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Technicolour Yawn

They ate in an outdoors café. The tables were set out on the grass, and the kitchen itself was little more than a hole in the wall with a blackboard menu.

"The weather is unusually warm," Harry remarked as he sat at his ease. He had an arm draped over the back of Hermione's chair and Ron smiled fondly at them both. It was good to see them sitting together, so comfortable and relaxed. Two of the most important people in Ron's world were with him enjoying unusual spring weather. What could possibly be better?

"Lunch!" Ron smiled as the waiter arrived with their plates of food and both Hermione and Harry laughed. His appetite had levelled off after a while, though he was still what his mother referred to as a walking dustbin when it came to food. His lanky frame never seemed to gain extra weight, though he exercised vigorously during down time to keep up his fitness.

Hermione had ordered a warm chicken salad, which came in a huge bowl and made her eyes widen in surprise. Harry had also opted for a salad, Greek with large squares of feta and olives and a spicy dressing that Ron could scent on the air. Ron's decidedly unhealthy sandwich with the lot, including a fried egg didn't look any less appetising beside these healthy offerings and he dug in with gusto.

They fell to talking in that shorthand code that they'd used almost instinctively at school, discussing Rose's upcoming fourth birthday. Harry's pride in his daughter was there for all to see, and Ron basked in that sight, glad that despite his losses Harry was happy. Hermione and Ron both wanted to take Rose out for a treat somewhere, and Harry suggested a trip to London for a day. The two Aurors could handle her for a day between them - this was suggested slyly - and Harry would meet them at the Burrow so Molly and Arthur could see her on her birthday as well.

"What about you?" Ron asked anxiously, "Don't you want her for the day?"

"I can come along if you like," Harry smiled, "I just thought you'd like the day with her to yourself."

"I would," Hermione nodded, "But not her birthday, Harry. She should have you for that."

"Ok," Harry nodded agreeably and grimaced at the forkful he'd just put in his mouth, "Man, they must have changed the dressing. This is not as nice as usual."

"You could order something else," Ron suggested, wiping his mouth at Hermione's glare, "You've put a fair dent in this one."

"Nah," Harry pushed the half empty bowl away, "I'm pretty full anyway."

"So what were you planning to do with Rose during the holidays?" Hermione asked, nibbling at a bit of chicken. Harry leaned back in his chair again, though he didn't look quite as comfortable as before.

"Same thing I do every year, take her shopping for spring and summer clothes. We had a big tidy of her cupboard and got rid of the clothes that don't fit her anymore, and now is the time to replace them. I usually throw her on the train to London and go through Camden Markets with her for some bargains. There are plenty of other places to shop too. She needs new sandals and some trainers for playing in the park, but we'll get those here I think."

"Are you ok, Harry?" Ron frowned. The dark haired man was rubbing his stomach a little and leaning forward in his chair by the end of his last sentence and Harry shrugged a little.

"Heart burn," his voice was strained, and Hermione put her fork down to rub his back. Harry's face was starting to lose colour and his breath hitched uneasily. Ron discretely conjured a glass of water and shifted around the table to pass it to his friend. Harry took a sip and grimaced, putting the glass on the table roughly and turning away from them both, leaning forward in his chair and panting roughly. Hermione got up too, and started to lean over their friend when Harry convulsed and spewed.

Ron grimaced even as the other patrons at the tables reacted. Harry was heaving hard, with barely enough time to breathe between paroxysms. Vomit was all over his friend's legs and shoes and Hermione whirled to call to the waiters while Ron held Harry in his chair, uncaring of the mess that was covering his own clothes as well. Harry's body was shuddering uncontrollably with each fresh bout of illness.

"Get an ambulance!" Hermione ordered, and Ron saw with horror that there was blood in Harry's vomit now, which meant that he was starting to eject his stomach lining.

"Ron, it must be poison," Hermione tossed the water from the conjured glass out and scooped some of Harry's salad into it, making sure she got the dressing as well, "I'm going to Snape."

Ron nodded as Hermione ran for the corner, knowing that she'd apparate as soon as she was clear. Harry whimpered in his grasp, and Ron took a towel from the waiter that was hovering with a revolted expression, wiping his friend's face carefully. Harry was panting weakly, sweat pouring off him in buckets, completely unable to sit in the chair on his own. Ron discovered when he shifted to get a better grip that one of Harry's hands was knotted in his shirt, an arrangement that Ron made no effort to disturb. Sirens sounded in the distance and Ron hoped that the Muggles would be able to do something for his friend, who was starting to retch again, moans interspersed with gags and gasps for air.

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