Harry Potter One Shots

The Green Fog

All rights belong to the author, Angry Hermione

It was nearly two in the morning as Harry sat at the writing desk in the study of his small London flat, his quill quietly scratching out his Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson plans for the coming school year. He had long abandoned his dream of becoming an auror, for he realized that he had seen quite enough fighting in the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He found he liked the quiet life that teaching offered.

A small smile crept across his face at that thought, for at that moment his life wasn't all that quiet. His best friend lay sprawled across the couch in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position, snoring loudly. His quill paused on the parchment as his thoughts led him back to all those years in the Griffyndor Tower dormitories, where he endured endless nights of the torture that was Ronald Weasley's snoring. Until he had mastered the silencing charm, broken sleep and heads buried under pillows were the norm for the boys that shared the room.

His quill resumed its trek across the parchment as the noise level in the study increased slightly. The snoring wasn't disturbing him that night, in fact he found it oddly comforting, stirring memories of school days long gone by and pleasant summers at the Burrow. He couldn't stifle another smile as he remembered the first summer with the Weasleys. It amazed him his first night there as he quietly made his way to the loo in the middle of the night, because from behind every door he passed came loud snoring. Even from Arthur and Molly's room came the synchronized deafening snores, one a higher octave than the other, as if in two-part harmony. In a recent conversation with Fleur he discovered that the eldest of the Weasley boys shared the same family trait.

"SKKNNOOYXXKXX!"

The sound almost startled Harry. He glanced toward the far side of the room and saw the haphazardly splayed limbs, the wide-open mouth and the little dribble of drool that was creating a widening damp area on the upholstered arm of the couch. Again, he couldn't stop the smile spreading on his face. He rose from his chair and crossed to the bookshelf. After a surprisingly quick search, he found the book he was looking for, Heinous Hexes and Cruel Curses by Oliver Oddfellow. He made a mental note to thank Hermione for arranging the books in the study for him, something that he'd been meaning to do for a while, but never really found the time.

As he pulled the book from the shelf, he heard between the loud snores a short, high-pitched 'squeak.' He glanced around the floor of the room looking for the source of the noise, thinking it might have been from a mouse. His eyes fell upon the old heavy drapes covering the window and wondered if a few Doxys had found their way in. As he walked back to his desk, he made another mental note to check the curtains in the daylight. He sat back down, flipped the book open, leafed through the pages, and found the section on the Constrixiartus Curse, a nasty spell that causes painful cramping in the limbs making proper wand movements difficult. He had just dipped his quill and touched the tip to the parchment when the source of the strange squeak he had heard became painfully clear.

"Cor!" was all he managed to cough out as his eyes instantly began to water and yet another of his senses was assaulted. It reminded him of a mixture of rotten eggs and the stinksap from Neville's favorite plant. He immediately dropped his quill, causing the freshly loaded ink to make a large blot on the parchment over his previously written paragraph. Gripping his nose, he stumbled his way across the room, threw open the drapes, lifted the window and stuck his head out, drinking in volumes of the fresh night air.

"SKKNOOOORKXXKKXX."

Harry wondered how on Earth could anyone sleep through the green fog that was surely blanketing the room behind him. He sucked in a deep breath, dashed to the back wall, and tugged that window open. He knew the room wouldn't be aired out any time soon, the warm summer air outside was almost perfectly still. After about fifteen minutes, he returned to his desk. The air had become somewhat breathable. He knew at the time it was a bad idea to let Ron pick the restaurant for their weekly 'Golden Trio's night out' earlier that day. He knew he'd pick that muggle Mexican place. Ron had fallen in love with the food there from the first time he tried it.

He picked up his wand and siphoned the large blot of ink from his writing. He loaded the quill with ink again and was about to jot down a sentence when he heard it...

'FRRRRRRRRRRRT...PUTTPUTTPUTT...PUTT...putt...'

He clearly heard it above the loud snoring. His eyes widened in terror. He figured that he'd have to put off finishing the lesson plan for another day. He hastily fanned out the parchment he had been working on to dry the ink. He was halfway through rolling it up when the 'green fog' hit him.

"Sweet Merlin's toecheese!" he gagged out ungracefully. He truly believed that the old rustic wallpaper was going to start peeling from the walls any second. He abandoned the parchment and grabbed his wand. He tried to cast the Bubblehead Charm on himself, but couldn't draw the breath to utter the incantation, and his brain was so fuddled that a non-verbal spell was out of the question. In a near panic, he raced to the door, noisily stumbling over an ottoman before making it out of the doorway.

His yelp of pain from the collision with the ottoman apparently awoke the source of the fog. As Harry stood in the hallway gasping for air, a furious, rasping voice screeched from within the room.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU'RE DISGUSTING!"

A very angry Hermione flew out of the room into the hallway and nearly collapsed against the wall next to him. Her watery eyes shot daggers at him as she heaved in fresh air.

"If you think you're sleeping in the same bed with me tonight, you have another think coming!"

With that, Hermione stormed down the hallway to their bedroom. Harry grinned to himself as he walked down the stairs to the sitting room sofa. He knew she'd figure out who the real culprit was before long.

He let out a small chuckle as he thought about her snoring. Who would have ever guessed that the infamous Weasley trait was also a Granger trait?