It Only Takes a Drop of Blood

Chapter Sixteen: Consequences

His eyelids were heavy, Harry noted, as consciousness began to sluggishly return. He let them stay closed as his brain gradually began to take note of the world around him. Starchy, stiff sheets covered him and a firm pillow rested under his head. The room echoed hollowly, not like the dormitory or his room at Privet Drive. His mouth tasted awful and he could hear low shouts coming from somewhere in the room, not too far from his bed.

Struggling, Harry blinked slowly, opening his eyes. The ceiling was the familiar off-white of the hospital wing. The teen wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd done to land himself here... until he saw the heavy gauze on his right hand. It all came flooding back to him. The detentions. The cut on his hand that wouldn't stop bleeding. Feeling faint... he must have collapsed.

Harry put on his glasses and pushed himself up with his good hand, frowning at the lingering ache in his body. He was about to climb out of bed, when the curtains around his bed swung away to reveal a worried Sirius and Madam Pomfrey.

"You best stay right in bed, Mr. Potter," the matron ordered, pushing his shoulders back and pulling up the covers to cover his chest. "You'll not be going anywhere for some time yet, so you might as well make yourself comfortable."

"But-"

"No buts," Madam Pomfrey said, cutting off Harry's protests. "Not only are you suffering the after effects of a Blood Quill curse, but you also developed an infection in that hand of yours. It's lucky Professor McGonagall brought you when they did or you might very well have lost it."

Sirius grabbed at Harry's good hand and squeezed it hard.

"You can stay, Mr. Black, but only if you are quiet," the woman said sternly, levelling a glare at Sirius. "I'll not have you interrupting his rest, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sirius said solemnly, lowering himself into the chair by Harry's bed, all while not letting go of Harry.

Madam Pomfrey stared at the two of them and her gaze softened. "I'll be in my office, should you need anything," she said.

When she'd walked away, Sirius turned worried eyes to Harry, deep lines creasing his face. "Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly. "When McGonagall Floo-ed me and said you'd collapsed..." His godfather's voice trailed off. The man cleared his throat, his tone suddenly rough. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, kid."

"I'm sorry," Harry said helplessly.

"When I was here, not even a week ago—why didn't you tell me?"

Harry ducked his head into his lap. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I'm fine. You didn't need to come all this way-"

"No," Sirius interrupted fiercely, squeezing his hand again. "Don't. I'm your godfather and I love you. I'm going to come when you need me, so don't start with that, alright?"

Harry froze. "You-" his voice cracked and he swallowed, "you love me?"

Sirius's face softened and his eyes opened up, earnestly expressing emotion that made Harry's heart clench. "Yeah, kid. Of course I do."

Hot, hazy tears filled his eyes before he could stop them and Harry had to squeeze them shut, turning his head down so Sirius wouldn't see him bawl like a baby. But then there was a rustling sound before two long, warm arms wrapped around him and his face was pressed against a soft robe.

The smell of warmth, dog and his godfather's aftershave filled his nose as he pressed into Sirius's chest, the feelings bubbling up and out of him like a broken sieve. Everything he'd been feeling over the last few months spilled out, leaving him shaking and empty when they were finally spent.

Sirius pressed a gentle kiss against the teen's dark hair. "You gotta start telling me these things, kid," he murmured. "I can't be there for you if you're keeping secrets."

Harry's eyes burned as he thought about the summer, everything that had been happening... Sirius loved him. He was here, holding him and loving him, even when he was being a bother and he had to keep coming to school and... Harry's jaw cracked with a yawn, against his will, his swollen eyes drooping shut despite himself.

"Sleep, Harry," Sirius murmured, running a hand through his hair. "It's okay. I'll be right here."

"No," he tried pulling back, needing to stay awake. "What 'bout Umbridge? And I need to-"

"You need to get your rest," Sirius insisted, pulling Harry back against him, rubbing a hand on the teen's back. "She's already being dealt with, don't you worry. I'll tell you all about it when you wake up, alright?"

Sirius leaned back against the headboard, his legs stretched out on the bed. Harry's head rested comfortably on his chest, cuddled up against him as he ran his fingers through the boy's hair. Exhaustion crept through him and before he knew it, Harry fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke up, Sirius was in dog form, curled up on the end of Harry's bed, snoring in low, doggy-like snuffles, his tail curled around him. Harry briefly snuck out of bed to go to the bathroom, gingerly favoring his still stinging right hand, and then climbed back under the covers. His feet brushed up against his godfather's warmth under the blanket and he smiled as it began warming his icy toes.

"Good to see you are awake, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said quietly, bustling in with a tray. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," he said, watching as she felt his forehead and waved her wand around him. "When can I go back to the Tower?"

"In two days," she said, "maybe, if your temperature returns to normal." She tapped his head gently with her wand and frowned. "The infection should have cleared by now, but your fever is lingering a bit."

"I still have a temperature?" Harry repeated slowly, his voice echoing oddly in his ears.

"Not for long," Madam Pomfrey said confidently. She pulled out two potions. "Drink these."

Harry obediently drank both, shivering at the awful taste, and chased them with some water. Then, Madam Pomfrey tapped his head again.

"Better," she said grudgingly, "but I want that temperature gone without potions before I release you." She put the breakfast tray on his lap and smiled. "Eat up, Mr. Potter. I'll let your friends visit after breakfast."

Harry forced a smile until she walked away. He stared down at his breakfast, a sick feeling growing in his stomach. Was it possible...? It could just have been the quill or Umbridge had cursed it, made it worse...

But he'd also been feeling so tired lately and he never caught infections so often or felt achy for no reason... all the signs were in front of him.

"Mr. Potter, that breakfast would do you more good in your belly than on your plate," Madam Pomfrey called from down the ward.

Reluctantly, Harry picked up his fork and took a few bites, the scrambled eggs turning to ash in his mouth. He had to call Dr. Taylor, make an appointment as soon as he could. He'd be able to do a test, tell him if it was really happening again—

"I suppose that will have to do," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning. "Take two more bites and then your friends can join you."

True to her word, as Ron and Hermione soon bounded in and sat by his side. At the sight of a sleeping Sirius, they kept their voices low.

"Oh Harry, how are you feeling?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he promised, smiling brightly.

"Good to hear, mate," Ron said, thumping his back. "We were pretty worried. You looked in a right state the other night."

Harry ducked his head. "Thank you both, for calling McGonagall," he said. "Pomfrey says I could've lost my hand to an infection if she hadn't gotten me here so soon."

"Considering that you've saved our collective arse more than once," Ron said, "let's call it even." Over Harry's bowed head, Ron exchanged a grin with an amused Hermione. "Did Sirius tell you what happened to Umbridge?"

Harry looked up and shook his head.

"Dumbledore sacked her!" Ron crowed. "You should have seen him, I've never seen him so angry!"

"Wait, what?!" Harry demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ronald, tell a story properly," she said exasperatedly, before turning to Harry. "After you collapsed, Ron got Professor McGonagall, who took you to the Hospital Wing. Ron and the twins told off the whole Tower —they were brilliant— and then Ron and I followed you. Professor McGonagall wouldn't let us into the Hospital Wing, but she asked more questions about your detentions."

"We told her everything we knew," Ron continued, "about the quill and the lines and the cut on your hand. She was furious and stormed off to Dumbledore's office!"

"The next morning at breakfast, Umbridge comes storming into the Great Hall, parchment in her fist and Aurors behind her," Hermione said. "I'm guessing she had another decree, probably one to let her punish students as she saw fit, but the Headmaster wasn't having it."

"He said that 'as long as he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, no one would be allowed to abuse students at this school'," Ron chirruped. "And then he said 'I've already contacted the Board of Governors and the Ministry, Dolores. Your position at Hogwarts has been terminated.'" He laughed. "She turned all purple, you should have seen it, and she pulled out her wand, if you can believe—!"

"—and Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers pulled out theirs," Hermione interrupted. "He angrier than I've ever seen him and told her that she had two options: to leave peacefully or be thrown out. She chose the first one, unfortunately."

Ron and Harry stared at her, awed by her bloodthirstiness.

"What?" Hermione said defensively. "Harry could have lost his hand!"

The boys exchanged guffaws and Hermione huffed, joining in. Their laughter broke the quiet of the Hospital Wing and before they knew it, Snuffles woke with a doggy yawn.

Sirius transformed back into a human, blinking blearily. "Whaz goin' on?" he asked groggily. "Wha' are you all shoutin' about?"

Harry grinned at Sirius. "Umbridge was sacked!" he exclaimed. "Sorry for waking you."

"Aw, it's alright, kid," the older man said, ruffling Harry's messy hair. "It looks like you have some good company anyway." He nodded at Ron and Hermione. "I'm going to go grab a shower and some breakfast while you three chat."

"Bye Sirius!" the three chimed, as Harry's godfather sauntered out of the Hospital Wing.

"So, how is that going, anyway?" Hermione asked.

"Brilliant," Harry said, a grin stretching across his face. "He's stayed with me the whole time." He blushed and whispered the next part. "He said he loves me."

Hermione beamed. "As he should," she said, holding his good hand tightly. "I'm glad you have him, Harry."

Harry squeezed back. "Me too," he said softly.

His knees were shaking. Harry tried to swallow and practically choked, feeling the lump in his throat refuse to budge. His palms were damp with sweat and his throat was so dry, he could barely swallow.

"So, it's back then?" Harry said, forcing the words out.

Taylor nodded sadly. "Unfortunately, yes. There was a chance that this could happen, but I prayed that it wouldn't."

Harry wrenched off his glasses and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to rub the burning sensation out of them. "So it's back to chemotherapy?" he asked. Back to pain, feeling ill and—

"Yes," Taylor said. "Harry, I don't want to mislead you, but it's going to be much worse this time." He took a breath. "Typically, when cancers like yours come back, they are more aggressive. Resistant to chemo. So we're going to have to be more aggressive in our treatment. That means stronger medicine and—"

"—worse side affects," Harry finished dully. "Will I be able to stay in school?"

"...For now," Taylor said, before hesitating. "But Harry, when your white blood cells or platelets drop too far, you'll be what we call immunocompromised. That means if you get an infection, you could die."

Harry forced his throat to swallow the dread pooling in his mouth. "What would I have to do, you know, if that happens?"

"I will recommend that you go home, where you can stay in a protected environment, away from a lot of people," said Taylor. "Wash your hands, avoid crowds, mosquito bites, swimming in lakes or ponds, and try to avoid anything that could cause a cut or scrape. The more we reduce risk of infection, the better."

The lump in his throat grew. "Okay," Harry said.

"You should also start asking your friends and family to get tested for bone marrow donation," Taylor said, clasping his hands. "Because relapsed cancers like yours are more aggressive and resistant, the chemo isn't always enough to stop it. A bone marrow transplant is the only cure, but it's quite dangerous, so we will only use it as a last resort."

"Why is it dangerous?" Harry wrapped his arms around himself, as if bracing his body for the answer.

Taylor hesitated. "Let's get through chemo first. We can discuss the particulars when—"

"Dr. Taylor, please," Harry begged, leaning forward. "I need to know."

The doctor met Harry's eyes, holding them for a solid minute before he looked away and sighed. "Transplanting the bone marrow of another person into you is a risky operation because of Graft vs. Host's disease. This is when your body sees the transplanted tissue as a foreign body and moves to kill it, like it would a virus or bacteria," he reluctantly explained. "To prevent your immune system from trying to destroy the new marrow, we try to match you with someone with similar markers as yours. Family members are often the best chance for a match."

"My parents are dead," Harry intoned dully, "and my relatives... they won't want to donate anything for me."

Taylor nodded, his eyes glazing over slightly, and his voice fell flat. "Right," he said, shaking it off. "We'll need to put you on the national registry, in the hopes that a stranger will be a match. You should still ask your friends to get tested. Sometimes we get lucky."

Harry nodded, as an odd, sort-of-numb feeling filled his brain. "Okay," he said. "When do we have to do this?"

"The transplant's a long way off," Taylor temporised. "We should start with the chemo immediately. How does tomorrow sound to you?"

Sunday. He could do that. Harry nodded.

"Give this note to the nurse and she'll set up your appointment," Taylor said, scribbling on a paper. "We'll check in again next week, to see how the treatment is doing." As he held it out to the teen, he hesitated. "You should have someone come with you," he suggested gently. "These treatments will get worse fast and you'll want to have company. Trust me."

Harry took the paper and threw out a weak, probably pathetic, smile. "Right. Thanks, Dr. Taylor."

"Harry's acting weird again," Ron said, sliding into a seat across from Hermione.

"Keep your voice down or Pince will throw us out," Hermione warned, not looking up from her homework.

Ron huffed, slapping his hand on her parchment. "Didn't you hear me?" he demanded, not bothering to lower his voice. "Harry's acting weird."

"Yes, I heard you," Hermione snapped back. "But in case you hadn't noticed, Harry's been acting weird all term, so it's not that strange. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to finish this Arithmancy assignment—"

"This isn't like before," Ron insisted, leaning forward. "He's been acting all upset—"

"Ron, his girlfriend just died and he couldn't go to the funeral! Of course he's upset!"

"—he's been looking peaky for ages—"

"Umbridge nearly killed him with her quill."

"—he hasn't been eating at meals, disappears for hours at a time and I could swear I saw a dark patch on his left arm the other day—"

"Ron—"

"And that's where You-Know-Who puts the Dark Mark, innit? So maybe—"

"Ronald, you can't be serious."

"No, but what if his scar connects him to You-Know-Who and he's being possessed or something—"

"Oh. My. God."

"—the same thing happened to Ginny, remember! She looked peaky all year and we didn't figure it out until it was almost too late and—"

"This is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard."

"—admit that it all fits! We should go to Dumbledore or something! We have to save Harry—"

"Ronald Weasley, shut the hell up!"

The library fell silent as all the students and Madame Pince turned to stare at Hermione Granger. Her face turned bright red and she stood, furiously packing her things as she whisper-yelled at her best friend.

"Listen to me and listen good," she hissed, her eyes flashing at Ron. "Harry Potter is not possessed and he is not a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake!"

"But—"

"No. I am talking." Ron's jaw snapped shut. "Something odd is going on with him, I grant you that, but I will eat my wand before Harry Potter joins Voldemort's side, do you hear me?"

"It's not like I was saying that he's doing it willingly—"

Hermione huffed, swinging her book bag on her shoulder. "He's not possessed!" she insisted.

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her. "How do you know?" he asked. "No one noticed Ginny was possessed and You-Know-Who did it loads of times over a whole school year! Not even Dumbledore had figured it out. What makes you think you would know if Harry's possessed when Dumbledore couldn't?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well..."

"Harry may not notice," Ron pointed out. "Ginny said she had loads of blackouts, but his scar aches and he gets those weird visions of his. Maybe he just thinks they're normal scar pains and hasn't connected the dots?"

"Don't you think he would've noticed a great big Dark Mark on his arm?" Hermione pointed out wryly.

"Notice-Me-Not Charm," Ron said smugly. "You-Know-Who could've put it there and Harry wouldn't even notice that he had it."

Hermione turned on her heel, scowling as she left the library. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, ignoring Pince's glares at her back. "Utter codswallop."

"Do you have a better explanation?" asked Ron, pulling her into an alcove.

"... No," Hermione admitted reluctantly, "but I'm sure it's a perfectly reasonable explanation!"

"Should we tell Dumbledore, you reckon?" Ron bit his lip. "He's the only one that could stop the possession—"

"If Harry's really possessed," Hermione interrupted. "What if he's been going off to have a good cry or read his mum's diaries or something? We can't call the whole Order down on his head before we know for certain."

Ron nodded. "Good point."

"We should just talk to him, ask him outright where he's been going."

Ron's eyes widened. "What if that tips off You-Know-Who? Like he can see through Harry's eyes or something!"

Hermione frowned. "We can't just follow him everywhere until he does something suspicious," she said.

"We don't have to," Ron said triumphantly, pulling out an old piece of parchment. "I nicked this from Harry's trunk last night."

"The Marauder's Map!" Hermione exclaimed. "What if he notices it's missing?"

Ron shook his head. "He only pulls it out for the DA meetings," he reasoned. "As long as I put it back before then, he won't know the difference. This way, we'll be able to figure out where he's been going when he disappears—"

"—or if he's sneaking out of school!" Hermione finished.

"Exactly," Ron said. "Once we know for sure, we'll go to Dumbledore—"

"Oi! There you two are!" The familiar voice cut off their conversation. Ron stuffed the Map into his pocket as Harry hurried over. "It's almost tea and I thought it would be fun to grab a picnic from the kitchens and eat out by the lake. You know, while it's still nice out!"

"Yeah mate, that sounds great!" Ron exclaimed, forcing a smile on his face as he thumped his friend on the back. "What do you say, Hermione?"

"Sounds good to me," she said, "since Ron got me kicked out of the library."

Harry laughed. "Well, come on then!" he shouted, hurrying back down the corridor to the staircase.

Ron and Hermione shared a worried look, before following their friend down to the kitchens.

A week later, students flooded into the Great Hall for dinner, talking over one another. Harry sat next to Ron and Hermione, reaching for a tureen of mashed potatoes and reluctantly dished them out on his plate.

The twice-a-week treatments were taking even more energy out of him than he'd planned and hit much harder than before. He'd spent most of the morning infusion vomiting into a bucket and continued to feel nauseated the rest of the day. He just hoped the soft mash would be gentle on his already sore throat.

"When d'you think they're going to get a new Defense teacher?" Ron asked, as he piled roast beef, sausages and potatoes on his plate.

Hermione pushed a platter of roast vegetables in Ron's direction. "Rather quickly, I imagine." At their quizzical expressions, she sighed. "The Ministry installed Umbridge when Professor Dumbledore had trouble finding a professor, right? Well, I doubt he's going to risk taking his time again."

"Maybe they'll ask Lupin to come back!" Ron suggested, ignoring the vegetables in favour of pudding.

Harry shook his head. "They'd never allow him back," he said sadly. "He said Dumbledore got all sorts of hate mail after Snape let word get out about his condition."

Ron scowled. "Wanker," he muttered, stabbing his fork into a sausage. "What about Sirius?"

"He said he wants to enjoy his freedom for a bit," Harry said with a shrug. "Help with the Order, that sort of thing. I doubt he'd make a very good teacher anyway." He smiled. "Maybe we'll get an Auror?" he offered. "Tonks would be brilliant."

Hermione shrugged. "She would, but she's also so junior," she pointed out. "And with everything going on, the last thing the Order needs is to have less good Aurors out there stopping Voldemort."

Both boys agreed. "D'you think we should keep the DA going, Harry?" Ron asked in a hush.

"Until we have a good Defense professor," Harry said, "yeah, I reckon so. Just in case."

"Since Umbridge is gone, we could talk to the Headmaster about making it an official club?" Hermione offered. "It doesn't have to be a secret anymore."

Harry's fork stilled. "Let's hold off for now," he said quietly, "until we know who the new teacher is. Just in case."

Understanding bloomed on her face and Hermione nodded. "Is that all you're going to eat?" she asked Harry, frowning at his plate. Ron looked over and similar worried lines formed above his eyes. Harry had only ladled on a scoop of mashed potatoes and a small piece of roast beef.

"Er, yeah," the dark-haired teen said quietly, taking a bite of his potatoes. "I got peckish in the afternoon and went to the kitchens." Harry avoided their eyes. "I'm still a bit full."

Hermione sniffed and turned her suspicious eye on her own plate, to Harry's relief. Ron, eyebrows still pinched, turned the conversation to Quidditch, as Fred and George's bans were now over and the Gryffindor team would soon be back to its former glory. They were partway through their puddings when the wizened voice of Professor Dumbledore called them all to attention.

"Yes, thank you for bearing with me for a moment," he said, smiling benevolently at them all. "I apologise for interrupting what is a most splendid meal, but I wanted to take this moment to update you on recent events."

"As some of you may know, Professor Umbridge has been removed from her position for illegal use of a Dark Artefact and corporal punishment against a student. I do not stand for violence or abuse, least of all to the people in this room." His stern, blue eyes scanned the room.

"Fortunately, in better news, we have already found a professor who will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for the remainder of the year. She comes to us, having scored one of the highest Defense NEWTs of her year. She was working towards her Defense Mastery under the great Galatea Merrythought when she decided to take time off to become a mother..."

A door to the right of the staff table opened and a very familiar witch strode out of the room and up to the front, her black robes swishing in time to the black hat balanced on her fiery, red hair.

Harry looked to Ron and watched as all the blood drained out of his face and it took on a vaguely green tint. He heard two throats choke at the same time and thumping of Ginny's strong hands on their backs.

Dumbledore grinned, waving to the woman standing next to him. "I would like to introduce you to our new Defense Professor, Molly Weasley!"

A/N: Yes, I did it! Muwhahahaha! Honestly, this was one of the first things I planned for this fic when I started it almost two decades ago. Ron's face when Mrs. Weasley becomes his teacher... it still makes me laugh.

I also planned to have Ron and Hermione think that Harry was secretly a Death Eater because of the bruise. So to those who wondered why I didn't give him a port — that's why! Comedic relief. :) When I started writing this, there were a rash of Death Eater!Harry fics that people loved for some reason, and I wanted to spoof that a bit in this. Gotta get my licks where I can with this subject matter.

I am terribly sorry for the delay, but as you can see, it's finally done. I had everything else written, but the cancer relapse was a very hard scene to write and I'm still not sure I did it justice.

I wanted to thank all of you who reviewed and commented with support and your best wishes. It means the world to me and really helped me feel a lot better. To all of you who have gone through a similar situation, I am with you. I just pray one day no one will have to go through what we've experienced, either ourselves or with our loved ones.

I'm excited to see what you think of this chapter and I think you're going to love what comes next. Thanks for reading!