This begins near the end of the first book and continues from there. All events up to the end of the first book are canon.
Allergic to Potions
A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Cordria
The letter sitting next to Harry's breakfast had originally caused him a lot of concern. It was a list of magical vaccinations Harry would need to get before being allowed to return for his second year of schooling.
Magical vaccinations? From the Dursleys?
He'd spent the better part of a day trapped between fits of insane laughter at the image of his aunt's face when he mentioned them and pure terror at the thought of not being allowed to return to Hogwarts. There was no way his relatives would let him get vaccinations over the summer. He'd barely gotten the muggle ones, much less magical ones. He wasted the day with his friends, more and more convinced that he would never get to see them again.
It was nearing supper when his head of house, Professor McGonagall, tracked him down. The tall, Scottish woman gazed into his eyes, a frown on her face. "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?"
Harry smiled at her. "I'm fine, thanks Professor." He swallowed heavily, hoping that the woman wouldn't start in on him again. It seemed that nearly every day since the incident with the Sorcerer's Stone, she'd sat him down and questioned him about all manners of things. Nightmares, headaches, stress...
She made a noise in her nose that signaled her disbelief. "Have you reported to the hospital wing yet?"
Blink. "... No?" Harry stared at her, confused.
"Your vaccinations, Mr. Potter. Didn't you read the letter?" Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Having trouble concentrating?"
"No, Professor," Harry said quickly, pulling out the letter and scanning it again... for the first time taking in the note at the ending. All muggle-born were to report to Madam Pomfrey before the end of the year to receive their vaccinations. Harry to be included, of course. An intense feeling of pure stupidity had swamped over him: he'd spent the better part of his last full day at Hogwarts worrying about nothing. "I was going to do those later."
With a quiet sound, the stern professor shook her head and continued down the hallway, leaving Harry to sink with relief against the stone wall. A smile spreading across his face, Harry carefully pocketed the letter and headed towards supper.
After feasting on the best that Hogwarts could offer, Harry said an easy goodbye to his friends and hurried up to the hospital wing, eager to get the whole thing over with so he could spend the last few hours of freedom and happiness with his friends. He tripped his way up the stairs, avoided the local poltergeist, and slipped through the door.
The walls of the hospital wing glittered white and clean. Twin rows of beds lined the walls below the arching windows. The mediwitch's office sat in the back corner, door propped slightly open as the woman bustled around the echoing space.
Harry shuddered slightly, hesitating as the door swung closed behind him. After only one year of school, he'd developed a distaste for the place. The thought of being confined to a bed, hovered over, treated like a young child?
"Mister Potter," the witch said with a smile, motioning him over.
"Hey, Madam Pomfrey," Harry grinned, shaking off the smothered feeling and walking towards the older woman. "I'm here for vaccinations?"
She nodded, pulling out a tray with an alarming number of potions on them. "I saw from your files you're a bit behind… not uncommon from muggle households," she was saying as she held each one up to the light, "but a bit unfortunate sometimes." She set the tray in front of him, the little vials clinking softly. "I'm afraid you'll be taking them all," she added, no doubt based on the expression floating on Harry's face.
Dragging his eyes off the bottles, Harry glanced back at the door, in a vain hope for freedom. "I…"
"It's best to just get them over with, they're not going anywhere," the mediwitch said pleasantly. She plunked a large glass of water down on the tray before getting up to see to another student who had walked through the door. An older Hufflepuff with a curiously large and green left hand.
Harry watched for a few moments, wincing in sympathy at the look of pain on the older boy's face as Madam Pomfrey pocked and prodded the still-swelling appendage. Then, with a sigh, he grabbed the first of the eleven vials.
Eleven. He shuddered even thinking about it.
Yanking at the cork, Harry listened to it pop quietly, then poured the bluish contents into his mouth. It tasted of salty socks. He followed it down with a large swallow of water and picked up the next vial. It wasn't any better.
He was on the fifth potion before he started to feel… a bit odd. Setting down the glass of water, Harry sat quietly on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting everything settle in his stomach. The room seemed like it was spinning. Like the floor was trying to turn into a wall. Harry felt himself tipping to the side, reached out to grab something to steady himself, and found his arm not responding to his commands.
In fact, said appendage was breaking out in large welts that began to burn. Bee stings. Big, bloody bee stings that oozed a greenish pus. That's what they felt like, looked like.
Harry just about had time to process the thought before he finished tipping over and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. His body rolled, tumbling him onto the floor. Muscles in his body tensed, making his arms and legs spasm and shake, his throat swelling until he couldn't breathe. Couldn't shout for help.
Could only stare at the mediwitch still busying herself with a Hufflepuff, whose eyes were squeezed shut in agony.
It was like a switch was flipped in his head. One second he was there…
Then everything went black.
To be continued...