White Out, Chapter 2
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, murderess extraordinaire. She's so good, in fact, that I can't hate her. That really makes it hard to find someone to blame. XP
Apology: I'm so sorry my stories are so sickeningly short. Hopefully it will be good, so you don't care, right?
Audience: WRONG!
Ten-kih: ON WITH THE FIC
Ron and Hermione had stayed silent, not bothering to ask him why. He knew they wondered though. Every once in a while they would send a curios glance over at him, and he could tell in their eyes that they hated they he hadn't spoken to them. But Harry ignored it. Madam Pompfrey didn't ask, he was one of many students she was responsible for. And Dumbledore and McGonagall were hardly there any more, they were bust with the order. Most of the schools responsibilities were taken on my tiny professor Flitwick.
They only left the hospital wing at night, and then he was alone. Deep in the darkness, without the drugs to white out his mind, his head ached and every nerve seared without them.
After the fifth night he was released, without a question from Madam Pompfrey. The one word Hermione had said to him was a spell, she learned in Charms while he was gone, to ease pain. It was not entirely effective, for he was still sick to his stomach, and he cringed as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, now remembering that it was Christmas Eve. He felt a fresh surge of guilt, ruining his friends Christmas. Mumbled the password to the fat lady, 'fudggadibit', and climbed the staircase in the dark He just had time to register that the bottles and needle were gone from the desk before he fell asleep.
He awoke in the morning to a blaring headache, and Ron sitting on the edge of his bed, near tears. The pile before his bed was unwrapped, and he was wearing an ugly Maroon sweater, obviously the work of his mum. Once Harry had sat up, Ron said "Why?" a single tear floating down his cheek.
"I don't know." Said Harry before he flung himself downstairs, blinking back tears. Ron darted after him, and Hermione, when she saw him running through the common room. He raced through the school, not tiring or ever looking back. Before he knew it, he was the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He stood before the room of requirement.
He heard Ron and Hermione's footsteps as they raced up the stairs; he passed it quickly three times, thinking obsessively in his mind 'I want it to be over.' Suddenly a door had appeared before him. Just as his friends had made it here, he stepped into empty nothingness.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, murderess extraordinaire. She's so good, in fact, that I can't hate her. That really makes it hard to find someone to blame. XP
Apology: I'm so sorry my stories are so sickeningly short. Hopefully it will be good, so you don't care, right?
Audience: WRONG!
Ten-kih: ON WITH THE FIC
Ron and Hermione had stayed silent, not bothering to ask him why. He knew they wondered though. Every once in a while they would send a curios glance over at him, and he could tell in their eyes that they hated they he hadn't spoken to them. But Harry ignored it. Madam Pompfrey didn't ask, he was one of many students she was responsible for. And Dumbledore and McGonagall were hardly there any more, they were bust with the order. Most of the schools responsibilities were taken on my tiny professor Flitwick.
They only left the hospital wing at night, and then he was alone. Deep in the darkness, without the drugs to white out his mind, his head ached and every nerve seared without them.
After the fifth night he was released, without a question from Madam Pompfrey. The one word Hermione had said to him was a spell, she learned in Charms while he was gone, to ease pain. It was not entirely effective, for he was still sick to his stomach, and he cringed as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, now remembering that it was Christmas Eve. He felt a fresh surge of guilt, ruining his friends Christmas. Mumbled the password to the fat lady, 'fudggadibit', and climbed the staircase in the dark He just had time to register that the bottles and needle were gone from the desk before he fell asleep.
He awoke in the morning to a blaring headache, and Ron sitting on the edge of his bed, near tears. The pile before his bed was unwrapped, and he was wearing an ugly Maroon sweater, obviously the work of his mum. Once Harry had sat up, Ron said "Why?" a single tear floating down his cheek.
"I don't know." Said Harry before he flung himself downstairs, blinking back tears. Ron darted after him, and Hermione, when she saw him running through the common room. He raced through the school, not tiring or ever looking back. Before he knew it, he was the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He stood before the room of requirement.
He heard Ron and Hermione's footsteps as they raced up the stairs; he passed it quickly three times, thinking obsessively in his mind 'I want it to be over.' Suddenly a door had appeared before him. Just as his friends had made it here, he stepped into empty nothingness.