Healing

The 'Snape Cape' and a Weasley Jumper

Draco's second week of term commenced with a head-cold brewing. He felt miserable as he woke up sniffing, with a sore throat, and unable to clear the heaviness from his head. To top it all, he hadn't seen Harry since their disastrous Seeker Game and he was seriously regretting opening his mouth about Oliver: who was he to criticise Harry's boyfriend anyway? The severity of his cold meant he was late dragging himself from bed and heading to breakfast on the Monday morning, he just about managed to collect his morning's books together, pull on his school robes and make it to down breakfast in time to grab something before Potions.

He knew something was different as soon as he shrugged his long black robe over his shoulders but he couldn't quite place a finger on it. The robe was definitely his, it hung well, reaching mid-calf on his long legs, but something, something, felt off. He ignored it: breakfast called and he rushed off to the Great Hall, his robe flapping gently behind him as he hurried down the main staircase and through the quiet corridors.

As soon as he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall it happened. His robes immediately billowed out behind him as he walked between the seated students. When he stopped, his robes fell back to their natural position. As soon as he took a step, just one single meagre step, they swirled around him like, like ... like Severus's had, he realised with a groan. He could see it in his mind's eye, his Godfather striding into their classroom on their very first day of school: 'I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death...'. He groaned, bloody Weaslebee, he wasn't feeling up to this, but there was no other option, he had to strut! Summoning every ounce of energy in his flu-ridden body he strutted through the Great Hall and students stopped talking, stopped eating, and stared open-mouthed as his robes flowed and curled in his wake as he channelled every bit of Severus Snape he could muster.

Draco kept his face as serious and aloof as he could manage, considering he couldn't breathe properly because of his blocked sinuses, as if his billowing robes were a normal occurrence. He thought the effect was absolutely ruined by his rheumy eyes and dripping, red nose. McGonagall was watching, a barely concealed smile quivering on her lips. Flitwick was beaming and kept glancing at the year-eight table towards Ron. The year eights were watching, Seamus handed Ron a Galleon, he heard Terry asking when he could buy one, Megan, too, announced she'd like to get one for her brother for Christmas. Ron was grinning from ear-to-ear.

Draco didn't even have the energy to feel satisfied at the success of taking another step towards convincing Ron he was more than capable of joining George in the shop. He tried hard not to slump as he slid into his seat next to Neville, his robes immediately dropping back to their normal state.

'Very clever, Weaselbee, what did you do?' he droned through his blocked nose.

'It's a "Snape Cape" charm, designed to only work in crowds of people,' he replied, somewhat smugly. 'In fact, I'm just wondering if your godfather might have invented it before me. Quite effective, I think, though perhaps a bit more flourish is required around the final collapse.' And he flicked his wand briefly in Draco's direction.

'How did you do it?' Hermione asked.

Ron simply tapped the side of his nose, 'trade secret, but I'm taking orders for Christmas on behalf of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes,' he announced loudly.

Draco didn't let his own smugness show, mostly because his congested head was preventing any emotions from reaching anywhere near his face.

'Are you okay, Dray,' Neville asked as they walked to potions together, Draco's robe wafting around him in the crowded corridor.

'No,' he replied. 'Everything's bloody awful, I feel like shit and I've really messed up with Harry, I haven't seen him since yesterday and, to be honest, I'm surprised anyone's talking to me after my performance.'