A Night in the Hospital Wing

It was eleven o'clock in the evening, just an hour after curfew. If there were any students roaming the halls of Hogwarts at this forbidden hour, only the sharpest eyes among them might have noticed a short, bald man slinking along the shadows of the passageway from the dungeons to the hospital wing. He had a long grey beard, mismatched teeth and wore a torn black traveling cloak over a white oxford shirt and grey trousers that were ragged at the hems.

The man stopped at the entrance of the hospital wing, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to finish checking on one of her young charges. There was no shortage of illness this close to exam time, though only four students were spending the night under her observation. A Ravenclaw fifth year, still recovering from anxiety attacks brought on during his O.W.Ls, was fast asleep in the first bed to the left. In the first bed to the right was a Hufflepuff second year who collided with the Whomping Willow while playing Quidditch with a few housemates. Two others were further down the wing and one of these was the patient that the bald man was interested in.

Madam Pomfrey looked up and finally noticed the short, bald man standing there. "Ah, Mr. Carruthers! It's good to see you again. Didn't Mr. Filch walk you up from the castle entrance?"

"Not tonight, madam," replied Carruthers. "The poor man was busy with some mischievous poltergeist and I knew my way here."

"Oh dear. Peeves must be up to his usual mischief again. You certainly must know you way around, having made so many trips over the past few weeks," said Madam Pomfrey as she reached into her robes for her moneybag. "Now, how much do I owe you for this lot?"

"I won't bother you for more than two Galleons," replied Carruthers.

"Two Galleons? But the ingredients you used for these potions surely must have cost more than that!" said Madam Pomfrey.

"Madam, my concern is not profits; it is the health of the young lady. How is your patient?" asked Carruthers.

"Come and see," said Madam Pomfrey as she led him over to a curtained-off section of the wing where Hermione Granger lay sleeping. "She's made remarkable progress, though she still suffers from quite a bit of pain."

"Nasty business, that curse that Dolohov used," murmured Carruthers. "Has she had any more breathing troubles?"

"Not since I started giving her the last potion you added to the regimen," said Madam Pomfrey.

A cry of pain came from the other side of the curtain.

"Go see to your other patient, Madam," said Carruthers. "I'll leave the potions here and show myself out. Tomorrow at the same time, then?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carruthers. Thank you so much for your help," said Madam Pomfrey before dashing off to check on Ron Weasley.

The short bald man laid out ten vials of different-colored potions on Hermione's bedside table, then cleared away the empty vials from the previous day to take back to his lab. He knew he didn't have much more time before the Polyjuice potion wore off, but he was reluctant to leave. Finally, he touched Hermione's cheek and was secretly pleased when the young woman smiled in her sleep. "Probably just a muscle spasm," he thought, yet his heart refused to be swayed by such cold logic. Then he realized that his fingers were no longer short and stubby like Carruthers, but long and thin like his own. He rushed out of the hospital wing, not stopping until he reached his quarters in the dungeons for fear that someone would catch him as the disguise wore off.