WHO: Draco Malfoy WHAT: It's easy to get sick, if you really want to. WHEN: Evening, September 4 WHERE: Distant cell in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor WHY: Draco really REALLY doesn't want to do patrol.
COMPLETE
Draco turned off the flame beneath the cauldron and watched as the bubbling slowly abated. He'd set one up in the farthest cell in the dungeons beneath the manor - and concocted for himself a potion that was anything but. There was nothing magical, and the way the ingredients were combined was hardly magical either. No, he just needed somewhere he wouldn't be bothered in order to put a few of the herbs he'd had bad reactions to in the past together in their own sickening brew.
He was certain he would feel just awful when he drank it. And each of the three he'd used had once had him sick for several days. If he calculated things right, he would drink it in the morning. Seem only somewhat under the weather at breakfast - and before he would have to leave for patrol, he'd be absolutely and utterly useless.
Being ill in bed, a fever and a very upset digestive tract, should be enough to keep him out of patrol this week; and he would much rather be terribly ill than go on patrol. Ever.
He'd use a different combination of herbs when it came time for the next patrol. That way his reactions would not be the same, and it may buy him yet another week off from that detestable duty he had no desire whatsoever to perform.
Grimacing at the smell as he ladled the brew into a flask, Draco stoppered it with a waxed cork before shrinking it and putting it in an inner pocket of his robe. The now-tiny flask would lay beneath his pillow with his wand until morning.