Harry Potter and the Polka Dot Plague

Chapter 6 - Explanations

Sunrise found Severus Snape wide awake and in a foul mood. Dumbledore's gem-polishing potion had relieved some of his physical misery, keeping the aches and the itching just this side of bearable, but it would take something a great deal stronger to relieve the aggravation of sharing a room with Harry Potter. The Draught of Living Death, perhaps; or a really good single malt. Since neither was forthcoming, he was left to lie awake most of the night listening to the boy wheeze like a boiling kettle every time he inhaled. A couple of times, the wheezing became so labored that Snape had considered calling for Poppy, but each time Potter had rolled over and breathed more easily again. He seemed to be resting easily now, which left Snape with nothing to do except stare at the sickeningly cheerful ceiling and think unpleasant thoughts.

To die of the Skittles, after everything he had survived in the course of a misspent life, would be the final insult. Yet it had almost happened the day before. Could still happen, unless Cogsworth grew a brain in a hurry. And he wasn't the only one in danger - the Boy Who Lived currently stood a good chance of becoming the Boy Who Didn't Live Long Enough. Voldemort might actually win this time around because Harry bloody Potter didn't have his bloody injection.

The thought was too disgusting to contemplate, so Snape perversely contemplated it for several minutes before dragging his thoughts around to the more immediate problem of his Slytherins, entrusted to the dubious competence of Octavia Sinistra. Not the substitute he would've chosen, by any means, but she was the only other Slytherin on the staff, so he was stuck with her. Snape could only hope she'd manage to tear herself away from her telescope and her star charts long enough to follow his instructions.

He could not afford to leave his house unprotected, not this of all years. Voldemort was still keeping a low profile, but the Death Eaters were out in force, recruiting new blood. And the Slytherins were oh-so-ripe to be recruited. So much was against them: history, tradition, expectation, peer pressure, family ties… and he was somehow supposed to counter it all with dueling lessons and O.W.L. reviews and yearly second-place finishes in the House Cup? It was laughable. But it still had to be done, and done right, which meant it had to be done by him, dammit, not some idiot stargazer who should've been in Ravenclaw.

Four of the Slytherins who'd graduated the year before had followed in their parents' footsteps over the summer, receiving their Dark Marks at a solstice ceremony at Malfoy Manor. Snape had been there, masked and silent, watching in impotent rage as teenagers he'd attempted to guide for seven years stepped up, one after another, to demonstrate the failure of his guidance. Afterwards, he had returned to Hogwarts and duly reported the new recruits' names to Dumbledore, who had thankfully refrained from offering comfort. And then he had retreated to his rooms and got thoroughly and unhelpfully drunk for two days.

He'd tried to look at the bright side, to think of all the former students who hadn't been there that night because, presumably, something he'd done or said had reached them over the years. But this was not a situation where partial success was acceptable.

Damn. This was almost as depressing as thinking about Potter. And speaking of Potter - what the hell was that noise? Snape sat up, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

Potter had kicked his covers to the floor and was tossing restlessly in his sleep, muttering indistinctly under his breath.

"Cedric… I won't… No… I WON'T!" The sudden shout made Snape jump, but Potter remained fast asleep. "No," he moaned again, and then, in a voice that made him sound about ten years younger, "Mum? Dad?"

There was a jug of water on the bedside table. Snape reached over and knocked it off. It had an Unbreakable Charm on it, of course, but it still made a satisfying racket as it hit the floor, splattering water and Stay-Froz cubes all over the rug. Potter's eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head.

"Wha-where-Professor Snape?"

Snape produced his best sneer, uncomfortably aware that the effect was probably being ruined by polka dots.

"You were expecting someone else, Potter?"

"No, I-" Potter absentmindedly scratched his left shoulder, caught himself, and stopped. "What happened?" He gestured toward the spillage on the floor.

"I must've knocked it off in my sleep," Snape told him.

"Oh." Potter stared at the mess for a while, blinking rather stupidly, then swung his legs off the bed and stood.

"What are you doing?" Snape demanded.

"It needs to be cleaned up." Potter swayed a little and had to grab the bedpost to stay upright. "I can get a towel from the bathroom." Apparently the fever had fried what little brains he had started out with. He took a hesitant step without letting go of the post. His legs looked wobbly, and sweat was beading on his upper lip.

"Don't be an imbecile, Potter. Get back into bed. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment, and she's perfectly capable of cleaning this up with a spell."

As if on cue, Poppy bustled in, looking very disapproving and demanding to know what the noise was about.

"The water jug fell over," Potter explained. Poppy glared at him.

"That's no reason for you to be on your feet. Get back into bed immediately."

"I was just trying to help," Potter muttered, but he lay down again with no further protests. Poppy fussed over him in a sickening manner, tucking the duvet around his legs and fluffing his pillows. Once the patient was settled to her satisfaction, she dried the rug with a flick of her wand and set the now-empty jug back on the table.

"Since you're both awake, I suppose you can have breakfast now."

Breakfast was weak tea and porridge, along with more of that ridiculous Muggle potion Hagrid had procured. Snape made himself eat it all, knowing he needed to keep his strength up. Potter poked at his bowl listlessly, making no move to actually eat any of the contents.

"Finish it, Potter," Snape growled.

"I'm not hungry."

"Finish it, or it's ten points from Gryffindor."

"You can't take points. Dumbledore said-"

"Professor Dumbledore, Potter. And I won't be on sick leave forever." It'll only seem that long.

The look of outrage on Potter's face was so satisfying, it almost made Snape forget the itching for a moment. "You're going to take points later for stuff I do now?"

"I'm keeping a tally, Potter." Snape smiled viciously. "And you know what a long memory I have."

Potter opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again with a visible effort. Pity, that; judging from the look on his face, whatever he had to say would've been worth at least fifty points. Still, the threat must've had the desired effect, since he choked down every last bit of porridge, swallowing each mouthful with a deeply martyred air.

Dumbledore came by later in the morning to deliver more potion. He did not leave after Snape and Potter had taken their doses, but conjured up a tall stool and perched on it, hands folded in his lap.

"I have been doing some investigating," he announced, "trying to discover how the two of you managed to end up in this condition. Harry, it appears, has been the victim of a bureaucratic… what do the Muggles call it? A bureaucratic snafu." Dumbledore pronounced the ridiculous word with great relish, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. Then he looked down at Potter, and his face grew serious again. "Under normal circumstances, James and Lily would've taken you to St. Mungo's for your shots sometime before your second birthday. Unfortunately, the circumstances were anything but normal. They never got a chance. And because you're not Muggle-born, it apparently never occurred to anyone at the Ministry of Wizarding Health to contact the Dursleys about it."

"It wouldn't have mattered." Potter shrugged. "Uncle Vernon would never have taken me to a wizard hospital. He would've probably just taken it as an excuse not to let me go to Hogwarts at all."

"I'm sure we could've made arrangements," Dumbledore said firmly, "if I had thought of it. I *should've* thought of it, instead of relying on the Ministry. I'm very sorry, Harry."

"It's not your fault," Potter said quickly. Dumbledore shook his head.

"I'm the Headmaster. It's my duty to protect the health of all my students. And my teachers." Dumbledore added the last in a pointed tone that made Snape want to hide under the covers. "Severus."

"Headmaster?"

"I was somewhat surprised to discover that you have a legitimate vaccination certificate on file with the Ministry. At least, I assume it's legitimate - it appears to be written in Norwegian."

"It is," Snape muttered. Dumbledore just kept gazing at him with placid, eternally-patient eyes until he forced himself to clarify. "Written in Norwegian, I mean."

"I see. Would you care to explain?"

Snape looked across the room at Potter, who was taking in the conversation with undisguised curiosity. "I would rather not discuss my private affairs in front of a student, Sir."

"Very well." Dumbledore pulled a wand from the sleeve of his sky-blue robes. "Excuse us, Harry." He gestured, and the air behind him shimmered. Snape recognized the glow of the Sound-proofing Charm, separating himself and the Headmaster from Potter. "Go on, Severus."

There was no help for it; he'd have to cough up the whole story. Snape licked his suddenly dry lips. "You know my mother was doing a research fellowship at Durmstrang the year I was born." Dumbledore nodded. "They had no compulsory vaccination program at the time. Mother never bothered. When we left Durmstrang four years later, she got a forged certificate so that we could re-enter England."

"A forgery." Dumbledore sighed. "Why didn't she just take you to a local hospital and get a real certificate?"

"I don't know," Snape said peevishly, "why don't you dig her up and ask?" It was a stupid question, really. Dumbledore knew perfectly well that there was no telling why Galina Snape had ever done anything. Hell, half the time Galina herself hadn't known.

If Dumbledore was offended by Snape's outburst, he gave no sign of it. "And when did you find out about all this?"

"When I was eleven. I got acceptance letters from both Hogwarts and Durmstrang, and was trying to choose. There had been a Skittles epidemic in Northern Europe the year before. Mother advised me to pay a visit to St. Mungo's if I decided to go to Durmstrang. In the end, I picked Hogwarts, so the point became moot." Snape aimed a resentful glare at Potter, who was still watching them curiously through the Sound-proofing Charm. "At least, I thought it was moot. Obviously I was wrong."

"Obviously." Dumbledore's voice was dry. "Are there any other… irregularities in your paperwork I should be aware of?"

Snape stared down at his hands. "No, Sir."

"Good." Dumbledore climbed off his stool and stood at the side of the bed, looking down at Snape with a stern expression. "I will smooth this over, Severus, because you're needed here, but I don't appreciate having to do it. I'm in a difficult situation this year, as you very well know, and it doesn't help when I have to spend a large portion of my time explaining to the Ministry why I haven't dismissed my Potions Master."

"I'm sorry." Snape continued to stare at his hands. There was a polka dot on each knuckle. Red, powder-blue, magenta, yellow, purple, lime-green, orange, turquoise… There was an old witches' tale that if you had more than six colors of Skittles, it meant you were dying. Like most such tales, it wasn't true; but at the moment Snape almost wished it were.

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice softened slightly. "Why didn't you just tell me all this when you first took the job? We could've taken sorted it out right then and there. I wouldn't have held it against you."

"I know. Considering all the other things you hadn't held against me…" Snape attempted a smile, but it felt more like a wince. "To be honest, it never entered my mind at the time. I had so many big secrets to keep, and this one was so little by comparison… I just…"

"You forgot."

"I forgot. I remembered later, of course, and knew I should tell you, but… I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I do believe you are." Dumbledore smiled a little, and Snape felt as if a two-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "And I suppose your current situation is punishment enough." He squeezed Snape's shoulder affectionately. "Get well, Severus. We need you."

"Thank you, Sir."

Dumbledore dispelled the Sound-proofing Charm with another wave of his wand and took a step toward the door before stopping suddenly. "Wait. I almost forgot. Now what did I do with…" He dug into a pocket, and took out a box of Chocolate Frogs. "That's not it." Another pocket produced a roll of Spellotape. "No, that's not it either. I know I have them here somewhere…" He continued digging, piling a rapidly growing collection of items on the table: a Revealer, a packet of Stink Pellets, a Put-Outer, a pack of Exploding Snap cards, a rainbow-colored crystal, a box of Sugar Quills… "Aha! Here they are! One for each of you." He placed one small, brightly-colored item on Harry's bed, and one on Snape's. Snape leaned forward for a closer look, then jerked back as Dumbledore said "Finite Incantatum"

There was a loud pop as the item in Snape's lap abruptly expanded to ten times its size, revealing itself to be a large box wrapped in shiny green and silver paper. Potter, meanwhile, found himself holding an overflowing gift basket with a crimson and gold bow tied to the handle.

"Get-well presents from your respective houses," Dumbledore said, beaming. "I will leave you to enjoy them." He gathered his belongings from the table and shoved them haphazardly back into his pockets. "Good-bye, Harry. Severus." And he swept out, munching happily on a Chocolate Frog.

TBC