Disclaimer: I don't own 'em!
Summary: Harry discovers that there's a silver lining in every cloud, but why does he keep getting sick?
Growing Pains, by Shedoc
Apart from a few curious stares, Hermione's sudden awkwardness around him, and Colin Creevey's rather embarrassing and unexpected hug, things at school weren't too bad.
True, Malfoy seemed to have acquired a permanently smug sneer that just wouldn't quit, and several of the Slytherins were seen whispering behind their hands, sniggering and staring at him. He ignored that, not wanting to get into an argument over his past.
The usual mail delivery on Monday was also mortifying, as the mothers of the Wizarding world sent him parcels of clothes by owl. Ron and Ginny had helped him get the parcels cleared away quickly, and he spent two whole nights writing thank you notes for a wide assortment of garments. Ron had held him close while he opened the parcels and helped keep track of who had sent what without the usual sarcastic comments. He'd even let Harry hide in his neck when he'd become overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers. The Cleansweep board had sent their usual packet of documents, without any additional comments, which Harry was grateful for. He didn't need their sympathy or pity, he needed their trust.
Snape had given him a very strange look, and Harry hoped that the Potions Master would keep his snide comments to himself, because Harry was in no mood to cut the irascible teacher any slack. The half expected comments were never aired in Harry's earshot however, which meant he wasn't expelled for hexing a teacher.
Ron was a rock. Harry couldn't believe how lucky he was to have Ron's unflagging support and affection through it all. His boyfriend wasn't obviously going out of his way to be mushy, but it was the little things that counted. Fetching a book that Harry needed from the library, or returning ones close to their due date and re borrowing them. Keeping track of their homework and reminding Harry of deadlines. The redhead once sat up for half the night and read through Harry's Arithmancy book, slipping notes on parchment into the pages with questions for Harry to consider. Harry found similar notes everywhere, not even related to schoolwork, just little hellos, off-colour jokes, and supportive comments tucked into his bag, pockets, books, and sock drawer of all places. Harry was collecting them all and storing them carefully away, each one a precious reminder that someone cared for him despite the Dursley's.
Things seemed to have settled down over the Easter holidays, and they took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to spend as much time outside as possible. Mr Weasley and Remus came up to school to talk to Harry about the next part of his inheritance that was coming due, and Harry insisted that Ron sit in for this as well. He was shocked to learn that two more businesses were about to be dumped in his lap - one an Apothecary chain that was based in Diagon Alley, and the other a bookstore. It was called Jot and Tittle, and specialised in educational tomes for the Wizards who went on to study after seventh year. Harry couldn't remember seeing it, but then again he hadn't gone looking for bookstores in Diagon Alley.
"Hermione will be green!" Ron gloated as they headed for their dorm later that day, "A whole bookstore! Hey, will I get a discount?"
"Depends," Harry slid a hand down Ron's back to rest on his arse, the action hidden from prying eyes by the robes and the way Harry was standing. A second after he'd done it he panicked. What if Ron thought that he was serious?
"I knew you only wanted me for one thing," Ron laid that worry to rest immediately by shaking the arse in question and sending a distinctly flirty look over his shoulder. This was the first time Harry had been so bold, and the redhead only wanted to encourage it.
"Good thing I'm so good," he continued and Harry laughed, removing his hand to hold Ron's instead.
"That's not why I want you," Harry promised in a very husky voice and Ron all but dragged him to the redhead's bed.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Classes resumed, and Harry worked harder than ever. If he was to enjoy Ron for the rest of his life, he needed to ensure that there was going to be a rest of his life, which meant cracking Avada Kedavra and coming up with a counter curse. The difficulty of his self-imposed task never occurred to him, it was simply something that he had to do.
Monday on the second week of term found Harry waking with a mild headache, which he decided not to mention until he had to. He ate breakfast heartily and followed Ron and Hermione to Potions, reviewing his notes for the class as he walked. He thought that he'd probably swallowed that last bit of toast too quickly because his throat felt scratchy, but there was no time to run to the loo for a drink of water as Snape had the dungeon door open already and he didn't want to set himself up for trouble.
The smell of the classroom - always strong after years of potions being brewed and spilled - turned his stomach a little, and Harry swallowed hard, hoping that he wasn't getting sick again. He settled quietly at his desk and took notes as Snape lectured them on the properties of the ingredients they were about to use, and cleared his and Ron's desk while the redhead went to get what they needed, setting their cauldron over the fire and laying the kindling as Snape insisted they do.
There was a Merlin-awful smell, which got worse as Ron put their ingredients down and Harry retched, swallowing hard. Ron noticed and hurried to his side.
"You ok mate?" he asked quietly, not noticing that Malfoy had also spotted them.
"What's that smell?" Harry felt as if his sinuses were on fire and his stomach was in complete revolt. He had to keep swallowing against his gag reflex and the sour saliva that was flooding his mouth. Ron had a hand between his shoulder blades, his eyes wide with worry.
"What smell?" the redhead sounded worried, "You're going green. Are you feeling sick?"
"What's wrong Potter? This too much for you?" Malfoy's voice intruded on their discussion and Harry gagged as the blonde shoved something vile under his nose. He twisted desperately towards the still cold cauldron and threw up violently, falling to his knees as wave after wave of nausea swept over him. Ron's hands clutched him, supporting him as he retched and spewed, barely able to breathe between bouts. When he was empty he went into a series of dry heaves that had him moaning in pain, and Ron gathered him in his arms when he was done, using Hermione's hanky to wipe his face clean.
"What's going on?" Snape's cold voice sounded, and Malfoy sniggered.
"He can't handle this, sir," he gestured with whatever it was he was holding and 'accidentally' passed it under Harry's nose again. Harry convulsed and Ron had him up and over the cauldron again as the green eyed teen ejected his stomach lining, the sour smell of blood flooding his streaming sinuses and adding to his distress.
He was barely conscious when it was over, and strong arms picked him up out of Ron's loving ones. Because they weren't Ron's Harry fought them, struggling weakly to get away, crying out for his Ron and the comfort that only the redheads touch could bring. With Ron he was safe, with Ron he could be Harry, not the Boy Who Lived, or the freak, or the Quidditch Seeker, or Voldemort's enemy.
The touch he longed for returned and Harry clung to it as the world ceased to make any sense.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"We have to stop doing this," Harry muttered to the redhead asleep in a chair beside his bed. He was getting heartily sick of waking in the hospital wing, Ron exhausted beside him. There were screens around his bed, but he could tell it was breakfast time for the noises of the castle.
He sunk his fingers into Ron's hair once more and gently massaged the redhead's scalp. He'd learned that the quickest way to calm his boyfriend was to do this, and Ron was a slut for them. Sure enough, he moaned in his sleep and pushed his head into Harry's hand.
"Slut," Harry muttered fondly, obliging the subtle request by speeding his actions. This had the added benefit of making Ron quite horny, and it would wake him up as he sought to scratch the itch that Harry was giving him.
"Harry," Ron husked and dragged himself up the bed, still half asleep and looking for a mouth to kiss. Harry obliged him, enjoying the slick tongue that rubbed against his palate. He heard steps approaching and pulled his hand away shifting it to Ron's shoulder and pushing to break the kiss.
"Matron," he warned when Ron protested and leaned in again, and Ron woke up properly, his eyes wide in shock.
"Harry!" he exclaimed and leaned down to hug him hard, "You're awake!"
"Ron?" Harry hadn't been expecting this, but wrapped Ron in his arms anyway, "What is it?"
"Mr Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey pulled Ron away and Harry frowned, reaching for him again. He had to be satisfied with holding Ron's hand while she checked him over, and held on tightly.
"How do you feel, Mr Potter?" Pomfrey asked when she'd finished and Harry smiled at Ron as he answered.
"I'm fine. I don't know what it was that Malfoy shoved under my nose, but my stomach's settled down now."
"He had a handful of cloves, Harry. We've used them in potions hundreds of times. You had another… well whatever it is that made you sick last summer," Ron frowned, "Why didn't you tell me you were feeling ill?"
"I didn't think I was," Harry replied honestly, wanting to ease the small hurt he could see in Ron's face, "I'd been having small headaches for a few days, and they'd always gone away after I ate. My throat was a bit scratchy after breakfast, but I'd scoffed that last bit of toast and needed a drink of water to settle it. Before I just felt like I was coming down with some sort of 'flu, and this was different."
"Well, Healer Reynolds will have finished his breakfast soon, and he'll look you over then," Pomfrey clucked her tongue absently, "Mr Weasley, you need a shower, fresh clothes and something to eat. If I promise you a tray at Mr Potters bedside, will you go up to your House for the rest?"
"Yes Matron," Ron nodded and leaned over to hug Harry one more time, sneaking a kiss too.
"Healer Reynolds is here?" Harry asked, confused.
"He came the moment I realised that this was a repeat of the last few times," Pomfrey confirmed. Harry let her rearrange his pillows so he could sit up a bit and she fussed with his covers. He was starting to feel a little tired when footsteps sounded again and the dour Healer slipped around the screen, accompanied by Professor McGonagal, who exclaimed in surprise and actually hugged Harry. He hugged her back in shock, and she sniffed as she straightened, patting his shoulder and letting Reynolds have access to Harry's bed.
Harry had been ill for five days, during which time Ron had barely left his side. Once more, Ron had been the only person who Harry would suffer to have near him, the only person he trusted in his delirium, and the only person who could banish his fears, soothe his pain and calm his soul.
0o0o0o0o0o0
To Harry's relief, he was released from the hospital wing the day after he woke, his recovery so much quicker this time around that a longer stay was unnecessary. Ron insisted that Harry use the weekend of his release to have a rest, and Harry had complied on the condition that his boyfriend stay at his side. Ron had gone to sleep in Harry's bed, and slumbered peacefully for twenty-four hours straight, waking on Sunday morning with a sheepish grin and oddly sexy bed hair. Harry had used the time to catch up on his homework and make notes for Ron to do the same, a gesture that was highly appreciated by his boyfriend.
Their absence from class did not excuse them from Professor Flitwick's arduous Charms work either. In the sixth year, the Charms were increasingly difficult, and concentrated on animating objects to perform complex operations. Harry could see that this led directly into house keeping spells and some future careers, such as Healing and craft work. Flitwick had already shown them how to knit, which Ron turned out to have a talent for, and was now trying to teach them to animate musical instruments. He had turned the class into a sort of orchestra, though they were working with percussion instruments mainly, and the results were not encouraging.
Harry's return to class coincided with the individual turns of the class, where everyone had to show that they were able to play their 'part' of the complex rhythm that Flitwick was encouraging them to produce. He had already shown them what the percussion piece sounded like, setting layer upon layer of charms on the instruments and making them play simultaneously in a brilliant display of his field. The individual trials were less than impressive, as many people were having a hard time staying on tempo.
Ron and Harry were given extensions on the task as they had been absent for that first week of learning, and they spent most of the individual trials in a small classroom adjoining the main one, trying to master it themselves. Ron could get a simple rhythm going and hold it for quite some time, but the more complex rhythm was almost beyond him. He worked hard to master it, and by the time his extension was up, he nearly had it perfect. Gryffindor clapped the redhead enthusiastically, especially as Hermione had been the only other person to do that well.
They ran out of time for Harry to show his skill at the charm, and he wasn't too upset that Flitwick dismissed the class to lunch with the intention of letting Harry perform the charm on his instrument - a whistle - in private. Harry moved to look at the master score that Flitwick kept while the tiny Professor answered last minute questions from people who were obviously lingering.
Malfoy's annoying whine sounded in the background, and to block it out Harry called up his memory of the driving rhythm that Flitwick had demonstrated for them only weeks ago. They would attempt to play the whole thing as a group next lesson, and Harry wondered if his teacher hadn't bitten off more than he could chew with this particular assignment.
The master score held the notations that marked the rhythms of each instrument and the charms that needed to be said at each time to get them to play properly. Harry read them over a few times, mentally rehearsing the piece over and over again, the driving rhythm one that made his toes want to tap and his head want to bob in time. He reached the end of the score one more time and turned back to the beginning, his skin tingling, a light rushing feeling swirling through his chest. Without thinking about it he slipped his wand from his robes and twirled it around his fingers lightly.
He took a deep breath and raised his hands, facing the instruments that lay still on the benches. They floated obediently into the air and he started casting.
Magic rushed through him, and he was unable to stand still, bobbing and weaving with the flow, the rhythm and counter rhythms driving from his fingers into the magic and thence into the instruments. He bopped in place, waving his free hand sharply to direct the counter rhythm and stay on tempo. The sheer exhilaration that the piece was raising in him couldn't be contained, and he drove the music forward with a will. The finale came in a wild flourish and ended with an unrehearsed shout of joy. Sparks shot from his wand across the room and the instruments whirled in place before returning to their original resting places.
Harry gasped for breath, his empty hand grabbing for the edge of the desk to support him, a grin on his face so wide his cheek muscles hurt.
"Brilliant, Mr Potter!" Flitwick appeared at his elbow, "Well done, young man!"
"Wow," Harry gasped, "What a rush!"
Flitwick giggled, a sound that made Harry grin again in sympathy. His teacher patted his shoulder and sent him to lunch, and when Harry turned to the door, he met the astonished gazes of most of his Gryffindor year, half the Slytherins and a few students who seemed to have wandered in.
'Brilliant,' Ron mouthed at him and Harry blushed, grabbed his bag and his boyfriends elbow and headed for the Great Hall.
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