Under the Weather
(A/N: Here's another chapter for this story. I don't own the characters, honestly! Did you all enjoy Halloween? I went as Boromir, it was great – everyone knew who I was! Lol. I hope you all like this chapter!)
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It had been a terrible morning. Harry hadn't wanted it to arrive as he had woken in the early hour. He felt horrible, not in with himself but as his body went. He could barely sit up for aches and his head constantly pounded in his ears. His throat felt dry and his eyes were sore and stiff.
What was wrong with him? It sometimes hurt to even swallow.
He didn't feel as if he could be sick literally, he just felt tired and worn down. He was shivering occasionally, and it racked his body numb with cold. He wondered now if he had been placed in the less heated place of the house, it felt like it to him. He tried to sit up in his bed, but it seemed as though everything was spinning.
Little Harry rubbed his eyes to rid of some of the stiffness. It was Sunday, another long day for him usually. But today, he felt as if it could be a challenge to walk. He pictured telling his uncle how he felt.
Maybe it was because of the rain, he hoped it was only that and nothing more than a head cold. He had had colds before, they went away in time. It may even be his punishment for sleeping out in the storm – how stupid could he have been? He didn't really want any sympathy for this…he just wanted to sleep away into nothing.
But he felt as if he couldn't. Not now, he was freezing and that made things difficult. It might only be temporary anyway. As he listened hard for life in the house, and tried to imagine how the weather would appear to him, he slumped backwards on his bed, burying his head in the pillow.
"Please let it be nothing…" he whispered, as sleep slowly took him.
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Rap! Rap! The noise was disturbed for Harry as his aunt knocked loudly on his cupboard door. It sounded to him as if she was rather hysterical; her voice was burning with a peculiar anger.
"Get up! Do you know what time it is?" she snapped.
Harry's eyes slurred as he shifted in bed uncomfortably. He didn't feel a great deal better, he wasn't sure how he had even fallen back to sleep. Still, he wondered what he would say if he ignored his aunt and tried again. Yawning, he spoke up. "No…no, Aunt Petunia – sorry…"
"Well, you have a reason to be! I want you out of there and dressed in two minutes – and if you dare to take too long…" She sounded terrible. Almost as if Harry challenged himself to step foot into the hallway he would be pummelled within an inch of his life. She hadn't yet got over the fact that he had slept outside.
"All right…" he groaned, his arms aching.
One final knock on the door and she was gone. Harry settled into silence, the cold still pounding on his nerves. He wished he wouldn't be sick. His aunt and uncle, even Dudley would do nothing for it, they would just tell him to stop complaining and clear his head by working, or something ridiculous like that.
It took Harry longer than two minutes to get ready, though. Even though he hurried, he found it hard to focus and he was forever sniffling. He was for sure that he had a cold, and he cursed himself for it. He had brought it on himself…this was his own fault.
Quickly as he could he changed into new clothes, warm clothes…as he shivered by wearing thin shirts. He thought that his relatives would seem him odd as to wear these things indoors, but what else could he do to keep snug? He had gone without heat most of the night as it was. At least his socks were dry, and his shoes.
He figured that he must have overslept. Petunia hadn't been too happy with his timing when she had woken him; he hoped that it wasn't as late as he thought. Maybe ten minutes or so, it had always been a huge thing for them…lateness.
Giving another sniff, he dragged himself into the kitchen. He felt drowsy and sore, and his throat still felt dry. He didn't feel like breakfast, even though he had to make it for everyone else, he couldn't possibly think of tucking in. He knew maybe eating something was for the best, but wondering on it made him feel queasy.
"What time do you call this?" Petunia wanted to know.
Harry rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, trying to avoid her stare. "Um…"
Vernon was already at the kitchen table, reading yesterday's paper. Harry had never understood why he did that; he always thought it was strange. At this point in his nephew's hesitation, Vernon slammed it down on the table. He was obviously not too happy either. "Why are you always saying that 'Um' sound? It gets annoying always hearing it from you, boy!"
"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry squeaked.
"So what time is it?"
Harry looked blearily up at the clock and squinted. "Just gone ten," he said.
"I beg your pardon?" his uncle bellowed.
"Just gone ten…o' clock, Uncle Vernon," Harry corrected, hoping that he didn't sound too frustrated. The truth was, he wasn't. If he was frustrated with anyone it was himself, he felt simply awful and he kept repeating what had happened yesterday in his head, wondering if there could have been a chance to finish most of the work and come in before the storm began.
At that moment, Dudley had come bouncing in, bumping into Harry's elbow a little too roughly and demanding deafeningly in his ear; "I want bacon!"
Harry sighed and got on with it. He wasn't out to argue, he just wanted this day to go by…it was always worse on the first day for colds…he had had them in the past. He quickly hid a cough, his throat painful. He grew frightened at the noise…it sounded rather odd.
"What in the blazes…are you coughing, boy?" Vernon asked.
"Yes," Harry said hurriedly. "A little. Don't worry, I've stopped now."
"Well, good," Petunia cut in, eyeing Harry with disgust. "I surely hope you haven't caught anything. Heaven knows if it got around…"
"I'm fine," Harry told them. "Really." He swallowed hard as a spasm of fear shivered up his body, and served up the breakfast for the others. Shortly afterwards, since he didn't think he could eat anything at all, he made a quick drink for his throat. It seemed to help, but only a little.
Afterwards, he sat down in the living room with only Dudley for company, while he waited for his aunt and uncle to finish breakfast. Harry sniffed to himself and Dudley heard it. He turned to look at him suspiciously.
"Why are you always doing that?" the nine-year old questioned.
Harry, noticing his cousin's eyes on him, turned groggily to look at him and sniffed a little again. "What?"
"That! That sniffing noise – ugh, don't, will you?"
Rolling his eyes, Harry turned away from him and glanced toward the window. Fierce storm clouds were brewing ahead, it seemed as if the weather was due to last all weekend. For this, he was quite relieved, knowing that he wouldn't have to go out into it again for longer than he had to.
He tried to flatten down the back of his hair, with no success. It always stuck up there…no matter what anyone said there was nothing he could do about it. He felt hungry, but he didn't think he could eat anything. So he forced the feeling away and let loose another sniff by accident.
"Don't!" Dudley ranted, glaring at Harry. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing!" Harry quickly retorted, not wanting a fight. He shot a tiny frown to no one in particular and rubbed gently at his stuffy nose. It felt as if it had been plugged up or something, he could hardly breathe through it. He had to resort to taking air into his mouth, which…after a while, was more tiring than it looked.
Dudley's eyes suddenly shot wide. "You'd better not have a cold."
Harry shook his head slowly. "No, no…I haven't," he said.
Dudley said no more, but the last time Harry turned his head, he could have sworn that the chair his cousin had been sitting in was two inches closer than it was that moment.
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The rain came down just after dinner. It was pouring. Harry at one point in passing the window smiled at it, watching the drops cascade down the panes. At least something was going right for him today…the weather seemed to be the only one on his side, the only one who cared for him.
Get better, Harry… it seemed to say, crying for him against the glass.
Harry wasn't waiting for another confrontation that afternoon, but the state of the sky almost made the rest of the household angry, probably because they couldn't make him finish the jobs due to the showers. So instead, they had worked him to the bone inside, making him do all of the household chores, once Vernon had asked him to hand him his paper that was sitting on the side next to him.
Though he felt like grumbling, Harry did it anyway…hoping his throat would lighten and his head to stop throbbing. All throughout the day, his relatives gave him untidy glares, from the way he looked and sounded caused from the cold.
Dudley made sure to stay at least a metre away from him at all times, and Petunia at one point had become so annoyed by the sniffing that she had insisted on blowing his nose, pressing a tissue there without warning.
"It's not going to do much good up there, is it?" she scolded. Her words could have been kind…if it wasn't for her attitude towards him and her anger with his stupidity of remaining in the garden. Not a decent word was given towards Harry that afternoon, he was only too glad when they left him alone. Their silence was bliss.
As he wiped his nose with the tissue, he heard her give another question. Or more likely, a command from the way she said it. "What are you wearing?" Her nose turned up as she looked down at her nephew.
On top of a thick cotton shirt, a jacket was protecting the uncovered parts of his arms, and he was wearing a new pair of jeans, as his trousers had been completely soaked. His socks were thick and rolled up, and he wore his shoes from yesterday, now that they were dry and not damp at all. Harry feebly stared up.
"You look as if you're ready for a walk!" she exclaimed. "What's the matter with you, are you cold or something?"
Harry hid his grin, not wanting it to be obvious. "A little."
"Well then, don't wear that jacket in here! Have some common sense for once, go and change into that sweater of yours!" Petunia was raging.
Harry, though he couldn't imagine why she had only just noticed the jacket, tried to think of a sweater in his head. The only one he had was a murky shade of Dudley's, which he had only worn once and had hated it instantly. His aunt couldn't possibly be thinking of the same one?
"Which one?" he asked carefully.
"That…grey one, the one of Dudley-poo's! We did give it to you, didn't we?"
"No, Aunt Petunia…" Harry protested, not wanting to find the revolting thing. He leant his head in his hands and gazed down at the table, wishing she had never remembered it.
"Yes, we did – I remember we did!" she snapped back.
"No, I mean…please don't make me wear it."
Petunia straightened up, scowling. "You're wearing it, if you're cold."
"But I don't like it!"
"Do you think that matters? Go!" She ushered him out of the kitchen and to his cupboard, ordering him over and over again to find it, and telling him that he could not come out until he had.
Harry felt as if the world was turning his back on him. He might have been exaggerating a little, but why did he have to wear the sweater? He was managing fine with the jacket anyway; maybe she just wanted him to put it on so that she could gain some form of power over his condition.
All right, now he was exaggerating.
He rummaged through his clothes box, trying to locate the sweater. He suddenly felt rather bothered by the three of them, they were all treating everything as a punishment and even though Harry wasn't out looking for sympathy, he wasn't expecting this.
"Aunt Petunia, I can't find it!" he called out, slumping his little arms on the box in frustration. His head was beginning to ache again and he was wondering if it was from the small space. He heard his aunt shout something back, and even though he couldn't hear it, it didn't sound convincing.
Sighing, he got back to searching, wishing glumly that he could start the whole weekend over again, and to have the knowledge of an oncoming storm. Then he wouldn't be sick…then he wouldn't have to hurt so much…then he wouldn't have to wear Dudley's disgusting sweaters…
"What…?" Harry pulled out a garment that he had never seen before in his life. His eyes widening, he stared at it in amazement, admiring it. Nothing of Harry's had ever admired him before, but this certainly did. It was red and gold patterned, with a warm look and feel to it.
He ran his fingers over it, touching the material, basking. For a strange moment, he suddenly felt much better than he had been before. He had never seen this in his life; it was new…how had it come across his cupboard? But then, as he studied it closer, a strange realisation came to him.
It was Dudley's sweater. The one he had to look for, yes…Harry remembered wearing the dismal, grey gloomy clothing as it hung off him, dragging him almost to the floor. This looked completely different. But how could it have changed like that, so quickly? He didn't want to know, because he didn't care.
In a flash and with a slow smile, he changed into the sweater, immediately feeling warm and snug. He met his aunt on the way past the hallway and she stared at the clothing. "What's that?" she asked, eyeing Harry with a nervous look.
Harry glanced back quizzical. "It's…the sweater."
"No, it's not! Dudley-kin's sweater was grey!"
"I found this in my cupboard. It's the same one!"
"But it was grey, I'm telling you!" Petunia was breathing all too quickly.
Staring at her, Harry frowned. "Aunt Petunia, are you all right?" She was gazing down at him in a peculiar way and Harry didn't like it. She mouthed openly at him like a fish and pointed down into the kitchen.
"Just get out of my sight," was all she would say. Harry bolted into the room, shooting a confused glance behind him at his aunt, wondering what was wrong.
He was surprised too, it was something strange indeed…but it was a mystery, and Harry loved those. His aunt was treating it as if it were a scandal, as if he had meant to switch…or even change the colours – but how could he do that? He couldn't think how. He grinned a little down at the sweater, brushing the detailed sleeves.
For the first time that morning, he felt protected.
To be continued
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(A/N: So…you like? Yes, I felt so sorry for him at the middle, I gave him a happy moment. : smile : He deserves it, the brave thing. Please R&R!)
