A/N: Yes, the mandatory Ron-Hermione-Harry Conversation About Harry's Doom has arrived! Feast your eyes…

6 – Friends Forever? Not Quite

Harry knew it was going to be a real trial when even Hermione was lost for words. Ron was red in the face, and kept avoiding his eye as he struggled to keep still in the downright prison of the cocoon of blankets Madame Pomfrey had forcefully swaddled him in 'to keep him warm'.

Apparently, that was the code phrase for 'to make sure you don't kill your friends', because Harry had been subtly trying to wrestle his way out of the bloody blankets, and Ron and Hermione had been watching him do it and pretending not to notice he was uncomfortable. Harry tried not to think of his vassal – Pomfrey, dammit – actually telling his friends to be careful of him, and, failing that, tried not to think of breaking her knees again.

Because, honestly, who else would think to make literal chains out of blankets?

"Well, you don't look too bad," Hermione finally forced out, eyes now pleading with Ron, as if to say, help me out, you git.

Don't let him hurt get hurt because you don't like how he looks! Harry muttered inwardly, affecting Hermione's shrill – yes, shrill – voice to himself as he glared daggers at her.

"Yeah, Harry," Ron muttered. Harry felt a hysterical laugh bubble up from deep within as he couldn't stop himself from saying –

"Oh just say it, I could put the entire Weasley family to shame. Just look, even my chest hair is red now – "

Ron let out a strangled laugh, and reddened furiously when Hermione gave him a hard look. "Well, it's true…"

"It's not likely to make him feel any better about this whole thing, is it?" she said angrily. "Honestly, Ron – "

"Do you know what else is red?" Harry demanded. "The hair on my legs. The hair under my armpits. The hair on my pubes – "

"Harry – " Hermione gasped, colouring rapidly.

"Oh, I did not need to know that," Ron muttered.

"I have claws for feet!" Harry was half shouting, now. "Sometimes, for hands too – I'm going crazy in this bloody bed half the time because I want to be outside so bad that it makes me cry like a two year old in my nonexistent bathroom!" Both of his friends had stopped trying to say anything, with such horrified looks on their faces that Harry forced himself to lower his tone of voice, at the very least. "What I'm trying to say… Look, Hermione, there is no way known to man to make me feel better about being this way. There just isn't, all right? The only thing keeping me going is the fact that my va – er, Dumbledore and Pomfrey are working hard to change me back, honestly…" Harry's voice trailed off as he realised his friends were edging away from the bed. "What?"

"Er – your arm sort of – caughtfireforabit," Hermione got out jerkily, as Harry felt himself go pale as he suddenly caught the overpoweringly sharp scent of smoke. "I'm so sorry, Harry – "

Harry gave a little sort of half-sob, half-hysterical laugh, and suddenly it was all okay, because he was crying again, and though Ron looked like the last place he wanted to be was on the side of the room Harry's sobbing face was facing, it was okay, because Hermione had gotten up behind him, and was very gently touching his hair and telling him it would be okay.

"So, was it a potion or a spell?" he heard her say in what seemed like the distant background. "Harry…are you…"

"Potion," he said simply, after thoroughly clearing his throat, not wanting to become all loose-tongued like had happened when he'd cried last in front of one of his vassals – Pomfrey, to be exact. He'd learned that clearing his throat seemed to alert his insane brain to the fact that he needed to talk again (or something like that), and that –

It just helped, for crying out loud.

"Snape said it was a nameless poison that only turns deadly when activated by one of the darkest of Dark Rituals, but he couldn't keep saying that," Harry got out, turning over very, very carefully so he wouldn't traumatise Ron further. "So he started calling it the Potion of Certain Death."

"What?" Ron's voice sounded far less horrified now, and more amused. "But – you didn't die, so it can't be a very certain potion, can it?"

"Oh, it is," Harry said, a little grimly, slightly relishing the expression of morbid curiosity on his friends' faces. "The only reason I'm alive, if you can call this being alive, is because of my mum. Again."

"But what about…" Hermione interjected, sounding puzzled and not a bit apprehensive. "Fourth year. The – the graveyard – "

"Only works between me and Voldemort," Harry said, casting her an apologetic look for cutting her off. "He just broke my mum's spell with regards to himself – or, at least, that's what Snape thinks. I don't think I'd be willing to test that out, though…"

"Even if you already have?" Ron suggested, a little too innocently.

"Stop it, Ron. Would you rather have wings than be dead?" Harry paused for a moment, feeling sheepish as he considered his question. "Well, it sounds harsh when you say it – "

"Right," Ron muttered sarcastically.

" – but really, it's torture being like this," Harry said eagerly. "It's not just things that could probably cool, like the wings – my mind is really, really fucked up now. I keep thinking really weird things, like of how I can permanently mark this room as my territory, and how Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey are my vassals, and – "

"Vassals? Are you serious?" Hermione interrupted, looking more curious than horrified, as, Harry irritably thought, she rightly should be. "Do they know?"

"Is Voldemort invited for lunch?" Harry burst out. "Oh, I can really see that, Hermione – 'Oh, and, by the way, Professor, you're my slave now' – "

"A vassal isn't a slave, that's more like a servant – "

"It doesn't matter, Hermione, it's still bloody weird, and it still bothers me! I attacked Fawkes when Dumbledore had him down here to help me, for crying out loud – "

"What?" Hermione actually looked genuinely worried now, Harry would give her that. But he decided to forfeit his approval when she spoke again, voice very thoughtful. "Were you defending your territory?"

"And my vassals!" Harry answered, getting angry at that impertinent little bastard all over again. "He was trilling at Dumbledore as if he wasn't practically covered in my feathers, and…" Harry trailed off as he abruptly realised what he was saying, but quickly regained his voice. "Do you see what I'm saying?" Ron seemed to, and Harry couldn't help adding, "And there's worse than this, oh, there's worse – "

"I'm not sure I want to – " Ron began, but Harry was keeping nothing back, both of them deserved to hear –

"Snape came in from getting new ingredients for my potions the other day, and I jumped him." Satisfaction surged through Harry as he watched Ron's face turn an odd colour of green, and he turned to Hermione, who was looking only slightly better. "I wanted to feel his skin on mine, to rub up against him, just so that his smell would rub off onto me, so I could smell like the Forbidden Forest too – "

"We hear you, Harry," Hermione said hastily, but Harry wasn't finished, oh no –

"If my vassals hadn't been there, I'd probably have dragged him out of his clothes and pinned him to the bed, just so I could smell him properly – "

"We hear you, all right?"

Harry relaxed onto his bed, smirking bitterly all over his face. "Why do you think Pomfrey practically chained me to the bed? If you'd been in the Forest or near it within the last few hours, Hermione, I'd probably have burned my way out of this thing and draped myself all over you by now." Hermione reddened dramatically, but not as badly as Ron, who looked oddly angry that Harry would say something like that. "The point is, Hermione, this is serious. I can't live like this – what if all Malfoy or someone else had to do to get me alone was to present himself to me after going down the Forest for a walk? I can't stay in this bloody room for the rest of my life, and if my vas – if Dumbledore and Pomfrey don't figure out how to change me back, I may bloody well have to."

"We're sorry, Harry," Ron said, very quietly, voice level despite the alarm that pervaded his entire posture. "If there's anything I can do – "

"There is," Harry said, feeling a little guilty at the hopeful expression blossoming over both their faces. "Don't come back to see me. Just don't," he repeated, ignoring Ron's open mouth and Hermione's stunned expression. "I don't want you to see me like this, all right? It just feels – permanent, somehow, when you're here – "

"But Harry, Dumbledore – "

"If you're not here," Harry persisted, "it's easier to think that it'll soon be over. Like I'll see you again soon, and everything will be fine. Please, Hermione – "

"Fine," Ron said, surprising Harry again by shaking his head at Hermione when she tried to protest. "He's right, Hermione – if he thinks it'll help him, then we should try – "

"You've been out of school for two weeks, Harry," Hermione was saying, obviously struggling to keep tears back. "We've missed you, and it's not healthy for you not to talk to anyone but teachers, especially if one of them doesn't exactly like you enough to bother talking to you – "

"Hermione, please. It's what I want, all right? I just – I just want to finish this and not have to remember more than three people seeing me in this state more than once in their lives…" Harry sighed, upset at the desperation colouring his tone. "I'll be fine, honestly, I will…"

Hermione pursed her lips, sniffed, looked hard at Ron (oddly, as if to say, if you're wrong about this, I WILL kill you. Which was odd because since when did Ron give Hermione advice about Harry?), and sighed. Harry relaxed, noticeably.

Really, if he was reading the Hermione-signs right, her acquiescence was practically in the bag.

Preview of Chapter 7: The Transformy-Thingy

Harry stared. He held the stare at his reflection long enough that Snape – yes, Snape – was the first to break the expectant silence.

"Potter, you ungrateful little brat – "