Hermione Granger, Florence Nightingale
Author's Note: So yeah, I finally came up with a title for this story. It's taken me weeks to do so, but here we are! I did it! I can't tell you how many chapters this will be, but the chapters should be a good length. I'd love to tell you I can post the next chapter soon, but I've got lots of editing to do, not to mention college in general. Classes can be pesty like that. They tend to want you to do work. So before I go to bed tonight, I post this, I offer this to my wonderful readers. I'd like to say I can post the next chapter sometime this weekend, but I can make no guarantees. It should probably (I hope) be up by some time mid-next week at the latest. So in the meantime, enjoy the first chapter please, 'cause if you enjoy it, I'll be happy!
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Harry Potter was sick. He didn't know what he had, but he knew that no help was going to come from the Dursleys. He was about to send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione, asking for help, but he knew that the Dursleys would never let him bring either of them to the house.
"Hedwig," he said, opening her cage. "Go stay with Ron for awhile." He quickly scrawled out a note telling Ron that Hedwig needed some rest, and would probably benefit from spending some time out of the suburbs. Hedwig flew away, however reluctantly.
Harry gathered his belongings slowly, so as not to over-exert himself, and prepared to sneak out.
Under cover of darkness, Harry somehow managed to get out of the house without making enough noise to wake any of the Dursleys. Once he reached the curb, he sat down on his trunk and stuck out his wand.
The Knight Bus came screeching out of the night, and stopped on a dime by Harry. Stan Shunpike pulled Harry's trunk aboard just after he pulled Harry aboard.
"You're not lookin' too good there," he said. "Mebbe we should oughta take you to St. Mungo's, eh?"
"No," said Harry weakly. "I need you to take me to the Granger residence. I don't know where it is, but that's where I need to be."
"No sweat, pally," said Stan, clapping Harry on the back. "We'll have you there in no time flat. In the meantime, just take a rest there on the bed." Harry sat down on the bed and fell backwards onto the pillow. In no time flat he was dead asleep.
"Hey there," said Stan as the Knight Bus screeched to a halt. "Wake up. This is the Granger residence." The sun shone dreamily through the curtains of the Knight Bus, and Harry bolted upright.
"It's morning?" He looked around, confused, and greatly regretting having sat up so quickly. His stomach threatened to leap up through his throat and throttle his brain, but he was able to fight it back down.
"We've been here three times already," said Stan, helping Harry stand up. "This is the first time I've been able to wake you up." Stan eyed Harry suspiciously. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'll be fine," said Harry. "Just help me off. I'll take it from there."
"Okay, you're the boss." Stan unloaded Harry's trunk, and helped Harry down off the bus. With a loud bang, the Knight Bus was gone, and Harry sat in front of Hermione's house on his trunk.
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Slowly but surely, Harry dragged his trunk up to the doorstep. Leaning on his trunk, Harry rang the doorbell. He sat down on his trunk wearily, and hoped he had made the right decision. He knew that if anybody could help him, it would be Hermione, and there wouldn't be any kind of media sideshow as would ensue should Harry check into St. Mungo's.
Harry looked up as the door opened. Hermione stood there in an old sweatshirt, jeans, and battered sneakers, looking very surprised.
"Harry?" She kneeled down in front of him, as he smiled weakly at her. "Harry, what's wrong? You don't look at all well."
"I'm sick," he said simply.
"Well what do you have?"
"I dunno." He shrugged. "Couldn't go to St. Mungo's. Too many people, too many reporters."
"Come on, let's get you inside first. We'll figure the rest out as we go." Hermione helped Harry stand, and nearly carried him into the house. She set him down on the couch and went to get his trunk from the doorstep. "Harry," she said as she dropped his trunk by the couch. "How on earth did you get here?"
"Knight Bus."
"Did they carry your trunk for you?" Hermione's gaze traveled back and forth from the trunk, to Harry, and back to the trunk.
"No. Took me forever, but I got it here myself." Harry was obviously proud of this fact, and no matter how much Hermione didn't like the idea of Harry working that hard when he was sick, she had to admire his persistence.
"Harry, where's Hedwig?" Hermione had noticed the absence of Hedwig's cage when she brought Harry's trunk in.
"Sent her off to Ron," said Harry. "Couldn't carry her cage too."
"Harry, you just cut yourself off from the wizarding world completely. Without Hedwig, I can't write to anybody for help if I can't figure out how to help you." Hermione sighed. "I guess we'll figure that out later."
"I have faith in you, Hermione," said Harry, leaning his head back on the couch. "You'll think of something. You always do."
"Thanks, Harry." Hermione blushed. "I have to go call Mum. Maybe she can help me out." She left the room to make the call, and Harry took a deep breath. He had never felt so miserable in his entire life. He felt weak all over, his pulse was racing, his stomach felt as if it were trying to wrest itself free from his body, and he felt like his innards were on fire.
Hermione walked back in with a cordless phone in her hand. Sitting down next to Harry, she felt his forehead, and gasped.
"Harry, you're positively burning up!" She picked up the phone and started dialing. "I'm calling the doctor. Mum and Dad know you're here now, so there won't be any surprises. When the doctor comes, we can't tell him that you ran away from home to get here. I'm going to tell him that you came for a visit, and you've been staying here for a few days, and you just got sick." She put the phone to her ear, and explained the situation to whoever had picked up. While she was talking, she looked at Harry, concern showing in her eyes.
"Doctor Kaufman will be here in about half an hour," she said, hanging up. "I need to get you upstairs into bed." She helped Harry stand, and they slowly walked up the stairs, Hermione more carrying Harry than helping him. When they reached the guest bedroom, Harry sat down on the bed.
"Harry, if I get your pajamas, do you have enough strength to change? It would look awfully strange for you to be in bed with your clothes on." Harry nodded. Hermione went back downstairs and lugged Harry's trunk up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. "This would be so much easier if I could use magic," she said ruefully. She rummaged through Harry's trunk and pulled out his pajamas. Placing them on the bed next to Harry, she turned to leave the room.
"Hermione," said Harry softly. Hermione turned to look at him. "Thank you." She smiled.
"You're welcome, Harry." She turned around again and left, closing the door behind her.
A few minutes later, Hermione knocked on the door. "Harry, are you done changing?"
"I need some help," he called through the door. Hermione hesitated. "I can't close the buttons," said Harry. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She opened the door to see Harry fumbling with the buttons on his pajama shirt. She walked to the bed and sat down next to him. She closed the buttons easily and looked questioningly at Harry. He held up his hands in explanation. They were shaking uncontrollably. Hermione's eyes went wide.
Hermione helped Harry get into bed, and sat with him until the doorbell rang.
"That'll be Dr. Kaufman," said Hermione. She stood up and went downstairs to let him in.
Hermione came back upstairs with a man who seemed to be in his late thirties. He introduced himself as Dr. David Kaufman.
"Now, Harry, when did you first feel ill," he asked, sitting down on the bed next to Harry.
"Last night," said Harry, following the story that Hermione had worked out. "I thought maybe a good night's sleep would make me feel better, but when I woke up this morning, I felt even worse." Dr. Kaufman examined Harry, but couldn't seem to come up with a diagnosis.
"That's odd," he said, scratching his head. "I have no idea what's wrong with him. When I take his temperature, it's normal, but I can tell he's burning up. I think I should take you to the hospital, see if they can come up with something."
"No!" Harry tried to sit up, but Dr. Kaufman held him down. "No hospitals!"
"Dr. Kaufman, can I speak with you for a minute?" Hermione gestured to the hall. They left the room. "He's deathly afraid of hospitals," she said softly, pretending to keep Harry from hearing her. "If he goes to the hospital, you won't be able to calm him down enough to give him any tests."
"Well, I can't bring him to a hospital if he's going to have that kind of a reaction, but I don't know what I can do for him here." He sighed. "I guess all I can say is that you should make sure he's comfortable. If he gets worse, please let me know. If we have to, we'll sedate him, but I'd rather not do anything that drastic unless I have no other choice."
"I'll keep you updated." Hermione looked as if she was on the verge of tears. "Thank you, Dr. Kaufman." As she closed the front door behind him, Hermione walked slowly back up to the room in which Harry rested.
"I don't know what to do, Harry," she said, sitting next to him on the bed. "I can't send an owl to anyone, and there's really no other way I can think of to contact anybody who could possibly help us. If only I had an owl right now." She sighed. "I guess there's not a whole lot I can do except keep you company and keep you comfortable until Ron decides to write me a letter.
For the next few days, Hermione would sit by Harry's side, reading a book when he was asleep or too weak to talk. When he could talk, he did so with visible effort, so Hermione insisted he rest. Hermione would bring him cold rags for his forehead to try to keep him cool, and talk to Harry in a soft, soothing tone of voice to help him relax.
"You have a beautiful voice, 'Mione," croaked Harry.
"Shhhhh, just relax." Hermione's cheeks grew pink.
"'Mione, do you think you could sing for me?" Harry squinted up at Hermione, his glasses sitting on the nightstand.
"I don't know, Harry, I don't think I sing very well." Hermione found it nearly impossible to resist Harry's request, but she really didn't like her own singing, and was afraid Harry wouldn't like it either.
Just then, a tapping came at the window. Hermione opened the curtains, and just on the other side of the window hovered Pigwidgeon, carrying a note from Ron.
A reprieve, thought Hermione, smiling internally. She opened the window to let the excited little bird in, and it set down on the arm of Hermione's chair. She took the note, and promised Pig a treat as soon as she finished reading it. The tiny hoot which emanated from the tiny owl was much closer to a squeak than to any noise Hedwig had ever made. It was a simple note, the casual letter one drops to a friend when one hasn't spoken to them in a few days. It seemed to be more an invitation to start a conversation than an actual letter. Hermione left the room briefly to get Pig's treat. She returned a minute later, holding a treat in one hand, and a roll of parchment and a quill in the other. She gave Pig the treat, and began writing a letter to Ron, explaining the situation, and requesting that he notify Dumbledore. When she finished, she tied the letter to Pig's leg, and the small bird took off to head for home, bearing his payload as a badge of pride.
"I think you'll sing very well, 'Mione," said Harry softly.
Hermione groaned inwardly. She was hoping that he would have forgotten, or given up, or fallen asleep, or done something that would have meant she wouldn't have had to sing.
"Harry, are you sure you want me to sing?"
"I'm sure." He smiled. "I may be sick, 'Mione, but my memory's still as good as ever."
"Okay, Harry. I'll sing." She sighed. Without even trying, Harry had made her feel guilty enough to succumb to his request. "What do you want me to sing?"
"Dunno, just sing something you like."
"Okay." She began to sing "The Blizzard", by Judy Collins, and Harry smiled.
"I've never heard anything so beautiful," he said softly. About halfway through the song, he fell asleep, and Hermione stopped singing. She sat back in her chair and sighed deeply.
"How did he do that to me," she wondered to herself. "Why is it that I couldn't say no to him?" She sighed. "It's probably just because he's sick. Look at me, I'm talking to myself." She laughed quietly, and picked up her book.