Returning Favours
a Harry Potter story
by Aewyn
Monday morning saw a Ronald Weasley well enough to attend classes. He was still suffering from a head feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton, and he still couldn't breathe properly through his nose, but he was no longer feverish. He wouldn't have minded to get an extra day in bed, but NEWTs were approaching fast, and as Head Boy and aspiring Auror he couldn't afford to miss a single day of class.He had woken up early, unable to breathe through his nose, and found it was almost time to get up anyway. He shook Harry's shoulder to wake him as well, which earned him a sleepy glare almost worthy of Snape himself to which he responded with a bright smile and a noisy honk into a wad of tissues before heading into a hot shower.
Harry groaned. He had never been the morning person he wanted to be, but today he felt it was harder to wake up than usual. There was a numb feeling in the back of his throat when he swallowed that hadn't been there the night before, and he had a dull ache behind his eyes. "Just great," he thought. "I'm coming down with Ron's cold!" He decided to face the day anyway, hoping it was false alarm, and rolled out of bed, feeling the need to start the day with a hot shower.
The shower worked wonders, both for Ron's stuffy nose and Harry's headache. It became a lot easier for Ron to breathe, the steam penetrating his swollen glands and giving him the chance to clear his nose thoroughly before heading down to the Great Hall for a spot of breakfast together with an unusually quiet Harry.
"Feeling better today, Ron?" Hermione was already in the Hall, munching away on some toast.
"Yeah, a little," he answered. His voice was still stuffy, but he sounded better than he had done at Halloween. "I'b dot fuzzy adybore, add that's a good thig."
"You still sound terrible, though," remarked Ginny from across the table. "Blow your nose."
"Yes, Bother," he answered before pulling a tissue out of the overflowing pocket of his school robe. Harry in turn snickered, helping himself to some hot tea and toast.
About half an hour later, they were heading for their first class of the week. Double Potions. Yay...The two boys were lagging a bit behind Hermione who was rushing as usual, mumbling something about forgetting something important in her Potions homework that was due next Wednesday. Ron seized the opportunity to exchange a few words with the friend who had kept him company during his weekend in bed.
"You're quiet this bordig..." Ron sniffed and rolled his eyes at how he sounded. He couldn't wait to get rid of the stuffiness, and neither could his nose, to tell the truth; it was still crimson, chapped and tender after all the sneezes and blows it had endured lately.
Harry smiled and shrugged; his throat hadn't exactly improved during breakfast, and each swallow was becoming more and more painful. "Sore throat," he admitted quietly. "You might have to return that favour sooner than you thought." He cleared his throat again, trying to get rid of the lump that was slowly forming in the back of it.
"Don't worry, mate." Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as they passed through the heavy doors to Snape's dungeon.
Potions was surprisingly uneventful. They had all expected Neville to blow up his cauldron as he still did with regular intervals, but the explosion that eventually happened had come from the Slytherin side of the classroom. Apparently, Gryffindor wasn't the only house that had been struck down by the evil bug that was currently tap dancing on the inside of Harry's head bone; Malfoy looked positively green around his neck and mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot. Not to mention the shade of pink irritated skin around his nose.The fact that Snape had deducted 10 points for disturbing the peace and quiet from his own house - from Malfoy of all people - gave the Gryffindors another proof of the fact that he was human. Not even he had escaped the virus.
At lunch Harry picked at his food, more pushing it around his plate instead of wolfing it down the way 17-year-old boys usually did. He just sipped slowly at his pumpkin juice, watching the others eat and tried not to look conspicuous.He didn't fool Ron though, and when Harry excused himself and left the table, Ron wasn't late to follow. He found him in a corridor on the way to their common room, sitting on the floor with this back against the wall and his head cradled in his hands, sniffling quietly.Sitting down next to him, Ron fished a tissue out of his rapidly disappearing stock in his robes and tapped Harry on the shoulder, offering it to him. Harry, in turn, lifted his head, smiled and accepted the tissue without wasting his rapidly fading voice on unnecessary words. A wet honk followed, only adding to his headache and producing a painful cough. Ron proceeded to clear his own nose, a nose that now had started to run again, possibly out of sympathy for Harry's increasing stuffiness. When he was done, Ron broke the comfortable silence between them
"Harry, maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey... there's no reason for you t... eh... to su... uh-tchh!" he caught the sneaky sneeze in the crook of his arm before continuing. "To suffer the way I did." He blew his nose again, getting stuffier as the day continued.
Harry shook his head, slowly, as not to make his headache worse before answering in more of a croak than his usual voice. "No... I spend too much time there anyway... Besides," he added, his eyes focused on his shoes, "you never know when Voldemort makes his final move to try and have me wiped off the face of the Earth, so..." The few words he had spoken had taken their toll on his throat, and when he swallowed it felt more like shards of glass than saliva. He winced and drew a deep breath through his nose, resulting in a fit of coughing he had rather had been without, thank you very much.
Ron sat there a little while beside his friend before taking a look at his wristwatch and noticing it was only fifteen minutes before their next class. Divination. What was it with Mondays anyway? Not that Divination was too bad now that the centaur Firenze instead of Sybil Trelawney taught class, but it was still not a subject they were jumping for joy to go to. That History of Magic with Professor Binns was the final class of the day didn't exactly give a golden outline to Mondays either.
When they finally reached the end of their first day of the week, Ron could see that Harry had problems concentrating in the monotonous voice of their ghostly professor. Sometimes his eyelids would close on their own and his head jerk a bit when he realised he was actually falling asleep.Ron kept passing him tissues under the desk to help Harry keep his increasingly runny nose in line, and the discrete wipes and soft blows were soon starting to leave distinctive traces in the middle of his face in the form of an irritated pinkness of the skin on and below his nostrils. He looked absolutely miserable, Ron thought, and after class he watched as Harry headed towards the common room, probably for a quick nap before dinner. Ron was feeling pretty exhausted himself, this being his first day on his feet since Saturday afternoon, so he and Harry walked together up the long stairs to their dormitories.
Harry steered straight for one of the squishy armchairs in front of the fireplace and curled up in it, his legs crossed underneath him, and sighed, coughing a little from congestion. Ron first went to their dormitory to fetch his infinite supply of tissues before settling himself in a similar chair next to Harry, placing the tissue box between then. Five minutes later, they were both asleep, Ron snoring lightly because of his stuffed nose and Harry snorting occasionally with increasing congestion.
When Ron woke up about an hour later, he was covered with a blanker; he turned his head slightly to look at the still-sleeping form of his best friend. He had also been covered with, not one blanket, but two, and someone had slipped a pillow behind his head. Moving his gaze further down, he could see it was courtesy of Virginia Weasley, as she sat on the floor next to Harry's chair, eyeing through her homework.She flashed her brother a bright smile and tapped her wristwatch with a finger to indicate that it was nearly time for dinner, she then got up from her position on the floor and left the common room with her friends as they were noisily coming down the stairs from the dormitories.
Ron sat up straighter and tried to sniff, only to realise that he couldn't; a wad of tissues and a series of stuffy-sounding blows took care of that before he turned towards Harry and poked him back into consciousness.
Waking was -not- a pleasant experience for Harry. His headache was back with a vengeance, his throat felt like an open wound and his nose was clogged beyond belief. He wanted to ask Ron to end his suffering, but all that came out was a low, stuffy moan. He cleared his throat, wincing, and tried again.
"Rod..." he was interrupted by a harsh fit of coughing that didn't abate until Ron had fetched him a glass of cold water. When he finally felt he could trust his voice again he started over. "Rod... I feel terrible... Kill be dow?" his voice was more a harsh whisper than the voice Ron was used to. He gave Harry an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, mate. Can't do that..." he blew his nose again as he could feel the congestion slowly returning after his last blowing session. He handed Harry a couple of tissues and continued; "you sound like you're regretting the fact that you didn't take my advice to go to the Hospital Wing." He waited while Harry did his best to clear his nose, but with the overwhelming congestion it was nearly impossible for him to even blow. Harry gave up with a sigh before answering.
"I would't hesitade to kill for sobe Bebber Ub-botiod righd dow..." he attempted to sniff and failed miserably. Ron knew the feeling.
The colour of Harry's nose and the skin surrounding it was fast changing from an irritated pink to a furious red, and it stung with every wipe of the tissue. Ron knew that feeling as well.
"Are you feeling up to some dinner? I'm sure there's some kind of soup on the menu..."
Harry's expression had changed from an image of pure agony to one that signalled his sudden urge to sneeze. His breathing hitched and he took small gulping gasps through his slightly open mouth. His eyes were half-closed and in his right hand he held the wad of tissues he had tried to use earlier to blow his nose.
"Eh... heh... huh... hngKKtch!" It was muffled and stifled behind the tissues, and Harry proceeded to blow his nose with a wet, drawn out gurgle that ended in a loud honk. When he had gone through three more of Ron's tissues, he still sounded as stuffed as he was before; the only real change was that his nose now was a deeper shade of red and looked slightly swollen.
He pushed up his glasses and drew himself up into a standing position before answering. "I subbose I deed to eat subthig..." Another failed sniff. "I thig I could badage sub soub. Berlid, I soud terrible!" he ended his statement with another stuffy blow, a coughing fit and a few sips of water. It was still painful to swallow, but the cold water seemed to help a little.
Before heading down to the Great Hall, Harry took a quick trip to lavatory to freshen up a little - wash his face and such. He wasn't particularly surprised with the face that met him in the mirror; green, bloodshot eyes surrounded by dark circles looked back at him from a pale face with rosy cheeks. In the middle of that face was a bright flashing stop light... no, wait... that was his nose...
A few splashes of water and several tissues later, they were on their way to the Great Hall. The tables were littered with students as usual, but some empty seats here and there indicated that the virus was rampaging through all Houses. Even the staff-table had their empty seats, Ron unconsciously noted; no Snape or Sinistra... apparently professors weren't immune either.
Harry found himself a bowl of chicken soup (a treat from Dobby, no doubt) and managed to force himself to eat more than half of it before the pain in his throat became too great. While he waited for Ron to finish, he stole a glance at Ginny and Hermione. The girls' friendship had grown during the past few years, and Hermione had told him one evening in the library, in confidence, that as much as she liked to spend her time around Harry and Ron, she had missed a fellow female to talk to about all those things typical for girls.
His mind must have shut off at some point, because the next thing he knew he had a hand belonging to one Hermione Granger on his forehead, while one Ginny Weasley was conspiring with another red-headed member of her family to find the best way to get one Harry Potter into bed without him realising it.
"Harry," Hermione sounded worried," your temperature is really high and you looked seriously out of it a few minutes ago... I really think you should go see Madam Pomfrey." Harry shrugged
off her hand. "Too lade dow, adyway... I should have gode there as sood as I started feeling bad, bud there's dot buch she cad do dow... odly relieve the sybtobs, add you doe hoe those botiuds bess with by head..." He paused to blow his nose, which didn't do anything else than produce a fit of coughing. "Jusd ged be bag to by bed add I'll be fide... I brobise." He left his mouth slightly open so he wouldn't pass out from lack of oxygen on their way back to Gryffindor Tower. This was going to be a looong night...
Harry awoke with a start several hours later. It was dark outside and all the other beds were occupied. All except for one. Ron was sitting beside him with a bowl of lukewarm water on the bedside table and a wet piece of cloth in his hands. He looked incredibly relieved when his blue eyes connected with Harry's green and saw a flash of recognition in them. No, not only recognition - question.
"Your fever's broken, I think... I woke up and heard you mumbling something in your sleep and thought it was You-know-who, but you didn't seem to be in pain, so..." he shrugged, feeling a bit flustered and played with the wet handkerchief in his hand.
Harry understood and showed it by smiling tiredly before closing his eyes again. He remembered doing the same thing with Ron a few days earlier and knew from experience he probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.
But right now, he felt safe, cared for.
Because that is what friends do, after all.
J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. Had I profited from this, I would probably live out the rest of my life on some island in the Caribbean. As it is, I live on an island in Sweden. ‘Nuff said.