Of Blood, Boils, Pustules and Potions ...

Chapter 1

The three Professors devised between them a timetable that meant Pomona keeping watch over the empty infirmary for the remainder of that evening and Severus taking over at midnight after assuring them that he would be able to manage- the two women dubious that a man, or maybe just Severus Snape, could really be cut out for the caring profession.

"Besides," he confided, smirking, "I shouldn't think I will be having too many casualties to deal with once word gets around that it is I who is watching the hospital wing this evening."

"It isn't a clever thing the students fear asking you for help, Severus," Pomona had scolded. "As Head of House you are meant to be approachable."

And therefore, as luck would have it, at precisely ten minutes past twelve, the first 'patient' arrived.

Severus had just begun Chapter Three of 'Erotic Enchantments and Passionate Potions' when the doors to the Hospital Wing creaked open and in stepped a First Year Slytherin, which completely ruined his plans of taking House Points off each student that came to bother him, thus was out of bed after hours.

The girl was wearing a lilac dressing gown and had a perpetually sour expression, not unlike Black's mother, Severus mused. She cast a glance around and upon realising that he was the only person there, turned several shades paler. Selina Sackville privately cursed all the powers that be. 'Great, just great, it had to be him,' Severus Snape, whose name, unbeknown to him, would forever be embossed on her young heart as the one man she could ever truly love (or so she wrote in her magically lockable diary), and she had to ask him-

"What do you want?"

"I-" she squeaked like the love struck teen she was, "I, erm- is there anyone else here?" Sprout? McGonagall? Hell, Dumbledore! Anyone but him! Of all the days Pomfrey chose to go away...

"No," Severus drawled, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh, well, erm, I don't think you could probably help-"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, just tell me what the matter is and I'll find you a potion remedy the situation."

"I don't think it's quite that simple-"

"Shall I be the judge of that?" The Potions Master snapped.

Selina went from ashen white to puce before muttering something barely audible.

"Speak up, girl."

"I've just started my period!"

The words resounded off the infirmary's walls in a particularly cringe-worthy echo. It would have been hard to tell for whom this revelation was more embarrassing. In fact, it might even have been quite reasonable to say Professor Severus Snape blushed as he began a muttered tirade about life having something against him and where was a bloody woman when you needed one, then squirmed doubly realising what he had just said. The Potions Master made hastily for the doors, giving poor Selina a wide berth, and charged up to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva would know what to do.

Minerva, of course, found the whole situation entirely amusing and would make reference to it in years to come as a good anecdote to share with new Professors and favourite students.

For Snape, the remainder of the night passed without any further incident and he was relieved at eight o'clock the next morning by a still-smirking Minerva. Skipping breakfast, he made straight for his quarters inhaling gratefully the musty air of the dungeons; he found he had a new appreciation for it, after having suffered his oversized nasal passages being assaulted to the point of distraction by the stench of disinfectant that pervaded the infirmary.

-x-

Minerva made it through to nine o'clock without much hassle- only Dean Thomas' hangover (which cost Gryffindor 20 points) and his new set of bunny rabbit ears- obviously a souvenir from the previous night's activities. However, her peace was soon shattered by Argus Filch frog marching in six Sixth Years who had been caught fighting in the Entrance Hall- three Gryffindors and three Slytherins in various states of deformity: Ronald Weasley was at the forefront of the line of miscreants, lustrous auburn hair sprouting from all manner of places, the least comfortable of which Minerva was sure had to be his nose.

Behind Ron, traipsed Draco Malfoy- or at least that was who she assumed it to be. Minerva snorted despite herself- whoever had cast this hex should surely receive merit for imagination. The proud Malfoy heir's china doll complexion was now a scaly lurid green and a lengthy horn-ridged tail protruding from his rear end danced languidly behind him as he stood intermittently hiccoughing clouds of sparkling pink smoke.

Following Malfoy was Neville Longbottom whose limbs had been transformed into electric blue tentacles and whose nose, well, simply wasn't there anymore. Harry Potter stood looking more than a little alarmed at the third arm which had grown from the top of his head and was currently entertaining itself by pulling out sickles from behind Harry's ear.

Next in came Gregory Goyle, scuttling about as an eyeball popped out and attempted to roll away from him. With his eyeball reclaimed, all five fingers of Goyle's right hand dropped off simultaneously and began to crawl in opposite directions. And lastly, bringing up the rear rolled Vincent Crabbe, being nudged along by Mrs Norris, now the size and shape of an overfed Puffaskein.

Minerva sighed before going about fixing the boys to the best of her ability. An hour later, only Malfoy and Longbottom remained- Malfoy's skin still a delightful acid green and Neville missing an olfactory organ.

"I hope this will teach you a lesson Mr Longbottom. Really, I would have expected better of you than to get involved in such pathetic competitions for male dominance," it had been deduced that the fight had begun (as she had expected) as a brawl between Potter and Malfoy. "You wait until I tell your Grandmother-"

From the opposite side of the infirmary, Malfoy snickered.

"And you won't be getting off lightly either Mr Malfoy." Draco opened his mouth to protest that forty points apiece from their respective Houses and a fortnight's worth of detentions was hardly getting off lightly but fell silent as the doors to the Hospital Wing were thrown open and in swept none other than his (rather irate looking) Head of House.

"Ah, Professor Snape," McGonogall turned as the Potions Master swooped in. "Three members of your House were caught duelling in the Entrance Hall this morning..."

As she continued her piece, Severus Snape glared at her, wearing the distinct expression of a man who frankly didn't give a damn and wanted his bed.

"Draco, I'm disappointed," he made a half hearted attempt at scolding. "You fought Potter and came off worse. Your father will be hearing of this." As an afterthought he added, "Though congratulations on the Limbus Charm- that is quite an achievement for a wizard your age." Draco smirked proudly.

"Severus! Don't encourage the boy!"

Snape spun around and bore down on Minerva in a way that would have any other witch trembling like a Flutterby bush. "Minerva, I have scarcely had an hour's sleep. If you called me up here to give the child a lecture you'll be sorely disappointed." And with that said, he spun on his heel and swept from the Wing, muttering about it being "her bloody shift, her bloody problem".

Draco was still sat smirking smugly when McGonagall rounded on him. "You needn't look so pleased with yourself. I asked him up here for a potion to rid you of that hideous colouring but as it is, you can stay like that for the rest of the day."

-x-

By Saturday afternoon, Neville's nose had almost completely re-grown when a new challenge arose.

"Pomona!" Minerva McGonagall's voice, which held a note of panic, could be heard resonating through Greenhouse Number Four from the fireplace. "Pomona! I need you up here this instant!"

And so it was not ten minutes later that Pomona Sprout was to be found hurrying into the Hospital Wing still covered in compost, leaving a trail of muddy footprints Filch would surely curse her for later.

She was greeted by the sight of five Gryffindors, three Slytherins, seven Hufflepuffs and nine Ravenclaws spewing their guts up into the nearest bucket, bed pan, or in some cases, all over the freshly polished floor.

"Sweet Agrippa, what have you done to them, Minerva?"

"Oh Pomona, quick, help me!"

The normally calm and composed witch was darting about transfiguring every spare object to hand, from bed sheets to bottles into buckets.

"What's wrong with them all?"

"Oh, I don't know, I really don't know. Maybe it was something they ate. Hogwarts' House Elves cook without error for centuries and they pick this weekend to have an off day! It's bloody typical!"

When Minerva McGonagall cursed it was a sign even Trelawney couldn't miss that things were bad.

"Laurence, what did you eat at lunch today?" Pomona asked a nearby Hufflepuff who had temporarily ceased vomiting.

"Pork chops" was the weakly mumbled reply before his blond head disappeared back inside the bucket held in front of him.

After making further enquiries between handing out newly transfigured vomit proof receptacles to the eight newcomers, of whom Professor Sinistra and Madam Pince were two, Pomona came to the diagnosis of food poisoning and rushed to call up Snape, all the while thanking her lucky stars she was a vegetarian.

-x-

By the time Severus Snape arrived at the infirmary there was a total of forty two students and teachers to be found looking extremely ill. Whilst keeping himself to himself in the dungeons, Severus had failed to notice the crisis taking place in the rest of the castle. Upon entering, his upper lip curled at the rows of retching invalids and he began to make his excuses: "I can see you have your hands full. Regrettably, though, in my haste to come up here I left a potion on the heat unattended that has a tendency to turn rather volatile and-"

"I don't care whether it explodes and takes the dungeons into next week- you're staying here my lad!" Minerva cried, thrusting a bucket into his hands. "We need more-" and then a thought occurred to her. "Dobby!"

The House Elf scuttled from his station with the others of his kind who were mopping regurgitated Hogwarts cuisine off the floor, "Yes, Professor McGonagall, ma'am, what is Dobby doing for you?"

"Take some others with you down to the dungeons and bring up as many cauldrons as you can carry."

Snape's face paled, "No! Merciful Merlin, you can't! Dobby, I explicitly forbid you to go anywhere near the dungeons!"

"Dobby, as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," Minerva countered, puffing out her chest, "I am giving you permission to bring every single cauldron you can find down there straight up to me this instant."

"Dobby," Severus recovered quickly and forced a patronising 'smile', although on him it has to be said it looked more like a grimace. "How would you feel, if this hag," Minerva gasped indignantly, "ordered every single one of your hats to be brought up here for these little gluttons to throw up into? You'd be devastated wouldn't you?"

"Dobby, I will knit you fifteen pairs of socks-"

"Bribery, Minerva? That is stooping low-"

"Severus wouldn't so much as give you a knut!"

Dobby's little tea cosy clad head bobbed from one teacher to the other, very confused. "Oh, what would Harry Potter do?" Harry Potter would know what to do, he though. Harry Potter was good and wise, he would tell Dobby what to do and Dobby would do it because Harry potter set Dobby free...

"Harry Potter would say listen to Professor McGonagall because Professor Snape is always so mean to Harry Potter and Harry Potter hates Potions with all his heart!" Minerva smirked triumphantly- she had won.

Dobby's face cleared. Yes, that is what Harry Potter would say. Harry Potter didn't like Professor Snapey, Sir at all, not one bit... Nodding, with a waggle of his ears, Dobby vanished with a pop, leaving 'Professor Snapey, Sir' to mouth soundlessly in outrage.

"For Merlin's sake man, make yourself useful and find some Nausea Remedy," Minerva snapped, hurrying past him towards the newest arrivals.

Sulking, Snape stormed off towards Poppy's Potions Cupboard and stood fuming before the rows of bottle, jars, vials and tubes. Many of these had been made by his own not-so-fair hands, in his beautiful size four pewter cauldron with the brass handles... To think, in a matter of minutes it would be filled with one of those revolting brats' puke... Oh, it was too much...