Izzie's blossoming relationship with Denny withers slightly when a beautiful black haired boy moves into the room next door.

What We May Never Do:

Hold Hands

It said a lot when Harry could tell from the expressions on his doctors faces that his condition was a lot worse than originally thought. They were as blank as could be except for the obvious pity and sadness in their eyes. Some of them like that blonde one tried to look sympathetic and optimistic, but there was a desperate, dark truth in their eyes that showed they didn't think he would survive.

He gripped the blanket around his hand, wishing he had told someone what was going on, wishing that he hadn't not wanted to worry them, wishing that for once in his life he had been less of a Gryffindor and let someone else take care of him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his pillows. His doctor, a handsome dark headed surgeon that the nurses all called McDreamy, looked sympathetic and said,

"I know this is hard, Mr Potter, but really is crucial that we operate as soon as possible. What we uncovered in our earlier surgery is that the tumour is a lot bigger than we had first diagnosed. Our plan is to go in again and try to get as much of it out as we possibly can, then once you've recovered get you through chemotherapy and radiotherapy to get what's left."

The other doctors, surgical residents and his nurse nodded. He had been here so long that he recognised all of them, even if from the gossip he exchanged with his nurses. There was Doctor Sheppard, his neurosurgeon, Dr Piper, his neurologist, Dr Swender, his oncologist and Beth, his specialist nurse. Then there was Meredith Grey, who was Dr Sheppard's on and off lover and daughter to one of the 'greats' and O'Malley, who people called 007 because he froze in his first operation, got syphilis off of a nurse and was in love with Dr Grey, and the extremely preppy Izzie Stevens, who was a lingerie model to pay her way through medical school and was in a relationship with another intern (Alex Karev, who got around a lot.)

Harry leans back against his pillow and blocks out the doctors. If he had magic, he could have fixed this. But if he had magic, Voldemort would still be alive. He is dying slowly and painfully because he gave up everything to kill the worst Dark Lord of the century. The doctors slowly trudge out of the room. He can hear them talking about him; a couple of them sympathising with them, a few writing him off as a surgery and a massive tumour and nothing else. Doctor Sheppard tells them all to shut up and they do. There are only the stifled hospital noises after that, the muffled murmur that is silence to anyone who spends a lot of time in a hospital bed.

He lays there for a few seconds. He waits. The residents have moved away, and there is only minimal nurse movement outside of his room, so he slowly gets up. His head pulses with pain and his right arm will not hold his weight when he puts pressure on it. It has been getting more and more numb over the months. When he gets up his vision blurs and splits into two, but he shakes his head and his double vision disappears.

He cannot stay in this room for much longer. It is so cold and white and sterile. He had no cards or balloons because he is not – he is not going to tell anyone about his tumour. He wants them here, but he does not want to be the reason for any of Mrs Weasley's new wrinkles.

He slowly makes his way across his room to the door. He's going to go see Denny. They had been friends with Denny since he got into the hospital. Harry had accidentally ended up in his room whilst looking for Mr Sheppard, and they had hit it off. They had talked about their conditions and their family. Denny had congratulated him on the semi-seriousness of his illness, apparently Denny 'won', because there was a higher chance of him dying from his disease.

He feels bad for taking Denny's gold in the race towards death and for being the one to tell him that Harry is probably going to die sometime soon in the future.

Denny would make him feel better. He would listen.

Harry made it down the corridor with little fuss. He had to stop occasionally to lean against a wall to catch his breath, ground himself and close his eyes to try and tame his headache. He gets concerned looks from patients and staff and family members, but he continues on.

He reaches Denny's room quickly and it's empty when he gets there. He leans against the doorway for a minute. Denny's eyes open slowly. The gentle brown of them softens when he catches sight of Harry. Harry knows that the devastation he feels is plain on his face.

Denny levers himself up and holds out a hand. Harry walks over and sits in the chair next to his bed. He holds Denny's hands. They sit there in silence for a second. Denny does not talk to him, give him words of false comfort or platitudes of 'a better place'. He just sits there, hold Harry's hand.

He can feel the tears trailing down his face.

"They say it's bigger than they thought. That they couldn't operate this time but they have to go in again and there's a chance I won't survive..."

Izzy paused outside the room. She had felt sorry before but now she felt terrible. He was dying and he was crying.

"Why don't you call your family? They'll want to know, you can't leave them in the dark, Harry."

"I can't tell them. They've already been through too much."

Izzy leans against the wall and closes his eyes. Denny is all Harry has right now.

yeah, Harry isn't in the room next door. get over it, he has a neuro cancer problem, he wouldn't be. whatever. Enjoy the chapter. :)

and please, review. :)

because reviews spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record, ababy, right round, round round. :)