The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

Fawkes Feather

Fawkes Feather

It was a couple nights later and by this time everyone in the castle was quite blue - even Severus Snape, who did, it turned out, take showers. Only James remained his natural colour, having refused to allow his hair to turn blue, and smelling up the Gryffindor common room quite spectacularly. Professor Slughorn had found the antidote a mite harder to brew up than he'd originally hoped, and the first batch hadn't worked in remedying the coloration issue. He'd had to start from scratch and try a potion that took a longer time to mature.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius were having a right ol' time all over the castle, cracking jokes and puns about being blue - however lame they might be. "Indigoto class," Sirius said, excusing himself from the Gryffindor table with a grin.

"Cyan you later," James answered, snickering.

"Did you hear about the king who used to be a blue knight?" Sirius asked Frank Longbottom one evening by the fire. When Frank shook his head, he said, "He's cerulean now."

Remus frowned, "You know, you lot shouldn't take this all so lightly," he scolded them, "You don't know if they can reverse this. We might've done something horrible."

James looked Remus dead in the face. "Rey, we are taking it very seriously... I azure you."

Only Sirius had laughed at that one, high-fiving him with copious amounts of snorts and giggles, "Good one, James!"

Professor McGonagall knocked on the Headmaster's office door, holding a vial of the antidote that Professor Slughorn had finally managed to create. "Come in, Minerva," Dumbledore called. She entered, pushing the door shut behind her with her elbow as she stepped inside. Dumbledore - still blue all over, like everybody else in the castle, stood by Fawkes's perch, stroking his feathers gently. The bird was nearly ready for his burning and there were little plumes of smoke rising up out of his feathers. He let out a weak little squawk. Dumbledore sighed and Fawkes nipped at Dumbledore's fingernail with his beak. "The antidote?" he asked, seeing the steaming blue vial in McGonagall's hand.

"Horace just finished this batch," she said with a nod, putting it down on the desk. "He says it should do the trick. He added a sprig of mint for the taste."

Dumbledore walked over and lifted the vial, looking it over.

"Are you certain you wouldn't rather one of the rest of us test it first, sir?" she asked.

Dumbledore smiled, "No, Minerva, I think it should be me who tests it out. Just to be sure it has no adverse reactions." He held the vial up in a cheers. "Bye, bye blues," he said in a chipper voice, and he downed the vial in a single go. Professor McGonagall watched with a worried expression, hugging the tray she'd used to carry the vial up to the Headmaster's office to her chest. Dumbledore made a curious expression as the blue liquid drained from the vial and into his throat, and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the completion of it. "Leaves quite the aftertaste."

"The mint didn't help?" she asked.

He shook his head.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, shivering, and as McGonagall watched the blue seemed to fade from the top of his head down, returning to his normal color. She breathed a sigh of relief as Dumbledore looked himself over, a smile spreading across his face. He lifted his beard and looked over the whiskers carefully. "Well," he muttered, "That's most disappointing."

"Sir?" McGonagall asked, concerned.

"I had hoped that a couple of streaks might remain," he said, "Give me a little flair."