Dumbledore and Harry's Adventures

A Proper Christmas

Harry winced as he turned his neck to look at his bedroom door, which had just opened.

It had been six days since his visit to the Grand Canyon, and impromptu cross-country journey. Six long days without any sort of news. Also, five days since Len, his tutor in swordplay, had decided to distract Harry by increasing the intensity of his training. Today had been the worst, as it felt like the man was trying to fit a lifetime of training into one day. And it was three minutes until his paste would be cooled and ready to start applying to his bruises. So, of course, Albus had decided to come in while Harry was trying to stay very still and not focused on the giant bruise that was his body.

Albus took one look at the cooling paste and smiled sympathetically.

"My apologies, Harry. I hadn't realized you were indisposed. Would you like me to return when you are in a less of a state of... discomfort?"

If his tired muscles would have allowed it, Harry would have shrugged. Instead, he simply turned his neck back to a more comfortable angle while glancing at his timer.

"You may need to step outside for a moment when the paste is cooled. Though, in my current state, it will probably take half an hour to just cover myself with that foul smelling godsend of a paste."

Albus frowned. "Why don't you just apply it with magic?"

Harry sighed. "Because the book said applying magic to the paste would ruin it."

"Yes, that is true. But you can simply apply magic to some washcloths and have them rub the paste onto you... have you been applying the paste by hand since you started training with me?"

Harry groaned. "You couldn't have told me about this earlier? This isn't a lemon-drop lesson about asking questions, is it?"

Albus chuckled. "I assure you that was not my intention. Had I known of your... less than efficient healing regimen, I would have told you the trick without prompting. Though, if you want to treat this experience as an object lesson in remembering to ask questions rather than suffering in silence, then feel free."

Harry closed his eyes in annoyance (mostly with himself). "Give me five minutes."

"Of course."

Five minutes later, Albus sat in front of a much more relaxed (as well as smellier and greasier) Harry.

"So, Albus, what did you want to talk about?"

Albus smiled. "Before I begin, you need to promise me that what I tell you does not go into your letters to Marcus. Not even a hint."

Harry became much more alert. "Of course! Is this about my idea? Was it..."

Albus's smile broadened. "It was correct. Well done! Right after you told me your idea, I contacted Saint Mungo's and told them. They then talked with Marcus about any unusual cases of accidental magic that he had before he started showing his symptoms. As he recalled his various episodes in the months preceding his hospitalization, he did remember one time where he was playing with his toy Quaffle. He had thrown it a bit harder than intended and it landed in some tall grass. As he searched, he found it to be thoroughly lost. As such, he began to panic that he would get in trouble with his parents for losing yet another toy. Predictably, his heightened emotions caused the Quaffle to come flying towards him. Sadly, it was hidden behind him and he didn't realize it was coming until it collided solidly into his head."

Harry rubbed his arm absently, remembering a certain encounter with a Bludger. "Ouch!"

Albus chuckled. "Not to worry, toy Quaffles are designed with small children in mind. I am sure it stung and came as a shock, but it would not have caused any damage."