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Sick Days

Lucia stood before the door, and wondered how she was going to survive another class. Her mind....her usually lucid mind, her educated mind, her facinated mind, hidden beneath a dull pressure of a headache. Her body, usually so straight and stern, hiding beneath a sagging back, sloping shoulders, and bleary eyes.

She opened the door, stopping a second to gather her bearings and to wipe her nose on her sleeve, and made her way to her seat on the front row. She had to pay especial attention today, he was going to start a new section of material, the hardest yet, she can't miss it, not even if she was dying, though that's what she felt like doing.

Her stomache lurched as she sat; it adjusted to the new position and continued to grind upon nothing; eating her insides with the superfulous acid it was producing, that's what this had to be, pain such as hers could not be produced by anything but carbonic acid.

She coughed, a heavy, deep cough that only irritated her throat; it didn't do anything about removing that lump of phelgm lodged in her lungs; she breathed with a rasping sound, much like an old man.

She again contemplated resting. She was crazy, yes she knew, anyone else would love the opprotunity to skip school. She felt so tired, tired enough to fall asleep. That would be so nice, to just sleep, and pretend to understand the material.

Lucia massaged her temples, the loudness of the students and the fumes of the classroom irritating her already mangled senses.

Only one person said she looked sick today. One. Is she that invisible to her peers? Was she that insignificant, that she could hack

(she tries to clear her thoat, but to no avail)

and cough

(she notices spittle flying across her notes)

or even pass out with a loud thunk

(as her head threatens to lose its balance, she hears a classmate slam his cauldron down)

and everyone would continue as normal?

And then he entered.

Pleasant silence. She watched her teacher enter from the door, take his assumed place at the podium. That's why she's here. That man, standing in front of them now. As the class quieted down to wait for him to speak, the steady beat in the temple of her head played contrapuntal to the man's speech. As much as she had difficulty with the material, it was her quest to understand.

Lucia pulled her chair in closer, until the back of the chair and the desk created a brace for her body. Sitting in such a position made her more alert, aware. She was even able to dim down the pounding to a mere 4\4 time beat.

This....thing, whatever it is, may have my body, but it damn well won't have my mind.

She grabbed her quill with a new furvor and waited for him to start.
-------------------
Lucia's drive was fading- it was only one-third into the lesson and she had eased the pressure on her back; she had slumped to look like the other, less interested students; she had even occasionally laid her head on her desk, committing the crime of resting in class.

She senses this, tries to fight it. She imagines she looks much like a mole; up and down, up and down.

Question...must ask a question....keep my mind going....

As she scans her notes, she notices what she's written in the margins repeatedly: 'I'm so tired.'

Lucia jerks herself up, almost fools herself (and her headache) with a new-found vitality, and raises her hand.

"Professor? I don't understand."

She supposed that she could have waited to read the book; most of her questions in class she found easily in the text; but this was new- she wanted to understand now, the effort was making her headache disappear.

Thank you knowledge.

"What do you not understand, Miss Sanger?"

"Well, you indicate that powdered chimera wing is often the best substitute for--"cough, cough "--eagle feathers. I don't see how one can be used for the other."

The answer came, quick, lucid, exactly the opposite she felt.

"The eagle and the chimera yield compatable potion ingrediants because they are both flying creatures. The fact that the two share a common ansectary and similar traits allow their componets to be used interchangibly, though with a loss of potency."

He looked at her, and even as Lucia said "I understand," and went to make a note in her notes, she wondered if Snape saw her red, bleary eyes, sunken face, and red-tinged nose where she had been sneezing.

And whether he saw the dedication she had to Potions.

He turned to address the class; Lucia almost forgot the pounding as she managed to write down the information in a coherant manner and keep up with the new information.
-------
It's almost over, it's almost over five more minutes...

"...tomorrow we will be putting these methods to practice, so review the material and come to class prepared."

The bell rings, and the people start to leave. In the hustle and bustle they don't notice Lucia- she is still in her seat, in the midst of a coughing fit which she doesn't attempt to hide. Her hands tightened- she convulsed involunterily, and jerkily, with each cough.

God, stop, please stop!

Finally, she stopped. She ran one sleeve across her raw nose, and put her notes and book into her bag. She pushed her chair back and stood up-

and it seemed as if everything attacked her at once. The headache redoubled its efforts, now in syncopated time, the vision blurred; she felt another fit of coughing coming, and her stomach pain worked in conjuction with her sore legs and (the worst) a blinding pain focused in the small of her back.

She closed her eyes, and leaned on the table, hands braced on the desk. She spread her legs, and leaned her head down, hoping upon hope that the pain would leave- she can stand it, but it was much worse this time, much longer too---

She only dimly heard footsteps approaching her table. She breathed shallowly, panting, much like a person out of breath, the pain took that much out of her. Every once in a while, she would cough, the same heavy cough.

"Miss Sanger, I suggest you take yourself to the Hospital wing immediately. You are in no condition to continue classes."

"I'm....fine.." she panted, as she felt the beginnings of the pain ebb away.

"You are creating a health hazard to others. Go to the Hospital Wing."

The tone was commanding, harsh.

Maybe I should lay down, she thought. As the last bit of pain from her back ebbed away, she lifted her head and looked wearily at Professor Snape.

"I will, sir," she said, and slowly went for her bag beside her chair. Suddenly, she felt really hot, so hot she wanted to strip herself of her clothes, or lay in an ice bath.

When she had shouldered her bag, she layed a hand on the table for support, and stood up as straight as her cramping stomach would allow her.

"I am sorry for my behavior, sir," she apologized. She took a step toward the door. It was the strange, flatfooted walk of someone unfamilar with the use of legs.

She started toward the door, her balance unsure, as she felt herself wobble on her legs.

Fall apart at any time, she thought to her body. I'm not stopping you.

The weight of her bag seemed to be weighing her down-- when she reached the door, she had to grab the doorframe and hold herself up for a second, gathering her strength.

I can't make it, I can't make it-

-see how strong you are, Lucia! You can't even survive a little fever.

She took a deep breath, lunged herself out the door, and tripped.

She fell, hard, on the cobbled stone floor, and knew no more.
--------------------
Lucia woke up in the Hospital Wing. The headache was dimished, and her stomache was no longer cramped.

It was like heaven. She felt gingerly to her head, where a heatpack layed on her head, its gentle pressure and warmth pushing down her eyelids, almost encoraging sleep.

But she couldn't; she had attracted Madam Pomfrey's attention and she was now changing the pack on her head.

"Oh, it's wonderful you've finally regained conscousness- you needed that sleep."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Oh, a good 20 hours."

"20 hours!"

"But you needed it- you were fighting both the meanest fever I'd seen in awhile, migrane, a touch of food poisoning-"

"food poisoning!"

"--and normal female pains.." She winked at Lucia knowingly.

Lucia sat herself up in her bed, her headache not reciprocating. She remarked that she was almost lucid.

"Really, you young people have to take care of yourself. All this studying and acadamia is not worth sacrificing a healthy body."

Madam Pomfrey opened a bottle and held it to Lucia's mouth. "Drink," she said, as she gulped down the horrible stuff.

She tried to rid the taste of the potion in her mouth, as a question formed on her mind-

"How did I get here?"

"Professor Snape carried you down here," she said, and continued to straighten up her sheets.

The image of Snape carrying her limp body through the halls of Hogwarts was absurd; she let out a laugh which rang through the wing.

"What's so funny?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Oh, nothing." she said. Lucia smiled to herself, the first true smile in a while. Her mind though, jumped to the logical- he would have probably used a Levitating charm on her body.

Oh well. she thought. She would have to content herself with mere fantasies...

"- you should be able to leave tomorrow. You still are a little weak."

"But I feel fine!" she said, and tried to get up. Her head, though, thought otherwise.
"See, its that same kind of recklessness which got you here in the first place," Madam Pomfrey admonished her.

At that moment, the door to the wing opened and he entered and came directly toward her.

"Professor!" she said, as he came over and looked at Lucia critically. His face was scrutinizing, just as if she was a potion or something.

"How are you, Miss Sanger?"

"Much better, sir."

"Good." He looked to Madam Pomfrey, who was a few beds away folding some sheets.

"You have to make up the Delusional Draught," he said, "and we will be having a test on the material a week from now."

"Thank you sir," she said, knowing he would keep the meeting as official as possible, yet she hoped...

He turned to look at her one more time, then strode out of the ward.

"Uh, Professor?" I yelled across the hall.

:He turned and came back.

"Yes, Miss Sanger?"

"When do you want me to make up the potion?"

"Six o'clock Thursday evening."

She nodded; he strode out of the wing without another look.

Lucia leaned back on the headboard and was almost looking foward to Thursday.

THE END
Any feedback is wanted-- even if it's just a "good story." Don't forget my other stories... They are important, too. Email at [email protected]

This one is dedicated to Mr. Bobbitt -- for whom I would come back from the dead -- if he was lecturing on vectors.