Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Yes, I know, it hardly seems possible that the story's going to end soon. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 37: A Helping Hand

Harry did not realize he had fallen asleep until he woke to sunlight streaming through the window. His head gave a sharp throb and he snapped his eyes shut again. After a few moments, the pain dulled to a manageable level.

Malfoy had rolled onto his back in his sleep, his shoulder resting on top of Harry's. His hair was tousled slightly, his skin slick with sweat again in spite of sleeping naked. As Harry watched, his head fell to one side, lips parted as he snored softly.

Harry carefully slid away from Malfoy and stood. He retrieved a clean change of clothes and quickly pulled them on. He was able to slip out the door without waking Malfoy up.

He was on the second floor when the nausea hit him full force. He groped for the wall and sat down hard on the floor, pressing a hand to his forehead. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed to keep it down.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up. "Hi, Neville," he muttered.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked, offering him a hand.

Harry took it, struggling to stand up. His vision blurred, but he managed to not waver. "I'm fine. I think I'm just coming down with something."

"Shouldn't you go to the hospital wing?"

"No," Harry said at once. "I mean, I don't think it's anything to worry about."

Harry had to force down his breakfast that morning. His stomach continued to turn, but he could feel Neville watching him. Luckily, the professors seemed too preoccupied with their conversations to notice, and Ron's attention remained focused on his plate.

Harry went to the courtyard after breakfast. Depending on his state, he alternated between walking the perimeter of the yard and lying on a bench, trying to stop the world from spinning.

As he made a beeline for the bench a fourth time, his vision swimming, his heart leapt into his throat. It was just a coincidence. It had to be. He could not be having trouble with his mind again. Trying to calm himself down he sighed, closing his eyes.

He was falling. Everything around him was pitch black. He heard nothing but the rushing in his ears. After several moments, he slammed into cold, spongy ground. Pain jolted through his body. As he struggled to sit up, something brushed his hand. He pulled away from it, squinting. Bright white light glinted in the darkness, moving away from him. Before he could see what it was, he blacked out.

"Get his other arm."

"I've—wait, I think he's waking up."

Harry's eyelids fluttered and opened on bright sunlight. As his vision adjusted, he felt himself lifted into a sitting position. Ron and Neville stood on either side of him, gripping his shoulders. "What're you doing?" he asked.

"You passed out," Neville said.

"I was sleeping," Harry said, jerking out of their grasp.

"You wouldn't wake up," Neville said, "and your eyes were open."

Harry blinked but tried to cover his shock. "I'm fine."

Ron grabbed his arm. "We're taking you to the hospital wing."

Harry pulled away again. "No, you're not." He stood, swaying on the spot.

Neville caught him. "You really should—"

"If I go to the hospital wing again, Professor McGonagall will make me leave."

"You can't know—"

"She told me she would." It was not necessarily the truth, but it was his fear.

Neville let go of him, looking shocked.

Harry took the opportunity to walk away. He was surprised when neither tried to stop him.

-

Harry made it through the rest of the day without incident. Still, by the time he made it back to the Room of Requirement, he was glad for the reprieve. Even so, he stood outside the room for a long time, waiting for a particularly bad wave of nausea to pass. The last thing he needed was for Malfoy to start bothering him. Finally, when the feeling ebbed, he pushed the door open.

Malfoy glanced up from his plate of food. "Give me a minute, Potter."

Harry ignored him, lying on the bed.

He heard a clatter and footsteps. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

"Is your head—?"

"My head's fine," Harry growled under his breath.

The bed moved beside him and he felt a hand light on his forehead. "You have a fever."

Harry brushed the hand away. "It's boiling in here."

Fingers touched either side of his head. "Relax, Malfoy said. "I'm not going in."

Harry, who had just moved to push Malfoy away, stopped. After a moment, he let his arms fall to his sides.

Malfoy's fingers began to move in small circles over his temples. This helped to ease the pressure in Harry's head somewhat, though it did not make much difference. "I know why you're doing this," he said.

"I'm helping," Malfoy said.

"No, you're not."

"Your headache's going away, isn't it?"

"I don't have a headache."

"Really? The throbbing vein in your forehead begs to differ. I can just go in quick and check the barriers. It won't hurt anything."

Harry opened his eyes in slits to stare up at Malfoy. "How can I make this perfectly clear? I'd rather jump off the roof."

The fingers lifted away. "'No' would've been enough," Malfoy said. He started to pull his shirt off.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows at once, regretting it when a stab of pain shot through his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy froze. "You said it yourself. It's boiling in here."

Harry stared at him through narrow eyes for another moment before letting himself fall back onto the bed.

Malfoy stripped down to nothing and lay down beside Harry, facing the opposite direction.

Though his skin was soon slick with sweat, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest, Harry stayed where he was. He knew any movement would cause a spike in his headache. Even the act of lying still was a trial, however. He was forced to tense and relax his muscles constantly to keep them from aching as much. Hours passed before he was finally able to sleep.

Harry fell through the dark again, slamming into the damp ground so hard he thought for certain he heard something snap. As he began to groan, a soft light lit up the area. He glanced up to see a blurry, silver glow overhead. He tried blinking, but his vision would not focus.

As he stared upward, something brushed his hand. He glanced down and was nearly blinded by the bright white light. He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a piercing migraine. The pain only swelled, however, until he lost all coherence.

When he opened his eyes again, he was hit by a different, softer light. This time when he blinked, the room came into focus around him. He was lying on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced to his left and saw Malfoy still on his side, fast asleep. Outside the window, the sun was just rising.

Harry clumsily pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as his muscles strained and his bones popped. He felt as though he had not slept at all. His head felt disconnected from the rest of his body, yet it still throbbed with every breath he took.

When Malfoy started to stir beside him, he pushed aside the pain and stood to leave. To his relief, the muscles in his legs had loosened.

His arms, however, pained him more than ever. Once on his feet, he let his muscles relax. Almost immediately, his elbows bent and his wrists contorted, his arms snapping up to his chest. The left angled just slightly upward while his right hand pointed toward his shoulder. The fingers pinched together, his muscles aching from the unnatural position. He strained his arms and, after a few moments, was finally able to lower them shakily to his sides. With more concentrated effort, he managed to curl his fingers into a loose fist.

He heard a groan behind him and hurried from the room without glancing back.

Harry spent breakfast hiding out in an empty classroom on the seventh floor. His stomach was rolling with hunger, but he could not even chance going to the kitchens in his present condition. Instead, he spent the next few hours in agonizing pain. He bent and twisted his arms in every way imaginable, biting his lip to keep quiet in case someone happened to pass the room. The muscles remained rigid, but by noon, he had trained himself to make small, semi-normal movements without wincing. He slowly lowered his arms to his side, took a deep breath, and stood.

The trip to the Great Hall seemed to take ages. Though Harry's legs worked fine, he found it hard to maneuver them while keeping his arms at his sides. After he nearly fell down the stairs between the fifth and sixth floors, he gauged the risk and decided to take it. He let his arms spring back to their unnatural positions and took to peeking around corners and constantly looking over his shoulder in paranoia. He need not have worried, however; he met no one in the corridors.

Outside the hall, Harry paused to collect himself. He bent his arms out and swung them a few times as practice. Then, he breathed in sharply, reformed his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression, and stepped inside.

When everyone in the Great Hall turned to look at him, he almost lost his nerve. He realized quickly that they were only looking because he was late though, so he fought to keep his composure as he moved toward the table. When he sat down, he thought he might have wavered for an instant, his left hand jerking, but no one appeared to notice.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, fixing him with her stern gaze. "Maybe you'll join us more often."

"Yes, Professor," Harry mumbled.

To his relief, she turned toward Professor Flitwick, but he barely had a reprieve before Neville leaned toward him. "Are you okay?" he asked in an undertone. "You're sweating."

"I'm fine," Harry said. He snapped his jaw shut as a particularly sharp bolt shot through his left arm. He folded the more-afflicted arm across his lap and reached for his glass.

As hungry as he was, the pain of movement quickly curbed Harry's appetite. He only made it through two pieces of chicken and a few sips of pumpkin juice before he could not trust himself to continue. He stood without explanation and turned for the door, resisting the urge to take off at a run.

Just in case someone decided to follow, Harry kept up the show for as long as he could, rounding a corner so he was out of sight of the door. He then let out a rush of air, his arms snapping back to his chest so sharply his muscles spasmed. He felt a scream rise in his throat but rushed to quell it, knowing any noise would bring people running from the Great Hall.

As soon as he felt able to walk again, Harry stumbled down the corridor, trying each door he came to. To his intense relief, the third was open. He half-fell into the empty classroom, leaning on the door to shut it. He let his arms snap back again and slid down to sit on the floor.

He could not go on like this. He knew it already and should have known it the moment he woke up. He should not have even come downstairs.

By pressing his back against the door and pushing hard with his legs, Harry managed to stand without moving his arms. He contorted his body until his left arm was by the doorknob and forced his fingers to close around it, pulling the door open.

Harry spotted Ron the moment he stepped out into the corridor, but he still could not move quick enough before Ron turned around.

"I knew you couldn't have gotten far," Ron said. "Not the way you were—What's wrong with your arms?"

"Nothing." Harry forced his arms to his sides, but he could not suppress a whimper as his muscles strained so hard he thought they might snap.

Ron rushed forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. "That's it. I don't care what McGonagall said. I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

Harry's heart slammed into his throat. What panicked him even more, however, were the distant footsteps he heard approaching. "Ron," he hissed, jerking his head toward the classroom.

Ron hesitated for so long, Harry considered taking off. Finally though, he pulled Harry into classroom and shut the door. "This had better be good," he said.

Thrown off balance by the movement, Harry took a moment to regain his footing. "I can't go to the hospital wing," he said through gasping breaths.

Ron gaped. "You're still on that? You can't hide this from McGonagall forever."

"Madam Pomfrey can't help me!" Harry sat on the nearest chair to ward off lightheadedness.

Ron's jaw snapped shut, his expression darkening. "You know what it is, don't you?"

Harry sighed, swallowing to avoid throwing up. "Yes," he said, "and I know how to fix it. But I need your help."

"You're positive it'll work?"

"Yes."

Ron stared. Then, he sighed. "What do you need?"

"I need you to help me get to the seventh floor. I barely got down here by myself. I'll pass out halfway there."

Ron paused for several moments again. Then he stepped forward and grabbed Harry's shoulders. When Harry jumped, he let go. "Sorry," he said. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Harry did not quite meet his eyes.

With Ron's help, Harry was able to stand without moving his arms. Ron tried to help him cross the room, but Harry shook the hands off his shoulders.

Ron made no comment. He moved ahead to open the door, peeking out into the hall, and waved Harry forward. "It's clear."

Harry was not sure how long it took to get upstairs, but he would have wagered it was at least an hour. He handled the corridors fine, but the stairs were a trial. His arms were in constant agony even when he did not move them. Midway up the first staircase, his legs started shaking when he lifted them more than a couple of inches. Even with Ron to help him, he was exhausted before he even hit the halfway mark.

That was when the headaches started. Midway between the third and fourth floors, Harry doubled over, clutching his head.

Ron, who had moved ahead a few steps, doubled back. "Are you okay?"

"My head," Harry muttered, taking deep gulps of air. "It'll pass."

It did after a few moments, and they continued on. On the fifth floor, the next wave hit so intensely he stumbled and fell to his knees, his face contorting in pain.

Ron knelt beside him. "Please, just let me take you to the hospital wing."

"No," Harry growled through gritted teeth, forcing his watering eyes to open. "I told you, Pomfrey can't help me."

"I don't understand why not."

The pain ebbed. Harry took a shuddering breath but still did not respond.

After a long hesitation, Ron stood and helped him up.

Harry had one more episode on the sixth floor. He managed to stay on his feet by leaning against a wall, but the pain was accompanied by nausea this time and he retched. Ron said nothing, waving his wand to clean up the mess and continuing on.

"You're lucky we didn't run into anyone," Ron commented after helping Harry navigate the last few steps to the seventh floor.

"Yeah." Harry leaned against the wall again to catch his breath.

"How long will it take?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Could be a couple of days," he said finally.

"What about McGonagall? You heard what she said. She'll know something's wrong when you're not showing up for meals again."

Harry hesitated, forcing his mind to work. Then he had an idea. He took a steadying breath and wrenched his right arm toward his head, clumsily yanking out several hairs and handing them to Ron along with his glasses. "She'll only be watching for me. I'm sure Slughorn has Polyjuice potion around somewhere. The cloak's under my pillow."

"She'll notice if I don't show up for two days either."

"Then trade off with Neville. Tell him as much as you have to."

"What if I can find the potion? Or what if she sees through it and goes looking for you?"

"She won't find me."

Ron watched him for a long time. Then he sighed and continued down the corridor.

Harry waited until he was out of sight before pushing off from the wall. He had to move fast. If he had another headache and fell down again, he did not know if he would be able to stand on his own. Thankfully, he made it to the door without incident. With an agonizing contortion of his arm, he managed to open it.

Unfortunately, that was all he managed to do. His legs gave out when he tried to step inside. He dropped to his knees and retched again. This time, nothing came up.

He heard a sigh. "You idiot." Malfoy dragged Harry to his feet and shut the door.

"Leave off the sarcasm," Harry said, half-limping to the bed and falling onto it. "Just fix it."

Malfoy grabbed the desk chair and set it behind Harry's head, sitting down. "I'm sure I don't need to say it, but hold still." He settled his hands on either side of Harry's head and leaned forward.

The drop down the tunnel was so sudden it jolted Harry. It took only moments to hit the bottom, which felt just as cold and unnatural as ever. Still unable to move his arms, he struggled to sit up. The silvery light began to shine from overhead and he looked up. His stomach clenched. This time, the empty space over his head had doubled, and at least three times as many strands dangled down, crackling with electricity.

"What the hell did you do?" Malfoy asked. He stood a few feet away, also staring up.

"I didn't do anything."

"The barrier didn't just break down. Something punched a hole in it." He wavered slightly as he turned to Harry. "Was it him?"

"No," Harry said at once. "I don't know," he admitted after a moment.

Malfoy looked up again. "I need more light." He turned his palms upward, sending a dozen orbs of light into the air.

The tunnel lit up, revealing masses of dead gray tissue surrounding them. About thirty feet up, the gray began to turn pink.

"I'll salvage as much as I can," Malfoy said, waving his hand to extinguish the lights. "Hopefully that'll fix your arms."

"'Hopefully?'"

"Yes, I suggest you start hoping now." Malfoy flexed his fingers and jumped, soaring into the air. He slowed around the place where the dead gray tissue stopped and glanced back down briefly. Then he flew over to one wall and resting his hands against it.

Harry barely noticed the jolt of pain, but euphoria hit him so hard he almost mistook it for agony. He was not surprised this time when his vision blurred into a million colors, dropping off in a distant waterfall.

Pleasure filled his veins, spreading to the very tips of his frozen, contorted fingers. He stumbled toward the edge of the waterfall, peering toward the bottom. The urge to go over the edge was stronger than ever. There would be no coming back if he did. He would not have to feel pain ever again.

The logic seemed faulty even then. There was no such thing as living without pain. The closest thing was Desdolor, but Harry could hardly call that living. That knowledge was enough to keep him on the edge until the force reversed, pulling him backwards.

The colors faded to darkness and he found himself lying on the cold, damp ground again. As he sat up, his arms shifted. He stared down, flexing his fingers. They moved easily.

"The vacation's over, Potter." Malfoy touched back down. He appeared to be shaking slightly. "Ready?"

Harry pulled himself along the ground until he leaned against the wall. "Just do it."

Malfoy crouched down and, with one swift movement, punched his fists into the ground.

Harry was ready for the pain, but it still overwhelmed him. He jerked and fell to one side. His face landed in one of the black rivulets. Thick liquid coated his skin, flowing into his mouth. He choked as the daggers of pain in his head split into thousands.

The ground trembled. Harry heard someone cry out and suddenly the pain ceased. When he looked up, Malfoy was sitting, clutching his right hand. Blood spilled out over his skin.

"What the hell happened?" Harry asked between panting breaths, sitting up and spitting out the metallic black liquid.

"Control your mind, Potter," Malfoy snapped, "or it'll be more than your arms you can't move."

Harry stared at the bleeding hand. Had he done that? He had not meant to. He had done nothing different than he had the last time, had he? And what was that tremor he felt through the ground?

Malfoy seemed to have regained control of himself. He shifted onto his knees and plunged his uninjured hand back into the ground.

Pain erupted again from a million different points in Harry's head, sending all questions from his mind. This time, when he fell, he managed to fall on his back. As the daggers finally began to converge and the agony peaked, he consoled himself in the knowledge that it would stop soon.

Sure enough, the pain began to plateau and, very slowly, declined, though it did not go away. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but gray and darker gray. He felt a familiar nausea. He tried to move but was unsurprised when he could not.

"Can you hear me?" a voice asked. "Blink for yes."

Harry closed his eyes and forced them back open.

Something touched his head. "Do you want the potion?"

Harry did not move.

He heard a sigh. "Fine. Go to sleep then."

Harry let his eyes close again. He had a short reprieve. He knew this might be the last chance he had to relax for the next couple of days.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: pain, visions, and clashing tempers. As Harry recovers from the most recent repairs on his mind, he must fight to separate reality from illusion. I've finished the rough drafts of the last few chapters, so I'm going to optimistically say the story should be done by the end of June. There may be a short break around the week of June 9th, however, as I'm having my wisdom teeth pulled that day.