Loving Lily: A Snily Story

Chapter 100 - What Remains Unspoken

Thank you for reading! I don't own any of Harry Potter! Please let me know if you enjoy! Updates every Saturday!
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Before sunrise one morning, Harriet slowly sat up in her cot and put her hands to her head.

The pain that throbbed in her temples demanded her attention.

During the previous weeks, it had occurred to her that for some disturbing reason, the closer she came to destroying Voldemort, the more her suffering increased.

She had been sad, melancholy......moody.

The headaches had come, a throbbing, unmerciful pressure.

Finally, her stomach had fallen suit, tormenting her first with vapid spells of crippling nausea before eventually developing into violent fits of rageful, projectile vomiting.

Harriet did her best to hide her afflictions from her friends, knowing her heart was broken by grief and her mind heavy with the worry that no living person should have had to bear.

As her stomach took an ominous turn, the inside of her mouth suddenly tasted like slick metal.

Saliva pooled inside her cheeks.

Determined not to wake Hermione with the unpleasant noise of her loud retching, Harriet hastily clambered out of her tent and stumbled across the campsite, clad only in her nightdress.

As soon as she made it past Anuman's empty cage, she fell on her knees, curled over, and began to empty her stomach's contents.

By the time the fit ended, the pain in her head threatened to start another one as Harriet spat the last bit of bile from her mouth and pressed a trembling hand to her face.

Hermione and Ron remained asleep, blissfully unaware.

Tom also slept in his own cot, too tired to rise early, too exhausted to bend to the demands of Harriet or the others, no matter how pressing their requests seemed.

Tom had hidden his own physical struggles during the last few weeks and the events that heralded his own, new shortcomings.

No matter how much he and Harriet lived in denial of the truth, the fact remained that young Tom Riddle had weakened more and more with the destruction of each horcrux.

His bones had thinned, his face had paled, his dark eyes had become less and less vibrant.

Draco, on the other hand, suffered none of those limitations.

As ready to aid his darling as ever, that particular morning, he left his bed the instant he heard Harriet outside, disturbingly ill.

"Snape?!" Draco called in a hushed whisper while he stuck his head out of his tent, "........Snape?!"

Harriet was too busy to respond, although she tried to hunch over and quiet the noises of her affliction while he rushed towards her.

Determined not to garner any more unwanted attention than necessary, Harriet tried to silence the desperate gasps that came from her throat in between the episodes of violent sickness.

Suddenly, the strands of her long, dark hair were pulled back from her face by some unseen source

As Harriet's stomach hinted at the idea that it may give her a moment of relief, she dared turn her head to look over her shoulder.

Draco frowned as he held her hair gathered in his hands.

Harriet's eyes widened as she hurriedly turned away to wipe her mouth, but when she started to use her sleeve, he kindly offered her the handkerchief from his trousers' pocket.