Chapter Ten
Chivalry Isn't Dead
Of course.
Abigail groaned to herself miserably at the thought of someone listening to her throw up. She figured someone had followed her into the lavatory, remembering the footsteps behind her in the distance. But she hadn't counted on a girl being the one to follow her! She expected Harry to be just outside her stall. Hell, at any rate, she half-expected Draco to be there.
Instead, a girl had followed her – her junior nonetheless! Abigail had postulated that Caitlyn couldn't be waiting for her beyond the cubicle; after all, the demon spawn was nowhere to be found since the events of last night, for Abigail anyway. There was no way that Hermione was the owner of the voice; despite how shrill Hermione's voice could get, the unfamiliarity was too resounding for Abigail to put a face to a voice.
As she finished spewing her breakfast into the porcelain bowl, Abigail ran a hand through her hair. She instantly felt lightheaded as she cautiously got to her feet. Her focus was no longer on the younger girl just outside the bathroom stall; Abigail brought a hand to her forehead, berating herself for thinking that either Harry or Draco would follow her into the bathroom. She was positive that the two sixth year boys had much more sense and loads more class than to waltz into a girls' lavatory.
"She's been in there for the past ten minutes," the high-pitched voice droned on once more.
Just great, Abigail though. Whoever followed her into the bathroom brought friends! She was sure to be the laughingstock of the entire school at this rate. If Caitlyn caught wind of the situation, the Gryffindor knew she would never be able to life it down; Caitlyn would mock her for years to come, adding backhanded comments and new nicknames to the mix. And if Caitlyn knew, eventually the Slytherins would know what happened. While Draco proved to be more supportive of her in the past, Abigail was certain after news of her current embarrassment leaked through the hallowed halls, the Malfoy boy would never want to be seen with her again.
"I find it rather amusing," the voice said.
"Who on earth was she talking to? Abigail assumed that she had been drowning out the other potential voices with her own thoughts, as so many of them were circulating in her head. The blonde also guessed that maybe the others were just speaking in hushed voices rather than in the obnoxiously loud one that the first girl spoke in. Or maybe the girl who was speaking was simply madder than a hatter and talking to herself!
Abigail felt her eyelids getting heavy as she went to unlock the stall door. She brought a hand to her mouth, using the sleeve of her school uniform to wipe away any remaining residue. She hardly considered herself prepared when she saw Harry standing in front of her. Her eyes were wide with terror, discomfiture followed. A groan of anguish escaped her lips.
If Harry had been the one who followed her, who was the girl?
Just then, out of nowhere, appeared the short and stock ghost of a girl. Her long, dark hair was fastened into two low pigtails; the fringe of her hair covered the array of acne that distorted her face. The girl's dark eyes were shielded behind thick-framed glasses much like Harry's.
Wonderful, she had managed to flee to Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. That explained the abandoned state of the bathroom, Abigail thought. She leaned against the stall's wall weakly, shooting Harry a faint smile. She had now managed to embarrass herself in front of Harry, who just stated at her awkwardly, and Moaning Myrtle, who was giggling wildly at Abigail's expense.
"Are you all right?" asked Harry, rushing to her side.
Abigail prayed that she didn't reek of vomit; otherwise, her humiliation would skyrocket into the next millennium. She pursed her lips together tightly with a small nod. Bringing a hand to cover her mouth, the blonde replied delicately, "I'm… I've been better. I may need to lie down."
"That was quite a show you put on!" cackled the ghost girl. "Have too much for breakfast?"
If she hadn't been feeling incredibly feeble, Abigail would have shot the squat ghost a vicious death glare; however, she was feeling weak and she was in the presence of Harry Potter, she had to at least try to be nice.
The Gryffindor nodded. "Perhaps," she coughed. "I didn't get much to eat last night, so I had to make up for it somehow."
Harry slipped his arm carefully around Abigail's waist, draping her arm around his neck. Oh no, she whimpered inwardly, what the bloody hell was Harry Potter doing to her? What if she smelled rancid from the vomit? Or what if she was too heavy for him to drag up to the Gryffindor Common Room? What if she wasn't done puking?
"What're you doing?" she withdrew her arm from around his neck, still covering her mouth with one hand and reaching to scratch her neck with the other. "Harry, I'll be fine."
As the words left Abigail's lips, she could feel the butterflies dance around her stomach once more. Whatever spell Harry had on her, she knew it wasn't a good one. Immediately, the blonde turned into the bathroom stall once more, slammed the door and continued to throw up. She could feel herself getting weaker by the minute as she continued to make a fool of herself in front of the boy of her dreams.
As the stall door slowly swung open, she left out a soft, disgruntled moan, leaning her head against the wall of the cubicle. The world around her was spinning about madly and Abigail was having the most difficult time trying to make it all just stop. Her eyelids were getting heavier with every passing second. She could just feel her head starting to droop.
"Oh no, you don't!" remarked Harry, lunging forward to bring Abigail to her feet. "I've got you, Abby."
Repeating the same procedure from earlier, Harry maneuvered the sickly blonde's arm around his neck, his hand slipping around her waist. He cautiously guided Abigail out of the cramped stall and into the more spacious part of the lavatory, were Myrtle was still laughing. Harry shot her a look of slight disapproval before returning his attention to the distressed damsel to his right.
"'I'll be fine'," he said sternly, "my arse. I need to get you to the Hospital Wing this very minute."
Abigail inhaled sharply as she and Harry made their way toward the bathroom's exit. She could feel herself wanting to throw up again, but she willed herself no to. How could she? The Harry Potter was escorting her to the infirmary; the last thing she wanted was to spew her breakfast – or whatever was left of it – on the Boy Who Lived.
Her proximity to Harry, however, was infuriately frustrating. His steel was so intoxicating and the feel of his touch was even worse! She could feel herself getting sicker with every thought, wondering what the hell was going on with her. Despite what she just experienced, Abigail knew she wasn't sick; she was never sick – at least not like this.
"Harry, please," she choked out, trying to fight him off her. If the so-called butterflies in her stomach were causing her to throw up every time, the very last thing she wanted was Harry holding her the way he was. She successfully managed to pull away from Harry, leaning against the nearest sink straightaway. "I can make it to Madam Pomfrey by myself. I wouldn't want you to miss you first class of the day because of me-."
"Nonsense," Harry replied. "Class doesn't start for another half-hour or so; I'm going to help you to the Hospital Wing because… well, for starters, you seem really out of sorts. I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing even if it means carrying you there."
Abigail fought to widen her eyes. The thought of Harry carrying her to the Hospital Wing was a bothersome one. All her previous thoughts floated through her head: What if she smelled terribly from all the vomiting? What if Harry was more used to carrying his featherweight girlfriend and Abigail's a little above average weight was too much for him? She shook her head at his response. The blonde told him that his chivalry was not necessary on a girl like her, running a hand through her hair as if to assure the raven-haired boy she'd be okay.
"I'd hardly consider this 'chivalry'!" Harry remarked, walking toward her. Although Myrtle was still snickering to herself in the other end of the restroom, Harry was determined to convinced Abigail that her recent gagging was completely natural. 'If this is because you're ashamed of what just happened, Abby, I don't care; stuff like this happens to me all the time! Just ask Hermione!"
The frail blonde shot Harry a smile of gratitude. She could tell that he was exaggerating; Hermione never mentioned the Boy Wonder retching his breakfast – or any of his meals. In fact, the only time Hermione ever really brought up Harry was if Abigail subtly threw his name out in a conversation. She shook her head again.
"It's not that," she said, biting her lip. Abigail could feel the acidity burn her mouth and throat as she continued to speak. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to deal with the sour taste. Her hand found its way to the back of her beck suddenly. "I'm not embarrassed by it – well, not entirely. I'm just – I can make it there myself. Honest!"
Rolling his eyes, Harry shot Abigail a knowing look. "Look," he tried again, "I will carry you there myself if I have to. Besides, I'm not doing this to be chivalrous; I'm doing this because it's what friends do, Abby."
Okay, ouch. Abigail didn't know what hurt her more: the nickname or the 'F' word. She let out a weak chuckle. Perhaps the nickname hurt more, as it always did. After all, if Harry trusted her enough to call her a 'friend', at least she was on the right track; it sure beat the position she had been in the night before!
… that, and he was still Caitlyn's boyfriend.
"Yes," she cleared her throat, hoping to rid her mouth of the extremely bitter taste, "but in doing that, you realize that the act makes you all the more noble."
With half a smile, Harry scooped up the girl into his arms effortlessly. His emerald almond-shaped eyes met with her now-widened sapphire ones. "Well then," he teased, "let's get you where you need to be."
"Harry!" Abigail coughed out roughly, flailing her arms about as much as she could. Eventually her limbs grew weak and she caved to the idea of Harry bringing her to the infirmary. After all, it seemed like he had no trouble carrying her.
"Harry," chirped out the voice of Myrtle as she hovered just about Harry and Abigail, "don't be a stranger. You're always welcome here."
Mild nervousness shadowed Harry's once jovial expression. He nodded slightly at the ghost before looking back at Abigail, who was avoiding all eye contact with him. Quickly, but carefully, Harry made his way out of the abandoned bathrooms and into the hallways. The Hospital Wing was only a few halls away from him, so perhaps the awkward silence between him and Abigail would be short-lived – or at least, that's what he told himself.
"Is everything all right, Abby?" he asked with concern. "You've been really quiet since we left the bathroom…"
Abigail had crossed her arms over her stomach as Harry cradled her in his arms. Though she didn't want to admit it, she rather enjoyed the position she was currently in – despite everything that happened to get her there. Still avoiding eye contact with the Gryffindor hero, Abigail smiled faintly; how did he not find this at all weird? And if he did find it awkward, he had a great way of hiding it.
"I'm fine," she croaked. "I'm just not used to being this close in proximity to people."
While it wasn't the truth, it wasn't exactly a lie either. Abigail thought about the last time someone had carried her bridal style. It was when she had broken her ankle during her third year. She had been racing off to the Dungeons in hopes to confide in Draco about her fears of the escape of Sirius Black when she missed one of the steps of the staircase and slipped. Luckily for her, Draco had been on his way to the library when he found her lying on the stone flooring. She recalled the memory with a small smile; times had been simpler then, if only they could have stayed like that forever.
"I'm not used to it either," Harry laughed as he rounded the corner to the Hospital Wing.
After a couple more moments of silence, Harry and Abigail finally made it to the large doors of the infirmary. The raven-haired boy looked down at the girl in his arms; at the very least, she had calmed down significantly since he first picked her up. However, the only thought that plagued his state of mind currently was if anyone saw them.
"Wonder Boy," wheezed Abigail with a smirk, "I think I can make it from here. Thanks for the help."
Cautiously allowing Abigail to her feet, Harry continued to smile. He noticed that she still looked a little fragile and frowned. "Abby, at least let me help you into the Hospital Wing itself."
"What if you're late to class!" she argued, weakly smiling up at him. "I can't have that on my conscience, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes as he pushed the door to the infirmary open for Abigail. "How many times do I have to remind you that I've got a fair amount of time before classes start?" he laughed. "Do I need to give you a copy of my timetable or something, Crenshaw? Or maybe even just a wristwatch so you'll know how much time is allotted?"
It was now Abigail's turn to roll her eyes. Stumbling into the Hospital Wing, she let out a frustrated breath of air. "Either is fine, Wonder Boy," she teased. "However, I am in need of a nice little trinket to add to my collection of Muggle whosits and whatsits, so a digital wristwatch would do just fine!"
"It's you is it!" came a sterm voice. At the other end of the room, Madam Pomfrey was tending to another student in bed. The Hogwarts matron handed her patient a goblet before rushing off to Harry and Abigail. "Mister Potter, you don't look as though you've been doing anything dangerous; what are you in for?"
Harry let out a small chuckle, motioning toward Abigail. "Actually, Madam Pomfrey, I'm just here escorting my friend, Abigail," he replied, scooting the blonde toward the grey-haired lady. "She wasn't feeling all too well this morning and right as we were on our way to class, she sort of vomited."
Sort of? Abigail scoffed. It seemed to her as though Harry was trying to save her from any further embarrassment. She praised Merlin's beard for the chivalrous nature of the Boy Who Lived. Wobbling back and forth slightly, she looked up at the school nurse with a small smile, the acid taste still present in her mouth.
"For a good ten minutes," he added with a concerned frown.
So much for saving her from embarrassment!
Madam Pomfrey instantly pushed Abigail to the nearest bed.
"Madam Pomfrey," Abigail blurt out, struggling against the force of the matron, "I'm feeling much better!"
Madam Pomfrey stated into Abigail's eyes, blue meeting blue. And in only a few moments, Abigail was forced onto the hospital bed. "Nonsense!" remarked the older lady. "You look paler than usual."
Confused, Abigail wondered how Madam Pomfrey knew the natural shade of her skin – especially considering the fact that Abigail had never been treated in the Hospital Wing before. She shot Harry pleading look at the taller boy simply stared at her with a smile. Madam Pomfrey dashed to the other end of the room to grab the proper medication for the possibly ill witch.
The two of them, Abigail noted, seemed to be doing that a lot. She could feel herself warming up to the thought; perhaps he made her as happy she had made him? She shook herself slightly at the idea as he came close to her bedside.
"I can't stay," he reminded her gently. Abigail stated at him, her eyes focused on his. She had never realized how truly green they looked and how they had a certain sparkle about them. "But if you're still here after class, I'll be sure to come and visit."
"I'd really appreciate that, Harry," she spoke softly, the sudden realization of her weakened state finally hitting her.
"Madam Pomfrey will take excellent care of you!" he assured. "You'll more than likely be out of here faster than you can say 'breakfast'!"
Abigail grimaced at the mention of the meal they had just shared. What the bloody hell was happening to her? First, she found herself blushing when Draco was teasing her. Then, she spoke to her long-time crush with a mouthful of food like some barbarian. And not long after, she made a fool of herself in front of the bathroom ghost and Harry Potter simply because she couldn't stomach the thought of the night prior. She shot the raven-haired boy a fake glare.
"Too soon?" he teased. "I'll be sure to let Hermione know you're in here."
Pausing for a moment, Abigail stared at Harry in confusion, her head now resting on the cushiony pillow behind her. What did he mean he was going to tell Hermione? Unless this boy had some serious gall, that task of simply talking to Hermione was deemed impossible by Abigail herself – especially considering what Draco reported back to her. Immediately, her mind drifted to the suddenly frightening thought of her encounter with Harry Potter…
… where was his beloved girlfriend, Caitlyn Moore?
-author's note-
[written]: - -, 2014
[published]: - -, 2014
[last updated]: August 31, 2017
[word count]: 3,044 words without a/n