Harry was kept in the hospital wing for two days. Healer Camden had tried suggesting he be moved to St. Mungo's for more intensive care, but he'd fought the idea tooth and nail until they gave in and allowed him to stay at Hogwarts. As much as Harry hated the hospital wing, he knew he would hate an actual hospital more because his friends would not be able to visit him as often. As a compromise, he was assigned a small team of experts who made regular visits to Hogwarts to check on him.

Harry had been subjected to several rigorous rounds of testing and examinations that involved various spells and potions. The results were subsequently sent off to an expert on curses in the hopes that they would be able to identify what was causing the illness. According to Camden, it could take one to three days before they would hear anything back. In the meantime, Harry had to endure Pomfrey's merciless medical routine.

"Time for your potions, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, right on time. "And don't give me that face."

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said taking the goblet of potion from the matron. "It's just these have to be the worst potions I've ever taken."

"You say that about every potion you've taken," Madam Pomfrey pointed out while putting her hands on her hips.

"It's because it's true every time!" Harry said, blanching a bit when he caught a whiff of the foul orange substance in the goblet. Noticing that Pomfrey was hovering over him with a scrutinizing glare, Harry took a deep breath and gulped down the potion as fast as he could. It slid down his throat in thick, slimy globs on which he nearly choked. When he drained the last drop, he coughed a few times.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Pomfrey said as she vanished the goblet and went about straightening Harry's bedding for him.

"Easy for you to say," Harry replied with another cough.

"I'll be back with your afternoon potion in a few hours," Pomfrey said, conjuring a glass of water for Harry and leaving.

"Can't wait," Harry mumbled after her.

Picking up the water, Harry took a couple of large drinks from it, washing the taste of the potion out of his mouth. He might have exaggerated about it being the worst, but it definitely made the top five. It was the potion meant to cure his cancer, which Healer Camden had ordered him to take three times a day, followed by an anti-nausea and pain-relieving potion one to two times a day. Harry didn't think he would have been able to make it through without those last two potions because the cancer potion made him more nauseated than he could ever remember being in his life. He'd immediately thrown up after the first time drinking it and his stomach hurt so bad he couldn't move from a fetal position for over an hour.

Laying his head back on his pillows, Harry looked up at the ceiling, which was starting to spin slightly. He could already feel the potion bubbling in his stomach and causing nausea to rise. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to push it down and tried to keep his mind off of it. He was only allowed a maximum of two nausea potions a day considering any more than that might interfere with the properties of the cancer potion. He would most likely have to endure the nausea for another hour or so before Madam Pomfrey would allow him to have one.

Instead, he tried to distract himself by formulating a game plan for their next Quidditch match in his head. Their new line up was pretty strong but he was starting to worry that his illness might interfere in some way. He would have to consider a potential fill-in for days he was too sick, or possibly a permanent replacement altogether. Rolling over onto his side, Harry tried not to let that thought get him down. There was no guarantee that was going to be necessary, after all. Chest rising and falling with deep breaths, his thoughts slowly started to sink into darkness and the room started to feel farther and farther away.

He was soaring through the air on his broom. His teammates were flying past him and the crowd was cheering for them. Harry had his arm stretched out toward the snitch, but the closer he got, the heavier the air became. He felt like he was trying to fly through molasses now, every movement taking incredible strain on his body but he urged his broom forward. His fingertips grazed the snitch, but dizziness suddenly hit him hard and he lurched forward, falling off his broom.

He fell slowly, looking up to see the darkness closing in on the sky as he hit the ground, the Quidditch pitch fading away. When he stood up, he saw that his surroundings were that of ash and fire. The grass beneath his feet was soaked with blood from the hundreds of dead bodies that littered the battlefield. He saw the faces of Fred, Remus, Colin, and even Sirius and Cedric staring up at with glassy, unblinking eyes. He saw Hermione and Ron at the other end of the battlefield, their backs turned to him and unaware of the group of Death Eaters advancing on them.

Reaching out with a trembling hand, Harry tried to scream out to them, but no words came from his mouth. He tried to move but his feet were stuck, trapped in the blood of his dead friends.

Cold, taunting red eyes appeared before him. Harry's heart froze in his chest as Voldemort appeared there. The Dark Lord was laughing at him, though no sound came from him either. The silence pressed in against him like a great pressure threatening to squash him.

When he felt something dripping from his nose, he moved his hand to wipe at it and pulled it back to see it was covered in blood. It began dribbling from his mouth next. He tried to wipe it all away but the more he tried to wipe at it, the more blood there was and the more his vision began to blur. No. Not yet! He couldn't be dying yet! He had to defeat Voldemort.

Looking up at the Dark Lord, Harry saw Voldemort lift his wand and point it at him. His mouth formed words and a chill of terror ran through Harry as he recognized what they were.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Harry startled awake when he felt a pair of hands shaking him aggressively. He immediately started to struggle against whoever it was, thrashing his arms and legs while screaming. Straining against the hold his assailant had on him, Harry reached for his wand, but the swimming in his head and the pain in his shoulder made it hard to move.

"Harry! Harry!" a voice called out to him, barely penetrating the panic fogging his brain. "Stop! It's just me, R-argh, bloody hell!"

Harry's threw his fist out, knuckles connecting painfully with the person's chin and causing them to stumble backward. Panting heavily, he made another scramble for his wand but the person grabbed hold of his arms and placed a knee onto his back, pinning him down to the bed. Heart beating wildly in his chest, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to breathe with his face pressed into the mattress. Despite his best efforts to struggle free, he found himself far too weak and dizzy to fight off the person on top of him.

"Harry, please calm down," his attacker said in a surprisingly soothing voice. "It was just a nightmare!"

Slowly, the images from the nightmares began to fade and recognition seeped into his brain. He knew that voice.

"Ron?" Harry said, his voice cracked and his throat dry. Presumably from screaming.

"Yeah, mate," the person, Ron, said. He felt the knee on his back slowly ease off and the hands release their hold. "It's just me and Hermione."

Despite being free to move, Harry just lay there for a few moments longer, breathing heavily into the linens and staring off at the wall. The panic was still so vivid in his mind that part of him did not want to turn around and discover that it was not Ron there after all. There was burning at the back of his eyes and for a brief second, he almost started to cry. He willed it back, however, and just closed his eyes, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. When a hand was placed between his shoulder blades, his eyes flew open again and he tensed immediately, adrenaline still dictating his actions.

"It's alright, Harry," Ron said again, making soft, soothing circles with his hand. Harry instantly relaxed again and nodded. Ron and Hermione were the only people he allowed to touch him that way.

Harry let Ron rub his back for a minute or so before slowly rolling over and sitting up, ignoring the way his entire body protested. When he felt something wet sliding across his lip, he wiped at it and looked at his hand to see it smeared with bright red fluid. When memories of the dream came back to him, his eyes widened and his heart immediately began to race.

"Hermione, can you get him some tissues?" he heard Ron say over the rising panic. Ron seemed to have sensed Harry's growing distress because a pair of hands grabbed him by the biceps and held on firmly. "Harry, look at me."

It took a firm shake from Ron for Harry to snap to his senses and look up at him. As soon as he met a pair of familiar, safe, blue eyes, he felt the real world fall into place and he calmed down again. It required several deep breaths and some calming words from Ron before the last of Harry's muscles stopped tensing and shaking. When Hermione returned with the tissues, Ron pressed them to Harry's nose and placed a hand on the back of his neck, tipping his head forward slightly.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he heard Hermione ask from a spot next to him. Harry kept his eyes on the floor but he nodded his head. His adrenaline was still pumping wildly, but he was no longer in fight or flight mode.

"You gave us a right scare, mate," Ron said, massaging the back of Harry's neck in a calming manner. "It looked like a really bad one that time."

"You have no idea," Harry croaked, bringing the tissues away from his nose and noticing it was almost completely soaked in blood. Hermione instantly procured clean ones and handed them to Harry, who smiled weakly at her and pressed them to his still bleeding nose.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, and with only one glance, Harry saw that she was extremely concerned. He wondered if it was over the nightmare or the bloody nose, though he supposed it was possible for it to be both.

"I've been better," Harry said with a half-hearted chuckle. He couldn't bring himself to lie and claim he was alright when he was cold, sweaty, nauseated and practically bleeding to death.

"You've definitely looked better, that's for sure," Ron commented, moving positions so he was sitting next to him on the bed but he kept his hand placed on the back of his neck. Harry just shot him a look.

"As if you can talk," Harry said, eyeing the angry red mark standing out against Ron's pale chin.

"Yeah, you clocked me good," Ron said, rubbing at the spot. Judging by the looks of it, Harry guessed it was going to make for a nice bruise. Grimacing, he felt guilty, not having meant to hit Ron like that. He'd swung out on instinct.

"Sorry about that, Ron," Harry said, taking the tissues from his nose when the bleeding finally stopped.

"Don't worry about it," Ron said, waving off Harry's concerns. "I can handle a couple of hits from a runt like you."

"Tell that to the giant bruise forming on your face," Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

"It was a lucky shot!"

"If you two are quite done," Hermione interrupted them impatiently, turning to Harry. "I brought your textbooks and homework for you. I even made copies of my notes for you to use from lectures."

She proceeded to drop a set of books and a pile of parchments onto the hospital bed. Harry looked down at the sheer amount of them and forced back to the urge to groan. Leave it to Hermione to remember something like that even when he was sick with cancer. "Gee, thanks, Hermione. I was thinking to myself earlier 'you know what would really make me feel better right now? Homework!'"

"You'll be thanking me later," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. "NEWTs will be here before you know it."

"If I'm even still here for that," Harry said without thinking. Dead silence hung throughout the room as both Ron and Hermione stared at him with shock and horror on their faces. Immediately, he felt shame and embarrassment for being so tactless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you'll still be here," Ron cut him off adamantly, having collected himself quite quickly. "If you've proven anything, it's that you're, like, invincible."

"Yeah," Hermione nodded vigorously, "if anyone can beat all the odds, it's definitely you."

Harry smiled softly at his friends in appreciation. He couldn't deny that he went through a lot of doubt about his current situation. The way the healers regarded him often seemed like it was a miracle he was even alive right now, let alone any time in the future. He tried to chock it off as himself being paranoid, but he'd gotten too good at reading people for that to be true.

"Well, I wish I was as gifted at coursework as I was at surviving things trying to kill me," Harry commented as he scanned through some of the notes Hermione had brought him. Most of it looked quite complicated and would probably take him hours to get through.

"I could help you, if you'd like," Hermione offered.

Harry quirked his brow in surprise at her unusual offer. She always insisted that Ron and Harry do their work on their own because 'it was the only way they'd learn.' At first, he thought she was doing it because she felt sorry for him and he started to feel annoyed that she was already treating him differently. When he actually looked at her face, though, he only saw anxiousness and sincerity there. Harry realized it was her way of doing something for him when she knew there was nothing else that she could do. She was feeling just as helpless as he was.

"That'd be great, Hermione," Harry said, scooting over to make room on the bed for her. Hermione beamed at him and sat across from him, picking up the notes and opening the books.

xxxxx

It took a few solid hours to get most of Harry's coursework completed. It was mainly due to the fact that he was forced to stop and take breaks every ten minutes when he was feeling dizzy or nauseated. Hermione was surprisingly patient throughout, never rushing him or getting frustrated with how slow things were going. She even picked up writing for him when his hands got too shaky to create legible words. Ron spent most of the time sitting on the floor with his chessboard set out, playing a game against himself. He had a pile of snack wrappers next to him, a Chocolate Frog halfway in his mouth as he studied the board, trying to determine his next move.

It was around late afternoon when Madam Pomfrey and Camden showed up. Pomfrey arched a brow at the mess they had made of the hospital wing, with books and parchments strewn on the bed, and sweet wrappers and Ron all over the floor. Surprisingly, she did not say anything, though. She just allowed Camden to step forward and speak.

"Good afternoon," Camden greeted with a warm tone. "Doing some homework?"

"Just finishing up, is it time for my potions again?" Harry asked, shuffling some of the papers into a neat stack.

"We'll get to that in a little while," Camden replied. "Do you mind if we talked for a minute?"

Harry blinked and looked up, somewhat confused by the healer's tone. "Er, sure."

"Do you wish for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to be here as well?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well," Camden continued. "Mr. Potter, we received your results from the curse breaker."

"Oh?" Harry asked, his stomach doing an odd flip. He glanced over to Ron and Hermione to see their reactions but both were intently focused on Camden.

"Yes," Camden nodded, and Harry noticed that his tone didn't seem particularly good. His next words confirmed that suspicious. "Mr. Potter, it seems that the curse that caused your cancer was the killing curse."

It took several moments for those words to sink into Harry's brain. That seemed to be true for Ron and Hermione as well because none of them said anything for a long while. He was glad that Hermione got her wits together first because for the time being Harry seemed unable to process anything going on.

"How is that possible? What does that mean?" she said, her voice shaky.

"We can only theorize that it's a possible side effect of being touched by the killing curse, if one were to survive such an occurrence that is," Camden replied. "There are traces of it in Harry's blood and it seems to have caused the cancer we are seeing in him."

"So...so what are you going to do?" Ron asked next. Harry noticed that Camden's expression turned very grave at Ron's question.

"There is no known cure or defense against the killing curse," Camden said. "That severely lowers the chances of-"

"Of me surviving," Harry finished plainly.

Camden cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and he looked at Harry with sympathetic eyes. "That does not mean there is no hope. We will continue treatment while searching for a cure."

"How long?" Harry asked.

Camden blinked. "How long what?"

"How long do I have?" Harry clarified. "Assuming you don't find a cure."

Harry knew that he was creating tension in his room with his blunt questions. Hermione was shifting on the bed beside him uncomfortably and Ron was staring down at his chessboard with his hands curled into fists. Even Pomfrey and the Healer didn't seem quite sure how to handle Harry's behavior. He knew he would feel like a total arse later on when his senses came back to him, but for now, he didn't care.

Camden sighed. "At the current progression of the disease, I'd estimate you have until December."

Beside him, Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes began to fill with tears. Ron didn't look up from his chessboard at all but Harry could tell that his entire body had gone stiff. Harry didn't know how he felt, or if he was feeling anything at all. He had to place his hand over his chest to make sure his heart was still beating because everything felt so numb. December was only three months away. He only had three months left to live.

Oddly, the first thing that came to mind was how much he hoped he would make it to Christmas—wanting one last Weasley jumper.

"As I said, Harry," Camden continued. "We will continue treatment and do our best to figure out a way to cure this."

Harry just nodded his head, barely listening to him anymore. He'd heard all that mattered at that point. For as well-intentioned as Camden's words were, he already read the truth in his face. The chances of finding a cure were nearly zero percent. If Harry was currently able to find humor in the situation, he would have laughed. After being famous for surviving the killing curse, it would end up killing him after all.

At some point, Camden and Pomfrey had left the room, most likely to give Harry, Ron, and Hermione a chance to absorb the information. The three of them did not say anything nor did they look at each other the entire time. Rather, they remained silently sitting in the hospital room while the sunlight waned through the window. Both Harry's homework and Ron's chess game remained unfinished.