It Only Takes A Drop of Blood
Chapter 7: Trials, Tribulations and Travel
He was in a long, dark corridor. He could barely see as fire guttered in the sconces and shadows crept over the doors and walls. He was walking forward and all he could hear were the clacking echo of his footsteps. He just kept walking until he reached a door, the only door in front of him. He tried the knob but it wouldn't budge.
He pushed at the door, slammed his shoulder against it, even cast spells. It wouldn't move. The shadows in the hallway crept closer to his turned back and his heart leapt into his throat…
Harry woke with a gasp, sitting up straight immediately, a cold sweat on his face and his pyjamas sticking to his skin. The damp clothes and bed sheets, quickly losing heat, caused a shiver to wriggle down his spine. Feeling like he would be choked by his shirt if he stayed still any longer, Harry darted to the bathroom for a shower.
Ron was still snoring, quite loudly from the sound of it, in the opposite bed when Harry struggled into his clothes. It's only when you are trying to put them on quietly when they start catching on your toes and tripping you in the most awkward of positions. The job was even harder because his head was so thick with exhaustion that he had almost no coordination. Finally dressed, robes and all, Harry glanced down at Ron.
His stomach convulsed in pre-trial queasiness as an absent thought ran through his head. What if he came back and he wasn't a student at Hogwarts anymore? His head, being completely uncooperative, followed up with an equally horrendous idea. If he left Hogwarts, would that mean that he would have to return to the Dursleys?
Shuddering at the thought, Harry firmly deciding that no matter what, he was not going back to Privet Drive. He'd rather live with Sirius in the dank and decrepit Grimmauld Place, never to see the sun again. The teenager chortled and gave himself a little shake. He really had to stop being so melodramatic.
Harry left the room and trod down the stairs, his stomach twisting in knots. He had no idea how wizarding courts worked. Should he have a lawyer? It was supposed to be a disciplinary hearing but the whole thing just sounded ominous.
Outside the kitchen, Harry steeled himself for the rest of the morning. He was battling cancer and a Dark Lord at the same time. After all that, a hearing over his possible expulsion at Hogwarts should be nothing. Harry opened the door but a cynical voice at the back of his mind whispered that it was never that easy.
That evening, Grimmauld Place was alight with laughter and celebration. Harry sipped cheerily at a butterbeer, the warm foam sticking to his upper lip when he put the bottle down. Licking it off, he exchanged grins with Ginny as Ron and Hermione happily bickered about the way to properly wear socks: both of the same colour or mixed pairs.
The Weasleys were spread throughout the room, tucking into Mrs. Weasley's sumptuous feast with gusto. Sirius was nursing a firewhiskey in a corner while Remus chatted amiably with Mr. Weasley. A few other Order members, like Kingsley and Dung, were lounging on chairs in between their shifts. Tonks would have been there but bowed out in order to get some sleep, being about one minute from falling on her face.
Harry toyed with the empty bottle in his hands, slipping into his thoughts. He was more than thrilled that he still had his wand and could go back to Hogwarts for the next year. It certainly allowed him to focus on things other than escape-the-Dursleys plans. But there were a few other thoughts that dwelled in his head.
First of all, the cancer. He had a plan to get to the hospital once he was back at Hogwarts but it wasn't exactly full-proof. Harry knew that he could work something out for regular appointments such as private study time or just pretend to be somewhere else in the castle, as long as he hid the Marauder's Map from his friends. He only hoped that he would be able to hide the effects of his treatment from the suspicious eyes of his friends.
Harry had been lucky so far but it was only a matter of time before someone found out. Up to this point, his weight loss had been written off as a poor diet at the Dursleys and the extra inches he'd grown. He hid the bruises with long sleeves and changed in the washroom but Harry noticed the odd looks Ron threw at him every time he dressed.
Harry sighed and briefly touched the tender spot in the middle of his spine. It would only take Ron one glance to see the massive bruise that coloured his back. Harry knew that his well-intentioned friends would ask questions; questions that he didn't want to answer. That was the same reason why he had refused to get a port like Dr. Taylor had suggested.
The port was this device that a surgeon would place on his chest with tubes hanging off it. It was meant to allow nurses access to a line that would constantly be connected to his arteries so they could easily hook him for chemotherapy. Touching his left arm gingerly, Harry grimaced. It would have let him avoid the weekly needles that were shoved into his arm but it was also something that he couldn't hide. A bruise could easily be covered by a shirt sleeve but a great Muggle port on his chest would stick out any time he wore anything that was remotely form-fitting.
The risk was too great. Harry winced as he pressed a little too hard on a particular sensitive spot. He moved his right hand away from his arm and instinctively went to run a hand through his hair but stopped himself at the last second. Instead, he carefully flattened his bangs over his scar, resisting the urge to tug at the black locks. Recently, he'd been finding hair on his pillow when he woke up in the mornings. Harry had thankfully been the only one to see it but the sight still scared him shitless.
Losing his hair had been a fear of his from the beginning of all the cancer madness and it was starting to come true. His one saving grace was magic. Whenever he lost some hair, it would grow back immediately, just like when he was young and Aunt Petunia had nearly shaved his whole head. If it weren't for that, Harry would have been forced to tell the truth by now.
He took a great breath and forced himself up to get another butterbeer. Sipping at the warm drink, he felt heat suffuse his chest and immediately felt a little better. The reality of cancer was just beginning to hit him after weeks of shock and confusion. Harry wasn't nearly ready to deal with telling his friends and Sirius because he was only just figuring out what his life was now like.
For a few hours at a time he could forget that he was sick but would eventually be jerked back into reality. The strangeness of a Muggle hospital ward and the side effects of the treatments were just starting to become something he could get used to. But he still hadn't started to seriously think about what it would mean if he was really dying. Harry was scared and he wasn't ready to think about that.
All he wanted to focus on were the treatments that he was getting. Taylor was 'cautiously optimistic' and so far things looked good. Harry didn't want to panic about death if he would end up being alright in a few months. The doctor had explained that if the next few weeks went well and he transitioned to the next step of treatment, he could be fine in two years if he stayed cancer free. That hope was too tempting to shrug away and he wasn't ready to think about dying when not dying was on the table.
Harry took another gulp of his drink and forced away those thoughts. He felt so helpless when he thought about cancer and even though he needed to think about it, he hated it every time. Besides, the other major events in his life were things he could actually do something about.
The teenager eyed his godfather. Sirius was brooding in the corner, nursing his third firewhiskey of the night. The man was obviously unhappy even though he tried to pull a smile on his face whenever someone tried to talk to him or when he met Harry's eyes. Harry's heart clenched but he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do. Every time he approached, Sirius would pretend like nothing was wrong, not letting Harry talk to him about what was obviously bothering him.
Hermione suggested that Sirius had been hoping that Harry would stay with him in the house, but Harry wasn't sure that that was the real reason. His godfather didn't seem that unstable to want to condemn Harry to the same depressing house that Sirius was confined to.
He just wished there was someone he could talk to about it all. As the secrets and lies kept growing and pressing against him, Harry's resistance to talking to Dumbledore had begun to wear down. But even when he had opportunities to talk to his Headmaster, Dumbledore wouldn't even stay still long enough for him to get a word in! The man wouldn't look into his eyes and barely spoke to him directly.
Hurt blossomed in his chest. Harry had no idea what he'd done wrong but it had to be significant when the man he trusted above all others refused to look him in the eyes. He'd been hoping that Dumbledore would have shown up for the party but as the hours wore on, Harry realised that the Headmaster wasn't coming. He knew that Dumbledore was probably busy with everything going on but he had hoped that he could talk to him for just a few minutes.
Whatever the reason was, Harry felt like a chasm was growing between him and Dumbledore with every rebuff he got. The older man's distance just made it that more difficult to broach such a trying topic as his health. Discouraged from contacting his Headmaster, Harry drained the last of his butterbeer and hoisted himself up from the armchair.
Harry said his exhausted goodbyes to the party-goers and stumbled upstairs to bed. He just hoped everything would be clearer after a good night's sleep.
The black haired teenager braced himself as he prepared to do something that went against his very nature. He was going to throw a tantrum.
Dudley had given him enough experience in tantrums, especially how to fake them well enough to get what he wanted. As a child, Harry had promised himself he'd never act like his cousin but desperation was leading him to breaking that promise.
Stepping into the hall, Harry made his way downstairs, putting a small scowl on his face. His stomach churned uncomfortably as he entered the sitting room and found his friends and Sirius lounging on the chairs. He almost turned tail and gave up the whole plan, but the thought of getting caught leaving the house stopped him. He had to do this.
"Hey Harry!" Ron said with a broad grin as his best friend entered the room.
Harry nodded slightly, still leaving the scowl on his face.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked concernedly.
"Nothing," Harry groused, feeling guilt churn in his stomach when knew what was about to happen. Sorry, Hermione.
"If it's your scar again, you should tell..." Hermione pushed.
"Just leave it alone, Hermione! Mind your own business!" Harry snapped, crossing his arms.
"Hey!" Ron scolded, confronting Harry when Hermione looked away and blinked back tears. "There's no need to be mean! She's–We're just worried about you!"
"Oh, talking about me behind my back now, are you?" Harry argued, standing up aggressively.
"No, Harry! We just—" Hermione, argued, joining Ron who'd also sprung to his feet.
"So what if we are?" Ron countered heatedly over Hermione's voice. Harry almost smiled. His hot-headed best friend was so very predictable.
"Well fine then!" Harry shouted, clenching his fists. "Go on and talk about me, I don't care! And while we're at it, just bugger off and leave me alone!"
"Fine!" Ron shouted back.
And with that, Harry stormed out of the room and ran upstairs to the shrieks of Mrs. Black's portrait. He slammed his and Ron's room door, taking a deep breath to bring his blood back down to normal. A lone tear slipped down his cheek in regret as he slipped his Invisibility Cloak on. Money of both currencies and his wand in his pocket, Harry snuck out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door, just before Sirius came around the corner to shut Mrs. Black's curtains.
It was almost too easy. With his friends still reeling from the explosion that was his tantrum and the screaming portrait covering any noise, Harry was able to get out of the house without anyone the wiser. He should now have a few hours of free time.
Harry walked to the end of the street and around the corner. Memorising the address of the house in front of him, he called the Knight Bus, stowing his Invisibility Cloak in his pocket and putting on his trusty cap.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus..." Stan started off on his usual rambling speech.
Harry interrupted him, stuffing eleven sickles into the conductor's hand. "Staines, Surrey," he said, deepening his voice a little.
Stan passed that on to Ernie and didn't comment further as Harry went upstairs and sat down. It was something he'd learned just recently: to avoid the curious conductor, sit up on the top floor of the bus. It was mostly empty, Madam Marsh being the only other passenger. The Knight Bus stopped off at Diagon Alley first and she got off, smelling faintly of sick. Harry wrinkled his nose and was glad that she hadn't been sick while he was on board.
The next stop was his and Harry got off with some relief. If he could, he would have taken the Muggle bus from London to Surrey, but with only two, maybe three, hours of sulking time he couldn't waste time on non-magical transportation. Still, he was early as he'd budgeted more time for the Knight Bus than he'd ended up needing.
Deciding to visit his friends, as he hadn't for some time, he skipped the laboratory and went straight up to the now-familiar ward.
"Harry!" Patrick called as he walked through the open door of their room. "Where've you been?" Mike, Lucy, Gertie and Clarisse called out all manner of greetings to him as well.
"Hi," Harry said, coming to sit on the edge of Mike's bed. "Sorry, it's been mad. I've staying at my godfather's, in London. He sort of surprised me last weekend."
"That's great!" Clarisse said, squeezing his arm warmly. Harry's stomach fluttered and he smiled goofily at her. "Are you having fun?"
"Yeah," Harry returned. "It's been good, although Sirius really needs to get a new interior decorator!" he joked.
The teens laughed. "Bad?" Patrick asked through chuckles.
"Worse," Harry corrected. "He's got this horrible portrait of his mum on the wall near the front door and it looks like she's screaming at you every time you come in." They all laughed. "But enough about me, what's been going on here?"
"Not much," Gertie said with a shrug. "James started his term on Monday, so he's off doing homework. Richards was caught snogging with Mrs. Partridge (the head nurse) in the third floor supply room, and Patrick and I are dating!"
Harry laughed and smiled at his two friends. "That's great!" he said. "And I can't believe Richards actually snogged Mrs. Partridge! Did someone spike his coffee again?"
Laughter rang through the ward again and the teens were off, gossiping as usual. Harry felt warmth seep through him, especially when Clarisse clutched his hand partway through. He squeezed her soft palm comfortingly and smiled.
After a little while, Harry had to leave for his treatment. Gertie had, unfortunately, already had hers in the morning and stayed after to spend time with her friends while her dad did some things in town. So the black-haired teen trudged down to the laboratory, feeling particularly lonely after all the chaos, as he sat on his own. The nurse hooked him up and left him with the sick bucket.
His left arm ached uncomfortably, as yet another needle had been stuck into it. While he had rejected the Hickman for important reasons, it was still painful to get stuck in the arm every week, especially with his skin as sensitive as it was.
"Hey," a soft voice spoke as a warm hand covered his free one. Harry looked up to see Clarisse sitting down next to him, an IV stand held in her small fist.
"Hey," he said hoarsely as she sat down next to him. "What're you doing here?"
"What do you think?" she asked with a grin. She sobered slightly. "No one deserves to sit alone during treatments," was her only explanation.
Harry squeezed her hand gratefully, words failing. He hadn't realized how much he desperately wanted someone next to him until she had sat down.
"Why didn't your godfather come?" she asked. "I know why your relatives didn't but why not him?"
Harry swallowed roughly and looked at his scruffy trainers. "I couldn't get myself to tell him," he admitted in a whisper.
Her fingers squeezed his tightly at his confession, but Harry refused to look at her—he felt almost as if he would lose his grip on a proverbial cliff if he did. She put her fingers under Harry's chin and turned it to face her. "Why not, Harry?" she asked seriously and without judgement.
Harry looked into her searching and open eyes, the truth spilling unbidden from his lips. "Because, how do I tell him that I'm dying and there's nothing he can do about it?" he said helplessly, his eyes watering and throat choking, "I'm scared, Clarisse, and he's not really that stable as it is. And I can't be brave for the both of us. I just can't!"
Clarisse pulled him into a warm hug and traitorous tears fell as he sobbed lightly into her thick and warm dressing gown. Her hand was rubbing soothingly on his back and Harry couldn't stop the pain and frustration he'd held back for weeks.
A knot in his chest loosened with every sob and the comforting circles that were being rubbed into his back. He remembered Mrs. Weasley's hug after the Third Task and likened this to that. Harry squeezed Clarisse briefly and let a few more tears leak out. Being hugged like this made him feel hope, that everything was going to be okay, and he knew that that was something he desperately needed.
The sobs gradually subsided and Harry sat back, hiccuping and cheeks red with embarrassment. He paused for a moment, drying his face with a sleeve. Looking up at Clarisse, he blushed and averted his eyes. "Sorry for getting your dressing gown wet," he said lamely.
The girl shrugged it off and grabbed his hand again. "Don't worry about it. And Harry...?" she trailed off and hesitated for a moment. "I can't say I understand what exactly you're going through, because I've had my parents by my side this whole time. They helped the doctor tell me I was sick. But I do know that this fight is hard, and I'd like to think it's easier with someone there next to you. Even if that person can't do anything, it's nice to know you're not alone," she blushed a little, adding, "and I'm here, you know, if you ever want to talk."
Harry squeezed her hand and looked into her earnest face. "Thanks," he said. "I'll think about it," he promised. A part of him knew that she was probably right, as she did know more about this cancer thing than he did; but he also knew that his instincts were rarely wrong. Before he said anything to anyone, there was something else he'd have to figure out.
Deciding to put it aside until he was alone, not wanting to brood while a pretty girl held his hand, Harry started chatting with Clarisse. They talked about all sorts of things, avoiding more serious subjects, until Harry'd completely lost track of time. It wasn't until the nurse came to remove the needle and send him on his way, that they stopped.
"Well, you've gotten yourself some company, haven't you Harry?" the nurse said genially as she wrapped a bandage around his arm. "Good for you!"
"Thanks Maude," Harry said with a blush as he got up from his chair. "I'll see you next week, yeah?"
Saying goodbye, he escorted Clarisse back upstairs, not wanting to leave just yet. Outside her room, he greeted Lucy and then turned to Clarisse.
"Thanks," he said, a nervous flutter starting in his stomach, "for, you know, sitting with me."
"Any time," she said with a small smile, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. "Come by some time, yeah? Don't be a stranger."
"I won't," Harry promised. "Sirius doesn't have a phone but we could write, if you want. Just send them with Hedwig, she knows where to go."
"If she doesn't bite me first," Clarisse joked and smiled.
"I'll talk to her," he said. "And I'm with Sirius until term starts but I'll be back next week for my treatment. I'll come see you."
"I can't wait," she said softly.
Harry hadn't realised how close together they were but now his eyes stared into hers before fluttering down to her lips. And before he knew it, he'd leaned in and placed a chaste but sweet kiss on her lips. After a few seconds, he drew back nervously, unsure how she'd take it. First he cries on her shoulder and then he kisses her, yeah Harry great way to make an impression!
But Clarisse smiled brilliantly and her cheeks were flushed. Harry grinned back and ran a hand through his hair and promised himself he'd kiss her again soon, just for that smile.
When she didn't say anything, Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled back. "Well, er, I should get going. I'll see you?"
"Yeah," Clarisse said with that dazed smile still on her face.
Harry grinned, waved and went to the elevator, his heart thrumming in his veins and his stomach fluttering. He'd never expected to fall for a Muggle girl but here he was, snogging one. Leaning back into the elevator, daydreamed a bit. In a simpler world, he'd take her to a film and dinner and they'd go for a walk in the moonlight, talking and kissing until he took her home. Harry smiled at the thought. In a simpler world, he'd be a Muggle, Voldemort wouldn't exist and they'd both be free of cancer.
But, Harry thought as he exited the elevator, life wasn't that simple. They both were sick, quite possibly dying, he had a psychopath after him and he hadn't even considered telling Clarisse about magic. His head sank, shoulders drooping, thinking about Clarisse. The way she'd sat with him, hugged him and then just sat there talking with him. She hadn't pushed him on something he didn't want to talk about and she knew just what to say to help him feel better. Warmth flooded through his chest.
The teenager then stuck his hands in his pockets and lifted his head, resolving that he'd spend more time with Clarisse. He didn't have to tell her about magic right away but maybe he could convince Dumbledore to let him tell her during the Christmas holidays. Harry knew that he was perhaps jumping into this too quickly but he also knew that his time was limited, and he didn't want to waste a moment of it if he could help it.
Getting back into Grimmauld Place wasn't as difficult as he'd thought, Harry noted as he made his way up the stairs. Instead of entering his room with Ron, he went up to the nearly uninhabited fourth floor to remove his cloak. He then went down again, this time making a little noise as his feet hit the creaking parts of the wood.
He found his friends in the kitchen this time, sitting with cups of tea as Mrs. Weasley puttered around with small sandwiches. Harry's hands were in his pockets and his face was schooled as contritely as possible. His own guilt at starting the fight showed in his expression.
"Harry!" his friend's mother called out. "Come and sit down dear. We called you for lunch but Ron said you probably weren't hungry." She ushered him to a seat across from his friends and set a full plate in front of him. "You should eat something."
Harry ignored the food for a moment, not feeling very hungry anyway as his stomach churned guiltily. Ron wasn't looking at him and Hermione was biting her lip nervously.
"Ron, Hermione..." he said, looking down. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted or said those horrible things. You were just trying to help and it wasn't right of me to take it out on you."
Hermione looked up and cried, "Oh, Harry!" and Harry knew that she'd forgiven him, as she always did. She really was too good to him.
Ron shrugged and took a healthy bite out of his sandwich. "Just as long as you know that, mate," he said through his food, which got him a glare from his mother. He exchanged a grin with Harry and he knew that was that.
His hunger returned to him, now that things were good with his friends, so Harry ate three sandwiches and two glasses of pumpkin juice. He wanted to eat as much as he could before the usual side effects started up again and he lost his appetite once more, as was bound to happen within a few hours.
He was back in that dark corridor. It was dimly lit but he could see that door at the end. It was so irritating, standing right there, tempting him, but despite everything he did, it refused to open... But before he could get a grip on the dream, it melted.
Harry was standing outside a room, in a familiar old house, and that cold, terrifying voice echoing through it.
"Wormtail!" it shouted, sending a rat-like man scurrying to it.
"Y-yes Master?" he cowered, snivelling into the rug.
"Get me a robe," he ordered, his wand held threateningly in his long fingered hand. "Now!"
"Yes Master," the rat said hurriedly before running off.
Voldemort sat back in his armchair idly twirling his wand. Nagini was curled up before the fireplace, her scales glittering in the dim light. Harry gulped and felt sick as he saw the shiny stains of blood on Voldemort's black robe, now visible, and the remains of a body in the corner. The teenager gulped to keep down the urge to heave and just barely noticed the hint of a bruise on Voldemort's arm before he was jolted out of the dream.
Gasping, Harry woke, sweating and shivering fiercely. He struggled weakly out of his blankets and lurched to the toilet, just in time to be violently sick. He vaguely heard Ron wake up and call out sleepily, but Harry was too preoccupied to care.
"What?" Ron murmured as he heard sounds coming from the bathroom. He got out of bed and blanched at the sight of his best friend. "Harry!"
Running out of the room, he went upstairs to his parents' bedroom and knocked loudly on the door.
"Ron, what's wrong?" his dad asked worriedly, glasses askew as he opened the door to his youngest son.
"Mum, come quick. Harry's ill!" he explained, seeing his mum over his dad's shoulder.
He led them back to his room and pointed to the loo, where Harry was still being sick. Ron waited outside with his dad while his mum sat with Harry. The red-head was still worried but his mum was the best whenever he was feeling ill and Harry would be okay with her around.
"Ron, do you want to come back and sleep in our bedroom?" Arthur offered. "It sounds like your mum might need to stay in here with Harry."
Ron hesitated, wanting to stay with his best friend and also a little reluctant to sleep next to his father at his age. But he also recognised that Harry would probably be sick the whole night and it would be easier for his mum to sleep in her son's bed rather than in a chair. "Yeah, alright," he agreed.
He turned around and walked with his dad, hoping that Harry would feel better in the morning.
Harry groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was pounding and his mouth felt dry, but his stomach contents weren't about to leap out of his mouth just yet. He felt half dead and decided to just lay here, as experience said he was less likely to be sick if he just stayed where he was with his eyes closed.
He remembered waking up and being sick in the loo, more sick than he'd ever been. Harry had thought he'd heard Ron, and he must have, for a few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley was sitting next to him. He'd never had a mother-figure fuss over him like this and despite feeling like utter rubbish, it felt good to have someone next to him. It wasn't as weird or as awkward as he'd thought.
She'd put a cool cloth on the back of his neck and braced him when he heaved, mopping his face and helping him rinse out his mouth with water when he rested. She'd helped him back to bed when he felt well enough to leave the loo and had even cast a freshening charm on his mouth that was as good as brushing his teeth. Mrs. Weasley had also given him a potion that had soothed his stomach long enough for him to fall asleep with her lightly rubbing his back.
It was more care than he'd received in a while, Harry noted, if he didn't count Clarisse's support the day before at the laboratory. Warmth sat in his chest at the thought.
He heard the door open a little and realised that the room had been empty before. Curious, he risked opening his eyes. It didn't bring the threatening nausea and he looked blearily up at a blurry Mrs. Weasley.
"Hello Harry," she said softly, setting a tray next to his bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he croaked with a weak grin, weakly trying to sit up.
Mrs. Weasley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and he did so. He really didn't feel strong enough to sit up for long anyway. That warm hand then went to his forehead, cheek and under his jaw before drawing back.
"Your fever's gone down but not all the way, so I don't want you out of bed until it's gone, understood?" she said sternly. Harry nodded, not trying to argue with her, although he'd done a full day's worth of chores with more than a mild fever before. "And I want you to take these potions," she said, handing them to him one by one. Harry swallowed them, recognising the taste of the one from last night and the familiar Pepper-Up Potion. "Now, how's your stomach?"
"It's feeling better since last night but I'm not very hungry," Harry said quietly, feeling a little bit tired again. It was wonderful to not be constantly nauseous and he'd have to get the name of that potion she had given him.
"I'd still like you to drink something for now and I'll bring you some soup later today," she said with a concerned look. Harry agreed and Mrs. Weasley took a mug off the tray. She helped him sit up slightly on pillows and he drank the warm tea with honey. It felt great on his throat and he felt his limbs relax. Once he finished, she took the mug from him and helped him lay back. She fussed with his blankets and kissed him on his forehead as his eyes slid shut.
Warmth suffused him from the inside and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
The next time he woke up, Harry felt much better and also gained some company as Ron and Hermione came in with Mrs. Weasley. After she'd fussed around with her forehead checks and potion regime, she'd left the three teenagers with strict rules for him to stay in bed and let him go back to sleep if he got tired.
Ron rolled his eyes playfully as his mum left but grinned at his best mate who was looking loads better. "I'm glad you're feeling better, mate," he said, " 'cause I've seen mermaids looking less green."
Harry laughed, knowing that Ron's teasing was belayed by his speed in getting his mother the night before. "Thanks Ron," he said as Hermione scowled at their friend.
"Still, you're awful lucky you got out of cleaning this morning. Mum's gone mad. I think she expects us to disinfect the entire house before term starts!" Ron exclaimed.
"Oh honestly Ronald," Hermione argued. "It wasn't that bad. You're just exaggerat—" she was cut off by Hedwig tapping at the window. "Oh!"
Hermione let the snowy owl in, who flew to Harry with a white envelope in her beak. The teenager took it from her as his friend shut the window.
"Who's it from Harry?" Ron asked curiously.
He opened it and unfolded the letter, realising that the paper was lined and most definitely Muggle. Harry smiled and glanced through it quickly, before looking at his friends.
"I didn't know you had any Muggle friends," Hermione commented, looking at the paper. Harry blushed furiously and stammered incoherently, not wanting to say girlfriend but not wanting to deny it either. At Harry's brilliantly red and telling blush, she squealed and leaned. "Who is she?"
"She?" Ron parroted with raised eyebrows. When Harry didn't deny it, his smile stretched to his ears and he crowed. "So, tell us! Who is she? Go on mate!"
"Well, I met her this summer at my job. Her name is Clarisse and she's quite pretty," he explained, grinning. "We talked a bit and I met some of her other friends too. And the last time we met, I — well, I kissed her."
"Good on you!" Ron whooped and Hermione smiled at him. "So? What was it like?"
"Nice," Harry said eagerly. "Warm and sweet. It was only for a few seconds, but she was smiling, so I think it was a good sign!"
"Oh, that's wonderful, Harry!" Hermione said. "But how did she send you a letter with Hedwig? You didn't tell her about magic, did you?" she gave him a stern and scolding look.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Hedwig found me when we were talking and I told them, her and other Muggles, that I'd found her hurt and Hagrid helped me heal her wing and that she delivers my post."
"Well, that's alright then," Ron commented, shrugging it off. He was absently unwrapping a Chocolate Frog as he spoke.
Harry put his letter aside with a smile. "Yeah, I think they just think I'm a bit odd anyway," he said absently. At Hermione's questioning look, he added sheepishly, "I may have slipped up and told them about Quidditch."
"Harry!" his friends exclaimed, eyes wide.
"I didn't tell them it was on brooms!" Harry hastily said, warding off the complaints. "I just mentioned the positions and what the players do. And you know, the game really does sound like rubbish without magic."
Ron scoffed. "Well of course it does!" he exclaimed. "It's a magical sport."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the two of them. "Well anyway," she interrupted before Ron could go off on the merits of Quidditch, "I'm glad you made some Muggle friends. I feel better knowing that you had other people to talk to this summer."
Harry smiled at his bushy-haired friend and shrugged. "I'm just glad to be away from the Dursleys, honestly," he said. "And we write, so it's alright. I want to ask Dumbledore if I can visit her for Christmas. Do you think I could?"
"Dunno," Ron said hesitantly, "maybe. Wouldn't hurt to ask!" Hermione nodded in agreement, although it was just as hesitant.
The black-haired teenager appreciated his friends' support even though he was just as hesitant. With Voldemort and the Death Eaters out there, Dumbledore would be less likely to let him visit a Muggle for the holidays. But he'd try asking anyway.
"Have you lot heard anything about the Order yet?" Harry asked, wanting to change the subject.
Ron scowled. "Not yet. I heard mum tell dad this morning that there would be a meeting tomorrow night! They thought I was asleep," he said.
"We've already told Fred, George and Ginny, but I doubt Mrs. Weasley will forget the Imperturbable Charm again," Hermione said. She sighed. "You were right, you know, Harry. Whether we want to or not, you always end up in the middle of Voldemort's plans and Ron and I usually go with you!"
Ron nodded. "It's rubbish, it is," he agreed. "But what can we do about it if they won't let us hear what's going on?"
Harry bit his lip, thinking furiously. "If only we could get past the Imperturbable Charm..." he mused. He moved on the bed and heard the wood groan. "That's it!" he said, shooting up straight in bed. Ron and Hermione leaned in eagerly, feeling like a plan was finally coming together. "What if we didn't try the Ears through the door?" he suggested.
Ron furrowed his brow. "But, mate, it's the only way into the kitchen. And mum checks the pantry before meetings," he groused, "Fred and George got their ears yelled off for trying to hide in there."
"No," Harry said quickly. "The kitchen is huge, right? It takes up almost the whole basement. And what's right above it?" He smiled triumphantly as Hermione's face brightened with understanding.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Don't you see Ronald?" At his annoyed look, she elaborated. "If we could just find a crack somewhere, we could put the Extendable Ear right through and hear into the kitchen!"
"And with Fred and George, it wouldn't take long at all!" Ron added, growing excited. "Just a mo', I'm going to get them."
"Don't let your mum hear you!" Harry warned just before his friend left the room. In no time, Ron was back with Ginny and the twins.
"Let's make this quick," one of the twins said as they perched on Ron's bed. "We can't make mum suspicious."
"Right," Harry said. "Fred, George, we need you to make a tiny hole in the floor that goes down to the kitchen ceiling. And make sure you can't see the hole in the kitchen. I can keep your mum up here for a few minutes, but you've got to make it quick. Then tomorrow night, we'll pretend to study of something in the dining room when everyone goes for the meeting. When it starts, we can listen at the hole. But we've got to be careful because any noise can set off the portraits and Moody's eye could see us through the ceiling too."
The twins nodded. "Good idea Harry," George said. "Ginny, you will stand in the kitchen to make sure we don't drill too far. Hermione, you and Ron will make sure we get the hole in the right place. Fred and I will go look for a good place to put it while mum's in the kitchen."
"Make sure that you put it somewhere in the middle of the room," Ginny piped up. "Then we can all sit around it, like we're studying together. Moody won't find anything suspicious about that."
"Good idea Gin-Gin!" Fred said. "Right, we're going to go. Feel better Harry!"
Harry waved goodbye to the twins, excited for the plan. If they didn't get caught, this would be a great way to eavesdrop. Almost involuntarily, he yawned. All the sleep he'd gotten was wearing off as he started to feel drowsy again. The excitement earlier must have kept him from feeling it.
"We should let you sleep, Harry," Hermione said regretfully. "You're still not well."
Harry protested but his friends stood up anyway. "Mum will kill us if we don't," Ron said with a wry smile. "She's probably going to come up soon with your lunch anyway."
"Alright mate. Just warn the twins, will you?" Harry said sleepily, laying back on his pillows.
"Yeah," Ron said. "Have a good kip!"
Harry smiled faintly as his friends left, wishing him well. His eyelids drooped as exhaustion crept over him. He was very ready for the chemo to be over, just to not have this tiredness for days after treatments. Being constantly tired was exhausting.
"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley called out quietly.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up a little. "Mrs. Weasley!"
His friend's mother came in bearing a tray with soup and a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry ate, happy to fill his stomach with the delicious food. "Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he said as he finished his juice. She'd tidied the room as he ate, picking up the clothes and items he and Ron had managed to throw all over in the last week.
Collecting his plates, she smiled at him and felt his forehead. "You are welcome, dear. Your fever hasn't gone up much, but you should probably take a nap anyway. I'll be back later with some more dinner if you can keep this down. Just call if you need anything, alright?"
Harry agreed and lay back down as Mrs. Weasley left. He glanced at his bedside table and made a mental note to write back to Clarisse when he woke up.
When he woke next, it was dark outside and he was alone. Harry blinked blearily and turned on the lights. It was quiet but he expected that everyone was downstairs at dinner. Harry went to the loo and showered, feeling better after the hot water washed away the sweat and grime of being ill and bed-ridden.
Dressed in fresh pyjamas, Harry sat on his bed again but this time armed with a quill and parchment. He read through Clarisse's letter again, as he'd only been able to glance at it with his friends around.
Dear Harry,
Hedwig is such a sweet owl. I don't know what you told her but she was very nice when she dropped by. She sat on my bed rail and let us pet her a bit. Lucy fed her some of the mystery meat from the canteen–I hope you don't mind.
Lucy, of course, called everyone and told them that we're dating, so if you hear anything, she's to blame. Sorry about her, she tends to go a bit overboard.
I'm doing alright. The doctors say I may be able to go home within a month if my treatment continues to work! I'd really love to go home. My parents visit but it isn't the same. Plus, I really miss my little brother. His name is Sam and he's nine. He just loves football and has decided that he wants to be like Beckham when he grows up!
Anyway, Hedwig's looking anxious to go, so I'll finish up now!
Love,
Clarisse
P.S. Lucy's just told me that Mrs. Partridge caught Richards in the broom closet with one of the orderlies, so she's hopping mad on the ward. Warn Hedwig to be careful in case she's looking for blood!
Chuckling, he set it aside and penned a response.
Dear Clarisse,
Hedwig is a smart owl and if she ate the mystery meat, it should be fine. At least we know it's edible! She prefers bacon though, if you have it. She likes compliments too!
That's great that you might be going home soon! Your brother sounds like my friend Ron. He's mad about sports too. I can understand that you'd prefer to be at home, and everything. I hate the Hospital Wing, myself.
I've been ill from the treatment, so I've been confined to bed for the day. Ron's mum gave me this great tonic that makes my stomach feel loads better, so I've actually been feeling great. Hopefully I'll be on my feet again tomorrow.
What is Richards doing? Snogging orderlies and Mrs. Partridge? That's just mad. I'll tell Hedwig to only come in if you open the window so she knows that the coast is clear. Good luck on the ward!
Harry
"Harry?" The teenager looked up to see Sirius poking his head around the doorframe. He set his letter on his bedside table. "Ah good, you're awake!" his godfather said. Sirius came in bearing a tray of food and plopped it down on Harry's tented knees. "I was able to fend Molly off long enough to bring you dinner." Sirius grinned and then looked at Harry carefully. "How're you feeling?"
"Much better," Harry said. He looked at his godfather with a smile. "Thanks Sirius."
His godfather lightly ruffled Harry's hair. "I'm rubbish at the feeling-forehead-thingy," he explained, waving his wand, "but the charm works just as well." He frowned lightly as the reading popped up. "37.3. Not all better then. Make sure you take those potions first or Molly will kill me."
Harry conceded, chugging down the two foul brews. Mrs. Weasley had been giving him a fever reducer after the Pepper-Up didn't have much effect on him and he dearly hoped that he wouldn't have to take another in the morning. They were particularly nasty tasting. He washed out his mouth with pumpkin juice and then started to eat. Sirius had brought up more of Mrs. Weasley's chicken soup with toast and some fruit.
"It's been ruddy boring without you Harry," Sirius said dramatically. "Molly's been having us clean some of the other bedrooms. I can't believe what rubbish my family has stuffed in them! Kreacher's been after things again. I caught him sleeping with my mum's nightshirt," he scoffed. "Ruddy menace."
Harry swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't particularly like Kreacher, especially after all those nasty things the house elf had said about Hermione and the Weasleys, but he also didn't like hearing Sirius say things like that. It made him sound an awful lot like Uncle Vernon. He ate quietly as Sirius kept ranting.
"You'd think that after ten years he'd get over it," Sirius continued. "I just wish I could chuck him, this house and my whole rotten family into the bin and never look back." The older man sighed, looking incredibly aged and weary. "But now that the Order's here, I can't get rid of the little bugger and I can't get away from him either!"
"Sirius," Harry said quietly. "Maybe Hermione's right... Dobby—you know, he used to be Malfoy's house elf—he wanted to help me because I was nice to him. He liked me because I was polite. Maybe Kreacher just needs you to be nice to him."
Harry cringed, hoping that Sirius wouldn't get mad. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate his godfather by challenging him. If he had years to get to know Sirius, then perhaps Harry would have waited to say anything. But as he grew to accept that he might die soon, the teenager realised that there was little use waiting. He had to make every moment with his godfather count.
Sirius shot him an odd look. "Maybe your temperature has gone up," he said blithely. "I should let you get some rest." He stood up and grabbed Harry's discarded tray. "Ron'll probably be up later." He looked over at the letter Harry had written to Clarisse. "Is that for your new girlfriend?" Sirius asked slyly. "Do you want me to send it off with an owl?"
Half-worried that Sirius would read it before sending it, Harry shook his head. "No thanks Sirius. She's a Muggle and only knows about Hedwig, so I thought I'd send it with her when she got back in the morning. And Clarisse isn't my girlfriend!"
"Yet," Sirius said smugly. "And when you're feeling better, I want to hear all the details!"
Harry blushed and opened his mouth to argue but Sirius had already darted out of the room. The teenager scowled at his godfather's antics. Being cooped up in Grimmauld Place had made him battier than Crookshanks on catnip. All he'd done was kiss Clarisse. It didn't mean they were dating.
Or did it? Harry groaned, punching his pillow with his head. What if she expected him to take her on a date or buy her gifts? Would she let him kiss her again? He found that idea quite pleasant to think about. Smiling stupidly, he daydreamed about kissing said pretty girl until Ron came in for bed.
"Hey mate!" Ron said as he flopped on his bed. "Fred and George wanted me to tell you," he lowered his voice, "that everything is ready for tomorrow."
"Excellent," Harry said, sitting up straight. "When did they do it?"
"After you fell asleep, Ginny pulled Mum aside to help her sort out her robes or something," Ron explained. "The rest of us looked all over the dining room floor and George found a crack that was perfect! The wood had rotted or something and all we needed to do was poke through the kitchen ceiling and we had it."
Harry grinned at their luck. "You can't see it from the other side?"
"Nope. And as long as we stay quiet, they can't hear us either," Ron crowed.
"Excellent!"
A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the wait! I've been working on this since for a while and have almost ten pages of the next chapter done too. Initially, it was all supposed to be one chapter but I found that with 33 pages and lots more to go, it would be better to post this bit for y'all. Please let me know what y'all think. I swear, Hogwarts will come up soon! At the rate I'm going, I think Chapter 8 should be up in a week or two. Thanks to all the loyal fans who keep sticking with this, despite my erratic and sparse posting schedule. Have a great week!