Sometimes Bad is Good

Chapter Six

The day was only half over, and yet Harry was about ready to call it a night. He was sore and aching all over from having to run around everywhere, his legs and back were the worst. He knew he should have stopped and called it a day at the tenth house they'd found and visited -or, he did, anyway-, but the eager and excited faces of Remus and Tonks had pushed him on and he'd gone on without complaint. He really, really regretted that decision right about now.

He fell forward onto his bed, his face planting itself into one of the soft cushy pillows and his body sinking into the spongy supportive mattress. He truly did ache all over, every muscle was twitching and his joints felt alive with a deadly hot fire. He groaned, allowing the mattress to soak up his pain and comfort his weary body. He'd done too much today, especially with his new body.

They had gone through every single bloody key in that box, every single one of them. Brass keys, silver keys, keys that had odd looking teeth and keys that had no teeth at all. It had been a nightmare; it had been even worse than those flying keys in first year, because at least then he'd known which key at first sight. He didn't think that he could ever look at a key again, at least, not without remembering this day.

Speaking of, not only did he have to run around with Tonks and Remus -who Harry had found out, couldn't see any of the houses they'd gone to, but had relied on Harry to find the proper house for them-, he'd also had to brew the normal potions that the snarky Potions Master usually made. As it turned out, when they'd been travelling, Snape had floo called Sirius -despite hating each other, Sirius had tolerated him for that moment- and began banging on about being too busy with his own Godson to worry about some pathetic wolf who needed some medication.

Why they turned to him, Harry would never know, but turn to him they did and brew potions he had. Headache potions, dreamless sleep potions, calming draughts, anti-nausea potions, healing potions -which included salves and creams-, and even Remus' Wolfsbane potion -which only qualified Potions Masters made, because one needed a hell of a lot of skill to brew such a complicated potion-. But Harry had done it, and with a remarkable flair that he hadn't had before.

The Wolfsbane potion had been a challenge, but he managed to create a perfect concoction at the end of his brewing session. He surprised himself, as well as the others, when he had showed them the new fully stocked potions crates full of perfect remedies worthy of the finest Potions Master. Hermione had been absolutely raving mad for the past hour about it, ranting and snapping at whoever was listening to her. Which was poor Ronald Weasley, her slightly unlucky boyfriend.

The only downside to the brewing of potions it seemed, was the disgusting smell left over from it, and the way that it clung to every stitch of clothing and no matter how many cleaning spells you used, it didn't work. His hands smelt worse than dragon dung, and that was because of the disgusting Boomslang scales. He absolutely reeked of potions. Thankfully, his hair had remained untouched and as perfect as ever, glistening under any light and as smooth as silk.

Though that wasn't nearly half of the things he'd done today. He'd gone back to the Dursley's for the final time, to collect his last possessions there, hidden under the loose floorboard under his bed. Uncle Vernon had been long gone when they'd arrived, as if he had suspected that Harry might turn up at any given moment. But Dudley and aunt Petunia were there, and they were both crying. Aunt Petunia more so because she had missed the opportunity of a life-time to get to know her only living relative, and Dudley because he was still apologetic about abusing Harry all of his life.

Especially after he'd been told about just how Harry had came to be at the Dursley's in the first place.

"I - I'm so - sorry!" he'd blubbered noisily, allowing aunt Petunia to cradle his large frame with her thin arms, and dab a slightly damp handkerchief at the tears rolling down his red cheeks. "I never - kn - knew you were a hero!" he'd sniffled loudly, as his nose had leaked a string of clear ooze that aunt Petunia had almost immediately caught with her handkerchief.