Harry's breathing was raspy and rattled in his lungs through swollen lips. By the time they arrived at the hospital wing, his skin was already patchy and mottled. His hands were blistered red and shiny fit to burst. His eyes had swollen shut, and even if he tried to open them it was impossible; the dried tears held like glue. He was beginning to regret eating the codfish oil, but all he could do was see if Nurse Pomphrey had any cure. He felt his way to a bed and lay down on the cool white sheets. Really they could have been any color, and he would not have known, but he had been in here so often that he almost had the room memorized.
"Um, you can go now, Ron," he said quietly, his voice crackly, unsure whether Ron was still there or not.
"Bye," Ron responded, and in a swish of robes he was gone.
Soon Harry heard Madam Pomphrey's heavy metel-toed shoes tap over to his bedside, and a cool hand fell upon his forehead. "No fever," she muttered. Harry heard the soft scratch of a pencil on paper as he lay there unable to do anything but inhale the sweet chemical smell that surrounded the nurse. "You'll be here for a couple days, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice unwavering. He wondered if she had heard the rumors.
As he relaxed in the stiff hospital bed, dreading the make-up work he would have to endure in all of his classes, he wondered whether it had been the right thing to do. He longed to tell everyone the truth, to fight his way out of the lie that he had not created, but he knew he would only get more tangled up. He contemplated for hours; what more was there to do? It was mid-afternoon and the room was silent except for the slow melodic breathing of someone in a bed beside him, and he wasn't at all sleepy. There were so many thoughts buzzing through his head at once that he thought it might explode. It wasn't the first time he had had this sensation. Considering everything he had been through, he was being extremely selfish in this situation. He felt that he should be spending his time and energy trying to save the world yet again from the dark powers of Lord Voldemort, and that silly childish matters like this shouldn't have any effect on him. Nevertheless he was extremely hurt by the accusations.
Harry reflected on the events of that day, his lips twitching into a makeshift smile in spite of himself as he noted the absurdity of the whole situation, and the confusion. It was something rarely spoken of in the world of Hogwarts, but the students, as accustomed to Muggle TV shows and slang as most of them were, certainly were all aware of it. Most of the people he had seen were shy and embarassed of the subject, but some had acted differently. In the rush of the day, Harry hadn't had time to contemplate their reactions. Seamus Finnigan had... Harry gasped sharply. He had never considered himself a homophobe, but, Seamus Finnigan? And now George too? How many others? Harry's head throbed. He wondered if he would ever be able to really get used to it. Now he could understand how the whole school felt. It was such a forign subject in what seemed like a sheltered environment. What a big blow to the security of Hogwarts! He could imagine it: the thing that did them all in would not be Voldemort and his army of dementors, but a faux-Harry Potter coming out of the closet. Harry wondered what had been going through Collin Creevey's mind when he did this. Didn't he realize the outbreak it would cause?
Just as Harry was getting really worked up, the swish of Madam Pomphrey's robe beside his cot interupted his thoughts. "Sit up," she said curtly, and proceeded to spoon a warm liquid between his lips. It was momentarily sweet, but a bitter aftertaste remained on his tongue long after he had swallowed. He began to feel very drowsey, and fog filled his mind, slowing his thoughts. Who was gay now? What was the whole school in a jostle about? The sheets were wonderfully soft. Whatever was the matter, it could wait until morning.
"Um, you can go now, Ron," he said quietly, his voice crackly, unsure whether Ron was still there or not.
"Bye," Ron responded, and in a swish of robes he was gone.
Soon Harry heard Madam Pomphrey's heavy metel-toed shoes tap over to his bedside, and a cool hand fell upon his forehead. "No fever," she muttered. Harry heard the soft scratch of a pencil on paper as he lay there unable to do anything but inhale the sweet chemical smell that surrounded the nurse. "You'll be here for a couple days, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice unwavering. He wondered if she had heard the rumors.
As he relaxed in the stiff hospital bed, dreading the make-up work he would have to endure in all of his classes, he wondered whether it had been the right thing to do. He longed to tell everyone the truth, to fight his way out of the lie that he had not created, but he knew he would only get more tangled up. He contemplated for hours; what more was there to do? It was mid-afternoon and the room was silent except for the slow melodic breathing of someone in a bed beside him, and he wasn't at all sleepy. There were so many thoughts buzzing through his head at once that he thought it might explode. It wasn't the first time he had had this sensation. Considering everything he had been through, he was being extremely selfish in this situation. He felt that he should be spending his time and energy trying to save the world yet again from the dark powers of Lord Voldemort, and that silly childish matters like this shouldn't have any effect on him. Nevertheless he was extremely hurt by the accusations.
Harry reflected on the events of that day, his lips twitching into a makeshift smile in spite of himself as he noted the absurdity of the whole situation, and the confusion. It was something rarely spoken of in the world of Hogwarts, but the students, as accustomed to Muggle TV shows and slang as most of them were, certainly were all aware of it. Most of the people he had seen were shy and embarassed of the subject, but some had acted differently. In the rush of the day, Harry hadn't had time to contemplate their reactions. Seamus Finnigan had... Harry gasped sharply. He had never considered himself a homophobe, but, Seamus Finnigan? And now George too? How many others? Harry's head throbed. He wondered if he would ever be able to really get used to it. Now he could understand how the whole school felt. It was such a forign subject in what seemed like a sheltered environment. What a big blow to the security of Hogwarts! He could imagine it: the thing that did them all in would not be Voldemort and his army of dementors, but a faux-Harry Potter coming out of the closet. Harry wondered what had been going through Collin Creevey's mind when he did this. Didn't he realize the outbreak it would cause?
Just as Harry was getting really worked up, the swish of Madam Pomphrey's robe beside his cot interupted his thoughts. "Sit up," she said curtly, and proceeded to spoon a warm liquid between his lips. It was momentarily sweet, but a bitter aftertaste remained on his tongue long after he had swallowed. He began to feel very drowsey, and fog filled his mind, slowing his thoughts. Who was gay now? What was the whole school in a jostle about? The sheets were wonderfully soft. Whatever was the matter, it could wait until morning.