Disclaimer from the Prologue applies: All characters and the HP universe at large belong to JKR, we are only borrowing them for our entertainment.
Disclaimer 2: This is NOT MY STORY, it's a translation of Lilyanjudyth's original work written in Hungarian. I'm posting it here with her permission.
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Chapter 2: Friendless (part 1)"Harry, what was that for?" Protested Hermione, but she didn't succeed in saving the paper from the fire. She turned back indignantly to face the boy. "I was planning on showing it to Hagrid as well!"
"Don' worry, 'Ermione. 'm not interested in them lies anyway." dismissed Hagrid with a shrug, as he poured a cup of tea for Harry. He carefully handed it over to the boy. "Ere, this will do ye good! It 'elps when yer tired."
Harry accepted it with a nod, and took a sip from the tea in an effort to keep himself awake. He didn't sleep well the night before. To tell the truth he didn't get a good night's rest for several months now. Never before did he suspect that his nightmares about Cedric's death would be joined by ones of Sirius. Perhaps this was what one got for suppressing all their grief, as Hermione always said.
"Would anyone else like some tea?" Harry heard Hagrid ask, only to be answered with fervent head shaking by his friends. "A'right. It's almost curfew, so ye have to leave soon anyhow."
Curfew again… Harry was utterly fed up with this 'martial law' system. So many people were sick at Hogwarts anyway, it didn't matter one whit where students spent their time. True, it would have been unfortunate if someone began exhibiting the symptoms without anyone around.
"I 'ear Ron, yer parents want to take ye outta school." continued Hagrid. Ron sighed deeply in response.
"Yes. They want me to go home. Though I think it's pointless," explained Ron. "I'd rather breathe my last in the hospital wing than in Saint Mungo's."
"Ron, how can you say such a thing?" interrupted Hermione. "You shouldn't be joking about this!"
"All right, fine." grinned Ron. "I won't joke about it anymore, I promise."
Meanwhile Harry finished his tea, and put the mug on the table. He leaned back tiredly, as a huge yawn cracked his jaws.
"You look terrible, Harry." commented Hagrid, when he got a chance to take a closer look at the boy. "Are ye sleepin' this bad?" Harry just shook his head dejectedly. "I thought so. Trust me, it'll get better with time."
Harry didn't react, just continued staring ahead silently. His friends observed him helplessly for a while, before saying goodbye to Hagrid, which got him moving as well. The half-giant assured them that he wouldn't be going anywhere the next day, and encouraged them to visit every day if they wished to.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry ran ahead of his friends. He didn't need to hear Hermione preach again about the foolishness of grieving this way.
"Harry, wait up!" Hermione called after him, and a moment later she caught up with him. "I know it's really hard for you, but please don't turn away from us."
Meanwhile Ron stayed behind, and Harry was incredibly grateful that his friend didn't try to intervene in their quarrel.
"You have no idea how it is," returned Harry dispassionately, "when the last relative you had dies, and to add to that you are the one to blame for their death… I think you have no clue just how it feels to find yourself in the Department of Mysteries every single night only to watch him fall through the veil again."
Harry stopped to look at Hermione.
"You're right. I don't." said the girl quietly. Then she placed a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. "But look at yourself! You don't share anything with us anymore, and you lock yourself away in your bedroom on weekends. Do you think that will help?"
"No… no it won't." Harry admitted. "I thought it would be easier to pull through after Sirius' death. But it seems, I just can't manage to get over it. Give me a little more time, and I'll be fine. I promise." He even managed a weak smile for his friend. Hermione sighed.
"Of course, Harry. I'm sorry." She said with feeling, as they continued their walk toward the castle. "Hurry up, Ron!"
They took another step, and a terrified call from Ron made them spin around.
"Harry!" Ron looked at them alarmed, then back down at his hand, which was visibly shaking as he held it out in front of his chest. Harry stood frozen for a moment, before rushing to his friend's side, and grabbing his arm.
"Hermione!" He shouted at the girl, whose face was white as sheet. "Come, we got to get him to the infirmary fast!"
Hermione finally moved. She rushed to them and they set off hurriedly toward the main door, each putting an arm around Ron.
"I thought I would have some more time…" said Ron in a trembling voice. Harry could feel as the strength of the tremors shaking his friend's body increased. "Soon I'll start flailing around madly, and hallucinating scary things, like spiders…no spiders, please!"
"Don't worry, everything will be all right, Ron."
"But it's not alright!" his friend shouted in panic. "I will go around the bend in a few minutes, and who knows when I'll wake up! Did this really have to happen to me?"
Harry tightened his already desperate grip on his friend, knowing that he was right. Ron would only wake up when an antidote has been found. Until then he would be lying unconscious and fevered, suffering and… Harry cut off that train of thought. No, he mustn't be thinking about such things.
They reached the hallway, and went on quickly toward the infirmary. Ron pursed his mouth into a thin line, and remained quiet for the rest of the way. Hermione was turning even paler as they walked. They came across a few people in the hallways, but it was so natural to see people hurrying toward the infirmary, that they didn't even take notice.
By the time they reached the hospital wing, Harry could feel that his friend was barely on his feet. He grabbed the door handle with his free hand, and slammed it open with too much force as they hurried, hoping that Madam Pomfrey could give something to help Ron.
"I can hear the voices," mumbled Ron. "I never thought they would be so real… never hallucinated before."
"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione called out, paying no attention to the number of patients already in the room.
Harry noticed a free bed on one side.
"Hermione, here!" He nodded indicating the empty bed.
While they carefully lowered Ron to the bed, Madam Pomfrey appeared as well.
"Miss, this is an infirmary full of sick people, you cannot just…" She stopped mid-sentence as soon as she noticed the incoherently mumbling boy. Stepping closer she placed a hand on his forehead. "When did he start exhibiting the symptoms?"
Hermione sat at the edge of the bed with tears in her eyes, holding Ron's hand. Harry was trying to collect his thoughts.
"I'm not sure. Perhaps ten minutes ago." He answered quietly.
The mediwitch procured a vial, and she poured its contents down Ron's throat, who was beginning to thrash about on the bed.
"No, Harry…they are here! Run away, or they will attack you, aah!" shouted Ron reaching toward Harry, while Hermione tried to hold him down, but she was losing the fight. Harry swallowed taking a step back. He never imagined it could be this awful.
"Calm down, Ron! Everything is all right, Harry is fine." Hermione's voice was shaking as she tried to get through to Ron.
"Mr. Potter, it would be better if you left now." Madam Pomfrey managed to interject. "It will take a while for the Calming Draught to become effective. Hopefully his temperature won't rise as fast this way."
Harry didn't move; he simply froze as he looked upon his best friend staring back at him with painfully distorted features. It was barely possible to recognize Ron behind the demented grimace.
"Mr. Potter! Get out, now!" Madam Pomfrey's commanding voice finally managed to get him into motion. Harry backed up to the door, and then spinning around he hastily left the infirmary.
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After leaving Hermione with Ron in the infirmary, Harry spent the rest of the evening hiding out in the owlery, in an attempt to clear his mind of the horrifying images of his delirious friend. He knew in theory that the time would come when his friend would succumb to the disease, but he wasn't prepared for it.
How could one prepare for something so final? Why couldn't he be the first to get it? Why couldn't he just get sick when the first student collapsed right beside him? Voldemort didn't want to leave it to chance. He wanted to see Harry among the first victims, but he didn't succeed, just like at the Ministry last year…
Late at night, after having skipped dinner, he quietly slipped into the boy's bedroom where almost everyone was asleep. Making as little noise as possible, he changed to prepare for the meager sleep he was likely to have that night. Just when he was going to open the curtains around his bed, he heard Neville inquire:
"Where were you, Harry?"
"I went away to think a bit." He whispered in answer, not even turning around. As he climbed into bed, gripping the edge of the curtain in his fist, he managed to ask: "How is Ron doing?"
"Not very well." whispered Neville. "His fever went up, and judging by the things he mumbles, he must be having terrible dreams. Professor Snape prepared some potion, which can slow the progress of the disease by weeks, to avoid… well."
Neville stammered, but he didn't need to complete the sentence, it was clear to Harry what he meant.
"But Neville, I thought high fever was bad on its own." choked out Harry.
"I think the potion lowers the fever as well. But the people don't wake up; they simply remain unconscious. I think I heard it was similar to a coma. Maybe it is a coma, I'm not sure, I don't know enough about it. But Snape and the Healers at Saint Mungo's bring the patients to this state to stabilize them."
"Aha." said Harry silently. He was sick of this whole situation; sick of just waiting that maybe someone will find an antidote. "Sorry Neville, but I would like to go to sleep now."
"Of course, Harry. Good night."
"To you, too."
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