All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 26

Reassured by the knowledge that, at last, he has a plan, Draco goes about his routine with renewed vigour. The cool, fresh weather improves everyone's spirits, so much so that Draco barely notices the waterlogged ground at his four o'clock flying lesson and he actually manages to make his students smile by slipping in the mud and falling down on his backside.

At Duelling Club, he and Ivy sort the younger students into pairs to practice Shield Charms and other useful defensive manoeuvres. As the spells begin to fly, they lean against the windowsill and watch, giving the students a few moments before they start throwing out constructive comments.

"I still haven't changed my mind, you know," she says, gazing straight ahead.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Draco admits.

She glances at him. "If you think I'd be really terrible, I'd rather you said so now."

Draco lifts an eyebrow. "I do not think you'll be terrible at all. I think you'll be marvellous at whatever you choose to do. I was just... surprised, that's all."

"Really?" she asks, and there's a note of anxiety in her voice that he has never heard before.

"Really," he says firmly. "Come on, some of this spellwork needs all the help it can get."

Ivy nods, pulling herself up to her full height, which can only be all of about five feet and two inches. They each take a side of the room, walking slowly by each duel and correcting wand grip, posture and incantations where needed. Draco listens to her calm instructions, noticing how easily she has fallen into the role of unofficial teaching assistant and how naturally she works with the younger students. He supposes that some people are meant to teach; others, like him, have just had teaching thrust upon them.

"Try lunging forward on the other foot," he suggests, tapping a second-year girl on the shoulder.

"Levinson, it's supposed to be a shield, not a weapon," he says wearily, unsurprised when Levinson spins around and gives him the sort of look that belongs on a Labrador puppy.

"Might've got a bit carried away," he says, shrugging apologetically and turning back to his partner.

Draco shakes his head and moves on to the next pair. Across the room, he is vaguely aware of Ivy saying, "Jack, don't use that spell in here-just try to disarm like Professor Malfoy said," and then there is an odd flash of light and he turns to see Ivy looking furious, Jack looking guilty, and Jack's Hufflepuff partner bent double and vomiting bright green gunge.

"I'm sorry, Professor-I didn't think the spell would actually work. It was just a stupid thing my sister told me," Jack says, all traces of his usual cheekiness absent.

"Wait until I speak to your sister," Ivy mutters, stepping around Jack and rubbing the back of the unfortunate first-year.

The vomiting shows no sign of abating, even when Draco casts Finite and everything else he can think of, so he instructs Ivy to carry on with the others and guides the poor girl up to the hospital wing as quickly as he can, vanishing the puddles of bright green liquid as he goes.

"Don't worry," he says grimly, pushing the door open with his hip. "Madam Pomfrey will know what to do. And I shall be taking house-points from Ravenclaw for this. I thought they were supposed to be the clever ones."

The girl looks at him, opens her mouth to speak, and sprays green vomit all down his front. He takes a deep breath and flicks his wand, removing all but a faint, lime-coloured stain from his white shirt.

Poppy squeaks out of her office and has the girl sitting on a bed with a large basin in her lap before Draco can say a word.

"The vomiting curse strikes again," she observes, picking through the bottles on her potion trolley and gazing calmly at Draco as she carefully mixes two powders in a bright purple liquid and then shakes the whole thing briskly. "I've never seen it green before, though," she says, smiling at him and decanting the potion into a slender-necked bottle, which she expertly pushes into her patient's mouth. She waits for a moment and then, in between retches, tips the contents down the girl's throat.

"You've seen this before?" he asks, watching in amazement as the girl coughs, wheezes a little, and stops vomiting completely. Dazed, she wipes her mouth on the cloth Poppy holds out to her and then gulps gratefully at the glass of juice that seems to have been conjured out of mid air.

"Come on, Draco, this one's probably as old as Hogwarts," Poppy says, touching the girl's forehead briefly. "How are you feeling?"

"A little bit startled," Draco says honestly, and then: "Oh. The patient. Sorry."

The girl nods, blonde pigtails bobbing. "I'm okay. That was horrible, though. I thought it wasn't going to stop."

"Don't worry. They haven't invented a vomiting hex yet that I can't cure," Poppy says brightly. "I want you to drink all of that," she adds, indicating the juice. "I'm going to fetch something for you to take if you still feel queasy later."

She walks into her office and the girl-Laura Mearley, he thinks, remembering her name now that she is no longer the girl who is vomiting violently all over him-looks at him curiously. Her eyes flit to Harry's bed and then back to him, and he knows the question is coming.

"What's wrong with Professor Potter, sir?" she asks.

Draco hesitates, looking over at Harry, too. "I'm not sure," he says in the end. "But I know that if he's going to recover, he needs to sleep, so we should probably be very quiet."

Laura nods, wide-eyed, and sips her juice. Poppy returns with a small potion bottle, and by the time ten minutes have passed, Laura is restored and steady enough on her feet to walk back to her common room. She politely refuses his offer to accompany her, so he hangs back, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Poppy fuss around with Harry's sheets.

"She asked what was wrong with him," he says after a moment. "I said I didn't know, but that he needed to sleep. What would you have told her?"

"Exactly what you did, if I'd been in your position," she says without turning around. "Obviously, it doesn't give the best impression if I say I don't know what's wrong with my patients."

Draco sighs and pulls a face at her back. "What about the older ones? I heard Joseph Ryan was up here the other day. What did you tell him?"

Poppy turns around, mouth twisting slightly. "That boy is the worst hypochondriac I have ever come across, and he is quite as obsessed with other people's ailments as he is with his own. I told him to mind his own business."

Draco grins. "You're a brave woman. Do you know he's going to be playing professional Quidditch next year?"

"No, but I can't say I'm surprised," Poppy says grimly. "Hadn't you better get back to your club?"

"Yes," Draco sighs, getting to his feet. "I'm going."

Poppy nods and then frowns. "By the way-was it you who opened all the windows last night? It was very cold when I came in this morning."

"I didn't open all of them," Draco says airily. "Just two. We were too warm."

Poppy stares at him, mouth twitching, and he decides to leave before he says something truly ridiculous. Besides, he has points to deduct from a very sheepish Ravenclaw.