Chapter Seven

"Maybe you should take the day off?"

"Hermione, I've taken about two weeks off as is, I don't need any more rest," Harry said with exasperation.

It was the morning after Harry was finally released from the hospital wing and the last thing he wanted to do was lie in bed. He'd suffered a grueling two weeks under Pomfrey's care and one more day of it would have driven him to off himself. Those same four, dull-colored walls and the same group of overly professional healers as his only company had started driving him absolutely mad. After Madam Pomfrey had determined that Harry wasn't having any particular negative reaction to his treatments, she finally let him leave and he'd practically flown out of there.

"You should look a little pale, that's all," Hermione responded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"I'm not going to keel over from a couple of lessons," Harry said, rolling his eyes as they made their way out the portrait.

Ron and Hermione were following closely beside him, never straying far from his side. Ever since they'd found out that he was terminally ill, they'd taken to hovering around him and keeping an annoying close eye on him. It was almost like they thought he'd drop dead if they looked away for even a second.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Hermione said.

"Harry has the option to tell the professors that going to class is literally bad for his health and he doesn't take it," Ron said, throwing his hands up into the air. "It's like I don't even know you."

"Hey, if you'd spent two entire weeks in the hospital wing, lessons would start sounding damn appealing to you too," Harry chuckled, adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder.

Ron appeared to think about that for a moment before he shook his head. "Nah, you're still bonkers, mate."

By the time they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry was struggling to hide the fact that he was breathing hard. Beads of sweat started to form across his forehead, which he hurriedly wiped away with the sleeve of his robe. He couldn't recall the walk down to the Great Hall ever being that long and tiring. When they walked through the doors, Harry felt himself freeze when he noticed that dozens of eyes instantly turned to look in his direction. His first horrifying thought was that somehow everyone knew.

"No one knows, Harry," Ron assured him as if reading Harry's thoughts. "It's just people are bound to notice when the savior of the wizarding world is in hospital for two weeks."

Harry slowly let out a relieved breath and nodded his head. He couldn't stand the idea of everyone knowing, not yet anyway. He knew it'd eventually get out, but he wanted to delay that for as long as possible. The attention he'd get for it would be unbearable and he didn't even want to think of what it'd be like if the media got hold of that information.

'I've always dreamed of having my death bed surrounded by paparazzi.'

When the three of them sat at the table, Harry resisted the urge to lay his head down. He was suddenly very tired and his eyes felt heavy. Rubbing his hands over his face, he reached over to pour himself a cup of tea, thinking the caffeine would help perk him up a bit (it was also one of the few things he could actually stomach anymore). By now he was starting to think that staying in bed had probably been a good idea, but he didn't want to get an 'I told you so' lecture from Hermione. After gulping down the first cup in record time, he was in the process of pouring himself another one when Dean and Seamus sat down across from him.

"You're alive!" Seamus greeted cheerfully. "That must have been one nasty flu."

"Yeah, we were starting to think you were dying," Dean said jokingly.

Ron made a choking sound next to him and Hermione's face had gone slightly pale. Harry set his teacup down, an odd restricting feeling seizing hold of his chest. He tried to act normal, though, because Dean and Seamus were already giving them confused looks. Ron quickly went back to cutting up his sausage with more intent than necessary and Hermione pretended to search for something in her bag.

"Er, so what lessons do you have first?" Seamus asked, still giving the three of them curious looks.

"Charms," Harry answered, reaching over to grab the pitcher of milk to pour into his tea. The handle slipped right through his weak grip and the contents sloshed across the table, splattering the group of them with flecks of milk. Harry stared down at the mess he'd made, an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. He quickly fumbled for his wand but his hand was so shaky that he ended up dropping it with a clatter.

'Oh, really now?'

"Here, it's alright, Harry, let me help," Hermione said gently, taking out her wand and cleaning up the mess Harry had made. In the meantime, Ron had picked up his wand for him and was pressing it into his hand.

"You're getting almost as clumsy as Neville," Ron joked, trying to ease Harry's obvious embarrassment.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said with a sheepish smile. Hermione was now leaning over him, taking the initiative to prepare his tea for him. She poured in a generous amount of milk and added two teaspoons of sugar, exactly the way Harry liked it. For some reason, he felt himself getting oddly emotional over the fact that Hermione knew how he took his tea.

"You sure you're up for lessons today?" Dean asked, eyeing Harry. "You don't look too well."

"Yeah, you're really pale and shaky," Seamus agreed. "Maybe you're still a bit sick?"

"I'm alright, really, I just didn't get much sleep last night," Harry said, wiping his arm across his forehead again. He noticed that he was a bit warm and clammy, despite the fact that the rest of him was feeling quite cold. He'd had worse days than this, though, so he wasn't ready to give in and go back to the dorms just yet. A few lessons shouldn't be too hard to get through.

"If you're sure..." Seamus trailed off.

"Look, he said he's fine, just leave him alone," Ron said quite suddenly, his voice terse.

Seamus appeared taken aback by Ron's sudden mood change. Even Harry gave him a look of surprise, but he didn't say anything. Ron's entire body was stiff and he was gripping his fork so hard that his knuckles were turning white. It took Hermione gently laying her hand over the top of his for his grip to finally start relaxing and the tension to ease from his shoulders.

"You alright, there, Ron?" Dean asked, confused and concerned.

"Yeah, just, uh...gas," Ron said with a weak smile. Everyone at the table exchanged glances.

"A little too much information there, mate," Dean responded with a laugh.

The conversation fell into a light, casual chatter, but the entire time Harry found himself looking down at his lap. Fiddling with the hem of his robe sleeves, he couldn't stop thinking about how much he was putting Ron and Hermione through. He had a feeling this was hitting them much harder than it was him. They did their best to put on a brave front for him, but he knew them well enough to see through the cracks. They were hurting. A painful tugging sensation at his heart brought on the threat of tears, but he held them back.

Now was not the time to wallow in guilt. His friends needed him as much as he needed them.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and Harry looked up to see Ron trying to get his attention. Blinking a couple of times, the redhead's voice began to filter through and it took him a minute to catch up with what he was saying. He'd gotten so lost in thought that he hadn't realized his companions had already finished eating and were now standing.

"Harry? You ready to go to lessons?" Ron asked, furrowing his brows.

"Oh, yeah, hang on," Harry said, chugging down the rest of his nearly-cold tea before standing. It didn't escape his notice that Ron and Hermione were hovering rather close, appearing ready to catch him should he fall or something. Harry frowned and resisted the urge to tell them off for treating him like some helpless invalid.

"Were you able to finish Flitwicks assignment, Ron?" Hermione asked as they headed out of the Great Hall and towards the Charms classroom.

"I only got 10 inches written," Ron said with a groan. "Why can't you help me like you do Harry?"

"Because you're perfectly well enough to do your own homework," Hermione responded.

"And I'm not?" Harry asked, suddenly unable to hold back his annoyance. "It's not like I have cancer of the brain, you know. I can still do everything I could before."

Hermione looked at him and flushed a little. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that, Harry..."

"No, it's alright, I'm sorry," Harry said with a sigh. "Just a little on edge today, I suppose. I really do appreciate your help, Hermione."

"It's okay, we understand," Hermione said hurriedly, nodding her head. "You're going through a lot."

"Well, so are you two," Harry replied with a shrug. He didn't know why, but his mood had taken a rather sharp decline and it was taking all he had to fight it. "Anyway, let's go get our seats."

Almost everyone else had already arrived, leaving only a few vacant seats towards the back of the room. While Hermione and Ron went to sit down, Harry was suddenly pulled to the side by Professor Flitwick. At first, he thought he might be in trouble for something, but one look at the professor's face told him otherwise.

"I've been informed of your situation, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said, and Harry hated the pity in the man's eyes. "If you need to take breaks or leave, you may do so any time."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, forcing a smile. Inside, his heart was twanging with annoyance and frustration. Why couldn't everyone just treat him the same as before? Even though their sympathy came from a good place, it only served to continuously remind Harry that he was now 'that kid who's dying.'

When he made it over to Ron and Hermione, he sank down onto the seat between them and rubbed at his face.

"What did Flitwick want?" Ron questioned curiously. Harry sighed heavily and peeked at Ron through the cracks of his fingers.

"Basically, he told me if at any point I need to blow chunks, I'm free to run out," Harry said.

"So he knows, then?" Ron asked, eyebrows raising.

"The Headmistress must have informed all of the teachers," Hermione reasoned. "I know it's annoying, but it's only in your best interest."

"Everyone's certainly been all about my best interest lately, haven't they?" Harry said, dropping his Charms book down onto the table with a bit more force than necessary. Both Ron and Hermione flinched at the loud sound it made and Harry didn't fail to notice the look they shared with each other. "It's like everyone thinks I'm this fragile thing that needs help all the time."

"Now, Harry, I don't see why you're all worked up over this," Hermione said delicately—like she was trying to soothe a wild animal. "Everyone's just trying to help."

"Well, I don't want any of your help," Harry said louder than he meant to, which caught the attention of the three students sitting in front of them.

"Okay, Harry, okay," Ron placated, obviously not wanting Harry to get worked up.

In truth, Harry really was trying to calm himself down, because he knew he was being incredibly irrational and unfair. For some reason, though, no matter how much he tried to talk himself down, it did nothing to control the rapid beating of his heart nor the burn of anger in his chest. His head started rushing and he had to press his forehead into the palms of his hands. Barely a second later, there was a metallic taste in his mouth and he felt warm fluid running freely from his nose. Slapping his hand over his face, Harry felt the blood leaking between his fingers as it began dripping all over the desk.

He was on his feet in an instant, rushing out of the room with his hand covering his face in an attempt to keep anyone from seeing. Bursting through the classroom doors, he nearly bowled right into an unsuspecting student.

"Sorry," he muttered through his hand before hurrying around them and walking as fast as he could towards the prefect's bathroom. The regular bathrooms were closer, but Harry needed to be alone and away from prying eyes. As he was climbing the stairs, he stumbled into the wall a few times as dizziness threatened to push him backward. Gripping onto the banister with his spare hand, he willed himself to keep climbing and eventually made it to the fifth floor.

Practically barging into the prefect's bathroom, Harry stormed over to the sinks and flipped on the tap with more force than necessary. He immediately started splashing water onto his face, aggressively scrubbing at the blood that was still flowing out of his nose. By the time he was done, the water swirling around the drain was tinted pink. Bringing his head up, he grabbed a hand towel and pressed it to his face, looking into the mirrors.

His pale, sweaty reflection stared back at him. What startled him the most was the way his green eyes were practically blazing in anger. He stared into those eyes for a long time, watching the anger slowly fade into an empty sadness. There was a sudden hole in his chest where all of that anger had previously been and he fought the urge to break down. He hated seeing himself that way, it made him feel guilty because he knew that was how his friends saw him.

Bringing the towel away, Harry noticed that his nose had stopped bleeding, but the metallic taste in his mouth was still present. Confused, he leaned in closer to the mirror and opened his mouth to inspect it. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed bright red fluid all around his teeth, seeping through between them. Rubbing at his gums with a finger, Harry brought it back to see that, sure enough, it was covered in blood. Again, he felt the incessant burn of tears at the back of his eyes but he refused to let them form. He wouldn't cry; he wouldn't acknowledge that he was scared.

Cupping some water in his hand, he brought it to his mouth and swished it around, trying to rinse off the blood. When he spit it into the sink, it too was tinted a dull pink color. Running his tongue along his gums, he noticed that the taste of blood was no longer quite as prominent. When he looked at his reflection again, his fringe was dripping wet but his face was clean. He had washed away all signs of anything wrong, and he could almost pretend nothing was happening.

He just wished that were true.

xxxxx

Ron and Hermione found him in the bathroom a few hours later, sitting in one of the stalls with his head resting against the wall and his arms wrapped around his knees. After being hit with the most intense round of nausea he'd experienced yet, Harry had spent a good hour puking his guts out until he was literally too tired to keep going. Shaky and weak, he had fallen asleep right there in the stall.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice gently pulled him from his sleep. Opening his bleary eyes, he looked over to his two friends, who were crouching down beside him. He gave them a weak smile and sat up straighter, back and shoulders aching from sitting in such an uncomfortable place for so long.

"Hey," he said, his throat cracking. It felt sore and raw from vomiting so much.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, smiling too. "We know you're used to sleeping in cramped spaces and all, but this has got to be uncomfortable."

"Was too tired to move," Harry said, almost chuckling but the dryness in his throat stopped him from doing so. Hermione conjured a goblet of water for him, which he gratefully accepted. While he drank, she reached out and brushed some sweaty hair from his forehead, the touch of her warm fingers making him shiver a bit.

"I know it's the last thing you want to do right now," Hermione said as she dug around in her bag, "but when we went to check if you were in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey gave us your next round of potions to take."

Harry groaned and gave the bottle she pulled out a hateful glare. "Can't it wait until later?"

"You know it needs to be administered regularly," Hermione said with a sympathetic smile.

"We could always pretend I don't know that," Harry grumbled, but sighed and held his hand out for the potion obediently. When Hermione gave it to him, he just opened it and chugged it down as quickly as possible.

"I do not envy you right now," Ron said as Harry grimaced at the taste and drank down some water afterward.

"Do you want us to help you back to the dorms?" Hermione asked, gently rubbing her hand up and down his arm.

"I think I'm going to just stay here," Harry said, shaking his head. He could already feel his stomach churning from the potions, the nausea rising up far too quickly. "I don't think I should stray too far from a toilet."

"Well, then we'll stay here with you," Ron said, plopping himself down so he was sitting outside the stall.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I doubt the last thing you two want to do is spend an entire night in the bathroom."

"We're not going to leave you here alone," Ron said firmly, leaning his back against the stall to get comfortable. "Knowing you, you'll pass out with your head in the toilet and drown."

"Oh, right, yeah, that's how I'm going to go," Harry replied but he was laughing. "Forget the flu, that's the most headline-worthy death I've ever heard."

"Harry Potter, classy to the very end," Ron said with a grin.

"And about to get even classier," Harry groaned out, clutching at his stomach as it gave a particularly painful lurch. He hunched over the toilet again, the sounds of gagging echoing off the walls.

It was a solid three minutes of vomiting, with Harry clutching at the toilet in absolute agony while Hermione rubbed his back. She didn't seem to mind the disgustingly acidic stench of sick that was rapidly filling the bathroom, nor the sounds of the vomit splashing against water. It was the half-retching, half-sobbing sounds Harry was making that seemed to bother his friends the most. When he was finally finished, Harry flushed the toilet with shaky hands and nearly collapsed. Fortunately, Hermione and Ron both caught him by the arms and lowered him carefully back into a sitting position.

"Easy there, mate," Ron said, patting Harry on the knee. "You feel better?"

"Define 'better,'" Harry replied, breathing harshly and trembling uncontrollably.

"Okay, bad question," Ron laughed. "Hopefully you've stopped vomiting for a while, at least."

"I think my actual stomach almost came up that time," Harry said, gripping at the front of his uniform. "I don't even know what I'm puking up anymore, I haven't eaten in days."

"You really should try to get some food down," Hermione said, furrowing her brows in concern. "You won't get better if you're weak from hunger all the time."

"I would if I could, Hermione," Harry pointed out, closing his eyes. "My stomach just keeps rejecting everything."

"Maybe there are some foods that are easier to handle for cancer patients," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "I'll do some research on it."

"Great, she's turning my cancer into homework," Harry groaned. "Ron, stop her."

"Sorry, Harry, can't help you there," Ron said, holding his hands up. "Nothing gets in the way of Hermione and her research."

"Some friend you are," Harry said, resting his head back against the wall. "Remind me to get a new one."

"Too late, there's no returns on this friend," Ron said with a crooked smile. "You're stuck with me."

"It's true," Hermione nodded. "I haven't been able to get rid of him no matter how hard I've tried."

"Exactly, see-hey!" Ron looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "What do you mean you've tried?"

"Oh, don't worry, I gave up a while ago," Hermione grinned.

"You just think you're so funny, don't you?" Ron said, grabbing Hermione and giving her several big smooches on the face, which left the bushy-haired girl squirming and laughing as she tried to playfully push him away. Harry watched them from the corners of his eyes with a small smile on his face. It wasn't long before it faltered into a frown as a burning sensation began building in his stomach and pushing all the way up to his throat.

"Sorry to break up this love fest," Harry groaned as he rolled over to the toilet and started to violently heave again. This time there was a tint of red mingling with the strings of stomach acid and saliva hanging from his mouth, which made him realize that his gums were bleeding again. He used his tongue to try to clean off as much as possible so his friends wouldn't see it, not wanting to add to their list of worries.

"Thanks for that, Harry, that really added an extra touch of romance," Ron teased, still sitting with his arm around Hermione.

"Anything for my two best friends," Harry said with a tired smile and then let out a long sigh. "This is going to be a long night."

"How about a game of Exploding Snaps then?" Ron suggested, pulling out a deck from his satchel. "Just to pass the time."

"Well, it is my dying wish to see you without your eyebrows again," Harry responded, turning so he was facing the other two better.

"Okay, rule number one for the game," Ron said, holding up a finger as the cards began to shuffle. "No talking about dying."

"Rule number two," Harry continued over Ron, holding up two fingers. "The first one to lose their eyebrows has to buy a round of butterbeers next Hogsmeade trip."

"Sounds like a deal to me!" Hermione said cheerfully.

"Oi!"

Harry and Hermione laughed at Ron's indignant huffing and started the game. They spent the remainder of the night on the floor of the prefect's bathroom, playing games and joking around. Ron found a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in his bag, and they took turns daring each other to eat the most suspicious-looking ones. Harry and Hermione had laughed themselves to tears when Ron ended up eating a cockroach flavored one, while Harry ironically got a vomit flavored one ("Just what I wanted, the taste of more vomit in my mouth!"). Harry also won three rounds of Exploding Snaps despite having to pause every ten minutes to be sick, though fortunately, no one lost their eyebrows in the end. However, Harry suffered four spectacular defeats in a row against Ron when he brought his chess set out, while Hermione had only lost once. Ron insisted that Harry had to be the one to buy them all butterbeers now ("To make up for that shameful display").

By the time they had played all of the games Ron owned several times over, it was getting quite late and Harry was completely exhausted. His stomach was hurting and he could barely keep his eyes open from the fatigue. He did notice a curious absence of the anger and despair he had been feeling earlier that day, though, leaving him feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. Hermione tried to convince Harry that he needed to go back to the dorms to sleep, but he refused to move. His body was too tired and he had a feeling he was going to need the toilet again soon enough. She eventually gave in and conjured a bunch of squashy pillows and fluffy blankets for them.

"You really don't have to stay," Harry tried to argue.

"Do you think sleeping on the bathroom floor is the worst thing we've ever gone through with you?" Ron responded while fluffing one of his pillows and lying down. Harry couldn't argue against that.

Harry had somehow ended up in between Ron and Hermione, his body nestled in a cocoon of blankets. Sore and tired, he laid himself down and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. They didn't seem to have a thought or care about whether other people would venture into the bathroom, but if someone did, they would come across Ron and Hermione with their arms draped across Harry, their hands intertwined tightly as the three of them huddled close together.

Harry didn't have a single nightmare that night.