I am NOT sick!

I am NOT sick!

Author’s Note: Hey there, everybody, I’ve got a story waiting in the wings, all ready for uploading, except I have no title. So I figured I’d drop this in here for you to enjoy until I can figure out a good title. I actually managed to write this in one sitting, I think (rarely happens, but this time, it just worked). I have who knows how many stories in the process of being written, but not many of those will see the light of day, unfortunately. I’ll do what I can to get most of them done, though. So anyway, enjoy!

Harry sat in the common room, waiting for Ron and Hermione to come down for breakfast. He had been exhausted the night before, so he had turned in almost right after dinner. He then woke up an hour earlier than usual, and was completely unable to coax himself back to sleep. He had done a lot of thinking since he woke up, mostly about Hermione. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for days.

Harry checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time, and finally, he heard noises coming from the stairs to the girl’s dormitories. Hoping it was Hermione, Harry stood up to get a better angle, to hopefully see up the stairs.

Sure enough, it was Hermione, but she looked horrible. She was pale, she had bags under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and her clothes looked like they had just been thrown on. Hermione was never one to worry too much about her appearance, but she always looked presentable.

“Hermione,” he said, rushing to her side. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t sleep well at all last night,” she said, yawning. “I kept tossing and turning. I just couldn’t get comfortable.”

“Are you getting sick?”

“Don’t be absurd.” She waved him off. “I don’t get sick.” Harry raised an eyebrow at this, but Hermione didn’t even notice.

“Hermione, you’re only human. People get sick sometimes.”

“I’ll be fine, Harry. I just need sleep. You’ll see, I’ll sleep better tonight, and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to get through today first.” Harry guided her over to the couch, but called no attention to that fact, for fear she’d insist she was fine and reject his help. He had serious doubts about her health.

“After I get some food in me I should be okay.” She sat down on the couch, and Harry leaned her back onto his shoulder. She started coughing violently, and sat up.

“Hermione, you’re sick. There’s no shame in it.”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she snapped. “Now stop trying to convince me I’m sick and just let me sit here in peace.”

A little while later, Ron came down and sat in the nearby chair.

“Geez, Hermione, you look terrible,” he said, looking concerned.

“Gee, thanks Ron,” shot Hermione sarcastically. “You always know just what to say to a girl, don’t you?”

“You look like you’re coming down with something,” said Ron as if he hadn’t even heard Hermione.

“Why does everybody think I’m sick?” Hermione threw up her arms in exhasperation.

“Have you seen yourself today?” Ron looked incredulous, but shut up after Hermione shot him a glare that clearly said she wanted to hex him across the room. If looks could kill, Ron’s funeral would have been in a week.

The trio sat in silence for awhile, until Hermione decided it was time to go to breakfast, and tried to stand up, rather unsuccessfully. Finally, she accepted Harry’s help, but still refused to admit to even the possibility that she could be getting sick, but rather insisted she was a little unstable from having not slept well.

When they got down to the Great Hall, and sat on the bench, Ron immediately tucked into the food that appeared before them. Hermione, however, merely poked at her food, looking thoroughly disinterested in what was sitting on her plate.

“Hermione, you need to eat,” insisted Harry, but Hermione just ignored him. When he pressed the point, she threw down her fork and stood up abruptly. Harry was amazed that she could even stand at all, considering that she looked even worse than she did when she first came down the stairs.

“Harry, I’m fine. I wish you would just stop it. I have never gotten sick in my entire life, and I’m not sick now. I think I would know if I was sick, wouldn’t you?” Harry said nothing, but clearly did not believe her. “I’m going to the library until class starts.”

Harry put down his fork.

“I’m coming with you,” he said in no uncertain terms, in a tone that clearly stated he was going whether Hermione wanted him to come or not.

“Only if you stop trying to convince me I’m sick,” she snapped angrily, and turned on her heel, storming out of the Great Hall.

Harry followed close behind her, and he noticed that as they continued, Hermione was slowing down. Her expression was also softening. Finally, she turned to Harry, a worried frown on her face.

“Harry, I don’t feel so good,” she said, and promptly fainted. It was only the reflexes Harry had developed as Seeker that enabled him to catch her before she hit the ground.

Lowering her to the floor softly, he tried to rouse her, but she would not wake up. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he nearly panicked. Getting his head back, he picked Hermione up and began running to the hospital wing.

Reaching the hospital wing, he had no hands free, from carrying Hermione the entire way, and simply kicked the door open. Madame Pomfrey came running, to see what had caused the disturbance, but did not chastise Harry for making noise when she saw Hermione in his arms. Motioning for him to bring Hermione over to a bed, she asked him what had happened. Harry told the whole story while Madame Pomfrey examined Hermione.

“Has she been showing signs of being sick for very long?”

“Not very. I mean, she’s been tired for a couple of days, but I just figured she was overworking herself again.”

“And you didn’t bring her in before now? Why not?”

“She’s been okay in the past. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“No, Mister Potter, the fact is, you didn’t think. And neither did Miss Granger.” She turned to Harry. “Miss Granger has Potions Sickness. This happens when a person who works around potions on a regular basis gets sick, and the potion fumes mutate the sickness into something else. I imagine Miss Granger simply had a common cold, but it has now become quite serious.” She tried to shoo Harry away, but he refused to leave.

“She needs me,” he insisted. “I’ll do anything you want to help, but I am not leaving.”

“All that can be done is to give her a couple of potions which I will now brew, and to wait. There is nothing you can do here, Mister Potter, and I would thank you not to take that tone with me.” She turned and went into her office, leaving Harry beside Hermione’s bed.

Harry sat on Hermione’s bed and brushed her hair out of her face.

“Please wake up, Hermione,” he said softly. “I need you.” He took her hand in his, amazed at how small it seemed. He squeezed her hand gently.

A few minutes later, Madame Pomfrey returned, and shooed Harry off the bed. Finally accepting Harry’s help, she gave Hermione the potions she had brewed, and once again tried to get Harry to leave.

“With all due respect, Madame Pomfrey, I can’t leave her.”

“She’s in perfectly good hands here, Mister Potter. You must go. You have classes, and I must tend to my patients. I cannot have you here when you should be in class.”

“I’m not going to classes today,” replied Harry calmly, as if it was the simplest solution in the world. “I’ll catch up later. And I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.”

“Mister Potter, if you do not leave, I will be forced to call the Headmaster.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugged. He felt confident that he could convince Professor Dumbledore to let him stay with Hermione.

Madame Pomfrey stalked into her office, and apparently did just that, because Professor Dumbledore followed her out of her office when she emerged. Professor Dumbledore asked if he could speak with Harry alone, and, grudgingly, Madame Pomfrey agreed, and went back into her office.

“Now then, Harry,” he said, looking over his half-moon spectacles. “I understand you do not wish to leave Miss Granger and go to class.” Harry nodded. “Would it make any difference to tell you that Miss Granger is in perfectly good hands here?”

“Not really, sir,” replied Harry, shaking his head. “I have to stay with her here. I can’t leave her.”

“Your devotion is quite admirable, Harry, but I would prefer you went to your classes today.”

“Professor, even if I went to my classes, they wouldn’t do me any good. The fact is, I’m not going to be able to think of anything other than Hermione. I’m not going to learn anything today, I’m sure of this, and my inability to focus can only hurt Gryffindor.” He stroked Hermione’s hand in small circles with his thumb. “I need to stay here with her, sir. Surely you understand.”

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, Harry, I do understand. I will try to convince Madame Pomfrey to allow you to stay, but I must have your word that you will stay quiet, and out of her way, and that you will do as she asks you.”

“I promise,” Harry said, nodding.

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “I will do my best.” He disappeared into Madame Pomfrey’s office, and emerged a few minutes later.

“Can I stay?” Dumbledore nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

True to his word, Harry stayed very quiet, although Madame Pomfrey did allow him to talk to Hermione, if he talked softly. He never left Hermione’s side.

Ron did come and visit during lunch and after dinner, but he seemed very uncomfortable, and didn’t stay for long.

Harry was forced to leave late that night, when Madame Pomfrey insisted that visiting hours were over, and there would be no exceptions for that.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said softly, before he left, and kissed her on the forehead.

Luckily, that day had been Friday, so Harry could return over the weekend, and stay by Hermione’s bed. He didn’t leave her side at all Saturday, and Ron brought up meals for him, and stayed for a little while longer, although it was very clear that he would much rather have been somewhere else.

Come Sunday, Harry was getting more and more concerned. Hermione was still showing no change, and all Madame Pomfrey seemed able to do was tell him to wait. Harry had not been sleeping well, as all he could think about was Hermione, and the stress of worrying about her was keeping him up, and making whatever sleep he was getting fitful, and he was starting to look rather badly himself.

“Please, Hermione,” he pleaded with her softly. “I need you here with me. I don’t think I have the strength to go on without you. You’ve always been there for me, but I never realized just how much I needed you until now. You have to pull out of this, Hermione. Please…I…I love you, Hermione.” Leaning forward onto the bed from his chair, Hermione’s hand in his, Harry fell asleep.

A couple of hours later, he awoke, hoping to see Hermione looking down at him, but her eyes were still closed. She hadn’t even moved. Harry began stroking the back of her hand with his thumb again, when it moved. Her hand tightened around his ever so slightly, and Harry’s heart began to race.

“Hermione?” A wild burst of elation rushed through him as she opened her eyes.

“I think you’re right, Harry,” she whispered. “I think I was sick.” Harry smiled as he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

“I promise,” she said weakly. A lone tear ran down her face. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through,” she sniffed. “I couldn’t move, I couldn’t say anything, but I could hear everything.” Clenching her hand around Harry’s, she smiled. “Hearing your voice kept me hoping, hoping that I’d be able to come back to you.”

“You heard everything?”

“Everything.” Hermione nodded, smiling. She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. “I love you too, Harry.”