He was so screwed.
The first thing Harry felt when he opened his eyes was pain.
His head was throbbing, his throat was on fire, the world was swimming and he felt nauseous. Coughs threatened to tear his lungs out of his chest. Oh dear. Not good.
He'd always hated being ill…it just left him feeling terrible. The Dursleys had always been very begrudging to take him to a Doctors who to waste medicine on him. While he knew Hogwarts wasn't the same, he still felt an instinct to hide.
He wasn't soft, he would get by. He carried on at Privet Drive, so he could carry on here as well. What was the worst that could happen?
He slumped down at the Slytherin table, forcing soothing warm coffee down his throat. He would need it to stay awake. People were counting on him; he couldn't afford weakness. The sight of all the greasy foods in front of him were making him feel sick all over again. When he first arrived at Hogwarts he had loved having eggs, bacon, toast - you name it - for breakfast. Yet, as the years had gone by and his sleeping patterns taking a turn for the worse he found himself with less and less appetite in the mornings.
The Slytherins conversed idly around him: he was established as someone you didn't want to talk to in the mornings, and for that he was grateful. His voice wasn't completely scratched out yet, but it was certainly rough. Talking, hell, breathing was difficult.
"Harry?" Tom asked suddenly. He flicked his eyes up, questioning. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine…" he said, suddenly panicky. "Why wouldn't I be?" he continued calmly. The Slytherin's exchanged looks with each other, making him wary.
"You haven't said anything disrespectful and breakfast is almost over. It's worrying," Zevi decided to clarify. He stared at the dark haired boy for a moment, before glancing at Tom.
"You're arrogant. You don't know when to shut up. You're a hypocrite and your future self -"
"-I think we get the point," Abraxas said quickly, loudly - trying to divert the danger. Tom's head tilted, his expression alarmingly thoughtful.
"You asked me to be disrespectful," he shrugged. Hurriedly, trying to pretend he wasn't hurrying, he finished off his coffee and stood up.
Crap, he felt shaky. The world was swaying like a see-saw. He put his efforts in remaining composed…in keeping his trembling lead-filled muscles from trembling. Why was it so cold? "Are you guys coming?"
He had successfully made it up to the last lesson of the day - DADA. He had been feeling steadily worse all day…and the feeling was only growing. Hermione and Ron had expressed their frequent concerns, even threatening to talk to a teacher about it. He had adamantly claimed he was fine - because he was. He was just a bit hot and cold, tired, fluey. It was nothing to worry about. He could handle it.
A hand tugged at his arm before he could collapse into his seat.
"Can I talk to you?" Tom asked. It was phrased as a question, but the underlining steel and the hardness in the Slytherin heir's eyes suggested that it wasn't anything but. It was an order…but would it be followed?
"Class is 'bout to start," he muttered, keeping his voice low. Maybe if it was quiet, the rasping quality wouldn't be so obvious. From the slight tightening of Tom's jaw, he guessed it didn't really work.
"Your minions -"
"- friends -"
"-have been telling me that you're sick. Apparently you almost passed out in the hallway."His eyes sought out Ron and Hermione, narrowing dangerous. Traitors. They pointedly looked away. He snapped his gaze back to Tom.
"Yeah, well I'm fine. Spectacular…never better," he argued defensively. "I didn't realise you lot were on speaking terms."
"There are exceptions to every rule," Tom stated, studying him intently. Their conversation was broken when Carrow entered the room, swishing her wand as she want.
"Mr Potter stop distracting Mr Riddle. Both of you take your seats," she said coolly.
Why did almost all defence against the dark arts teachers hate him and wish him bodily harm?
"Yes professor," he said automatically, too exhausted to flare up. She never changed anyway, no matter what he said. Tom's grip tightened on his forearm.
"With all due respect, I'm taking Potter to the Hospital wing."
"What?" he yelped, snapping his head round. "I said I'm fine."
"And I can tell when people lie to me," Tom retorted, too calmly. Carrow sighed moodily, scrutinising him.
"He looks fine to me." YES! "It is the last lesson of the day, I'm sure our esteemed savoir can hold out for another sixty minutes."
"Most definitely," he added. "Sorry to disturb your lesson."
He was once more prevented from sitting down. Salazar, this was getting repetitive.
"Are you questioning my judgement, professor?" Tom's voice had turned as cold as liquid nitrogen. He had instantly and without complication dropped his model student act. Carrow took a step back, seeming to remember that however charming Tom's masks may be, he was still the teenage Dark Lord.
"I -" she stammered. As a teacher, she was meant to be the superior in this conversation.
"Yes, I believe she is, and rightly so. I'm FINE."
Tom's eyes flicked to him, filled with annoyance.
"You would say that on your death bed. Actually, I recall that you did say that one time on what could have been your death bed if that phoenix didn't turn up."
About that… "Not to mention the fact that your mental shields are deteriorating…" Tom raised a brow at him.
"Stay out of my head," he growled. Tom definitely looked irritated now.
"Harry, Voldemort could probably tell you have a raging fever right now, let alone me when I'm standing right next to you and can feel the heat coming off you."
"Your concern is touching," he spat.
"Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitantly. "Just go to the Hospital Wing. You look dreadful."
"No," he said stubbornly. "I'm -"
"Alphard?" Tom started. The Black met his leader's gaze for a moment, before abruptly walking over and scooping his legs up. Tom's hands hooked around his arms, lifting him clean off the floor. Harry spluttered.
He couldn't believe this!
"Right. Easy way or hard way?"
He lay sullenly on a bed in the Hospital wing, glaring at Tom, The matron, Alphard, Tom…
"This is stupid," he scowled. "Look, I'll just take a pepper up potion and go…" he hopped off the bed. Raging magic filled the room, objects beginning to shake.
"So help me Harry James Potter, get back on that bed right now or I'll body bind you onto it and give you a real reason to moan for the next week," Tom hissed. He took an instinctive step back, falling back on the bed.
Disrespect aside…Tom in a temper was terrifying.
"You have quite a high fever," Pomfrey noted, fussing over him. "You should have come to me straight away, young man! There's also some symptoms of malnourishment and tonsillitis." He looked innocently away from Tom.
Yup, he was definitely screwed.
AN: I'm sorry! It's not Quidditch part 2 or the Cherri101's request…I just had a block that I was trying to get rid of and this is the resulting madness. I'm halfway through quidditch, any ideas? Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you managed to enjoy this insanity - The Fictionist.
