Diagnosis
Written by FHL1234, previously known as Taylor1991
Summary: Harry is diagnosed with cancer during 6th year, turning his world upside down, making him re-think every aspect of his life. He decides to make some changes before it's too late, and complete a "Before I Die" list, on which love steals a space. And will the BWL decide to go through treatment before it's too late? Hp/Dm.
Warnings: OOCness, possible character death, sexual innuendos, sexual scenes both het and slash, descriptions of a serious/possibly terminal disease, and violence.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own the rights to the Potter verse.
A/N: After much consideration, I decided to repost this fanfic and plan upon updating it regularly. Please be patient with me as I work on it. I'd like to say a big thanks to angelindisguise247 for allowing me to adopt the fic.
Diagnosis
Chapter One: Diagnosis
..:..
In recent times, it could be said that an anxious depression seemed to have taken hold of the entire population, both muggle and wizard alike. It spread like a disease in an epidemic fashion, born from the knowledge that he was back and determined to live up to his formidable reputation. It was easily noticeable in the faces of those that passed you in the street as they scurried along, even in their children's eyes as they questioned the unexplainable, yet undeniable, frantic quality to their parent's barks to just hurry up already!
There was only one place left untouched by the mounting hysteria, a place that gave the gift of separation from the world outside to its students. Here, at Hogwarts, the children still laughed, made jokes, hung out with friends, and complained about the last-minute homework stealing their precious time away, knowing they were safe.
One noteworthy student, however, did not particularly feel up to taking advantage of the rare but happy atmosphere that the castle offered, the blanket of magic wrapped around him giving no comfort…
..:..
Poppy Pomfrey stared at the boy sitting rigidly on the bed in front of her, waiting for his reaction as he absorbed the heavy words that had dropped from her lips just moments ago. She couldn't help but be afraid of having to consider the meaning of them herself, but as a dedicated healer, she could not shy away from the time-bomb that had presented itself to her. She had a duty to be strong and provide the support that would undoubtedly be needed from her.
"You can't tell anyone." His voice finally breathed, quickly bringing her out of her daze.
"What?" she asked shocked. She had prepared herself for a lot of possible reactions but this one had failed to cross her mind.
"Please Poppy, I need you to keep this secret for me," her most frequent visitor pleaded with her, and a pleading Harry Potter was almost impossible to deny.
"Why on earth would you want me to do that? Don't you want to get help? Support? Your friends would most certainly want to be informed of something like this! Are you intending to keep them in the dark?" she questioned incredulously. Harry bowed his head so that she couldn't read his facial expressions, but when he looked her in the eye once more with a desperate glint she sighed and conceded defeat, appallingly easily.
"Very well. Dumbledore–"
"Not even Dumbledore." came the unexpected clarification.
"Seriously? But–"
"Please Poppy, just trust me that I need this to be kept confidential!" the woman's mouth abruptly clacked shut.
"Alright. I won't tell anyone Harry." Harry shot her a relieved, grateful smile, even if it did seem like a mere shadow of what it usually was. This only made Pomfrey want to give the boy a much-needed hug, but she held herself back. If she came over all emotional in front of him she may just set him off too.
"May I go?"
"Sorry? Oh! Um, well, yes I suppose you might as well. I won't have any of the pain potions in for a few days yet, but if you pop in and see me at some point, I can give them to you then. There's also the matter of another treatment that I wish to discuss with you when you do."
"Thanks." Harry hopped down off of the bed and started in the direction of the door.
"Perhaps you'd like to stay here? Just tonight?" Poppy asked his back concernedly, only to be refused with the reassurance that he was fine as he walked out the door and left her standing there biting her lip and wondering what exactly this would all mean.
..:..
Brain cancer.
He had a cancer of the brain.
'What did that mean?' Harry wondered dazedly as he meandered back to the Gryffindor common room. Well, he knew the obvious stuff. Like how he could die. But he didn't know how advanced the cancer was. What were his chances? Was he supposed to get that treatment that made all of your hair fall out? What did this mean for the rest of the world?
Madame Pomfrey probably could have answered a lot of his questions, and no doubt was actually supposed to tell him all of this while he was there, but to be fair she looked more shocked and confused than he had felt. He suspected she hadn't had her mind organized enough to think of all that after the impact of the news. Or maybe she simply hadn't had the heart to go into detail about the disease that was slowly killing him.
Either way Harry didn't want anyone to find out. If it turned out that he could be treated and eventually cured, then it wouldn't be necessary to have everyone worrying and depressed over him. If not…well, Harry wanted the time to take it all in and make sure he understood everything he needed to know and what he needed to do before he even thought about telling anyone. Even then the drama would no doubt interfere with everything. People wouldn't be able to prepare for exams properly, and the time they spent with Harry would be tainted with the thought in the back of their minds that this would be some of the last moments they shared with him.
No, Harry would keep this secret.
"Hey Harry, how'd it go?"
Harry looked up across the Gryffindor common room from his position in the portrait hole to a smiling Hermione sitting at the table in front of the fire doing homework with Ron. He walked over, an answering smile on his lips, and sat down on the couch next to Ron.
"Fine. She's getting some migraine potions for me in a few days." Hermione frowned concernedly.
"I thought you said it was just headaches? Did she find anything wrong? I know you think it's just Voldemort, but these ones seemed different to the other times, y'know? Just, the way you act when you have one isn't the same."
"Geez 'Mione, don't worry so much, loads of people are just prone to migraines you know. It doesn't mean something awful is wrong with him and he's gonna drop dead tomorrow! Hannah in Hufflepuff gets them all the time and she's fine." Ron answered jokingly, poking fun at Hermione for her worry over Harry and saving him from having to think of something to say.
"Oh shut up Ron, I know that perfectly fine, I was just asking for heaven's sake, that's more than what you did." Ron just raised his eyebrows in response to Hermione rolling her eyes at him.
"Oh, well excuse me! Someone's moody today aren't they?"
"Well what do you expect when –"
"Guys, I'm just going to head upstairs and go to sleep, okay? My bed's sounding pretty tempting right about now; I was up late last night."
"Sure Harry, goodnight."
"Night Harry."
The sounds of Ron and Hermione's escalating bickering floated on the air as Harry climbed the stairs to his dorm room, realizing how tired he actually felt. He stripped down completely and climbed into bed, leaving his pajama bottoms at the bottom of the bed so that he could put them on inside the confines of the curtains in the morning. He did not particularly want to get up and walk around while giving his dorm mates an eyeful after all. He found it uncomfortable to sleep wearing pajamas, though he sometimes wore a t-shirt to bed when it was cold. The covers were pleasantly cool and welcoming, allowing him to lie in comfort as he let his consciousness drift until sleep took him.
..:..
The next day Harry couldn't help but start to think that his visit to Pomfrey had simply been a horrible dream. Everything was so normal. Nothing had changed at all. He almost expected some kind of major event to happen, something weird maybe, anything really which would reflect the life-altering diagnosis from Pomfrey. But the world kept turning around him anyway. As a result, Harry had succeeded in pushing the issue to the back of his mind to hopefully be forgotten about.
'I mean, really, what's the point of going back to see Pomfrey? She hadn't even explained what treatment she was on about last night anyway.'
However, before he could fully attempt to write off the whole incident as some kind of nightmare in a bid to avoid dealing with it, Madame Pomfrey appeared in the doorway of his last period potions class.
"I apologize Severus but may I borrow Mr. Potter? I need to talk something over with him about his last visit to me. I would have done it at the time but, well, I forgot." Here she blushed in a sheepishly embarrassed way, raising a few eyebrows, the most notable of which belonged to Draco Malfoy.
Since when did Madame Pomfrey do anything other than be efficient, organized, unflustered, and dependable? Draco wondered vaguely what Potter had managed to do to put her in such a tizzy and glanced up at his godfather, who was standing in front of his cauldron, to see if he thought the phenomenon was rather strange as well. Severus glanced down to meet his eyes once, confirming he too had noticed the oddity in Pomfrey's behavior, besides the fact that this was quite possibly the first time he knew of that the healer had come to a class to fetch someone personally.
Both Slytherins then looked over at the boy in question. Harry had gone a sickly pale color and seemed frozen in place, his eyes fixed on his desk in front of him.
"Certainly Poppy. Potter, I do believe that Madame Pomfrey is waiting."
There was a moment when it seemed like Harry would ignore both adults and remain where he sat instead, but after the suspiciously long pause he rose to his feet, trying to concentrate on breathing normally. He maneuvered himself between desks and students till he reached Poppy, though he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye.
The door closed behind the pair and it was as though a strange spell had been lifted and the rest of the world filtered back into Draco's mind, allowing him to more or less dismiss his curiosity of the incident with the passing thought that perhaps Potter was shagging Pomfrey, allowing a smirk to bloom and die on his lips in quick succession at his own, unvoiced joke.
Severus's eyes, however, lingered on the closed door and Harry's empty seat, a thoughtful frown gracing his harsh features.
..:..
"I'm surprised you didn't come back to see me yet, what with all the questions I left unanswered." Pomfrey made an attempt at a weak smile as she joked about the state she'd been in the night before, but gained no reaction from Harry, who watched the stones of the castle pass under him as he walked.
"Poppy? If I…I mean, when I get really badly ill…can I please stay here? I don't want to be sent back to the Dursley's if it's getting about time for me to...to die." Harry mumbled, uncomfortable asking in the face of the likelihood that what he spoke of would indeed come to pass. Pomfrey's facial expression saddened at the reminder of how her and Harry had become so close.
Every school year began with the now standard check-up and healing of Harry. She had been horrified in his first year at her discovery of the wretched abuse everyone's favourite young man had endured at the hands of those charged with his care and protection. Harry had pleaded confidentiality then as well.
Of course Poppy couldn't give him that, certainly not when he was clearly being hurt so badly on such a regular basis at "home". However, her attempt at informing Dumbledore had been rewarded with nothing more than the claim that, despite the boy's obvious pain, the blood wards would keep him safe and protected from death eaters. He didn't care how much Harry hurt, as long as he remained living.
In the end, she had decided to do the one thing she could do, and the one thing she had once sworn would not happen: she developed a healthy relationship with the boy, beyond the distant and aloof kind of relationship of patient and healer she shared with other students. If no one else would listen to him and care for him then she would, regardless of the fact that it was technically favoring one student above others.
He deserved it.
He needed it.
And Pomfrey could tell Harry revelled in having someone he could share his thoughts and feelings with. She squeezed his shoulder lightly and said, "Of course you can Harry, you're always welcome. I would invite you into my own home if it came down to it." Harry glanced at her out of grateful green eyes and smiled, conveying his thanks and allowing her to scrunch her nose up and grin at him in affection as she raised her hand to his head and messed up his hair.
'At least he can still smile.' thought Poppy. 'As long as he can be happy we'll get through this.'
..:..
When, at last, Harry was secreted away in Poppy's office, she forcefully reeled in her emotions and allowed her professionalism to take over.
"Right then. I will tell you what I know and then once I am finished, you may ask any questions I have not yet answered." Harry nodded, biting his lip and playing with the large holes in the knees of his trousers. Other people had thankfully attributed them to a preference of the scruffy style of fashion on his part.
"As I told you yesterday, I have diagnosed you with brain cancer. Specifically you have a tumor growing in your head, that is what is causing the headaches. Unfortunately it is very advanced, surprisingly so. I believe your magic has somehow been keeping you healthier than you should be at this stage."
"However, magic can't do everything, and despite the fact that you're body is clearly fighting tooth and nail to survive, cancer will eventually win. In fact, if anything, it would have been better if your magic had done nothing, we probably could have caught the disease earlier."
"I'm afraid by this point you'd have no chance in the muggle world. In the wizarding world your chances are, while slightly better, still slim to none, however, with a rigorous combination of muggle medicine and an extremely rare wizarding potion might slightly increase your odds. This treatment plan like in the muggle world will be a fine balancing act that could naturally kill you before the cancer does. It's going to be a hard road ahead for you, if you choose this. When you've chosen the course of action or enaction that you wish to persue, let me know." Here Pomfrey gripped the cushions of her seat in a tight grip, reminding herself she had to do this.
"If you decide not to seek a treatment that I've heard is more intensive than muggle chemo therapy then I'm afraid that the best we can really do is treat the symptoms as they come to make you as comfortable and active as possible for as long as possible. As time goes on you're likely to experience a number of symptoms, as I just mentioned, some of which may include migraines, loss of the senses such as taste, sight or smell, fainting spells, memory loss –"
"How long?" Harry cut her off. There was a pause.
"Harry, I know you feel like you're supposed to be involved in the defeat of Voldemort, but don't feel like you have a time-limit or anything in which you have to kill him. Dumbledore and The Order can handle it. In reality you're still just a teenager, you should have no place in such a war –"
"Poppy. How long before I die?"
Pomfrey sighed.
"I would say a year give or take a while unless you decide to seek treatment."
"And if I am willing to give this a shot, then how much longer will I gain," inquired Harry.
"Provided that we contact the foremost wizarding oncologist and you're willing to undergo muggle tests to determine where the tumor is growing on your brain, at worst two to three years and I'd say that at the very best, your magic and the drugs could put the cancer into remission. This of course would mean that you'd have to come up with an alias to disguise yourself whilst you're in muggle London for any necessary tests and treatment," said Poppy calmly. "I know that you asked for this to be kept confidential, but I would have to inform both the healer and the person brewing the potions regimen of your true identity, because one of the potions requires both your magical signature and a sample of your blood each time it is administered."
Harry gulped nervously.
"Merlin spare me, the brewer in question doesn't happen to be a certain potions master now does it, and what do you mean, 'one of the potions'? How many vial concoctions are you planning on me signing up to willingly poison myself with daily?"
"That would entirely be up to you my dear," Poppy answered. "But sometimes it's best to put aside old grudges in order to have the best outcome. Professor Snape is one of the finest potions masters I know and your best chance at making a meaningful recovery."
Harry really didn't know how to feel about this. It was all too much too soon. Undergoing treatment would weaken him considerably, and if Lord Voldemort were to find out about his illness, he'd be a goner for sure!
"Can I have some time to think it all over?"
"Sure lad. Though I must caution you not to wait too long. And once you make the final decision, I'll contact the healer I mentioned promptly, for he knows more about this than I do, that's why I don't feel comfortable explaining the particulars of your treatment to you at this time. I don't want to give you the wrong information."
Now it might be all worth it if the healer is a hunk with muscular biceps and warm hands: not to mention washboard abs.
Harry was broken out of his revelry by Poppy's quiet chuckling. "Are we perhaps getting a little turned on by the thought of your healer being a fine piece of arse?" Many a Hogwarts student would have looked at Poppy askance at her choice in words, but Poppy had seen Harry through what had formally (until the other day) been his worst moments, and she knew that a dose of humor would help his mood immensely…even if only momentarily.
"Thank you for your candor Poppy," stated Harry. "But I'm just not ready for you to breach that confidentiality clause yet."
"I understand dear," said Poppy kindly. "When you're ready, feel free to come and see me, whatever you decide, my office is always open. And just remember dear, cancer is not contagious."
They both sat in silence for a long time. Until a brilliant plan popped into Madame Pomfrey's mind. There was in fact something that she could do to both improve her favorite patient's vision for as long as possible and his appearance simultaneously.
"Harry," asked Poppy hesitantly, not sure if he'd had time to come to terms with what little she had told him about his condition and his options thus far.
"Yes ma'am?"
"I've noticed of late that your prescription seems to be rather outdated. Would you like me to try to give your vision a touch up? I must tell you though, if the tumor encroaches either the octave nerve or the occipital lobe of the brain, there's nothing that can be done and these glasses won't work. However, in the meantime, I can make you look like the hottest person to ever walk these walls, if you'd like, I can even change the shape and look of your glasses if you so choose." That did it. Poppy's talk of the tumor doing so much damage that glasses would cease to work for him got through to Harry the seriousness of his predicament, as nothing previously had done.
"W-would a test be able to reveal that information? Is there any way to determine if the tumor has spread to the optic nerve or is growing on or near the o-occipital…whatever?"
"As a matter of fact, there is, but such matters can't be determined by any magical body scan that I'm aware of. I'm afraid that if you wanted to find that out, you'd have to allow me to contact that healer I spoke of to you earlier."
As much as Harry needed some answers, he wasn't ready for the possibility of finding out that he would no longer be able to fly, because the tumor might cause him to suffer vision loss, so he answered in the negative. "I'm just not ready yet…I know that there'll come a time that I will need to take the initiative and grow the balls to go to a muggle cancer research hospital, but I beg of you a few weeks so that I can get my thoughts in order," stated Harry firmly. "I don't know how much you're aware of how muggles practice medicine, or treat illnesses, in all fairness, I don't know much either. However, I do know that as soon as they see my brain scans, if the tumor is really as advanced as you fear, they're going to want a definite answer as to whether I want to start treatment or not."
"Yes, Mr. Potter. That's probably exactly how things would pan out, but you have to understand that the longer you delay treatment, the harder you'll have to fight. And I'm afraid that that would mean the more chemicals we'd have to pump into your body." Harry was willing to risk it, the question was, was Poppy? She had stuck with him through everything, and even went to bat for him when the Headmaster refused to do something about his so-called relative's mistreatment of him. It hadn't done a lick of good, but it was the thought that counted, right?
"Okay," said Poppy with a note of finality in her tone. "Take off your glasses and stand over here." Poppy gestured to a spot in the center of the room where she had drawn an x with her wand. Once Harry was in position, Poppy conjured a standard eye chart and stuck it to the wall with a flick of the wand. "Place your left hand over your right eye please."
Harry felt rather silly doing this, as at primary school, the school nurse had handed him a patch to hold instead. He mused that it looked a far sight less ridiculous than he did now. Harry decided to take a quick rest while Poppy moved the chart up a bit further on the infirmary wall.
"Stand again, please, cover your left eye this time and read the top line for me." Madame Pomfrey said and with a tired sigh he stood and did what his healer had asked of him. Why did the matron have to know so much about medical things that were unrelated to cancer?
Harry stood up and covered his left eye, taking a step back when Poppy motioned for him to stand a bit further away. He squinted his right eye, trying to focus on the awfully blurry shape. It wasn't too difficult to make out that it was an 'E', but it amazed him just how blurry that 'E' was.
"It's an 'E'." he said, trying to not sound as if it were a question. "An 'O' and an 'A' –I think."
Poppy nodded, timing just how long it took Harry to answer her and judging the boy's strained stance, his head slightly turned to the left while she at the same time cast a spell at the boy's eyes, having noticed Harry squinting his eye, and she frowned.
"The third line, then." she said, trying to sound as emotionless as possible while she didn't really like that the boy was barely sure concerning the first line. His left eye was already bad, but he at least had had some conviction in what he thought he saw for the first two lines, but now his vision was appalling. Blast muggle cancer! Harry would not take the news well, so she wasn't going to tell him that the charm that would enable the lenses to change prescriptions as his eyes worsened was not in fact the norm. It would only upset him further.
The rest of the impromptu eye exam went by in the same fashion. Until Poppy tore the chart off the wall with gusto. She had to persuade the boy to change his glasses style and make now that his vision was so poor, his old frames just wouldn't suffice. Harry needed a wider lens on his right eye especially to make up for the newly developed deficit of his peripheral vision. "Alright then Harry, you may take a seat. I need to ask you, are you willing to change your old glasses for some new ones?"
"What do you mean exactly?"
"Your eye exam has shown me that your prescription has never been right for you. So I wonder how a muggle Optometrist failed to notice this? Any Occulist would have never made such an obtuse error."
Harry was slightly irritated that she apparently thought that his trusty old frames weren't good looking enough for her.
"Well, when I was in the second grade, my teacher noticed that I was having some trouble making out what she wrote on the chalk board. A note was sent to the Dursleys informing them that I needed glasses. This just gave Petunia another reason to find me defective. Since I knew that they would never take me to a real eye doctor, I went to see the school nurse to make sure that I needed glasses and she agreed with my teacher."
"I don't want to hear you refer to yourself as that ever again. Do you understand me," demanded Poppy, hands on hips furious at the attempted brainwashing on the boy concerning his magic and his eye sight. Having problems seeing was a common complaint amongst school children…how dare his aunt try and tell him otherwise! It seemed everytime she spoke of his so-called relatives with Harry, she learned more about just how abnoxious and despicable they were.
"So instead of taking me to a GP she took me to a charity bin and had me pick out some spectacles." Poppy was astounded. How did Harry get through his day-to-day tasks? He played Quidditch for years without being able to properly see whose team was who's apparently. How did she fail to notice until now?
"Um Harry," asked Poppy tentatively. "How did you manage to catch the Snitch with such accuracy? The eye exam that I gave you would indicate that such a feat would be impossible with your eye sight."
"I learned how to focus entirely on one thing, the Snitch. Its golden color helped me distinguish it from the other balls rather well if I may say so myself," said Harry cheekily.
"Back to my previous question Mr. Potter. Don't think that your little distraction gambit worked on me for an instant. I asked about your willingness to change the shape of your frames for a reason."
"And what exactly is that?"
Deciding to give the overstressed boy a break Poppy said, "You're right eyes peripheral vision is horrid and I don't want you to walk around looking like a fool, with one lenses' wider than the other."
Harry sighed exasperatedly.
He liked his glasses just the way they were thankyouverymuch.
"If you must, but why is it necessary? The Dursleys always said I was a freak, and I have no intentions of making myself look like one."
Harry handed the matron his glasses against his better judgment. Within moments, Poppy had cast the necessary charms that would allow him to see as well for as long as possible.
Poppy conjured a mirror so that Harry could try on the different glasses that would fit his needs best, but just to add some humor into the mix, Poppy's first choice was an exact replica of Albus Dumbledore's half mooned spectacles. With a smile, Poppy handed him the frames. "Here, try these on."
Harry was just ready to get this whole thing over with all-bloody ready, so he complied without looking at the ghastly looking glasses that he now held.
Poppy couldn't help herself upon seeing Harry's striking new look and she burst into uncontrollable laughter. "I t-think t-that t-those a-are t-the o-ones," stammered Poppy.
"Maybe for meddling old coots, but the many-Headmaster look doesn't appeal to my delicate sensibilities. Or I dare say yours."
"Give them to me," said Poppy having now got her laughter under wraps again. Harry did as she bid and waited patiently for the next absurdly out-of-fashion pair that she had in store for him. He allowed the farce, because he could tell that the weight of having informed her favorite patient that he could and probably would more than likely be dead before he reached the age of seventeen hadn't been a walk in the park for her either. It had been difficult enough just listening to the words; he didn't want to imagine how hard it would be to be given the task of telling someone that they did have a deadly form of cancer and that it could prove terminal.
Harry's understanding for Poppy's need to use him as her personal manikin were quickly coming to an end as he next found himself sporting triangular framed glasses next. And to top it all, they were black framed. "If you're trying to assist me in catching some pretty little bird with these, don't bother…it won't do you any good as I prefer a well-muscled bloke any day over some damsel in distress." But then again Poppy already knew this bit of information because she had been the one to whom Harry had come to asking for advice about his sexuality in the first place.
"Witch Weekly's got it all wrong, I'll remain an available batchelor in their eyes until the day I find a sexy guy to join with…and man what an uproar it'll cause when they find out that their savior is unashamedly a queer."
"Is that so? So you're not one of those closet gays who will do anything to prevent their friends and families from finding out that they find the opposite sex unappealing? Good for you. There aren't many people in the wizarding world who have the guts that you do to freely admit that they'll never produce an heir."
Harry smirked.
"Why should I be a shamed of who I am? In the muggle world, attitudes towards such issues aren't what I'd call accepting towards us, though they're more tolerant of the fact that we can see who we bloody well please than the wizarding world is."
"Ahem," coughed Poppy. "Try these on. I really do believe that these will do the trick." Harry had enough sense to actually look at the frames this time as she proffered them to him. Ah these would do nicely. In fact, when he tried them on, Harry Potter smirked pleased with his new look. The glasses were rectangular in shape, were black rimmed, and both corners had tiny Snitches adorning them which were silver colored. He looked rather smashing if he may say so himself.
"Thank you Poppy," said Harry getting up and hugging er fiercely in gratitude. "You know, if anyone had asked me before now if I had a problem with my glasses I'd tell them to shove off cause I'm perfectly happy with my appearance. But now that I've tried these on, I wouldn't change them for anything in the world!"
"You're welcome."
Harry stood up and strode to the door with a spring in his step calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you later. Thanks again."
..:..
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room, so lost in thought was he that he hardly noticed as he walked right through Nearly Headless Nick. The discomfiture that was associated with walking through a ghost didn't even faze him. If he hadn't walked this path so much then he would more than likely have ended up hopelessly lost, because his only saving grace was that his feet kept up a drumming rhythm that eventually led him to the Fat Lady. He was walking on autopilot.
Upon clambering through the portrait hole, Harry trudged up to the sixth year dorm. He didn't stop for anything, even for Hermione who tried but failed spectacularly at gaining her friend's wondering attention. She had no idea that at this very moment, her best friend who had been there through thick and thin with her was facing the biggest and hardest decision of his short life, one that would dictate whether he made it to his Hogwarts graduation or not.
Ron followed hot on his friend's heels. Even Godric Gryffindor wouldn't have ever predicted that Harry would decide to get a sleek new pair of glasses, and Ron was going to be the first to get the details.
..:..
A/N: Hope you liked the alterations I made to the fic that I adopted. I included the scene with Harry getting new glasses because the chapter needed a dash of humor to accompany the heavy overtones. Also, Draco's bound to notice his new glasses and by proxy him. Please let me know if there are any formatting problems, as I'm uploading the fic to the site using a screen reader and I more than likely will not notice the problem otherwise. Just to warn you from the get-go, this is going to be a slash story, don't like, don't read. Please shoot me a review. BTW This version of the story can also at the present time be found on ao3, but I'll be altering some scenes if you want to read it here.