Harry's Head of House

Chapter 2

On a bright, warm September afternoon, the Gryffindor first years had their first flying lesson together with the Slytherins. Harry looked forward to the class with a mixture of expectation and anxiousness and was utmost relieved when at least the school broom instantly obeyed to his words and came into his hand.

Unfortunately, before they could even took into the air, Neville, whom Harry liked a lot, had an accident and had to be taken to the hospital wing. 'Pour Neville,' Harry mused, who so far had been the only Gryffindor first year that had experienced a stay in Madam Pomfrey's clutches. However, he was quickly pulled out of his thoughts when Draco Malfoy grabbed Neville's Remembrall, taking it into the air.

"Here, come and get it back, Potter," the boy told him, provoking Harry enough to mount the broom he held in his hands and begin to fly in spite of Madam Hooch's order to stay on the ground.

A few minutes later, Harry was back, proudly showing his classmates the Remembrall, which he had caught out of the air. However, the smile disappeared from his face when the Ravenclaw Head of House strode towards the group, sternly calling his name.

'Oh no, please don't let me get expelled,' Harry thought horrified when he followed the teacher back into the castle. However, to his great surprise, Professor McGonagall led him to the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, suggesting to Oliver to appoint him as Seeker.

"But Professor, you aren't even our Head of House this year. Won't you mind Gryffindor having a good Seeker?" Oliver asked astonished, looking curiously at Harry.

"I'm a Gryffindor through and through, Mr. Wood," the elder woman replied firmly. "There is of course the possibility that Professor Snape won't allow it, considering that Mr. Potter is only a first year. I'll speak to Professors Snape and Dumbledore after the last afternoon class."

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Professor McGonagall kept her word and spoke with her two colleagues as soon as possible.

"You found a Seeker for my House, Minerva?" Snape asked incredulously. "And who might that be?"

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall beamed. "I saw him catch Mr. Longbottom's Remembrall out of the air on his first ride on a broom. He is a natural flyer and Seeker."

Snape sighed, seeing that the Headmaster was watching Minerva and him in clear amusement. "First of all, Potter is a first year. I have no problem breaking the first year rule of course, if the two of you don't mind. However, I'm not sure if Potter is allowed to play Quidditch at all," he replied thoughtfully.

"Who would forbid him to play?" McGonagall asked in surprise.

"He has asthma," Severus told her softly, "and his overall condition is anything but good. I have to ask Poppy, and if she agrees, he may play."

"Asthma?" McGonagall repeated unbelievingly.

"Oh sorry, Minerva, I only told the Headmaster about Poppy's findings and forgot that you might be interested," Snape apologized. "Poppy found out that Potter was abused and neglected by his relatives."

"Albus!" McGonagall blurted out, horrified. "Yes Severus, I am interested, because Lily was always like a daughter to me and Harry like a grandchild. And I would have loved to take the boy in when his parents died!" she ranted, throwing the Headmaster a murderous glare. "Believe me, Albus, this is not the last conversation we had about the matter."

"Yes my dear," the Headmaster sighed, popping a lemon drop into his mouth.

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After dinner, Professor Snape called Harry and Oliver into his office and had a stern conversation with Harry, explaining to him that the air would get thinner as higher as he flew and that it was possible he would get breathing problems while flying. "Only under the condition that you come down immediately if you notice that you're beginning to have breathing problems, even if it is in the midst of a Quidditch match, you may play. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied eagerly, and Oliver was allowed to take him out on the grounds for a first introduction into Quidditch.

"That's brilliant," the whole Quidditch team cheered when Oliver and Harry returned to the common room later on and a longer discussion developed about having Professor Snape as a Head of House being not too bad.

"Though it was McGonagall, who suggested him to me in spite of not being our Head of House anymore," Oliver threw in.

"Why do you think Dumbledore decided to change the Heads of House?" one of the Weasley twins asked, causing a heated discussion about the matter, which ended with the final result, "He's probably going nuts."

"Harry, your father was a Chaser, and he once won the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor. Did you know that?" Hermione asked Harry, who was sitting between her and Ron on a comfortable sofa.

"I had no idea," Harry admitted, feeling completely amazed. 'That's so cool. My father would probably be proud of me,' he mused, when the girl continued to speak.

"I'll show you something tomorrow," she promised, smiling.

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After dinner the next day, Hermione led Ron and Harry into the Trophy room, showing them a trophy that held the name 'James Potter'.

"My father," Harry whispered in amazement, unable to explain to his friends that it was the first time he had seen his father's name written somewhere.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione enquired all of a sudden, noticing that Harry seemed to have trouble breathing.

"I'm fine. I just have to get out of here; it's too dusty here," Harry replied quickly, although a small voice at the back of his mind told him, 'You're not fine. Since the morning you've already known that you caught a cold.'

They hurriedly left the room, and Hermione gave the boy a piercing look, noticing that his eyes were glazed over and sweat was covering his face, although it was far from hot in the corridor. Before Harry even knew what happened, she gently put a cold hand on his forehead that felt quite warm to the touch.

"Harry, we're going to take you to the hospital wing," she said determined, and Harry, who was coughing and breathing heavily, felt bad enough to grudgingly agree.

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After a glance at Harry, Madam Pomfrey returned to her office and came back with an asthma spray in form of a small stuffed dragon. She gently showed Harry that he had to push one of the dragon's feet, so that it worked magically.

"That's brilliant," Harry replied, feeling the effects immediately.

"I've seen a Muggle asthma spray before, and compared to that this one is absolutely amazing," Hermione agreed.

"Please keep the dragon with you at all times," Pomfrey instructed Harry and motioned him to lie down on a bed, so that she could check on him. "Quite a cold you have, Mr. Potter," she diagnosed and fetched a small goblet with Pepper-up potion for him.

"That's much better," Harry said in relief, feeling the potion take effect immediately. "Thanks a lot, Madam Pomfrey."

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," the Mediwitch replied, pointing her wand at Harry's head to take his temperature once more. "Nevertheless, I'm going to keep you here overnight," she decided, ignoring Harry's groan. "You may come and fetch him in time for breakfast, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley."

Harry's two friends obediently bade him good night and left the hospital wing, leaving a very sleepy Harry behind.

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"Be glad that she kept you there last night," Ron told Harry on their way down to the Great Hall the next morning. "On our way back to Gryffindor, we got lost."

Harry let out a small snort. "Yeah, I should always stay in the hospital wing; that's definitely better than to get lost."

"Harry!" Hermione said sternly. "Believe me, yesterday it was. We found ourselves face to face with a three headed dog, who was licking his lips in anticipation."

After his friends had told him everything about their adventure, Harry had to agree that it had been a good timing to catch a cold.

Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey noticed soon that Harry hadn't exaggerated when he told them that he got sick once in a fortnight. Unfortunately, every second time it was worse than a cold, so that he had to stay in the hospital wing for a few days. The Mediwitch always kept Harry long enough to be sure that he was completely well, because she feared that he might get a lung infection due to the damage on his lungs if she let him go too early. Hermione visited Harry every day after classes, helping him to catch up with his studies whenever Pomfrey allowed him to study, and over the time the two first years became very close friends.

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One day, on which Harry's head began to hurt badly during the class with Professor Quirrel, he remembered that he wanted to speak with Professor Snape about the headaches he got in Quirrel's presence, and he hesitantly visited his Head of House in his office right after the last afternoon class.

"Where does it exactly hurt?" the professor enquired alarmed. "Is it your scar, Potter?"

"I'm not sure, but I think so. It's not always that bad. Sometimes, it's only a little sting, but at other times it really hurts a lot and it causes my whole head to become sore for the rest of the day," Harry replied carefully, causing the teacher to groan inwardly.

"I noticed that Professor Quirrel behaves slightly out of character this school year, and I already have a suspect what might be wrong," Snape said thoughtfully. "Potter, the next time it gets really bad, tell him you need to go to the hospital wing and instead come to my classroom to fetch me, or better tell Ms. Granger to call me and wait for me."

"All right," Harry replied, feeling very much consoled by the teacher's promise to help him. However, the next weeks passed quietly. Harry enjoyed his classes very much and always studied together with Hermione in the afternoons and evenings. Ron often joined them for their homework, but he didn't like to work as much as Hermione and Harry did.

"I'm glad that you like to study just like me," Hermione told Harry one evening, "unlike the others, who ridicule me all the time they see me looking into a book."

'Well, I never owned a book of my own before, so it's only natural that I love to read everything I get in my fingers,' Harry mused, smiling at his friend.

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A few days before Halloween, Harry's scar began to bother him again, but it never became bad enough to call Professor Snape. One morning, however, Harry woke up early, finding that he could hardly breathe. He quickly used the spray, which he always held close, but noticed that it only helped so much. 'Should I go to Madam Pomfrey?' he mused but dismissed the thought, remembering that so far everything had gone away by itself. 'She'd surely keep me there, and I don't want to miss classes,' he thought while he slowly dragged himself to the Defence classroom.

Unfortunately, an hour in the presence of Professor Quirrel didn't help improve his condition, and by the time Harry quietly followed his friends up to the Transfiguration classroom he had a splitting headache, which didn't go unnoticed by his friends and the teacher. "Mr. Potter, please stay for a moment," McGonagall told him when she dismissed the class. Noticing that Hermione was throwing him a concerned look she allowed the girl to accompany them into her office. "Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?" she asked softly, looking closely into his flushed face.

"Yes, I'm fine," Harry replied, groaning inwardly at the attention. "It's just that I always get a headache in Professor Quirrel's presence, and we just had Defence before Transfiguration."

"I don't think so, Harry. You already looked ill before our Defence class," Hermione threw in and quickly felt his forehead, before Harry could protest. "You're warm."

Professor McGonagall frowned and fetched an old Muggle thermometer from her drawer, which she handed Harry. "Please take your temperature under your armpit and in the meantime tell us what the matter with Professor Quirrel and headaches is."

Harry sighed but grudgingly obeyed. "My head, or maybe it's my scar, always hurts when I'm in his company for a longer time. I don't know why. I already spoke to Professor Snape about it, and he told me to call him if it was really bad, but so far it wasn't," he explained, noticing that his voice slowly began to fade.

"You have quite a fever, Mr. Potter," the professor stated, looking at the thermometer that Harry had handed back without even glancing at it. "Ms. Granger, could you please escort Mr. Potter to the hospital wing? No," she corrected herself immediately. "I want to speak with Madam Pomfrey myself."

"A lung infection, Mr. Potter. This time you're in for at least a week of absolute bed rest," Madam Pomfrey told him, but Harry felt so awful that he couldn't care less.

The Mediwitch insisted that Harry wasn't allowed to have visitors; nevertheless, she let Professors Snape and McGonagall as well as Hermione keep him company under the condition that they didn't speak about classes and let Harry rest. Hermione spent all her free time sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, doing her homework when he was asleep and talking to him when he was awake. One day, she stormed into the hospital wing, burying her head in Harry's bed covers, sobbing vehemently.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry enquired hoarsely, gently stroking the girl's cool cheeks, causing the girl to cry even more.

Madam Pomfrey, who was always watching her patients like a hawk, strode over to Harry's bed and gently led the girl to the next bed, motioning her to sit down. "Now, you'll calm down and quietly tell me what's wrong. I can give you a calming draught if necessary. Harry is still very ill with a high fever and you may not upset him," she said in a gentle but firm voice, causing Hermione to give her a weary nod.

All of a sudden, the doors to the hospital wing were flung open with a 'bang'.

I'm not a native speaker of English; please excuse my mistakes or tell me, so that I can correct them.

All recognizable characters belong to J.K.Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story.