Chapter 8; Day IIII
Harry sat up in bed. Drenched in sweat, light from his window pooling on his duvet. His forehead was dotted with sweat, and his shirt was damp and sticking to his back. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Someone knocked on his door.
“Harry, dear, would you like pancakes or waffles? Your choice, Gemma’s gone.” His mum asked.
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as he fainted. His mother banged on the door. There was no answer.