(HP) Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies

Mystery and Merlin's Tears

"How is our hero today, Apprentice Healer Malfoy?"

Draco tried to stand a little taller in front of Mallow, who never looked up at him, but continued to sort through the parchments that occupied his desk. He frowned at one and cast it into the air, incinerating it nonverbally. Draco winced and hoped that Mallow was in a better temper with

people right now than he was with paper.

"Recovering, sir, but not as well as I'd like," he said, with a prepared frown. This was the first part
of the plan he had worked out with Potter, and he was going to show Potter that he was a good
actor and liar as well as Healer. "The curse seems to have token a heavier toll on him than it
should. He still has trouble walking, and he's short of breath. If we got all the magic out of his

lungs, it ought not to be like that."

Mallow gave Draco his full attention for the first time, and Draco had to fight not to wince away

from the sheer pressure. 

"You need not recite symptoms of his condition to me, Apprentice Healer," he said sternly. "I am familiar with them from more cases than you could count in a single afternoon."

"Sorry, sir," Draco said, and scowled at the floor. 

This was one of the reasons he and Mallow didn't get along. Draco would innocently try to show off his knowledge, and Mallow would react as though showing off his knowledge was a bad thing. Sometimes, Draco thought Healers honestly preferred stupid Apprentices.

Mallow watched him for a moment more, then grunted. "I will give you potions from my own

store to carry to Potter, Apprentice Healer Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth to say that he didn't need them. Potter had told Draco that Draco could
make him sound as paranoid as he wanted. If it served the plan and helped them capture his

enemy, or prove the murder attempt in the first place—and Draco had to admit that he didn't think it was a murder attempt all the time—then Potter would approve it.

But Draco's brain was sometimes quicker than his mouth. He thought of all the ways he could use properly brewed potions and free access to Mallow's cupboard, and managed to say, "I'd be most grateful, sir."

Mallow waved his hand in dismissal, and Draco moved off, wincing when he heard a minor
explosion from behind him. Well, he wasn't the one who had to clean the char and ash off

Mallow's floor. The Healers preferred to reserve Draco for the more disgusting menial tasks.

Draco had a definite goal in mind, and it helped him fly through his morning chores of changing
beddings and bedpans and charming a young girl who vomited everything she was given into
stasis until a team of multiple Healers could figure out what was wrong with her. Again, like the
other day when he'd had time to study the potion, he was finished early, and made his way
towards the classrooms on the ground floor with a confident stride. He carried a bucket full of
yellow goop—the remains of Apprentice Healer Varden's last attempt to brew the Draught of
Peace—in one hand. The smell as well as the usualness of the task should keep people away from him.

When he got into the corridors between the classrooms, wide and full of light, Draco cast a

Disillusionment Charm. There were wards elsewhere in hospital to detect such magic, notably on Janus Thickey, but it would pass unnoticed down here.

Then he sneaked up to the nearest door and pushed it gently open. The Apprentice Healers
ignored the door's movement, and so did the Healer, Okono-Jones, rapt in the sound of his own