Chapter Two: In Sickness and In Health
You can’t start a fire without a spark
But there’s something that I guarantee
You can’t hide when infection starts
Because love is a social disease.
-Bon Jovi
The sound that escaped from his mouth could only be described as noise. If one did try, however, to describe it, one might say it rather resembled gargling. Blinking required an astonishing amount of effort, and Harry could vaguely tell that a redhead was looking down at him with a look of inexpressible pity.
“How you feeling, mate?” Ron asked.
“Lishat,” Harry uttered. He didn’t even have the strength to sound gall. He felt his nose tickle and raised his hands. “A…Ah…Achoo!”
His head jerked violently, but he managed to cover his face in time. He looked at his hands with disgust.
“Mmm,” Ron said sympathetically as he handed his best friend several tissues.
“Han qu,” Harry muttered as he cleaned his hands and handed the tissue back to Ron.
“Er “ no problem,” Ron replied with one raised eyebrow before he hastily threw it away and rubbed his hands nervously against another cloth.
“Hoz inn…?” Harry asked, shifting slightly in his bed. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable at all. The blanket burned against his heated skin, but without the blanket the chilly air made him shudder.
“Come again?” Ron’s expression turned mystified.
“Ho“ez Ginn?” he repeated slowly with labored effort.
“Ginny? She’s just as sick as you.” Ron shook his head in disbelief. “You two should have known better than to stay in wet clothes for so long.”
“Gonuty,” Harry protested weakly.
“Yes, yes,” Ron consented. “Get some rest now, okay?”
“Mnfay…”
Harry gratefully closed his weary emerald eyes as he hazily heard Ron leave the room. He felt horrible, and that was an understatement. But the one good thing about this illness was the quiet. Ron and Hermione had ceased their bickering because Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t stand for it when Harry and Ginny were sick. The potion Mrs. Weasley had given him was beginning to work, and he blurrily wondered if the potion served like a Muggle pill. Like Tylenol. Whenever he used to get sick at the Dursleys’, they would shove him back into his cupboard, terrified that his illness would contaminate them “ as if his cold could do more damage than a normal cold. He would have to pick the locks through his fever and sneak to the kitchen cupboard as noiselessly as possible in hopes of finding any medicine. Once he failed to do so and he wasn’t even granted food that day. Needless to say, he didn’t get well quickly. But this. This was different…He did feel awful that he was sick, but in a way it wasn’t so bad… The extra cot in Ron’s room was comfortable (at least considerably softer compared to the cupboard) and he didn’t exactly mind Mrs. Weasley’s fussing. It was…rather nice…
“ACHOO!” he sneezed with such force that it felt as if he had just sneezed some of his brain away. He sure felt as if he couldn’t think properly. He sniffed loudly and his hand feebly searched his bedside table for a tissue. His fingers found what they had been looking for, and he blew his nose loudly before throwing the soiled balled tissue onto the pile of other used tissues. He rubbed his stuffy red nose with irritation. He took it back. Being sick was terrible.
The thoughts in his mind swam uncontrollably. Perhaps he and Ginny should have changed their clothes after their little water fight…but it hadn’t seemed like it would do any harm if they kept them on at the time. In fact, it almost seemed like a good idea to leave them as they were…! After all, Ginny hadn’t been complaining. And he certainly had not been either. He could still picture her: her pale shirt plastered to her damp skin…her long hair that had turned almost burgundy because it was wet “ and how the tips of her tresses curled toward her body naturally…and how the drops of clear water trickled down her pale skin…
Absently he pressed his sweaty hand against his face. His forehead felt feverishly hot, even to his own already burning hands. He licked his dry lips with what little moisture was left in his parched mouth. He pressed his flushed cheeks against his pillow in hopes of soothing his blazing skin. He considered moving in yet another attempt to get comfortable, but thought perhaps it was better to just lay still.
While his body didn’t move, his mind continued to reel madly. Several faded images flashed in his mind…floating books…singing toads…talking hats…before he found himself in Hogwarts again, wearing his old green dress robes. He was dancing now, surrounded by a pale white mist that seemed to have a mysterious luster. It was the Yule Ball all over again he realized as he saw the silver decorated walls and artificially falling snow above him, except this time Cho was in his arms rather than Parvati. Her black hair lightly swayed against his hands on her slim waist and she was looking up at him with her wide, blue eyes. She was beautiful in her silver dress. She sighed happily and rested her head against his chest. He shifted uneasily.
“This is so perfect, Harry,” she murmured.
His brows knitted as he tried to think of something to say. This had undoubtedly been his most fervent wish in his fourth year but the strange thing was that he wasn’t the least bit happy now that it had come true. Being here reminded him of how their relationship had fallen apart a few months ago. In fact he felt uncomfortable and was earnestly looking about, in hope of seeing something…but what? Futilely, he searched the crowd of glittering and swirling people with chagrin.
“Harry?” Cho’s voice said, sounding far away. It echoed around him. “Harry…Harry…Harry…?”
He was floating through darkness now, her voice still resounding in his ears. He slowly landed on his feet and looked about him. He was surrounded by blackness, but it seemed as if there was spotlight on him. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, another spotlight turned on.
There, in the center of the white light sat a considerably large black dog. His eyes calmly observed Harry as his tail wagged ever so slightly. Harry felt the emotion well up inside him at the familiar animal.
“Sirius…”
The dog seemed to smile sadly at him before it twitched, as if hearing something. Then it stood, turned, and began to run the opposite direction of Harry. A sharp stab of panic pierced through him. His legs moved before he thought of moving them. They raced after his beloved godfather, but with each step they seemed to gain more weight. Desperately, he pushed onward.
“Sirius!” Harry screamed, sweat pouring down his face. The dog turned to glance back at him. “Sirius, don’t go!”
Just as he reached the dog and extended his arms to hold it, it morphed and Harry smelled the familiar scent of sweet flowers as white arms embraced him. Red hair danced around him and caressed his skin. He closed his eyes and hung on. For one moment...he felt peace. When he opened them again, seconds later, he saw a small smile before he was suddenly only holding small flower petals that dispersed around him.
“No…no, no!” he cried as his hands unsuccessfully tried to catch the scattering petals.
Harry woke up with a jolt, hardly being able to gasp for precious air. His chest was tightly constricted, as if there was a force pulsing painfully inside him. Terrified, his hands clawed at the blankets around him as he struggled to take in several mouthfuls of air. Finally, after what seemed like hours, his breathing steadied and the pressure loosened its hold on him. He collapsed in a shaking and sweaty mess on the bed.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark blue room. He had, it seemed, fallen asleep for quite some time… Unsteadily, he ran his hand over his black hair, feeling his lightening-bolt shaped scar. What a very odd dream… He let out a long breath in hopes of soothing his nerves. He nearly jumped out of bed when he heard soft moaning beside him.
His reflexes, even in this sick state, caused him to turn toward the sound and automatically search for his wand, but his movements screeched to a halt and he inhaled sharply at the sight he saw. In Ron’s bed was a small, curled figure. Long, crimson hair curled around a pale face, which glistened with beads of sweat. Her teeth chattered against each other and her hands clasped and unclasped themselves as she shivered. He then realized that her body was exposed to the cold air since her red covers had slipped to the floor.
Not knowing what he was doing, Harry stumbled out of his cot to Ginny with his blanket around his shoulders. Fumbling, he lifted the red blanket from the floor and covered her shaking body. When his fingers graced her arm, however, she began to violently jerk and her breath came in fast, large gasps. He was so alarmed that his vision blurred. Forcing his mind to focus, he tried to remember what was the right thing to do in a situation like this. The downfall from trying to focus was that his mind rebelled and did the exact opposite. The only images that swam about in his aching head looked like a banana and a pineapple…dancing…? Meanwhile his hands took a mind of their own and turned her over onto her back before one pressed against her damp forehead. She was burning up, perhaps even more than he was. Not that he knew how hot he was…
“Shh,” he half whispered, half muttered to her as he slipped to his knees. If he wasn’t in such a state of mind, he might have thought of calling for Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. As it was, he couldn’t think of doing such a thing. The banana had turned into a dog and the pineapple was still dancing, but the dog bit the head off of the pineapple. Fuzzily, he reached under her covers and took her cold and sweaty hand into his. She was still shaking.
“Isn ka, Ginn.” He sniffed hard and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. “I’m here.”
Gradually her breathing slowed to a steadier tempo and the shivering ceased. Harry smiled woozily and pressed their joint hands against his hot forehead, feeling his head begin to whirl again as his vision slipped back into the darkness. He rose to totter his way back to his bed but Ginny’s hand suddenly tightened on his and she let out a small moan of objection.
The dark room was positively spiraling now with various bright colors so he did the only thing he could manage to. He numbly tumbled onto the bed next to Ginny. Their bodies faced one another unknowingly, and their warm hands held firm underneath the covers. One last thought trailed through his ailing head before he drifted once again to a more peaceful sleep.
Being sick really wasn’t so bad.
Naru-chan: I hoped you liked this chapter! I particularly had tons of fun writing Harry as sick. I loved his sick ridden head...I've never written something like this before...so I hope I did a decent job. I did like the dancing fruit I added to his head.
Sorry for the long wait! To be honest...er, I hadn't realized that this story had been validated. ^^; I've tried many times to upload something here, but, er, unsuccessfully. I didn't think this story would be different...
Now that my ranting is done...reviews are always nice you know. ^^ Thanks!
Sweet Days of Summer by NaruKoibito
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.