Canary Creams and New Yellow Paint - (DRARRY)

Chapter Sixteen

Madam Pomfrey is not very pleased to be roped into a big project at the last minute, but she says she'll do it regardless, so long as he pays her off with lots of chocolate, tea, and free labour hours stocking her shelves like some kind of glorified house-elf.

"You'll owe me, dearie," she promises, before rushing over to coo at how grown Parvati and Teddy have got, both of whom seem wonderfully perturbed by this.

They spend the next few hours brewing their first trial for an experimental potion: Draco, Potter, Granger, Parvati, Teddy, and Rolf.

Of course, Potter decides that the best way to test the potion is to drink some of the moor water himself.

"Absolutely not," Draco says. "Under no circumstances."

"I agree." Granger crosses her arms over her chest, doing a rather good job of looking threatening. "No way."

Teddy shrugs. "I've got the water sample in my bag somewhere."

"The potion should work at least a bit," Parvati points out. "We have to test it somehow, don't we? And I'm certainly not allowing any of you to try testing it on the Wallygagglers."

"And what better place for it," Potter says, "than right next to the best Healer we know?"

Madam Pomfrey does not do herself the discredit of batting away the compliment sheepishly, but she does give him a hard look. "Potter, don't think I won't do everything in my power to save anyone in this room, but if you poison yourself with that water against my guidance and happen to die, I won't be losing sleep over it."

Rolf, who has never met Madam Pomfrey before, blinks at her a few times in very quick succession.

Teddy removes the jar from his bag, holding it out to Potter and putting his hands up in surrender at Draco's icy glare. "What? I checked it, remember? No Unforgivables in that bit, just a few mild—"

"Well," Potter interrupts, "bottoms up."

He downs the sample before Teddy can finish the sentence.

Immediately, his eyes go wide, and he turns stiff as a board, falling to the ground.

"Fucking hell," Draco says.

"There he goes," Parvati murmurs, seeming remarkably unconcerned.

Potter begins to writhe on the floor.

Rolf looks up at them and says, "Well, isn't somebody going to help him?"

They all stare a while longer.

"In a minute," Granger says, peering at him interestedly.

All of his hair falls out, then grows back in again, several times, leaving a pile to gather on the floor.

"You lot are really just going to stand around and watch me while I suffer?" Potter speaks very quickly, the words pouring out of his mouth. "You know, if Ron were here, he'd help me, or Luna, she'd—"

"That'd be the Babbling Curse," Teddy says.

Draco snorts.

"I swear to God, Malfoy, if you start laughing at me, I'll bury you in a deep, dark hole where no one can find you — and all your friends, they'll wonder where you went, but I won't tell them, oh no. I don't care if I have this bloody curse for the rest of my life, I'll never tell them where you are—"

Draco actually laughs this time, the sound escaping out despite himself, a high keen of amusement he can't suppress.

"Kill him, Hermione. Won't you kill him for me?"

"Sorry, maybe ask me again when you're thinking clearly."

"Teddy? Oh, Teddy please, you've got to—" he begins to sing.

"Sure, in a tick."

"I don't think he means it," Rolf assures them. "If he doesn't keep talking nonsense, he'll say anything that's on his mind, no matter how personal. Or sing, rather."

Well, that would certainly be interesting.

"I tell you I do mean it," Potter croons. "I really do, because—" He tries to get up, but as soon as he makes it, Potter totters over again and lands flat on his face.

His words are lost to the floorboards.

"And another thing!" Potter cries, turning over with a jerk, but then all that comes out is unintelligible prattle, combined with a fair amount of strangled gurgling.

"What happened?" Parvati asks.

Granger squints at him. "Tongue-Tying Curse, I think."

"Wicked combo," Teddy says approvingly.

Potter begins to jerk as if he's being hit with Stinging Hexes.

"I should do something about the poor dear, shouldn't I?" Madam Pomfrey asks, but she doesn't move, her frown small and considering.

Potter thrashes against the floor as a large bat flies out of his nose.

Parvati shrieks, ducking out of the way and taking Rolf down with her. What a brilliant animal Healer she must be.

The bat flies up into the eaves of the hospital wing and disappears. Luckily, there don't seem to be any more forthcoming.

Granger and Teddy help the others to their feet and, seeing this, Madam Pomfrey sighs and nods to Draco.

They hoist Potter up and carry his quieting body to the first of the empty beds. He's panting heavily, his eyes alight with energy, and Draco throws him a wink as they set him down.

"Buck up, champ, it's nearly over. Probably."

"Reckon we should try the potion now?" Teddy asks, and Potter makes a sound like, "MHMM," among all his other grumbling.

Parvati scurries over with the potion in hand, tipping it against his lips for Potter to drink.

He does, gulping it down, not relaxing until the bottle is empty.

They all watch, waiting.

"Mmgheehmuhheheh," Potter says.

"Yes, I see that," Granger agrees. "But you're not Babbling anymore, are you?" It is noticeably quieter. "That's good. No more bats either, it appears. But it's hard to know if that's the potion or if it stopped naturally."

"Blughrryughpol," Potter says.

"You're so right," Teddy tells him.

"What's he saying?" Rolf asks.

"He thinks I should get all his professional Quidditch jerseys."

Speaking over what is mostly unintelligible groaning, at this point, Granger says, "I'll just sweep this up, shall I?" gesturing to the hair.

Potter meets her eyes with frantic intensity, and she lets out a tired breath. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

She swishes her wand over the hair, twirling it into a neat pile and then Levitating it into her bag, closing it with a snap.

She meets Draco's raised brow with one of her own, a challenge, silent. 'What?'

He studies her carefully, looking for cracks in her composure.

He doesn't find any.