Harry Potter and the Polka Dot Plague

Chapter 5 - Too Close for Comfort

Harry woke up to the sound of voices nearby. At first he thought he'd only been asleep for a short time, but when he opened his eyes he could see bright sunlight streaming in through the window. Dumbledore and Pomfrey had gone. Snape, unfortunately, was still there. He was talking to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy witch, who sat in a low chair next to his bed. She had a leather-bound notebook in her lap and appeared to be taking notes on whatever Snape was saying to her. Harry could see that she had already covered at least one page with her tiny, dense writing. Snape looked even more pale and ragged than when he'd first come in. There was a perfectly straight line of teal and amber dots along his left cheekbone; it had definitely not been there earlier.

"…For the First-year orientation meeting," he was saying in a hoarse whisper, "which is *not* the same as the weekly House meetings - those take place on Sunday evenings. The agendas for the first month are in the green notebook on the desk in my study. You can't possibly miss it, it says 'Meeting Agendas' in big black letters on the cover." His tone made it clear that he was expecting her to miss it anyway.

Professor Sinistra looked annoyed and slightly overwhelmed at the same time. "Severus…"

"I'm not finished yet. The Dueling Club meets on Tuesday nights and-"

"The what? Severus, Hogwarts doesn't have a Dueling Club!"

"Slytherin House does. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, it meets on Tuesday nights and alternate Saturday mornings. If you don't feel… adequate to running the sessions yourself, get Adrian Pucey or Draco Malfoy to do it for you."

"I'll handle it." Professor Sinistra made another note. Snape started to say something else, but was forestalled by another coughing fit. It went on for a long time, even after Professor Sinistra conjured him a glass of water. "Look, Severus, why don't we finish this at another time? You're not well-"

"Why, thank you for pointing that out, Octavia. I never would've noticed myself." Snape's sneer, while not quite up to his usual standards, was still thoroughly nasty. "The sooner we finish this conversation, the sooner I can pass out in peace, so kindly stop interrupting. Malcolm Baddock's birthday is on the ninth. Pansy Parkinson's is on the twenty-third, but I hope to be out of here by then, so you probably won't have to worry about it."

"Severus-"

"The tutoring assignments must be done by the end of the week. Make sure everyone who signs up gets a tutor. If there aren't enough volunteers, draft somebody. The review sessions for the O.W.Ls are-" Snape coughed again. Professor Sinistra took advantage of the interruption to make her escape, promising to return at another time and ignoring Snape's wheezed protests that he wasn't finished yet.

Harry felt a momentary pang for the Slytherins, having to go through seven years of school with Severus Snape micromanaging every aspect of their lives. Weekly House meetings and mandatory tutoring - it was enough to make anybody go evil.

Once they were alone, Snape seemed to notice for the first time that Harry was awake.

"Potter," he muttered darkly. "This is all your fault, of course."

"My fault?" Ill as he was, Harry found he still had the energy to feel outraged. "What, you think I got ill on purpose?"

Snape stared at him with an expression of pure loathing that would've been quite menacing if not for the polka dots. "If you had gone to the infirmary as soon as you felt ill, like a sensible child, Madam Pomfrey would've come to me last night. I could've brewed a cure for us both before I became incapacitated. Now we'll be stuck here for days while that twit Cogsworth tries to work out how to boil water."

"I didn't know!" Harry protested. "I thought I just had a cold or something."

"'I didn't know!'" Snape mimicked in a gross exaggeration of Harry's tone. "Handy excuse, that. If you had given the matter a few moments' intelligent thought-but no, I suppose that's too much to expect."

Harry couldn't see how any amount of intelligent thought could've told him he had the Skittles when he hadn't even heard of the Skittles until this morning; but he couldn't see any point in arguing about it, either. Snape was not going to listen to anything he said. Besides, much as he hated to admit it, Harry was starting to feel a bit guilty. Both Ron and Hermione had tried to get him to go to the infirmary the night before, and he hadn't listened. Now it looked as if Snape might actually die just from bumping into Harry in the hallway, which, Harry had to admit, was really rotten luck.

Against his will, Harry found himself remembering the dead, empty-eyed face of Cedric Diggory. Cedric, too, had died simply from standing next to Harry at the wrong time. Harry couldn't have predicted it any more than he could've predicted getting the Skittles, but that didn't make Cedric any less dead, did it?

Harry's indignation evaporated; suddenly he found he couldn't quite look Snape in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he muttered sullenly and rolled over to face the wall.

Much to Harry's relief, Snape had nothing else to say, and they sank into an uncompanionable silence broken only by periodic coughing fits from Snape's side of the room. Harry's own chest was beginning to ache when he breathed, and he suspected it wouldn't be too long before he started hacking too. Maybe then they could compete to see who'd bring up a lung first.

Staring at the wall was not an especially exciting pastime, and Harry was just starting to doze off when Madam Pomfrey came in again.

"Visitors," she announced just as Hagrid followed her in. The room suddenly began to feel very crowded.

"Hallo, Harry!" Hagrid boomed. "Hallo, Professor. I've just come back with yer Muggle medicine, and thought I'd deliver it in person. Figured yeh could use a bit of company to cheer yeh up." He held up a large plastic bottle. It looked small as a thimble in his hand. "Look at all them little baby animals on the label - ain't they cute?"

Harry duly admired the baby animals until Madam Pomfrey took possession of the bottle.

"This is not the brand Miss Granger recommended," she said sternly.

Hagrid stared down on the floor and shuffled his feet. "The lady at the shop said it was the same stuff, only made 'specially for children," he muttered. "And the other didn't have the baby animals."

"Hmph." Madam Pomfrey turned the bottle over in her hand to peer at the back of the label. "I suppose we'll have to make do."

Snape did not look at all pleased to be fed a spoonful of gooey pink syrup, but Madam Pomfrey glared at him until he gave in and took it. Hagrid grinned broadly as he watched Harry accept his own dose.

"So did that help?" he asked before Harry was even finished swallowing.

"Can't say yet, Hagrid. Muggle medicine takes a little time to work."

"Ah." Hagrid looked disappointed at not having delivered an instant miracle. "I'll wait a bit, then."

Nice as it was to see a friendly face, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit worried. "Are you sure it's okay for you to be here, Hagrid? I don't want you to get sick, too."

"Nothin' to worry about," Hagrid said cheerfully. "I had the Skittles when I was three years old, see? And since there's no gettin' 'em more than once, I'm safe as houses."

"You can't stay long, though," Madam Pomfrey warned. "Mister Potter and Professor Snape need their rest."

Hagrid ended up staying about fifteen minutes, during which he regaled Harry with his plans to introduce a Quintaped to the Fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures class. By the time he left, Harry felt much cheerier, and his headache was nearly gone - apparently the Muggle medicine was doing its job. Snape, queried by Madam Pomfrey, grudgingly admitted that he felt better too, though it did nothing to improve his disposition.

Professor McGonagall visited again after lunch, looking much less rumpled this time.

"I understand you're both well enough to read now," she said, "so I thought I'd bring you something to help pass the time."

She handed Harry a magazine. He took it automatically, and blinked at the bubbling cauldron on the cover. "Academic Alchemy Quarterly?"

"Oops. Sorry, that's for Severus." McGonagall grabbed the magazine from him and passed it to Snape, then presented Harry with an issue of Quidditch Illustrated.

Time passed much more quickly now that he had something cool to read. Before long, Harry was captivated by an in-depth article on upcoming new broom designs. The Nimbus company was coming out with a new limited-edition racing broom that looked as if it would give even Harry's Firebolt a run for its money. He got so engrossed by watching the QI test flier do loop-de-loops and hairpin turns in the illustrations that he managed to completely tune out the fact that he wasn't alone, until a peculiar noise on Snape's side of the room attracted his attention.

"Professor?"

Snape had dropped his magazine on the floor, and was thrashing around on the bed, clawing at his chest. His eyes bulged, and his face was turning a frightening shade of blue. He made strangled sounds in his throat, as if he was trying to breathe and not getting any air.

"Professor!" Harry sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Are you all right?" Stupid question. "Help! Madam Pomfrey! Help!"

He ran to the door and stuck his head out, still shouting. The infirmary appeared to be empty, and for a horrible moment Harry thought nobody would come, but then Madam Pomfrey came running out of the dispensary.

"What is it, Harry? Are you all right?"

"It's not me, it's Professor Snape. I think he's not breathing." Harry pulled the door open wider, and jumped aside just in time to keep from being run over as Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room.

She took one look at Snape and pulled her wand out. "Ventrilocutio!" she snapped, then pressed the end of the wand against her throat and began to say something, rapidly and urgently, but without any sound coming out of her mouth. Harry thought he saw her lips form the words "Headmaster" and "Severus," but he couldn't be sure.

"Harry." Madam Pomfrey had lowered her wand and was speaking normally again. "There's a Muggle way to help a person breathe, isn't there? I remember reading something-"

"There is, but…" Harry gulped. "I don't know how to do it. Hermione might."

"No time." Madam Pomfrey looked down at Snape, whose thrashing was getting noticeably weaker. "No time," she repeated, and raised her wand, looking desperate."Respiratio! Aerotrada! Resuscita!"

Harry didn't know what any of these spells were meant to do, but he was fairly sure they weren't supposed to turn Snape's hair purple, float him two inches above the bed, or make a flock of dragonflies fly out of his left ear, which is what they actually accomplished. None of it did Snape any visible good.

Harry found that he was shivering. The room hadn't seemed cold before, but it was freezing now. He hugged himself and rubbed his arms as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. It was actually happening, he realized. Professor Snape was going to die right there and then, and he, Harry, had caused it, and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing at all-

The door flew open with a bang, and Dumbledore rushed in, his robes billowing out behind him like purple sails. His face was very pale, and he was clutching a small glass bottle in one hand.

"Help me, Poppy," he ordered. "We must make him drink this."

In the end, it took all three of them working together: Dumbledore lifted Snape into a sitting position, and Harry held his head still while Madam Pomfrey poured the potion into his mouth. Much of it dribbled right back out again, but at least a little must've gone down because after a few seconds Snape shuddered, coughed, and began breathing in loud, painful gasps. Dumbledore grinned broadly, Madam Pomfrey looked as if she was trying hard not to cry, and Harry felt as if he, too, was breathing easily for the first time in a while. He almost burst out laughing when Snape growled, "Stop crowding me, dammit!" and began pushing them away.

"It's good to see you back to normal, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. He pulled another bottle from his pocket and held it out to Harry. "You should have some too, Mister Potter. Better safe than sorry."

The potion tasted slimy and bitter, and smelled like sour milk, but Harry felt better as soon as he drank it: cooler and less achy and, blessedly, less itchy.

"Thanks," he said. "Is that the cure from St. Mungo's?"

"No." Snape snatched the empty bottle from Harry's hand and sniffed at it, nostrils twitching. "That's a gem-polishing potion!" he announced, looking outraged. "It's not meant for human consumption!"

"Not under normal circumstances, no." Dumbledore continued grinning. "But in Skittles patients, it acts to reduce the symptoms. Hermione Granger unearthed this useful bit of trivia in the library. I took the liberty of awarding twenty points to Gryffindor on your behalf."

Snape looked thoroughly disgusted, either at the smell of the potion or at the thought of Gryffindor getting points in his name; Harry wasn't sure.

"I don't recall having any gem-polishing potion in stock."

"You didn't," Dumbledore said. "I had to make it myself. It was an interesting challenge; I don't think I've brewed a potion in over a century. My skills may be rusty, but my timing, it appears, is impeccable."

Snape scowled and took another sniff at the bottle. "You used too much tarantula blood," he grumbled. Harry was very glad he hadn't known that before he drank the stuff.

Dumbledore left a short while later, promising to supply more gem-polishing potion at the earliest opportunity. Madam Pomfrey stayed a few moments longer to make sure Snape was really all right ("I'm fine, Poppy, now please stop this infernal hovering!"), then she too left them alone. Harry tried to go back to his magazine, but found that he couldn't concentrate. After reading the same paragraph five times over without taking in a single word, he decided it was no use. He had to ask, no matter how nasty Snape was going to be about it.

"Professor, will you be all right now?"

Snape's reaction was true to form: his upper lip curled till it nearly touched his nose, and his eyes went hard and cold. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you care, Potter."

"I don't care," Harry said irritably. "I just don't want you to die, that's all."

"Oh, really?" Snape's voice was like acid. "That makes you unique among the Gryffindors, I imagine. Not to mention unique among the Potters."

"That's not true and you know it." Harry knew he really should drop the conversation and simply ignore Snape as much as he could, but he was angry now. He had tried to be nice; Snape had no call to be nasty, or to drag Harry's father into it. Harry smacked his pillow in frustration and sat up so that he could glare at Snape from a better height.

"My parents' murderer is out there walking around," he said in a tight voice, "and so's the man who betrayed them to be murdered. I know the difference between hating somebody so much you wish them dead, and hating somebody just enough to wish they'd shut up and leave you alone. I reckon my father knew it too, or he wouldn't have saved your life. I think you're horrible, but I don't. want. you. dead."

Snape didn't reply right away. His face had gone very pale as he listened to Harry speak; the polka dots on his cheek looked so bright by contrast, they almost seemed to be glowing.

"I congratulate you on your discernment, Potter," he said through clenched teeth. "Since you've become such an expert on the nuances of hatred, I hope you take it the right way when I say I wish you would shut up and leave me alone."

"Fine." Harry snatched up his copy of QI and turned to the wall. He didn't want to talk to Snape anymore, or even look at him. It wasn't worth the aggravation. Just because they were stuck in a room together didn't mean they had to socialize, and if Snape was determined to be such a nasty, bloody-minded, insufferable git-

Something scrunched in Harry's hands. He looked down to discover that he had unwittingly clenched his fingers around his open magazine, and the pages he'd been reading were now wrinkly and stained with sweat. Harry suppressed a sigh as he attempted, none-too-successfully, to smooth them out.

It was going to be a very long quarantine.

TBC