Nobody ever asked my birthday

Playin sick

Harry had work to do, and even though he knew Defense in the evenings was important, he would do it next week.

Really.

It wasn't like crises popped up every week, now did they? No, it was more like yearly, Harry thought wryly. Break the stone, Kill the Basilisk, Save Padfoot, Survive the Tournament, Upbraid the Pink Abomination...

So he'd probably even manage what he was promising. Honest!

But, tonight, he wanted to find the right Weasley product. He was up to the middle of the first week of this year, surely he'd have it done by the end of the night.

Well, he would if he didn't go to Defense.

So, Harry set about playing sick. It was easy enough to look half off his food at dinner (and to not pay attention to anyone, excepting Hermione and Ron). Standing up middinner, bending half over the table, and covering his mouth was a good touch, Harry thought. He'd run off to the bathroom, and halfheartedly told Ron, "I'm fine." in that tone he always used when he was "sick but not dying," which really just meant "Not the Infirmary AGAIN!"

By the time Harry'd made it back to his dorm, it was near-empty. Gryffindors were at Defense, and nobody'd really spared the thought to wait for a sick Harry.

Just as planned.

Harry darted up to his room (never wise to linger), and started scrutinizing the Twins weird scrawl.

Harry nearly nodded off once or twice ( he really needed to get more sleep), but about ten minutes before the Gryffindor Grouse hit, Harry found it. Cloying Clods, of all things. They were designed so that older brothers and sisters could give one to a small child, and the child would be quiet by virtue of their mouth being stuck together. They also happened to taste like mud this week, hence the clod. But that wasn't why Harry'd remembered them. He'd remembered the side-effect, that occurred right after - insatiable hunger. He'd thought, at the time, that Dudley would have exploded if he'd gotten one. Yes, Harry would admit, he was rude, but at least he didn't go around putting his fists on Dudley.

Finally! Harry thought, pulling out some blank foolscap. I have a letter to write.

[a/n: aha! progress! Leave a review? How convincing do you think Harry's been, about being sick?]