Only a time traveling Adolf Hitler dressed as Batman can unravel the dark and mysterious secret behind the numbers that appeared over everyone’s heads at Hogwarts. – FlahOwl
Madame Pomfrey peeled back the eyelid of the first year who had been carefully dropped on the bed. The pupil’s pupil rolled around, as if it was looking around the room, but the vacant expression on the boy’s face showed that he was more than likely just unconscious. “Alright,” she said tiredly. “What happened?”
“The stupid boy tried to make a potion using a Muggle nursery rhyme as the recipe, I suspect,” Professor Snape said, staring disdainfully down his hooked nose at the student. “Newt eyes, frog toes, bat wool, dog tongues, boiled and then simmered until bubbling.”
“Oh, dear,” Madame Pomfrey said.
“I don’t know if I should warn the muggleborn students not to try it, or let the fools find out for themselves,” Snape sneered. “If you don’t mind, I must return to my class, to make sure that none of the other students have attempted to poison themselves in the five minutes I’ve been gone.”
Madame Pomfrey nodded as the potions master left the infirmary. She took her wand (nine and three quarter inches, oak, unicorn hair) from the tiny pocket sewn into her apron for just that purpose, and with a flick of her wrist, said “Accio smelling salts.”
There was a clatter as the small bag of salts zipped across the room to land in Madame Pomfrey’s hand. Holding her breath, she opened the bag and waved it under the student’s nose, to no effect. Again, a bit closer to the nostrils, and again, nothing.
Poppy Pomfrey sighed and shoved the opening of the bag directly at the student’s nose. The effects were immediate.
“Ich bin die nacht!” the student shouted, sitting up like a jack-in-the-box and flailing his arms like the Whomping Willow. His swinging arms swatted Pomfrey’s nurse’s cap off her head, but thankfully did not harm her. The student quickly came to his senses, looking around the hospital wing with the displaced confusion of a boy who, to his knowledge, had just a second previously taken a sip of a strange concoction which tasted like applesauce (for some reason).
“Feeling better?” Madame Pomfrey asked.
The student blinked at her, anchoring himself in reality. “I just dreamed that I was Adolf Hitler dressed up as Batman, and that I’d traveled through time to find out why there were numbers over people’s heads,” he said in one breath.
Only one of those concepts made anything resembling sense to Madame Pomfrey. “I think perhaps you’d better take a nap,” Pomfrey suggested.
“I think I better had,” the student agreed, and then passed out.
There’s one every year, Madame Pomfrey thought to herself.
I don’t even know, man. This one was weird.