Chapter Nine

Harry awoke on a dreary November day, the rain pattering against the window while grey clouds rolled across the sky. Despite the heating charms cast throughout the castle, it still felt like the chill was able to penetrate through the walls. The dorm was completely empty save for himself; Ron never woke him on the weekends because 'he didn't have the heart to wake such an adorable sleeping angel.' In reality, it was because Ron knew he never slept well and wanted him to get as much rest as possible. It was a nice gesture and all, but sleeping through half his Saturdays was beginning to get annoying. He'd missed practically every Hogsmeade weekend so far that year.

Lying there on his side for a while, Harry just watched the rain make patterns down the window while the occasional flash of lightning lit up the sky, his groggy mind not yet making coherent thought. He was shivering underneath his heavy duvet and no matter how tightly he pulled it around him, he could not get warm. He sniffled and coughed into his hand, feeling his chest constrict tightly. He wondered if he was catching another cold and if he would need to go see Madam Pomfrey again for a cure. He was in the hospital wing more often than not these days, and Madam Pomfrey had already threatened more than once about making him a permanent resident there.

Sitting up and allowing the blankets to fall off of him, Harry placed his face in his hands and groaned. He was now 100% sure that he had a cold. He was getting really sick of those. Healer Camden hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd be getting ill a lot more frequently now. Glancing up at the window again, the rain was now beating relentlessly against the cold, grey sky. He shivered violently, feeling the cold practically seeping into his skin from where he sat. He really hoped that the weather would clear up soon because he didn't fancy playing the first Quidditch match of the season in that mess.

At that thought, Harry felt his stomach knot up with slight nervousness. It had been a long time since he had felt truly nervous over a match, but this time was a special case. Oddly, it was Ron who had pitched a proper fit over finding out that he was still intending to play despite his condition. It had taken at least an hour for Harry to argue him down. Hermione, despite also being wary about it, had been helpful in convincing Ron to let him play. ("We can't just force him to stop doing things, Ron," Hermione had reasoned).

It's not to say that Hermione didn't still worry, but she seemed to have calmed down quite a bit after some adjustment to the whole situation. She no longer tried to force Harry to do or not to do certain things, only making gentle suggestions instead. Harry figured it was because she was realizing he only had a couple more months left at best, and she wanted him to enjoy it as much as he could. Those kinds of thoughts always struck Harry hard, because it forced him into the harsh reality of his impending death (which was a topic he often refused to acknowledge). He was starting to realize just how many things he'd already done for the last time, which certainly gave a very strange and eerie perspective to his life. There was so much would never do again, and there wasn't enough time left in his life to make sure he could.

'Dreary thoughts for a dreary day,' Harry shook his head at himself.

Sliding off the bed, Harry started towards the bathroom but he instantly doubled over in pain, clutching at his hip. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry tried to breathe through the pain, his teeth grit together. The throbbing felt like a thousand tiny splinters all poking into his hip bone at once and it was rendering him immobile. He didn't know how long he had stood hunched over like that, but by the time he finally felt he could move again, he was covered in sweat and he felt drained of energy.

Moving a bit slow and shakily, Harry decided to skip the shower and simply get dressed. He put on a particularly heavy jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him, thinking it would help bring some warmth back into his freezing body. Conjuring some tissues and blowing his nose into them, Harry headed down to the common room. He was somewhat surprised to see Ron and Hermione were sitting there. He'd half expected them to be off doing something else with their Saturday. Then again, they'd effectively turned themselves into Harry's shadows and rarely did anything without him these days.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Ron said upon spotting Harry. Harry just rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Did you get enough sleep, Harry?" Hermione asked as he moved to sit down in one of the armchairs.

"Yeah, more than usual, actually," Harry replied, wrapping his arms around himself when his body continued to wrack with shivers. At noticing there was no fire going, Harry took out his wand and aimed an incendio at the fireplace. It roared to life and the heat spread throughout the room instantly, making Harry feel like he was sinking into a nice, warm bath.

"I made you some tea, Harry," Hermione caught his attention and Harry looked over to her. She was pushing a steaming cup of tea across the table towards him. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"I could kiss you, Hermione," Harry said, leaning over to take it. If anything, the warmth of it in his hands was better than actually drinking it.

"Hey, hey, you better keep your lips off my girl, Harry," Ron said in mock jealousy, drawing Hermione closer to him with one arm.

"Afraid she might like it too much and leave you?" Harry grinned. He didn't miss the way Hermione flushed terribly at that.

"Says the guy who made a girl cry with his kissing," Ron snorted.

"Hey! It wasn't my kissing that made her cry!" Harry defended, his cheeks getting a bit warm. "She just...happened to be crying while we kissed."

"Still not exactly an impressive track record with kissing girls," Ron said, reaching over to pat Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. "So, I have nothing to fear."

"My friends are against me, I swear," he muttered as he took a grumpy sip from his tea. Hermione must have cast a warming charm on it because it was still piping hot as it slid down his throat. At that moment, he was certain he'd never tasted anything so divine in his life. Tea had quickly become Harry's best friend since getting ill and it was something he indulged in several times a day; most likely because it was one of the few things that didn't make him want to vomit.

"How are you feeling today?" Hermione treaded the question lightly. It was something Harry was asked at least ten times a day and it was never certain when it would set him off into one of his 'moods.' Fortunately, Harry was in a complacent mood that day.

"Not too bad," Harry half lied. He wouldn't exactly call today an amazing day, but he'd certainly experienced worse. "Just got a bit of a cold. I'll see Pomfrey about it before the game."

"Right, about the game-"

"Hermione, I thought we already settled this," Harry sighed with frustration. "I'm going to play, alright? I'll be fine."

"I know, I know," Hermione appeased before Harry's temper could rise. "I was just going to suggest a few precautions."

"Oh," Harry laughed awkwardly. "What kind of precautions?"

"Well, from the looks of it, it's going to be raining during the game," Hermione started, flicking her gaze out the window for a second. "I was thinking of casting a heating charm on you so you don't get ill."

"Is that allowed?" Ron asked curiously. "I mean, I guess it's not exactly cheating, is it?"

"The rules on using charms during Quidditch matches are a bit vague," Hermione replied, "but it's not like it's giving Harry an advantage or hindering the other team in any way. I cleared it with Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall to be sure."

"Think you can case one of those on me as well, then?" Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "A little rain won't do you any harm, Ron."

"Fine, but if I catch a cold so horrible that it kills me, just know it's your fault," Ron huffed.

"Oh, alright, you big drama queen," Hermione sighed.

Ron beamed. "I knew there was a reason I was dating you."

"For my extensive knowledge of useful spells to help you play Quidditch?" Hermione arched a brow.

"Basically-ow!" Ron rubbed the back of his head where Hermione had swatted him. Harry just snorted into his tea, averting his eyes to the ceiling when Ron sent a glare his way.

"Anyway, Harry, don't you think you should head down to the infirmary?" Hermione turned to him. "You'll have to start getting ready for the game soon."

Harry nodded, downing the rest of his still-hot tea. He didn't know why he didn't use that heating charm more often himself. It was insanely useful. "Yeah, I'll go now."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Ron asked, already making to get out of his seat. Harry stopped him with a wave of his hand, though.

"No, it's alright. I think I can handle this one on my own," Harry said. "I'll see you in the locker room."

"Alright, but if I find out you've skived off going to the infirmary, you're going to get it," Hermione warned, half-joking, half-serious.

"Trust me, Hermione, I don't want to have this cold during the game," Harry assured her with a laugh. This seemed to placate Hermione.

"Alright, see you in a bit, then."

"See you in a bit."

xxxxx

After going over the game plan once more, and giving a quick pep talk, Harry led his team out onto the Quidditch pitch. The rain was coming down harder than ever, the clouds so dense that it almost appeared to be night time. Despite his Quidditch robes soaking through instantly, Harry only felt a pleasant warmth radiating throughout his body, thanks to Hermione's heating charm. That combined with the Pepper Up potion Pomfrey had given him, Harry now was actually feeling pretty confident about the game.

The Slytherins were already out on the pitch, most of them appearing quite disgruntled and surly as usual. Besides their captain, Urquhart, the Slytherin team was comprised of completely new team members—many of the previous ones still in hiding due to the whole 'affiliating with Death Eaters' thing. The Slytherin house as a whole had suffered quite a loss, their numbers extremely small compared to the rest of the houses. Most had chosen simply not to return to Hogwarts after the battle.

After shaking hands with Urquhart, they all mounted their brooms and waited as the Bludgers and the snitch were released first. They zoomed off in varying directions, practically disappearing into the misty atmosphere. As soon as the whistle sounded and the Quaffle was thrown into the air, they were off. The sound of the crowd was completely drowned out by the roar of the rain and wind in Harry's ears as he shot high into the sky. His surroundings were a blur of green and red as the players zipped around him, the downpour making it almost impossible to see anything, let alone a tiny golden snitch. In regards to a promise he'd made to Hermione to take it easy, he remained hovering high near the stands for a majority of the first twenty minutes, eyes darting around in an attempt to spot the snitch from there. However, he was forced to loop back when a Bludger came soaring in his direction, very nearly colliding with the tail end of his broom.

Changing locations, Harry looked up in time to see Ginny throw the Quaffle through the Slytherin's goal post. Yes! He pumped his fist into the air triumphantly and grinned. They were already off to a good start. The Slytherin's new team seemed to be a bit inexperienced and lacked the skills the Gryffindor team had. The only ones with any competency seemed to be Urquhart and their new seeker, who was quite agile and quick.

Harry was suddenly jostled when another player nearly rammed straight into him, and he managed to avoid it just barely enough so only their shoulders collided. He was sent veering off to the side, body nearly toppling right off of his broom. Gripping his broom hard, Harry straightened out and pulled himself to a stop, panting hard. His vision suddenly went double and he blinked rapidly, not understanding why he suddenly felt so dizzy and disoriented. He didn't think the Slytherin player had hit him that hard.

In an attempt to clear his head, he flew off, ignoring how badly his body was trembling. He'd almost caused three more collisions as he wound through the tangle of players, his uncooperative eyesight making it difficult to see them clearly. After very nearly flying head-on into Dean, Harry decided to move higher so he was out of the way of everyone else. Now hovering far above the pitch, Harry was able to look down at the entire game from this vantage point. To him, it looked like the entire pitch was swirling, and just watching it was making him so dizzy that he had to hyper-focus on the simple act of staying upright on his broom.

The rational part of his mind told him he needed to call a time out or forfeit the game because he clearly wasn't doing so well. However, he was afraid if he did that, McGonagall would think he couldn't handle playing Quidditch and would pull him from the team. With that in mind, Harry pushed through the discomfort and continued to search for the snitch. He figured if he limited his movements as much as possible, the dizziness would eventually pass.

When he finally spotted something fluttering in the distance, Harry surged forward in hot pursuit, closing in on it fast. 'Almost there. Just a bit more!' Eyes blurring again, Harry ended up snatching at nothing but air, the snitch flying several inches away from his hand. He made another grab for it but it zipped off in the completely opposite direction.

Cursing in frustration, Harry zoomed after it, wiping the rain on his face away furiously. It was when he pulled his hand back that he realized, a bit too late, that the wetness was not entirely from the rain, but from the blood profusely pouring out of his nose. He stared at his blood-soaked glove, feeling a bit light-headed all of a sudden. 'Oh...that's not good..." His vision swam, his breathing echoing far too loudly in his own ears to be normal. Suddenly swaying on his broom, Harry was vaguely aware of someone screaming his name, though he was confused as to why that would be. He only barely registered his body sliding off the broom before he plummeted to the ground, already unconscious.

xxxxx

When he came into consciousness, he heard a set of voices whispering around him, his mind too muddled to figure out who they belonged to. But when he opened his eyes, he was suddenly struck with cold fear—seeing a dark figure looming directly over him. He released a strangled yell and threw his arm out to protect himself, attempting to roll away from the figure. He was caught by a pair of cold hands that pinned down to the bed. Struggling ineffectually, Harry saw more figures standing around him, all staring at him with their featureless, terrifying faces. Yet, from beneath a dark cloak, he could make out a pair of glowing, red eyes staring down at him. Harry screamed.

"Harry!"

"HARRY!"

Harry jolted violently, adrenaline searing through his veins as he continued thrashing and screaming, doing everything he could to get his assailant off of him.

"Do something before he hurts himself!"

He felt someone grab onto him, pinning his arms down to his side to keep him from struggling further.

"Let go!" he yelled in panic.

"Harry, stop! It's alright! No one's going to hurt you, I promise."

The voice was familiar...pulling him out of the fog of panic. He blinked several times, the dark visage gradually disappearing until he was looking into warm, blue eyes and a freckled face.

"Ron..." Harry croaked out in recognition.

"Yeah, mate," Ron replied. "It's me. You were just dreaming again."

"I thought you were-"

"I know. I know, it's okay," Ron said in understanding, slowly releasing his tight grip on Harry. "I don't know why, though; I mean, I at least have a nose."

Harry half-laughed, half-sobbed in response.

For the first time since waking, he registered that he had somehow ended up on the floor. The struggle had been a particularly violent one judging by the state of the hospital wing, which had bedding, pillows, and other medical equipment strewn about wildly. Hermione was there, her chin trembling in an obvious effort not to cry. Pomfrey and McGonagall came to his attention last, both of whom were standing off to the side. With horror and shame, Harry realized that they had witnessed the entire thing.

"What happened?" he finally dared to ask, not remembering how he'd ended up in the hospital wing in the first place.

"You don't remember?" Hermione asked him, eyebrows raising. "You fell off your broom during the Quidditch match."

"Did I?" Harry frowned. He recalled chasing after the snitch—after that, it all became an incomprehensible blur.

"You started to sway and then you just dropped like a rock," Ron explained, his voice shaking a bit. "You're bloody lucky Dean was so close by. He managed to catch you."

"Does that mean we lost?" Harry asked, his stomach sinking. He couldn't believe he'd botched up the very first match of the season.

"You find out you nearly died and you're more concerned about the match." Ron gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah, we had to forfeit the game, obviously. Lucky for the Slytherins too because they were getting creamed before that."

Harry groaned and put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Ron waved off Harry's concern. "We've got plenty of other games."

"Yes, about that," McGonagall finally spoke up, stepping forward. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull you from the team, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head jerked up at that and his eyes went wide. "What? No, you can't, Professor! Please!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but it's clear that you are not fit to play," McGonagall said firmly, though her eyes had softened in sympathy. "It's for your own safety. Goodness knows, I should have never allowed you to play in the first place but you insisted you were in good enough health."

"But I-"

"You will not argue with me on this, Potter."

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione for help, but they were both looking back at him with pure worry on their faces. He averted his eyes down so he didn't have to see those expressions anymore. Pressing his lips together, he nodded wordlessly in reluctant agreement. On the inside, however, he was completely devastated. One of the few things that he still truly and genuinely enjoyed was being stripped away from him. It was so unfair and he felt so cheated out of life that tears of frustration began to brim in his eyes.

"As for your lessons, we feel it's in your best interest to take the next week or so off," McGonagall continued. "Both Madam Pomfrey and Healer Camden are worried the continued stress might have a negative impact on your health."

"But what about NEWTs?" Harry demanded.

Everyone exchanged glances at that, and Harry knew what they were all thinking. They were thinking he was too weak and fragile to handle the 'stress' of studying for them. They were thinking there was no point because he wasn't even going to be there to take the exams. Gritting his teeth, Harry felt anger stirring in his chest and his hands balled at his sides.

"So, is that it then? I'm just the dying kid now?" he said, his voice rising. "No point in doing anything because it's not long before I croak, isn't that right?"

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall said sharply, her expression a cross between horror and shock. "That is not what any of us said and you know it. You need to calm yourself."

"No!" Harry said, his chest rising and falling fast with his rapidly building anger. "It's all of you who need to back off! I'm tired of being treated like I'm going to break apart at the simplest thing! I've had so much taken away from me already but, of course, that's not enough, is it? I'm having my entire life taken away right before my eyes!"

The tears were falling unabated now, and he was breathing so fast that he became dizzy and felt like he was going to puke.

"Harry-"

"Just leave me alone!" Harry yelled, struggling to stand. He had to get away from everyone.

As soon as he was on his feet, the ground tilted from under him and he very nearly tipped over. Ron was at his side in an instant but Harry just violently wrenched himself out of his grip and leaned against the wall for support. He was breathing hard and his nose was bleeding again but he was so angry that he didn't care. He wiped the blood away furiously, making a point to keep his gaze averted from the others in the room. They were all shocked into silence, clearly uncertain of what to do. After a while, though, they seemingly gave in, because he heard a few soft sighs and the sound of retreating footsteps.

When the door closed behind them, Harry finally looked over his shoulder and saw that everyone had gone except for Madam Pomfrey. She didn't say anything, though, just went about tidying up his bed for him. When she was finished, she gave him an encouraging, but sad, smile before walking into the backroom to give him privacy. When the pressing silence of the empty infirmary fell around him, Harry felt truly and utterly alone. The anger was still there, but it was now mixed with a painful, unbearable depression. He sat down on his bed and hunched over, burying his face into his hands.

'Why is everything so messed up right now?'

The silence was the only response.