Harry wakes very slowly, bit by bit over what feels like an hour or so. His eyes half-open, and then they open a bit more, and a fair while of just lying there after that, he shifts slightly under the light covers of the Hogwarts Infirmary's bed. Afternoon light is filtering in through the windows, their soft curtains wide open to usher in the pleasant brightness, and Harry is very, very slow about sitting up against the headboard.

"Ah, Potter, you're awake," Madam Pomfrey says, and she bustles forwards, reaching out and touching his forehead. Her fingers are cool, and he looks at her slightly blurry countenance as she looks down at him in obvious concern. He doesn't say anything, mouth dry and reluctant to open, and just lets her shift around his bed, plumping his pillows, moving things about on the bedside table. She mutters a few diagnostic spells, but doesn't seem as upset about the results as she could have been, and then she gives a brisk nod and walks away. Harry reaches for the glass of water on the side, drinking from it greedily and setting it down empty before he puts his glasses on.

The hospital wing comes sharply into focus, and he looks around for any other people, but the place is empty except for him. He vaguely remembers being in the Potions classroom, tired and feeling faint, but now he's in pyjamas and settled in an infirmary bed, so he can't have just fainted.

"What happened?" he asks when Madam Pomfrey returns with a steaming glass of pink liquid, pushing it into his hand. He hesitates, peering down at it cautiously, but when he drinks it he finds it's absolutely tasteless, and it sends warm tingles up his throat and through his body as he swallows.

"You fainted coming into your Potions class, Potter, and when I had you up here, I gave you a potion to put you to sleep for a while. Have you been having problems with insomnia, nightmares?" Harry nods. Madam Pomfrey frowns slightly, taking back the glass. "I'm reluctant to give you any Dreamless Sleep, because we don't want you dependent on it, but I'm going to give you a nip of Drowsy Dragon before bed for the next week or so, and that should be enough to put you back in order." Harry stares up at her. He's familiar with stories of Poppy Pomfrey's firm hand and medical eye, but this seems very... Lax.

"Is that uh, is that it?" She nods cleanly, her lips pursed in concentration.

"Oh, yes. Many students have trouble sleeping through the school year, Potter, I expect it's the same for any boarding school. Are you feeling sick at all? You feel a tad hot, more so than I'd like." Madam Pomfrey speaks very briskly, but she's not nasty about it, and Harry shakes his head. Seeming satisfied, she pulls a white cloth curtain around his bed and sets his robes out on the bed. "You've been in bed since yesterday morning, and it's coming up to two o'clock. You'll not to go to classes for the rest of the day, but you ought be fine. I'll have Professor Snape bring your potion by in the evening."

"Snape?" Harry repeats before she can leave the curtained in area of his hospital bed, and she arches an eyebrow.

"Your head of house."

"Yeah. Uh, does he brew the uh, Drowsy Dragon?" Madam Pomfrey shakes her head, tutting.

"It's a brand name," she says disapprovingly, as if the worst thing you could possibly give a child was a commercially brewed potion, and with that, she walks away. Harry feels like he's gotten off very lightly, but he isn't stupid enough to call her back, and he clambers out of the bed, pulling on his robes. He drops his wand into his pocket, pushing his glasses up his nose, and he picks up his satchel. He pushes back the curtains around his bed and then makes it up, setting the sheets neatly into place and adjusting the pillows. Glancing around, he sees Madam Pomfrey in her office, and he awkwardly takes a few steps towards the door.

"Er- sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Harry says. "Can I go?" She glances up from the paperwork on her desk, and then she nods her head. This is nothing like the treatment he got on the Quidditch pitch the other day, and he's somewhat relieved, so he just makes his way out of the hospital wing and down towards the Great Hall. He pushes open the broad, tall door, and the room has only the few students scattered about the four tables, chatting over snacks or getting a little bit of work done.

"Potter!" calls Afifa Lanjwani, and Harry makes his way over to where she's sat with a few other Sixth Years and Frank Richelieu, a complicated-looking game of thin, levitating sticks between them on the table. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah," Harry says, still not feeling entirely with it, and he nods his head. "Uh, yeah, I feel okay, I guess. Has Snape got classes right now? I need to ask about the work I missed-" Harry has the feeling that the Potions Master is going to kill him for having fainted in his class, and he considers this with a sinking feeling in his belly.

"Oh, don't be an idiot, Potter," Francois says disapprovingly, shaking his head. "Go down to the kitchens, eat something, and then go see your friends. He'll give you the work you missed tonight, after dinner."

"But-"

"That's not a suggestion, Potter," Frank warns, and Harry gives a weak, slightly embarrassed laugh at his and Afifa's stern expressions.

"Alright," he agrees reluctantly, and he doesn't complain when Frank reaches over and ruffles his hair to be even messier than it already was. He feels slightly detached and still somewhat floaty - not at all ill or faint like he had been yesterday, but just like he's missing something after sleeping for so long. Francois and Afifa are right, though, and he makes his way to the staircases.

---

"You look much better," Hermione says when she comes out of Charms class, and Harry nods his head in agreement. Now that he's eaten and had some time to wake up properly, he feels much better, and he feels like he's actually able to make his way around and do things. "We should go down to Hagrid's."

"Should we?" Harry asks, and Hermione looks at him for a second.

"Uh, yeah. Remember the, um," she glances at the other children walking past them, and she says, "The egg he's boiling? For tea?" Harry stares at her, completely flummoxed for a second, and then he remembers. The dragon egg.

"Yeah!" he agrees. "Let's run down!" They rush through the halls and down over the grounds, nearly slipping on the slightly damp path down to Hagrid's hut, but they both jump the fence into his pumpkin patch and towards his front door, barely taking the time to knock before they burst into Hagrid's hut. They picked exactly the right time, Harry later reflects: as they enter, a hard little skull is just pushing its way out of the thick, shiny surface of the nut-brown egg.

"There you two are!" Hagrid says, beaming at them and pushing the door shut behind them. Harry and Hermione each perch on Hagrid's sofa, watching as the little dragon beats its way out of the egg. In a strange, slick and slightly disconcerting way, the little monster is almost cute. It's rather like watching a dilapidated, black umbrella hatch from an egg, and once it makes its way completely out Hagrid coos and pets the dragon on the nose. Harry smiles at the sight, but his smile drops a bit abruptly when the dragon sneezes and sets Hagrid's bristled beard on fire.

He puts himself out and reaches for the dragonling with his hands minimally protected by pink oven gloves the size of dustbin lids, stroking over the dragon's scales and cooing sweetly at it, as if it's a new puppy. Fang, letting out soft, whimpering noises, cowers on the ground and flattens himself against Harry and Hermione's feet.

"Hagrid," Hermione says, "You can't be serious about actually keeping that as a pet."

"Him, Hermione," Hagrid says, "He's called Norbert! And he knows who his Mummy is! Yes you do, don't you, Norbert? You know I'm yer Mummy? Yeah, you do!" If Harry hadn't been awake before now, he certainly would be now. The little dragon's huge, bulging eyes are staring right at him as he jabs his claws into the thick fabric of Hagrid's coat, letting out chittering growls and wriggling.

"How, er, how big is it going to get, Hagrid?"

"Well, it's a Norwegian Ridgeback, Harry, judging by what it says in me book. He'll be about thirty, forty feet, once he's all grown up!" The factoid, delivered with a "Who's a good baby for Mummy?" and a little scrunch of Hagrid's nose, leaves Harry forgetting how to close his own mouth.

"Your house is built of wood, Hagrid," Hermione points out. "Your mattress is made of straw."

"Oh, we'll be fine, won't we, Norbert?" he promises, grabbing a bottle of reddish liquid and holding it to Norbert's sharply toothy little mouth, letting him guzzle down the contents. "Just fine!"

---

"This is not going to be fine," Harry says as he and Hermione walk up to the Great Hall for dinner. Hermione shakes his head, staring into the middle distance and imagining the numerous ways "little Norbert" could probably kill their well-meaning friend.

"How can he think this is okay?" she asks. "He- he thinks it's so cute."

"Well, when you're Hagrid's size and you can cuddle three-headed puppies, I guess Kneazle kittens don't really cut it," Harry says, and Hermione elbows him for making her laugh. "We need to get rid of it."

"But we can't report it to anyone. He'd be arrested, it's illegal to keep dragons as pets. You need all sorts of licenses and safety precautions." Harry sighs.

"I don't think Hagrid believes in safety precautions," he admits, and Hermione nods her head. "Is there anywhere in the UK that like, takes dragons?"

"I don't know," Hermione answers, and they enter the Great Hall, sharing an uncertain look. "We should maybe look it up."

"Tomorrow, after classes, I guess," Harry agrees with a nod of his head, and he heads over to sit with the Slytherins.

"Ah, the sleeping angel is amongst us once again!" Blaise says as Harry settles across from him, and Harry sticks his tongue out in response. Draco is sat on Blaise's one side, Crabbe on the other, and Harry sits between Goyle and Nott, the latter of whom is examining him carefully. Blaise grins, showing all of his bright, white teeth, and says, "You feeling better, Harry?" Theodore glances at him with obvious concern on his face when Harry meets his gaze, but his posture is relaxed now that he's got a good look at Harry's face and a feel for his demeanour.

"Yeah," Harry says, nodding his head. "Yeah, way better." Draco is conspicuously silent where he's sat next to Blaise, staring down at his dinner plate, and Harry glances at him for a moment before he says, "Sorry about what I said to you yesterday. I didn't mean it, obviously, I was just really tired."

"It's fine," Draco says, stiffness melting out of his body like sand out of an hourglass, as if he hadn't thought Harry would rescind what he'd said. "Besides, I don't put any stock in what you say, Potter." Harry can't help his smile.

"You should, Malfoy. An idiot like you needs someone clever to look up to."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

"You need to grow a bit taller then."

"Oi!" The other boys laugh at Harry's sudden indignation, and Harry shakes his head, everything he has to worry about fading from his mind as their food appears on the table and he settles into his usual back-and-forth with his housemates. He feels really relaxed for the first time in a few weeks now.