the miracle of us || drarry

09 | the fight with ron

a/n: one cuss word in this chapter, sorry, don't sue me

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Halfway through his day, Harry started to feel sick.

He was cold, sleep-deprived, and he wanted nothing more than to go back home to his bed and fall asleep again to the pitter patter (a/n: pitter patter potter hahahahah ok i'll stop) of the falling rain outside.

When the day finally finished, Harry had a pounding headache and his face felt alarmingly hotter than usual, and this is what he told Ron and Hermione, who were ready to go out for butterbeer, as they usually did on rainy Friday nights.

"Well," Ron huffed, "We'll come to your house."

Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

"We could take care of you," Hermione suggested. "Being sick alone isn't good, Harry, especially when it's thundering outside, and that house is so ancient, there's bound to be leaks."

"Thank you for the offer, but...," Harry muttered, but his head spun. He hadn't been this sick for a long time. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come to work this morning. Spots danced in front of his eyes, springing back and forth as if taunting him. Hermione and Ron's worried faces flashed before him, and he heard his name softly being called, but it sounded muffled, as if the world had put on earmuffs. Slowly, he lowered himself to sit on the ground and closed his eyes with his hands over his face. And when he could feel their hands on his back and their distressed voices clearly, he felt it safe to open his eyes again to convince them not to come over.

"I really think we should help you home, mate," Ron's grainy voice murmured. Harry opened his mouth to protest, pushing himself up.

But it seemed he had stood too fast, and soon, he was lost.

--

Harry woke to familiar walls and his entire body shivering. His eyes, swollen and red, could barely open, and his body ached with racks of sore pain. He tried to sit up, but his arms screamed with protest, and fell limp again.

There came a knock at his open door, and Harry looked towards it to see Hermione, her sweater pulled up over her hands and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She wore a light smile on her face, and Harry returned it grimly.

"Feeling any better?"

"Well, I did just wake up, and I feel like crap," Harry admitted. His voice was hoarse, but he daren't clear it, since it hurt too much. "Where's my wand? We can just cure this, right? It's probably just a common cold."

"Well, Ron and I looked through your stuff because the spell wasn't curing you, and we found a half eaten snack thing in your bag," Hermione explained, her nose scrunched. "We weren't sure what it was, but I took a look at it, and whoever made it did something wrong, so you're having a reaction to it. The good thing is, it's not deadly. I'm cooking an anti-potion for you right now, and Ron is helping himself to the food in your kitchen, that pig."

"The snack was awful," Harry commented, closing his eyes.

"Also, Harry, how come we've been friends since our first year at Hogwarts, and I have never known"--she paused to hold up a piece of paper--"that you were into drawing?"