A/N: Dear God. This is frightening; I'm writing a HP humor fic, and it's not one in the morning. Um. This may or may not be funny, but I'm trying and that's what's important. I must say that the idea which will begin, I think, next chapter is not completely mine, but I had it for a while then read a favorite fic of mine which egged it on even farther. Um. Stupid disclaimer, I know, but I can't say anything yet..
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. (insert rabid book-fan commercialization is bad rant) Um. And I don't own Kleenex, because I don't have any money. And, evil corporate behemoth, if I were making money off of this and if writing was my livelihood, I'd attempt to write a bit better.
Chapter 1: Of Misery and Murphy's Law
Draco Malfoy was miserable.
However, this was not, for once, attributed to the normal pangs of misery having to do with loneliness and love most 16 year olds had. He wished it was that easy.
He had a cold. And it was not going away.
He sat in the corner of the Slytherin common and brooded as usual. He was with some difficulty trying to hide a Kleenex box.
The tingling came on. A soft groan came from his sickened throat. "Another bloody sneeze," he croaked, then the sneeze exploded out of him. He cleaned it up with some effort with a Kleenex or two. "Bloody hell."
As if it wasn't bad enough, he brooded, my beautiful voice had to go, too.
He had to suffer like any Muggle, because even magical cures weren't working. This was a particularly resilient germ and appeared to be evolving on a higher plane than usual. Madame Pomfrey was working on something, but the Malfoys were not known for their patience. This made it quite a shock that Draco didn't appreciate the science of it.
A little note from Snape, Draco reasoned, a peek in the Restricted Section, he'd find a strong potion soon enough. A really strong one.
Potions with the Gryffindors. Apparently Dumbledore or whoever scheduled the classes thought that competition was healthy. This, in Draco's eyes, was true to everyone except Neville Longbottom.
Draco trudged in and up to the desk. He could hear the Terrific Trio twittering behind him. Snape looked up at him. "Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy. What is it?"
"Professor, sir, I was wondering if--" Draco nearly hacked a cough into the Potion Master's face but covered his mouth in time. Snape revealed the tiniest twitch of disgust. "If you would write me a note so I could check out a book in the Restricted Section." Snape blinked, and Draco felt he had to explain further. "Advanced Potions, you see, sir."
"Ah," Snape said. He smirked, but only because he probably didn't know how to smile. "Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. I trust you to choose your books safely." He scribbled out a note.
"Thank you, sir." Draco pocketed the note. He settled into his seat next to Goyle, took out the note and read it.
Draco Malfoy has my full permission to do research for a more advanced study of potions, and check out as many books as needed from the Restricted Section.
He smirked--not, however, with much enthusiasm--and put it away. "Today we study the effects of armadillo bile in potions," Snape said. Draco made an effort, indistinct as it may have been, to look enthralled.
The sneeze came unexpectedly. As his head was quite close to the tabletop, the sneeze jerked his head up and back into the table with amazing force. "Aaagh!" His hands clutched over his face protectively. He let out a curse word that didn't seem to be English. When he pulled his hands away, there was blood.
Ron snorted in laughter, and a moment later the rest of the Gryffindors, needless to say, were in hysterics. A few Slytherins laughed, but Draco gave them looks of poison and they went silent.
Pansy came over and began fussing over his nose. "Oh, Draco," she fawned. "Are you all right?"
"All right?" he said. "I'm bloody well not, get off!"
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. His eyes flicked over the bloody mess that was Draco's face. "Pray go down to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey heal your nose. It might be broken." He glared over the rest of the class. "As for the rest of you," he said acidly, "you will now study and take notes on what I say. Armadillo bile is a potent ingredient--"
Draco left the dungeons, clutching at his nose as if it would fall off. "Bloody cold," he said, thought it over and smirked. "No pun intended."
The Gryffindor common room was currently exploding with laughter in about one minute intervals.
"Okay, so I can tell Malfoy's sick," Ron was saying to those in the center. "He's all sniffling and his eyes are all red. Oh, and you know I pitied him right away."
"Get on with it!" someone yelled.
"All right, all right!" Ron leaned forward in a conspiratory way. "So suddenly he stars wheezing and.. BAM! There he is, just sitting there and suddenly he sneezes INTO the table." The laughter exploded again. Once it subsided, Ron continued. "He pulls away his hands and there's blood. He broke his own nose!"
Amid the laughter, Harry was not amused.
As has been mentioned, Draco's strain of cold was quite resilient. In fact, in the after wash of Draco's sneeze, Harry Potter was infected.
He was consequently miserable.
Had Draco Malfoy known this, he might have felt better.
His nose had been healed quite fast by Madame Pomfrey, who handed him yet another potion on the way out. It smelled of cabbage. He drank it anyway; he nearly bit his tongue off trying to swallow it. He grabbed the note from Snape--and naturally, a breath mint--and he headed to the library.
You may or may not have heard of Murphy's Law. It states that when the worst possible thing can happen, it will. It's usually quite true, even more so in fiction and cinema.
Watch Draco enter the Restricted Section. See him wander, trying to glimpse the title of every book. See him take the book titled Varied Potions for the Advanced Master.
You see it too, don't you? But Draco doesn't.
An unfortunate twist of fate is headed his way. And when it hits.. it ain't gonna be pretty.