate you-”

“He didn’t,” Harry said. “I got caught in Teddy’s … erm … steam.”

“Well,” Madam Pomfrey said briskly. “It seems to have worked. Your forehead is green now.”

“But that means it’s spreading!” Harry said in horror. “They said they couldn’t give me the cure-”

“Oh, they did, did they?” Madam Pomfrey sniffed and summoned a pair of hospital pyjamas. “The green should spread before it is cured so, clearly the cure was what you needed. You’ll be fine in the morning, Potter. Now get into bed. You’ll be spending the night here.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said with a stern frown. “I will not hesitate to get Molly Weasley down here.” She indicated a bed near the door and turned and swept away into her office.

Harry glared at the pyjamas and savagely kicked off his shoes. He knew that not only would Madam Pomfrey make good on her threat to call Molly, but she’d find something evil-tasting to force feed him again if he tried to leave. He pulled the curtain around the bed with a sharp tug and smiled satisfactorily when the curtain ripped a little. He’d change into the stupid pyjamas and he’d get into the bed and then ... when that prison warden they called a Matron went to bed he’d sneak out and go find Ginny.

Harry pulled the pyjamas on viciously and stomped over to the bed. There wasn’t even anyone in here to talk to. He pulled out the drawers of the bedside table irritably, looking for something to do. Nothing. No left behind sweets, no Quidditch magazines, not even a manky old History of Magic textbook. Harry sighed heavily and climbed into the bed. He might as well make this look good.

Madam Pomfrey came past only moments later, snuffed out the torches and left Harry Potter sleeping soundly in the Hospital Wing.

********************

Harry could hear whispering and he pulled his covers higher over his ears to block it out.

It didn’t work.

“D’you think he’s contagious?”

“It doesn’t look like Spattergroit …”

“It’s probably the Blibbering Humdingers.”

“He wasn’t purple yesterday …”

Harry pushed the covers away from his face and cracked his eyes open to find Ron staring at him avidly.

“What are you doing here?” Harry grumbled, straightening his glasses that were twisted and squashed into his left eyebrow. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Did you know that you’re purple, mate?”

“I’m what?” Harry looked at Ron blankly.

“Purple,” Ron said seriously. “Your face. Is purple.”

“It’s green,” Harry said stupidly. Ron shook his head solemnly and Harry swore.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice was timid. Harry looked up to find her standing at the foot of his bed, chewing on her lip and looking paler than he’d ever seen her. The sun was streaming through the windows of the hospital wing and Harry suddenly realised he’d fallen asleep and been there all night.

“I look worse than I feel,” Harry attempted to reassure her. He sat up and Ginny just clambered up onto the bed and crawled into his lap.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered into his neck as he wound his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Harry, you don’t know how bad you look,” Luna said serenely as she conjured an ornate hand-mirror and handed it to him. Harry took the mirror hesitantly. He glanced once at Hermione, who was wringing her hands, before peering into the mirror.

“The problem is,” Neville began, “purple’s not really your colour and it sort of … clashes with your eyes …”

“Yes,” Harry said dryly as he gazed into the mirror. “That’s my biggest problem — a fashion disaster!”

His face was a sort of mauve colour, the kind of shade usually reserved for the dainty embroidered initials on the handkerchiefs Aunt Petunia used to buy for Dudley to give Aunt Marge for Christmas. Ginny snuggled closer to him and Harry felt her warm fingers slide between the buttons of his pyjama top and caress his chest.

“Dragon Pox isn’t supposed to make you go purple is it?”

Ron shook his head solemnly. Hermione opened her mouth but Harry cut her off — not wanting to listen to an entire thesis on Dragon Pox side effects.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but why are you all here?” Harry sneezed violently and a lone spark landed with a pathetic fizzle on the bedspread.

“Madam Pomfrey said we could come in with Ron before classes,” Neville said. “We’ll have to get going soon. Last thing we need is end up late for Potions and then come out of Potions late and be late for Muggle Studies and have Crockwell do her nut and-”

“Has Pomfrey seen me?” Harry asked suddenly. “Does she know I’m purple?”

“No,” Ginny said slowly. “She said you were sleeping so she didn’t disturb you. She thought you’d be back to … normal.” Ginny touched his cheek tentatively.

“Well, I’m not!” Harry said peevishly. “She gave me the Dragon Pox cure last night. It’s probably reacted with the stupid inoculation and now … I look like a bloody old lady’s hanky!”

“Speaking of old lady’s hankies …” Neville said, shifting from one foot to the other in agitation.

“Why’ve you suddenly got the willies over Crockwell?” Ginny asked, nudging Neville with her toe.

“She has been an absolute bear all weekend!” Neville cried. “Something has crawled up her nose and died!”

“Neville!” Hermione exclaimed, screwing up her face. “That’s disgusting!”

“Hey, at least he didn’t say it crawled up her bu-”

“Ron!”

“She’s normally so …” Hermione trailed off and shrugged.

“Like Umbridge without the evil?” Ginny said sarcastically. Neville shivered.

“Serene,” Hermione said, looking sternly at Ginny. Ginny just shrugged and laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wished the rest of them would all go away and leave him and Ginny alone.

“How did you end up in here anyway?” Ron asked. “Dad said you Flooed into the common room.” Harry sighed and recounted his trip to the kitchens.

“And then Winky made me come here!”

“And Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord and two time survivor of the Killing Curse, is unable to dodge an old lady with a medicine bottle,” Ron smirked. Harry tossed a pillow at his head.

“We really need to go,” Neville whined.

“The dirigerbils might trap us on the way if we don’t go soon.”

“No,” Neville said impatiently, “they won’t. Professor Crockwell will make us polish things again — without magic!”

“I think you are being a little irrational, Neville,” Hermione said. She picked up her book bag nonetheless.

“Well,” Neville said, crossing his arms. “It wasn’t you she stalked in Hogsmeade was it?”

“She stalked you?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Don’t be daft,” Ron said. “Just because we saw her in The Three Broomsticks and Madam Puddifoots and Schrivenshafts-”

“What were you doing in Madam Puddifoots?” Harry broke in, amused.

“We weren’t!” Hermione said in horror. “We were merely walking past to get to that new flower shop.”

“She was in there with some odd-looking bloke,” Ron said, throwing himself into the chair by Harry’s bed.

“I like how she’s off having a nice cup of tea with some … beau, while I slave away doing her detention,” Ginny grumbled.

“Beau?” Harry asked with a grin. Ginny swatted his arm.

“Can we go now?” Neville whined.

“Oh, fine,” Ginny sighed. She pressed a lingering kiss to Harry’s lips and slid off his lap. “Let’s go get this out of the way …”

“See you, Harry,” Neville called as he grabbed Luna and Ginny by their sleeves and pulled them out of the hospital wing. Hermione followed swiftly and the door swung shut behind them with a soft thump.

“So,” Ron said, propping his feet on the end of Harry’s bed, “what d’you think your chances are of getting out of here when Pomfrey discovers you are purple?”

Harry threw his remaining pillow at Ron’s head.

***********************

There was only one thing worse than being trapped in bed at The Burrow by Molly Weasley, and that was being trapped in bed in the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey. She’d allowed Ron to stay and keep him company, without which, Harry thought he might just have gone mad.

Of course being beaten in six straight chess games by Ron wasn’t exactly fun; Harry was unable to talk the chess pieces into playing checkers. Both black and white walked off the board rather than play a game so far beneath them. Ron went and got some Exploding Snap cards then and they’d played that happily until Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot arrived in the hospital wing having been bitten by a semi-carnivorous plant during Herbology.

Harry briefly contemplated trying to sneak out while Madam Pomfrey was staunching the flow of Terry Boot’s blood. Unfortunately Anthony Goldstein, who was nursing an icepack on his head where the plant had gotten him back, reminded Madam Pomfrey that Harry was still there.

“Oi, Potter, rumour had it you were green with yellow Spattergroit spots?” Anthony called across the hospital wing. “When did you turn purple?”

“Spattergroit spots are purple — ow!” Terry said as Madam Pomfrey pulled on his arm as she fixed Harry with a glare.

“Don’t even think about it, Mr Potter.”

“Is it just me, or is she more particular this year?” Ron asked in a low voice after the Matron had left.

“She’s more particular,” Terry said glumly from his bed.

“She doesn’t like to lose students,” Anthony added, looking absurd in his turban of bandages.

“Lose ‘em?” Harry grunted. “How can she lose anyone when she practically chains ‘em to a bed?”

“Last year,” Terry said gruffly, “she lost students.” He was silent after that and Harry just stared at him.

“How do you lose students?” Ron asked, tipping himself back in his chair and idly staring at the ceiling.

“It’s easy, Weasley,” Anthony said harshly. “When they die, you’ve lost them.”

Ron’s chair thumped to the floor, echoing throughout the silent room.

“Die?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes,” Terry answered quietly. “Duncan Blatchford died just before Christmas last year because no one was allowed to bring him to the hospital wing. She couldn’t save him by the time Ernie snuck him up here.”

“They started kicking us out,” Anthony added. “That Amycus sent Meredith Cornwell back to class with a nosebleed. It’s lucky someone had a purple Nosebleed Nougat in their pocket.”

“I don’t know how Fred and George got ‘em in to us,” Terry said, shifting in his bed until he’d loosened the covers. “But I reckon Ginny must’ve said something because it was like there was a never ending supply of ‘em — not the orange ones, just the purple. Dead useful they were for stopping all sorts of bleeding.”

“The only patients Pomfrey ever had by the end of last year were Slytherins,” Anthony continued. “She knew the rest of us were hurting because we’d sneak in and steal supplies. She knew we were doing it and she started leaving the cabinets unlocked and extra bandages out.”

“And blood replenishing potion,” Terry chimed in. “Dunno where she was getting it though. Slughorn used to slip us all sorts of potions because the Carrows wouldn’t let him stock the hospital wing.”

“I still say it was Snape,” Anthony mused. “That blood replenishing was top notch.”

“Probably,” murmured Harry.

“So, Potter, why are you purple?”

**********************

“I thought she’d never let them go,” Ron whispered, staring after Madam Pomfrey as she swished back into her office after lecturing Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot about ‘playing with magical plant life’ and shooing them out the door.

“We should wait,” Ron said thoughtfully. “There’s still a lot of students about. We should wait until they are all safely out of the way, it’ll give Pomfrey a chance to get tucked up in bed too.”

“You really should stay here, Harry-”

“Oh, rubbish, Hermione,” Ron hissed. “He’s not sick, he hasn’t been all week. He’s just surrounded by fussing women!”

“Ron!” Hermione glared at him. “I am not fussing! It’s not normal for a person to be purple.”

“I don’t know why everyone’s so bent out of shape over it,” Ron shrugged. “Harry’s not normal.”

“Shove off,” Harry muttered as he scrambled out of the bed.

“Shhhhh!”

“Hermione, you shush,” Harry grumbled, searching for his clothes. “I am sick of being stuck in bloody bed and if I don’t get out of here I am going to go stark, staring mad!” He pulled his pyjama top over his head and picked up his shirt. He grimaced at the purple flush spreading down his chest.

“Oi!” Ron said lazily. “Stop disrobing in front of my woman.” He grinned as Hermione turned on him, unleashing a verbal assault of angry words about respect. Ron winked at Harry who mouthed ‘thank you’ in return and finished dressing behind Hermione’s back.

“And lastly, I would have though your mother would have instilled in you some modicum of respect! Ron Weasley, I am asha-”

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through her tirade. “A word, if I may?”

Harry froze, his Invisibility Cloak in hand, and attempted to look completely innocent. He failed. Professor McGonagall raised one eyebrow at him and looked pointedly at Ron.

“Professor!” Hermione exclaimed. “I … we … well, er …”

“That will do, Miss Granger,” the professor interrupted gently. “As nostalgic as it makes me feel to see you three plotting mischief and an after curfew tour through the castle, I am afraid I have a rather urgent message.”

It was then that Harry noticed the Headmistress looked worried, her forehead creased and brows drawn together.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“If you will come with me,” Professor McGonagall said smoothly. “Miss Weasley is waiting for us in my office-”

“I’m not going all the way up there before you tell us why you look like you have bad news,” Ron said bluntly.

“I need you to come to my office, Mr Weasley, because that is where the Portkey is,” Professor McGonagall said, fixing Ron with a piercing stare.

“Portkey?” Ron asked blankly. “What’s happened?” His face changed rapidly from confused to furious.

“You are needed at home,” the Headmistress said. “Miss Granger, Mr Potter — you too, there is a family emergency.” She turned and swept towards the doors to the hospital wing.

“A what?” Ron called. “What does that mean?” He ran after the Headmistress and Harry scrambled to gather his cloak and shove his feet into his shoes. Hermione picked up her book bag and trotted after Ron, leaving Harry to hop awkwardly on his left foot as he tried to pull the heel of his trainer on his other.

Professor McGonagall did not turn as she walked purposefully down the corridors to her office. She gave the password, ‘Knitting Patterns,’ to the gargoyles guarding the entrance and stepped onto the spiral staircase.

“Come along,” she said as she rode up and turned out of sight. Harry, Ron and Hermione hastily scrambled onto the stone steps and then practically jumped off at the top and hurled themselves through the doorway into the circular office.

Ginny was sitting in one of the cushy armchairs in front of McGonagall’s desk. Her face was thunderous and she was glaring at the wall behind the desk. Harry looked up and saw Dumbledore’s portrait, eyes twinkling as he watched her. But it wasn’t his portrait Ginny was glaring at.

“I can assure you, Miss Weasley that I did not intend to be here.”

The portrait of the sallow-faced, hook-nosed former Potions teacher and Headmaster sneered as it spoke. Snape’s portrait was no more endearing than his person had been. He was dressed in his customary black, looking haggard and bat-like as he hovered in the ornate, gilt frame. There was a red armchair in the corner of the portrait but Severus Snape stood ramrod straight in the middle of the painting.

“I don’t care about what you supposedly did,” Ginny spat. “You still let them in here! You still let them-”

“Miss Weasley, that is enough,” Professor McGonagall cut in, laying a gentle hand on Ginny’s arm. “We must have this discussion another day-”

“No!” Ron suddenly burst out. “Let’s have it now! I want to hear what the greasy git has to say for himself! Do you know students died here last year, Snape? How can you live with that?”

“Indeed, Mr Weasley,” Snape drawled. “In case you have forgotten, I do not live with anything, for I am, in fact, dead.”

“Students?” McGonagall interjected. “As far as I was aware there was only one student who died here under Professor Snape’s leadership-”

“The Battle wasn’t real then?” Ron snapped.

“Technically that was after Professor Snape had left and-”

“Hermione, I don’t care!” Ron growled. “It doesn’t matter who was actually here! As I recall people died! My brother died!”

“So the world has one less Weasley brat in it?” Snape sneered. “Something good did come of all this after all, it’s a pity it wasn’t you.”

“Severus-” Professor’s McGonagall’s shocked remonstration was cut short by Ginny’s wordless scream as she jumped out of her chair and levelled her wand at the portrait. Harry leapt forward to hold her back and he wasn’t quite sure why because his hands itched to tear the portrait down off the wall and plunge a knife into the smirking, sallow face over and over again.

“Ginny,” he murmured in her ear, gripping her tightly. “Don’t let him get to you.” Ginny whirled on him and snarled like a cat. Harry pulled her closer and kissed the side of her head and she sighed heavily.

“You bastard!” Ron shouted suddenly. “We’ve been defending you, but you never changed! You’re still the slimy, self-serving, loathsome git you’ve always been.”

“Weasley, I am dead,” Snape said calmly. “I am not now as I have always been.”

“Quite right, Severus, quite right,” Dumbledore said, his eyes still twinkling. “One can only remain as one was.”

“Well, you’ve clearly remained as you always were,” Snape said, staring viciously towards the painting of Dumbledore. “Still as cryptic as ever. Have you quite finished manipulating things to suit yourself?”

“My dear boy-”

“Don’t you ‘dear boy’ me!”

“Albus!” Professor McGonagall groaned. “If you persist in antagonising Severus in this fashion please do it in the dead of night when I do not have to listen to your petty squabbles.”

“I was talking to Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. Snape’s portrait scowled. Dumbledore ignored his painted colleague and smiled at Harry. “I hear that you’ve met Glenda?”

“Yes …” Harry glanced at Snape who was scowling at him. “She said she, er … knew you?”

“Who on earth is Glenda?” McGonagall asked irritably. “We don’t have a student called Glenda-”

“Actually there’s a third year Ravenclaw whose Christian name is Glenda she just prefers-”

“That will do, Miss Granger.”

“Don’t these brats have somewhere to be?” Snape interjected snidely.

“No, wait,” Harry said. “What can you tell us about Glenda, Professor?”

“She is an uncommonly wise witch, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “She speaks only the truth.”

“Now you’re talking in riddles like she does,” Ron grumbled.

“Ah, Mr Weasley, you have met her too?”

“Did you have the amulet?” Harry said urgently, waving at Ron to be quiet. “What is it for? How does it work?”

“I believe you can figure that out,” Dumbledore said enigmatically. “You have the means at your disposal.”

“Telling me I already know what I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “You’re as bad as she is.”

“Always has been,” Snape grumbled. Harry shot him a glance and his mouth quirked up in an involuntary grin. Snape’s painted visage shuddered. “Don’t start bonding with me, Potter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said, straight-faced.

“Potter!” barked Snape suddenly. “Why are you purple?” Harry glared at the painting and turned to Professor McGonagall.

“Why did you have us meet here?” he asked wearily.

“Thank you, Mr Potter,” the Headmistress said with a sigh. “I think it is imperative that we move on to more pressing matters. You are required at home-”

“All of us, Professor?” Hermione interrupted. “It will leave the school without the Head Boy and Girl-”

“You’re not Head Boy, surely, Weasley?” Snape interrupted.

“No, I’m not,” Ron growled. “But I could have been-”

“Not in Potter’s shadow, you couldn’t,” said Snape. Ron drew his wand, advancing on the painting. Harry and Hermione both moved to hold him back.

“I’m not in anyone’s shadow,” Ron said through clenched teeth.

“Really, Severus,” Dumbledore said with a twinkling smile. “You’re not helping.”

“If you are quite finished with this display?” Professor McGonagall’s lips had disappeared in a thin line and she was wearing her most disapproving glare. “As I was saying, you are required at home and yes, Miss Granger, I realise both the Head Boy and the Head Girl will be gone, but this cannot be helped. We will get along quite fine without you until this matter is resolved. I am sure Mr Longbottom will fill in admirably in your absence-”

“Longbottom?” Snape’s portrait scoffed. “Longbottom couldn’t fill in a crossword with a Solve-It quill!”

“Severus!” McGonagall snapped, losing her last shred of patience. She drew her wand and threw a silencing spell at Snape’s portrait.

“He’s been a little irritable since he woke up,” Dumbledore confided with a wink. “But no more irascible than usual.”

“Albus,” McGonagall warned. She turned back to her students. “Please, take hold of this Portkey. I need to activate it. Your mother will explain everything when you arrive.”

Harry had only seconds to grab hold of the dustbin lid before he felt the jerk behind his navel and landed, sprawling in a heap on the floor of The Burrow’s kitchen.

“Oh, thank goodness you are here!” Molly exclaimed. She bustled over to Ginny and pulled her up off the floor, enveloping both her and Hermione in a fervent hug. Harry stood up slowly and looked around the kitchen, noting the tense stance of Bill and Arthur, the worried look etched on Percy’s features and the pale, drawn look on Angelina’s face. Fleur was pushing a cup of hot chocolate across the table to her sister-in-law and she looked more worried than Harry had ever seen her.

“What’s going on, Mum?” Ron demanded loudly. “I had to go through Snape to get here, there better be a damn good reason for it!”

“Professor Snape’s dead, Ron,” Arthur said bluntly, rubbing his face wearily.

“He’s got a portrait,” Ron snapped. “Whose idea was it to put him up there with all the great headmasters and so on? If I ever get my hands on the git I’ll show him what I think of that stupid idea.”

“It was me, Ron,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Ron replied weakly, before adding hotly, “well, he’s still a git. What sort of sadistic bastard smiles when you tell him your brother’s dead and reckons it’s a pity it wasn’t you?”

Angelina let out a strangled cry and began sobbing in earnest as Ron spoke. Ginny looked at her in alarm.

“Shut up, Ron,” she said urgently. “Mum, why are we here? Where’s George?”

Her only answer was Angelina’s heart-wrenching sobbing.