A/N: I'm sorry for the lateness and the irregularity, between the emotional impact of this story and my current ill-health writing has not been easy as of late. But the worst of it is over, so hopefully the next few weeks should get easier. Sigh, I meant for this story to be a short follow-up to Anonymity, but now it's looking like it'll be just as long. And I'm still writing one-shots in this series! Like, three of them! I'm an idiot. Also, because my sister has not helped me with the website I'm not sure if it's ever really going to get up and running so I'll be posting Bumping Uglies up on FanFiction dot net very soon. Good god I'm tired and loopy.

Also, just as an amusing aside, a part of my health issues recently is that I've been throwing up every morning at about the same time 3 days out of 5. At one point I had the alarming thought of, "Morning sickness! I"m pregnant!" Then I remembered that I'm a lesbian who hasn't even had sex with a woman in eight months and felt like a moron. ^-^'

"Harry, sweetheart? Are you awake?"

Hermione's voice was a welcome sound to wake up to, but Harry still felt unsatisfied. His eyes felt dry and achy, his mouth tasted the way old socks smelled, and his face was stinging faintly. He looked around, taking in Kurt's white walls with a soldier's eyes. He noted the buckets and the cloths left on the sleek modern furniture, partially eaten toast left on plates on half a dozen surfaces. Hermione - comforting, familiar Hermione - sat perched on the bed next to him, on top of the mismatched, rumpled blankets. His old friend's eyes were tired, almost defeated, like she expected him to be hallucinating again or collapse back asleep. He was as surprised as her when he didn't.

"Hermione," he rasped, his brow furrowing at the dull aching in his head. The witch's eyes widened as Harry reached up to rub his sweat-grimey forehead, forcing the words out of his parched and aching throat. "What - when did you get 'ere?"

"Harry, are you really - hold on a second, love, I need to feel your forehead," Harry stared at her blankly as the girl scurried forward and rested a gentle little hand on his face. Her smile lit up the room. "Finally - your fever's broken. How do you feel, Harry?"

"Tired," he admitted after a moment. "Sore. Thirsty. And very... confused."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Hermione prompted him, reaching over to grab a glass of water from the bedside table. Harry thought while she helped him take a long sip, trying to separate memories from days of nightmares and fever-dreams, pushing back an underlying anxiety and fear that was less overwhelming now.

"I remember telling Kurt that things were going to get bad," he said slowly, snippets of memories coming back to him. "I remember... Burt. And Mr Schuester. They were here. How long have I...?"

"A week," Hermione's voice was gentle but the words still hit him like a freight train. "This is the seventh day - it's about lunch time, I think. I dozed off a bit."

"Merlin's fucking beard," Harry swore softly, looking down at his trembling hands. "That's - a week? It's really been a week? I can't believe... did they - did they tell you about Remus?"

Hermione nodded grimly, "I enlisted Neville and Luna's help to find him. I didn't think you'd mind - he really can't be left to roam free, and Luna already knew where you were, God only knows how, and you know Neville isn't going to get nosy or tell anyone and I wanted to be here with you-"

"Good thinking," Harry interrupted, not wanting the obviously over-tired girl to become overwrought. "Given how bad he was... he forgot his Wolfsbane entirely, 'Mione. He nearly killed me."

"I thought Kurt said he beat you on the full moon," Hermione nodded with a scowl. "Not that he realised, of course, but I understood the relevance."

Harry flinched and nodded, looking back at his glass.

"Ron's asleep at your place," Hermione told Harry as the wizard took another long sip of his water. "He got in yesterday - he's still jetlagged. I can call him if you like. He won't mind."

"Let him sleep," Harry demurred, pressing the cool glass to his flushed cheek. His hands were still trembling like they had been, though by the empty feeling in his stomach Harry guessed that had more to do with hunger than withdrawal - hunger and probably the faint, underlying fear that he no longer had chemical assistance to suppress. "I'll still be here later. Merlin, seven days. I can't believe that."

"Considering you were hallucinating and semi-conscious most of the time I'm not surprised," the witch leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to Harry's sweaty face. "I was so worried, Harry. How could you not call us if things were getting that bad?"

"You and Ron have your own lives, I can't expect you to drop everything for me all the time..." Harry protested, a familiar tightness starting in his chest. Hermione must have seen the way his hands clenched the blankets and his breathing hitched because she smoothed her tense expression and traced a gentle hand down Harry's arm.

"It's all right, sweetheart, no need to panic," she soothed, and Harry shook his head.

"I can't control it. Hermione, I'm going to be a mess without Calming Draughts."

"You're going to be fine," Hermione slipped her arms around Harry's trembling shoulders, tugging him against her chest. He fought to keep his breathing under control, to not give in to the urge to panic, and he was mostly successful. "Harry, love, you're okay. Deep, slow breathes sweetness, come on. That's it."

"What am I going to do, Hermione? I can't live like this," he whispered into her shoulder. She gently pet his hair as he buried himself closer to her. "My a-addiction was only a part of the problem, I'm still a complete lunatic."

"Oh, you are not, don't be melodramatic," Hermione huffed into his hair, and Harry couldn't help the little smile that crept onto his face at the witch's no-nonsense tone. "You are going to be fine, Harry. It'll be hard and you'll have to work for it and it's probably going to suck a lot but you'll do it."

"How? I can't talk to just any therapist and I can't just owl Healer Ryan all the time - what if it's intercepted? And letters aren't really the best way to do therapy anyway," Harry mumbled, pulling back from Hermione to rub at his damp eyes. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, pursing her lips.

"I'm working on it. I have a couple of ideas... don't worry about it right at this moment, though. Do you want something to eat? You haven't kept anything down in days."

"Yes please," Harry agreed, flexing his legs under the blanket. "And then maybe a shower."

"No offence, love, but that's an excellent idea," Hermione shot him a teasing smile as she moved towards the door. Harry wrinkled his nose as she closed the door, torn between pouting and smiling. He looked around the room again, guilt seeping in as he took in the state of his boyfriend's room.

God, he freaks out if his books aren't in the right order on his shelf or the magazines on his desk are crooked. This must be making him mental. I've got to clean this up.

Harry shoved the blankets off his legs with his weak hand and staggered to his feet. The room spun and his head swum, his eyes watering as nausea and dizziness overtook him. He refused to lie down, however, forcing himself to remain standing and staggering over to an empty plate. He shakily stacked a couple of plates on top of one another, throwing the stale toast and uneaten fruit into a plastic bag with a grimace. He gathered the scattered classes and mugs of coffee, placing them on an abandoned tray, and did his best to straighten the bed. He was so focused on his task that when there was a gentle knock on his door he jumped out of his skin, stumbling into Kurt's desk and knocking over a tin of pens.

"Come in," he called as he straightened the desk, trying to ignore the utterly irrational anxiety rising in his chest. Will Schuester poked his head around the door, his eyes going wide at the side of Harry shoving the pens back into their tin.

"Harry, what are you doing out of bed? I mean, it's great to see you feeling better but you shouldn't be walking around, you haven't eaten in days!" the teacher protested, hurrying forward with an arm out. Harry flinched away minutely, taking an involuntary step back. The teacher hesitated in his stride and Harry flushed.

"Sorry, I'm a little jumpy," he muttered, half-heartedly pushing the tin back where it belonged. "I was just trying to tidy up, Kurt hates mess and this is his room-"

"Kurt doesn't mind, Harry," Mr Schuester assured him, carefully ushering Harry back towards the bed, taking care not to touch him at all. "This room has looked worse, trust me. Hermione said you were up, how are you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to cry and I don't know why," Harry admitted wryly, sitting back on the bed. "Also hungry."

"I'm not surprised on either account," Mr Schuester placed a hesitant hand on Harry's shoulder. "But I'm glad the worst is over, at least."

"Yeah," Harry agreed half-heartedly. He frowned down at his knobbly knees, sticking out from the bottom of the cotton boxers he was wearing. "Do I want to know how I got changed?...or why I had to be?"

"Probably not," Mr Schuester patted Harry's back sympathetically when the boy's face flushed and he cringed in embarrassment. "You were sick, Harry, and Carole's a nurse. Don't be embarrassed for being ill."

"Right," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. To his surprise his fingers slipped through his locks easily, not tangling at all. "Huh. Did someone brush my hair?"

"Hermione did, I think. Kurt tried, but you would get frightened when the bristles touched your scalp. Hermione somehow managed to do it while I was out of the room early this morning," Mr Schuester got to his feet and shuffled around the room, straightening the blankets on the bed and moving a couple of kitchen chairs out of the way. Harry was smiling faintly at Hermione's ingenuity as he ran his fingers through his hair again - Untangling Charms weren't perfect, but they'd certainly done the trick for the moment. As for Carole apparently needed to change his clothes... he put the idea out of his head for the sake of his own mental health.

"Glee's on this afternoon," Mr Schuester commented suddenly. "I know you're not up to going to it, but should I tell people they can visit afterwards? Kurt might skip it to see you, actually."

"Yeah, I think that will be okay," Harry tapped his fingers against his leg, a sudden thrill of anxiety racing through him. "Just maybe - not all at once?"

"Sure, of course," the teacher smiled sympathetically as Harry dug his fingers into his thigh, trying desperately not to panic again. "Hey, don't worry about it. They'll understand if you need another day-"

"The drug is out of my system," Harry interrupted, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. "This isn't withdrawal. This isn't what's been happening for the last week. This is just what I always feel like without my medication. This is me at neutral."

"And... how do you feel?" Mr Schuester looked wary of Harry's answer, and he cringed at Harry's humourless laugh.

"Terrified. Anxious. Ready to crawl out of my skin. Ready to - I don't know. I don't know how - how does anyone get back from this?"

"With time, effort, and help," the man sat down next to Harry gingerly, keeping a careful eye on the teenager's blank expression. "You'll have all the time and help you need, and the effort... you can do it. I promise you, you can."

"A part of me doesn't want to," Harry admitted, dragging his nails up the bare skin of his knee. The slight pain of the scratch soothed the frantic anxiety a little bit, gave him something to focus on. It held his focus so much that he barely noticed himself continuing to mutter. "A part of me... doesn't really see the point."

"You don't see the point in getting better?" Mr Schuester repeated cautiously. Harry shrugged, staring at his knees.

"Just - putting everyone through that, through this, for what?" he mumbled, dragging his nails up his leg idly. "Me being gone would make everyone's lives so much easier."

"Hey," Mr Schuester interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. Harry jumped a little and looked up at him, green eyes wide. "Don't you think that. Don't you dare think that. No matter how hard helping you is, it's got nothing on how much losing you would hurt. We want you around, Harry, so much. I want you around. You have your problems, just like anyone, but you're still a smart, funny, generous, compassionate kid that we all want in our lives. This last week was about as bad as it gets for looking out for someone, and we got through it. We got through it and I, for one, would gladly do it again if you needed me to. So don't you dare start thinking that we'd be better off without you, all right? No-one else thinks that."

Maybe they should.

Harry bit his tongue and just nodded quietly, looking back down to his knees. He was still scratching at the skin absentmindedly, digging the edges of his nails into the pale flesh. His nails had left faint red lines on his skin, not nearly enough to draw blood, but Mr Schuester reached over and pulled his hand back anyway. Harry wanted to sigh, wanted to roll his eyes or scream, "You have no right, you don't understand, you don't know!" but he just looked away. He just heard me muttering about not wanting to be here anymore. Paranoia about me hurting myself is probably understandable.

A moment later Hermione was gently rapping at the door, and Mr Schuester got up to let her in. Harry's fingers itched to go back to digging into his leg, but he forced his hands to remain still. No, don't scratch. I'm not replacing one unhealthy habit with another one. I promised - I promised Kurt I would survive this. I've just gotta - I've got to try, at least. Hermione was balancing a plate of toast and a cut up apple on a tray with what looked like a glass of apple juice. Harry's stomach grumbled loudly at the sight and smell of the food and he blushed, but neither Mr Schuester or Hermione commented, the witch just lowering the tray onto the bed next to Harry and the teacher slipping towards the door.

"I have to go back to school in a few minutes, get ready for last period Glee. Will you two be all right until Burt gets home?" the teacher fiddled with the doorknob as he forced a casual smile onto his face. He was mostly looking at Hermione with the occasional tremulous flicker towards Harry, and the girl put a soothing hand on Harry's shoulder when she replied.

"Oh, we'll be fine. We'll just have some lunch and we'll probably both take a nap afterwards, right Harry?"

"Yeah," he agreed hollowly, not looking up at either of them. Mr Schuester's worry was palpable, and he knew that the teacher was probably frightened of what Harry might do if he left, but the young wizard was really too drained to care. He could see the teacher nod reluctantly from the corner of his eye, still hovering in the doorway.

"I'll tell the club not to come all at once, try to stagger their visits for a few days," he offered, and Harry glanced up at him through his eyelashes. "Is there anyone in particular you want to see, other than Kurt?"

Harry thought for a moment, sorting through his American friends one by one to see who made him the least anxious, "Puck, maybe? And Quinn. Maybe Brittany and Santana."

Mr Schuester nodded with every name, smiling lightly, "You know, it's kind of funny that you and Puck are such good friends. You're nothing alike."

"How so?" Harry felt a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and a little tension ease from his shoulders at the light-hearted comment. Talking about Puck, about his friends, about something other than the fact that his life was an utter mess... it's definitely less stressful. Mr Schuester shrugged, visibly relaxing too.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I like Puck, but you have to admit that he's pretty crass and kind of... confrontational, I guess? He's a good kid, a great kid, but a week ago I had to bribe him with ACDC to put his shirt back on in Glee after Tina said Mike's six-pack was better than his," the man grinned and shrugged at both Harry and Hermione's knowing nods. "Next to you, who's so modest and quiet..."

"You could say that about Kurt, too," Harry pointed out, shifting a little. Talking about his friend and his boyfriend in a casual way was relaxing Harry to no end, making him feel a little bit normal for the first time in a week. "I mean, obviously he's not crass but he's loud and flamboyant and... Kurt."

"He is," Mr Schuester laughed a little, tapping the doorway idly as he began to leave. "And I have no doubt that he'll be rushing home to see you soon, so you'd better get some lunch down fast. See you later."

"Goodbye, Mr Schuester," Hermione smiled a little as the door shut, turning back to Harry with a hurried clap before shoving the tray closer to him. "He's right, you'll better have a little something so you can jump in the shower. Don't rush it, though, you really need to keep something down."

"Tew me a'out i'," Harry agreed, mouth already full of toast. Ignoring Hermione's disgusted, "Really, Harry?" he savoured the first thing he'd been able to stomach in a week. It was just dry wholemeal toast, slightly burnt on one side, but after a week of no more than a pittance remaining down it felt like luxury.

"If you make yourself sick from eating too fast I am not cleaning it up," Hermione declared with a huff, standing up to straighten Kurt's room a little, pulling her wand out of its holster on her hip to help. Harry slowed his eating down to a more respectable pace, staring at the magical item in her hand with dawning worry.

"Hermione," he began when he'd swallowed his mouthful. "Do you know where my wand is? Because I don't."

She paused for a moment mid spell, the throw pillow she'd been moving hovering a foot above the bed, "I have no idea. When did you last have it?"

Harry thought for a moment, pushing through the persistent headache and fuzzy memories of the past week to think of his last use of magic, "When R-Remus was chasing me. When I had to fight the wolf off. I put it in my holster after that. I don't remember taking it out, but I'm missing some time after... after I realised he was gone. I have no idea how long, but..."

"You probably just put it down somewhere, sweetness, I'll look for it later," she promised, nudging the throw pillow through the air and onto Kurt's vanity stool with a flick of her wand. "No-one's mentioned any - is your magic...?"

"Gone, like Remus's was," Harry muttered, shoving a slice of apple into his mouth at the first sting of tears behind his eyes. No, I've had enough crying recently. No tears. But Merlin I feel wrong without my magic. Hermione made a sympathetic noise and holstered her wand, leaning over the bed to run a gentle hand through Harry's hair.

"Not gone, Harry, just suppressed for a little while. It's better this way, no backlash is one less thing for you to worry about," the witch straightened and shot a pointed look at the rest of the food on the plate. Harry began to eat faster again, pushing the magical issue to the back of his mind as much as possible. It was still a little niggling fear, an underscore of anxiety that just added to the worry that was already there - I'm helpless without my magic, I can't protect myself, can't protect anyone else, what if it never comes back, what if I'm too broken to get better- Harry shoved an entire slice of orange into his mouth at once, trying to silence his thoughts with food. It worked, to some extent. He managed to get down a whole piece of toast and several pieces of fruit before his stomach felt unsettled, and he washed it down with the whole glass of apple juice. Hermione puttered around the room tidying, sending the extra chairs down the stairs and smoothing the sheets and blankets. She was yawning by the time she grabbed the tray off the bed and put it on Kurt's desk, setting a few other plates and glasses on it.

"Do you want to take a shower now?" she asked, cracking her back with both hands. Harry nodded and slowly got to his feet, allowing the dizziness to pass this time before wandering towards the door. Hermione summoned a few clean towels with a smile and let him wander out on his own. Harry thought he saw her collapse onto the newly made bed behind him when he slipped out the door.

Harry had showered in Kurt and Finn's bathroom once before, when he and Kurt had gotten soaked by rain on their way from car to door one afternoon before they were dating. At the time the complicated in-built multi-level shelf with its dozens of bottles of lotions and bodyscrubs and eight different kinds of loofas their shower contained had confused and vaguely frightened him. Names like Neom and Lancôme meant absolutely nothing to him but it was pretty obvious they were expensive. He'd just wanted to use the little soap left on the bottom shelf, near the corner, but Kurt had insisted he could use anything in there with a flutter of his hand so the wizard had left the shower smelling like a combination of lavender, sandalwood and vanilla. Finn had never really let him live it down.

("Hey, I think Rachel owns that perfume, dude! Nice choice!"

"Shut up, Finn.")

The complicated lotion-holder-thing was still there when Harry entered, still fit to bursting with all the scrubs and body washes Kurt could possibly need. Harry left the towels on the bench next to the sink and he slowly stripped off the faintly gritty t-shirt and boxer shorts, wincing when he caught a look of himself in the mirror. His bruises had faded to an ugly greenish-yellow, and the cuts had scabbed over, flecks of dried blood marring the edges. His ribs were more pronounced than they already had been; he really hadn't had enough weight spare to spend a week not eating. His muscles were less pronounced, his face was gaunt and pale and covered in shallow scratches of various levels of healing. Between the discoloration of the bruises and the way his bones stuck out he kind of looked like he'd been dead for a while. He was more than happy to take his glasses off and set them next to the towels.

He jumped in the shower as soon as he turned on the water, flinching at the cold but determined to get the faint smell of sweat and vomit out of his nose. The water heated up within a few seconds anyway, and the wizard sighed gratefully as the hot water beat down onto his tense and twisted muscles.

His knees were already trembling from being on his feet for just five minutes, so he hurried to grab the nearest bottle of body wash to him and squeeze some onto the flannel Hermione had given him with his towels. He lathered himself up quickly, cringing a little when he realised he now smelt somewhat like roses - oooh, Finn'll have fun with that, I'm pretty sure Rachel uses floral scented soaps too - before reaching for another random shampoo. By the time the suds had rinsed from him, and he felt a little less like he was covered in grit and sweat, he smelt somewhat like a perfume store. He didn't understand how the hell Kurt always managed to smell so good. How the hell does he do it? He never smells like the perfume fairy threw up on him. I feel like I've been assaulted by a florist shop.

He dried himself off as quickly as he could, well aware that Kurt probably would cut class to see him like Mr Schuester said. Harry didn't want to put his dirty clothes back on so he walked back to Kurt's room with a towel around his waist and one around his shoulders, his hair dripping onto it, with his clothes tucked underneath one arm. Hermione was dead asleep on Kurt's bed when Harry got in, snoring slightly in that way that Ron always teased her about, so Harry just tiptoed around the room, dumping the old clothes into Kurt's hamper and (somewhat guiltily) going threw his drawers to find something else to where. Once he'd dragged on a pair of clean boxers, the same sweatpants Kurt had given him the first night and a flannel shirt Harry couldn't believe his boyfriend owned he sat back down on the bed with his back on the headboard, legs trembling with exertion. He'd been awake for maybe half an hour after a week of restless dreaming but he was so tired he couldn't help but let his eyes slip closed...