All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 7

The announcement comes at breakfast the next morning, approximately two minutes after Draco's Potioneer's Weekly magazine has dropped onto the table and upended his half-eaten bowl of cereal. He has spelled away the spilled milk and is glaring at the soggy magazine, wondering why the hell he still has a subscription anyway, when McGonagall stands and silences the chattering masses with three crisp words:

"Good morning, everyone."

"And a fine morning to you, too, Professor," someone says heartily. Draco rolls his eyes.

"Yes, thank you, Mr Bracknell. Now, if I could have your full attention for just a moment—I'm sure some of you have been wondering about the whereabouts of Professor Potter, and I would like to reassure you that he is in no danger but is unwell and currently unable to perform his duties." In the brief pause that follows, a ripple of concern passes through the room and McGonagall has to raise her voice in order to continue. "Professor Potter will be returning to us as soon he can, but in the meantime, effective from Monday, his classes and extracurricular activities will be taken by Professor Malfoy, who will also be standing in as the head of Gryffindor House. I am sure," she adds, tone sharpening as she looks around at the startled students, "that you will all support him as best you can."

She sits back down, and the moment she does, the Great Hall seems to erupt in whispers and darting glances. The occupants of the Gryffindor table in particular look shocked and less than thrilled by the news. Draco, for once, absolutely empathises with them.

Friday's classes seem to float by in a haze. Draco teaches, marks, prepares and advises as usual, but by lunchtime, he can't seem to remember any of it. He vaguely recalls remarkably similar exchanges with a couple of his braver students, along the lines of:

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Are you really the new head of Gryffindor?"

"Yes, for the time being."

"But... aren't you a Slytherin?"

"I am a Transfiguration professor. And a flying instructor. Please get on with your work."

"He's not dead, is he? Professor Potter?"

Draco sighs and hurries the last student out of his classroom. There's a rather wonderful savoury smell drifting down the corridor from the Great Hall, but he shakes his head and walks in the opposite direction. The St Mungo's Healer must have arrived by now, and he is, for reasons he can't quite put into words, quite anxious to speak to him or her. As he climbs the stairs, the object in his robe pocket rustles against his thigh and he can't control a small smile as he acknowledges the minor miracle that had been sitting on his desk first thing this morning.

Jasper Bracknell's essay. Finished. Legible. Not at all bad, in fact.

When he reaches the doors, Draco shoves the miracle deeper into his pocket and pushes his way expectantly into the hospital wing. To his surprise, the light-drenched room is almost completely empty—in fact, the only person in the whole place seems to be Potter; the girl from yesterday has disappeared and the Healer is nowhere to be seen.

Somehow sensing his presence, Madam Pomfrey bustles out from her office and stops short, expression one of unvarnished bewilderment.

"You again?"
Draco shifts slightly on the spot, feeling awkward. "Yes. I was wondering if I might have a word with the Healer from St Mungo's."

"Oh," Pomfrey says, face clearing a little. "I'm afraid he's gone."

"Gone? Already?"

"That's right," she says, squeaking over to Potter's bed and rearranging his sheets. "He was only here for a few minutes—took one look at Harry, asked Professor McGonagall a few questions and then he was off. He said there was nothing he could do."