"There is no sickness worse for me than words that to be kind must lie."

-Aeschylus

25

Severe Sickness

A wintry cold had now layered upon the entire school and grounds. The late November sky was beginning to take on its normal winter-gray. When walking outside, frost touched the bottom of everyone's robes, making the hems slightly damp. Jumpers had become a usual article of clothing to wear beneath Hogwarts robes, as well as House scarves.

Over the course of that one week, the whole Slytherin House began to regard him, like Blaise had said, as a hero. A few students would go and bring him his schoolbooks before he finished his breakfast so that he wouldn't have to get them, and one time a first year boy got his broom for him before Quidditch practice.

It was quite the contrary regarding the other Houses that looked at him curiously and fearfully whenever he walked by. Harry knew the rest of the student body weren't sure he was actually the Heir of Slytherin, but he knew they were considering it.

Knowing that after the Dark Arts class he would have to travel outside to get to Herbology, Harry stuffed his green and gray wool scarf into his bag. Before walking to the dormitory door, he also grabbed Riddle's diary and put that in his bag. Hopefully at break he could write to Tom.

Crabbe and Goyle were snoring loudly as he closed the door; Blaise was also asleep, but Draco's and Nott's beds were empty.

When Harry got to the Great Hall, still tired, he found that the only person he knew at the Slytherin table was Nott, who was eating quietly. The rest of the Slytherin table and room were practically devoid of all people.

The first thought that came to Harry's mind was that Draco was sending off another letter to his father. He sat down at the table near Nott, who nodded in his direction.

Harry grabbed food from the nearest tray and put it onto his plate, looking at it ravenously. He then looked at this silver goblet, which was empty and reached for the container of pumpkin juice that was to his left. There was a small "pop" somewhere to his right.

Turning back quickly as he held the large glass of juice, Harry saw no one there. Nott was looking down at his food. He knew no one could Apparate inside the castle, so he must have misheard. It was early in the morning anyway.

As he got ready to pour, he could've sworn his goblet had been silver, but a gold one now stood in its place. Harry thought nothing of it as he poured and began to drink.

"Morning," said a voice behind Harry. He knew it was Draco, who sat down next to him, grabbing the same pumpkin juice container.

A half-hour later, the Great Hall was filled with sleepy but talkative students. And not too long after was Harry walking toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

But with every step toward it, he felt himself growing sicker. There was an unbelievably painful cramp in his stomach; he also felt shaky, clammy, and cold.

He and Draco were now outside the door to the Dark Arts classroom, which other students were walking into. Harry stopped dead for a second, looking straight at the floor. He heard the door to the room close after a couple students went inside. Draco was looking at him curiously, but didn't say anything.

Suddenly, the pain got worse. It felt like his stomach was ripping in two and he felt slightly dizzy. Harry grabbed his stomach in pain, doubling over onto his knees. He could feel a something hot rising in his throat.

"Harry, what's wro—?" Draco asked with concern. He didn't finish his sentence since Harry had just thrown up all over the floor.

The putrid smell reached Harry's nose and he felt like puking again, but turned his head away, still in pain. There was a horrible, acidy taste in his mouth and his throat was now burning, which caused his eyes to tear at the sides. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robes.

And as hard as he tried to stop the terrible, bubbling feeling in his chest, he couldn't. Harry puked again, much to Draco's disgust, who was standing a good distance away as he covered his mouth and nose.

A slight groan escaped Harry as the smell, taste, and burning got worse.

"I'm going to get some help," said Draco. He could hear his friend's footsteps as he went into the Dark Arts classroom.

A couple of seconds later, Professor Parish, accompanied by the rest of the class who were looking out from the door, came toward the bent-over Harry.

"This doesn't look good," said Parish as he walked over, taking out his wand. "Scourgify!"

Harry could tell that the mess was gone because the smell had left with it. He could hear the other students whispering to themselves.

Harry was holding himself tightly as he looked very intently at the floor, hoping the pain would just go away. But he knew it would be leaving later rather than sooner. Out of the corner of his eyes, tears were forming from the pain.

Parish helped Harry stand by practically pulling him up. He was glad Parish had helped because he didn't think he could've done it on his own. He muttered a thanks, but Parish told him calmly to not worry about it.

They took a couple steps, but then stopped. Parish had turned to tell the rest of the class to read chapter six in their book before they continued on toward the Hospital Wing.

After Madam Pomfrey had given him Essence of Rue, which had tasted almost as bad as the remnants of his puke, the pain had subsided slightly. A large bucket had been placed beside his bed, which he had already thrown up into twice.

Professor Parish hadn't left the Hospital Wing since he was talking to a uneasy Madam Pomfrey. Parish then came over to Harry's curtainless bed.

"Potter, is there anything you ate this morning that might indicate how it is you got this sick?" he asked. There was worry written all over his face as he looked at Harry, who shook his head.

He had no idea what made him sick, and voiced so. Whatever he had eaten, someone else had probably eaten as well. But why was no one else sick? Why was no one else sitting in a hospital bed, puking like he was? He had no answers and neither, it seemed, did Madam Pomfrey or Professor Parish.

"Nothing at all?" Parish asked.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry said, a sick feeling coming over him again. But luckily it went away.

Madam Pomfrey came scurrying over, carrying another small vial of Essence of Rue. She handed it to him as she said, "Drink it all." A look of disgust must have come across his face because she added, "I'm not leaving until you do." Uncorking it, Harry drank every last drop of the disgusting potion, and then she left.

"If you can think of anything, anything at all, that might help Madam Pomfrey heal you faster, then tell her," said Parish. "I've got to get to class. Feel better."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry with a small smile.

Not five minutes later, Harry was bent over the side of his bed as he puked into the bucket. Madam Pomfrey brought over a warm towel and conjured some pumpkin juice to get rid of the taste.

His canvas messenger bag was on the other side of the bed, resting against the side table. To help take his mind off the pain, Harry reached into it and took out Riddle's diary, a quill, and a bottle of ink.

"Hello, Tom."

Good morning, Harry.

"Actually, it's not a good morning at all. I've suddenly become very sick. I don't know why. I guess I ate something at breakfast that doesn't agree with me."

I'm sorry to hear it…

Harry and Tom wrote to each other for a while, though there were minor pauses as Harry puked into the large bucket.

Near lunch, Harry had puked so much without eating a lot that he was starting to feel very weak. Not to mention the fact that his stomach cramps were still there. Also, he knew he was very pale from being in pain all day. Madam Pomfrey brought him some soup, bread, and tea for lunch, but not ten minutes later, he threw it all up. The same happened later that day when he had been brought some dinner. He couldn't keep any food down, and although he felt sick, he was also very hungry.

Draco and Blaise came to visit him after dinner, but Harry felt so weak and tired, he barely said anything. They talked to him for a while about random things, and Blaise tried to make him laugh, but nothing helped ease the pain. Eventually, they told him they hoped he felt better before leaving him alone.

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An agonizing pain was in the pit of stomach. It was like a horrible knot that made his insides tighten and squirm. He also felt an excruciating, empty feeling beneath his ribs from being near starving.

As Harry lay on his side, his head off his pillow, he grabbed his stomach tightly, hoping the pain would leave. He could feel cold sweat all over his body, drenching his pajamas. His dark hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Moans of pain escaped his body, but he was in so much pain, he couldn't say more than that.

Light was flooding into the room, so he knew it was morning, but Harry shut his eyes against the bright light. It seemed to cause even more pain. As he lay there, he wished Madam Pomfrey came in soon to check up on him, so she could help him. He desperately needed it.

"Merlin! Potter!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed about ten minutes later when she came in.

By then, Harry had thrown up, but since he hadn't been able to move, it had been right near his head. The acidy smell was horrible, but he couldn't seem to move his body to get away from it.

He heard her footsteps scurrying away quickly. About a minute later, he heard her footsteps as well as those of another. Had he been able to turn, he would have seen Professor Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, look at him! He's incredibly sick. I gave him Essence of Rue five times yesterday, but he is still sick. He seems to have gotten worse. I…I don't know what to do," Madam Pomfrey said panicky.

"He must be taken to St. Mungo's. Arrange for an emergency crew to retrieve him," said Dumbledore. "Then give him something to sleep. He looks like he hasn't gotten much."

Her footsteps left the curtained area to get the potion Harry would be taking. Dumbledore moved closer toward Harry, who could just hear his soft steps. "Scourgify!" said his headmaster slowly.

The awful smell was finally gone. Harry was relieved, and he wished he could thank Dumbledore. He opened his eyes against the bright room around him, and then opened his mouth to give thanks, but only a pained groan escaped him.

"It's all right, Harry," said Dumbledore, his eyes limp with worry. "We're going to take you to St. Mungo's Hospital. There the Healers will be able to help you."

Madam Pomfrey's appeared at Dumbledore's side, a small vial in her hand. She knelt down beside the bed. "Open your mouth," she said softly. After he did slightly, she lightly held his chin as she poured some rotten-tasting potion into his mouth.

The curtains were pulled away on the metal rings as Harry heard three pairs of footsteps enter the room. "This him?" asked a man. Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey must have nodded because Harry then felt muscular hands lifting him from the bed onto a stretcher. He felt his body sink slightly onto the strong but relatively thin fabric.

As time progressed, Harry could feel himself slowly dozing off. "This bag here his?" asked the same man.

"Yes, bring it," said Dumbledore. "He may want to write a letter when he feels up to it."

"Yes, sir."

Slowly but surely, the stretcher with Harry upon it was carried down the steps by two large men, followed by the other man, who was holding Harry's bag. Harry knew this because he had opened his eyes briefly to see what was going on.

When they were in the Entrance Hall, Harry opened his eyes again since he heard a couple people talking. There were a couple students around, going into the Great Hall for breakfast. Coming from the side was Draco.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, rushing over. "Where's he being taken?"

The man holding Harry's bag said, "St. Mungo's."

Draco nodded, looking slightly grim as he said, "Feel better, Harry."

Harry couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, so he let them shut themselves. It felt a lot better, now that the light was no longer hurting him, or making his eyes feel dry. Just before he completely dozed off, he heard the sound of the men's footsteps as they went down the main steps into the cold, wintry air…

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Soft light was streaming into the white-colored room, so Harry knew he was in the hospital. He tried to lift his head to look around, but it felt very heavy.

At the moment, he felt no pain. There were no horrible cramps or feelings of being cold and clammy. He must have been given something.

As he lay there, he wondered what ward he was in since no one knew why he was sick. Maybe the Healers had found out. Maybe that's why he no longer felt anything. It was quite wonderful, considering how he had been feeling yesterday morning. This morning was definitely a lot better.

Harry's head was propped up comfortably on fluffy pillows, so when he heard footsteps, he was able to look at the door to see a woman, wearing white robes, come in. She was holding a couple pieces of parchment.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said pleasantly. The woman had light brown hair that went gently down to her shoulder in soft waves. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties. She looked at Harry with soft blue eyes. "I didn't expect you to be up for another hour or two."

"What time is it?" Harry asked, happy he could talk.

She looked at her watch before saying, "Just after 7:30." She added, "Since you're up, I'll tell you about what I'm doing to help you. I'm Healer Tillie Valen, and you're on the second floor in the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward. You arrived here yesterday morning, in case you didn't know. By the time you got here you were unconscious, but Dumbledore told me you had been given something. He—"

"Dumbledore was here?" Harry interrupted.

"He accompanied you here," Healer Valen said, as she stood beside his bed.

The thought that Dumbledore had come with him to St. Mungo's was, for some reason, very comforting. Dumbledore and he didn't talk very much anymore like they had last year. Ever since he had told his headmaster about what he had been in the Mirror of Erised, there had been some hesitancy toward each other. But knowing Dumbledore had been here, made him feel more light-hearted.

"Well, he told me what had been wrong, but he said there was nothing to explain your circumstance," said Healer Valen. "So, I've given you a simple potion to get rid of the pain you've been feeling, but I'm sorry to say it will come back again. I haven't been able to narrow down what's wrong, so I haven't been able to give you a potion to help. But after a while, I'm sure I'll be able to narrow down your problem and give you a remedy to take. You just might have to stay here for while as I assess your situation."

"How long?" asked Harry.

"I doubt more than a week," said Healer Valen.

Harry nodded, but then he realized his Quidditch game against Gryffindor was this Saturday. Hopefully, he would be at Hogwarts by then. He definitely won't be getting any practice in before then.

"How about some food? You look starving," Healer Valen said. Harry nodded. "I'll make sure one of the trainee's bring you something delicious." She gave him a small smile.

"Thanks," Harry replied, returning a smile.

"Oh, just so you know, you're school bag is beside your bed." Healer Valen then left the room, walking softly but briskly into the white corridor.

A couple of minutes later, a young man of about twenty came into the room, carrying a tray of food. He stopped dead when he saw Harry, who was now sitting up in his bed, his legs covered by the warm blanket.

"You're Harry Potter!" he exclaimed.

"Er…yeah…hello," Harry said uncertainly.

The young man stood there for another second or so, and then said, "Sorry. I've never met someone famous before." As he walked forward, he took out his wand, and tapped the tray with it, so it was now floating. He moved it so it was floating over Harry's thighs.

"Name's David Mosley," said the young man. He leaned forward and shook Harry's hand. "So, how old are you now?"

"Twelve."

"I remember my mum telling me when I was little that You-Know-Who was finally gone," said Mosley. "I can't believe it's been twelve years."

Harry picked up the fork, happy to see food before him. He hadn't eaten in too many hours. "Well, enjoy your food. See ya." Harry nodded to him and then the young man left.

The food was better than he could have imagined. It wasn't that the food itself was necessarily great, but the fact that he really hadn't eaten in two days made the food so much better. It made his mouth water as he chewed, contentedly.

Essence of Rue—used in HBP. It's a potion that Ron was prescribed by Madam Pomfrey to aid his recovery after he had been poisoned by Malfoy's mead. So I thought it could help Harry, too.

A/N: If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to say something or ask. Also, just so you all know, I'm writing Year 3, so if you have any ideas for me or anything tyou think I should add, put it in a review or email me!!! Thanks!

Preview of Chapter 26—The Stiffened Body:

Out of the hospital, onto the Quidditch pitch, and then suddenly someone is petrified…