A Dip in the Lake

            Harry shuffled into the common room, dragging both his broom and a muddy trail of water behind him.

"Harry!" Hermione said, startled, as she caught sight of him. She hurried over to his side. "What happened to you? I thought you were out playing Quidditch!"

"We were," Harry said, a sour look on his face and dripping icy water on the carpet. "Then we ended up having a snowball fight on brooms."

"But you're not soaked from just snow, are you?" Hermione observed.

"Fell in the lake," Harry mumbled, making a face. "The giant squid tackled me when I was standing on the edge, and I tipped in."

"Oh," said Hermione, blinking. "Well, that's..." Her lips twitched.

"It's okay," said Harry. "It was pretty funny."

Hermione smiled. "Well, I have to admit that-"

"Except for the part where I was standing next to the lake because Ginny fell off her broom and broke her leg."

"What?!"

"It's alright," Harry hurried to calm her. "She seemed pretty okay with it."

Hermione gave him a look of disbelief.

"Well, sure, it hurt," Harry amended. "But Ron mobilicorpus-ed her to the hospital wing. Ginny wanted to walk, herself. Madam Pomfrey said she'd be fine. Ron and the others are still there, but they insisted I come here and change. I was dripping on their shoes, I think."

"But however did she fall off her broom?" Hermione asked, settling down. Everyone knew Madam Pomfrey could mend broken bones in a jiffy, and Harry wouldn't have left if Ginny wasn't okay.

"I think one of Ron's snowballs accidentally hit her in the side of her head; knocked her off her broom," Harry said, looking extremely uncomfortable in his wet clothes. He pulled off his gloves and squeezed them. A little river of water landed on the floor. "She wasn't high up, though."

Hermione put her hands in her side. "I'll never understand you people!" she huffed, making Harry startle at her sudden change of tone. "Risking your lives on that broom, throwing snowballs at each other while you're flying who knows how high in the air! Someone could get seriously hurt - fall off their broom; fly into a tree; anything!"

"It was just a game," Harry defended.

"It's dangerous!" Hermione said angrily. "Can't you have a normal snowball fight on the ground?"

"If you're on the ground you can get hurt as well," Harry waved her off. "Or get tackled by a giant squid. Do you mind if I change now, Hermione? That lake was frozen, you know. I fell right through."

"Oh," Hermione blanched at the image that provoked.

"But the ice was thin, and it was only about three feet deep there," added Harry hurriedly. "The squid even gave me a boost out, though I could swear it was sniggering. I'm almost glad everyone was paying attention to Ginny. At least this way I got away with it. If the twins were still here they'd have..."

He paused mid-sentence, frowned a moment, then turned his head aside. "Hehhishuh! Hahhcssuh!" he sneezed in his hands, then sniffed loudly. "Excuse me."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, hurrying to his side. "You really should change!" She grabbed his arm to pull him to the boy's staircase. She gasped as she held the soaked robe. "You're freezing!"

"Yes," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "I'd noticed."

"Go on then," she said, pulling a bemused but shivering Harry along. "And take a nice hot shower. You're going to fall ill if you keep walking around like this!"

"Thanks for the advice, Hermione," Harry said, good-naturedly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Hermione swatted his arm. "Run around in panicked circles most likely, and you know it. Now up you go."

"Yes, miss Granger," Harry saluted her before trudging up the stairs. He put his arms tightly around himself as he neared the bedroom doors. He'd been good at upholding a cheerful attitude, but he really did feel like he'd never be warm again. He peeled off his clothes in his dormitory - his hands were shaking so badly by this time that he hardly managed to untie his shoes and undo his buttons - and threw the soggy, muddy garments in a heap next to his bed (secretly hoping the House Elves would take them away). Then he hurriedly withdrew to the showers. With the way he was shaking he wasn't too sure he wasn't falling ill already, as Hermione and those holiday stay-over students who'd joined the rag-tag Quidditch team had warned...

"Hehhchussh!" echoed down the staircase, just before Harry reappeared in the common room.

"Harry!" Hermione waved him over to the big comfortable chairs at the central fireplace. "Bless you."

"Thanks," he said, dropping into the armchair next to Hermione's. He stretched his socked feet towards the fire. Even though he'd changed and taken the hottest shower he could stand, somehow he still felt cold and shivery. He sighed, wrapped his arms around his chest and sagged down into the pillows.

"You alright?" Hermione asked, looking worriedly at him.

"Sure," he said. "So what have you been up to today?"

She held up the book that had been resting in her lap. "I've been reading the present Ginny gave me this morning." She tilted the cover to him. Harry leant closer and read: Wendell the Warlock and the Easter Island Investigation.

"That's not a study book," he said, surprised.

"Really, I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, ha-ha." Harry leant deeper into the chair and curled up his legs to get more comfortable. "Seriously though."

"It's a detective series Ginny loves," Hermione told him. "She thought I might like them too."

"And?"

"It's pretty enjoyable," Hermione admitted. "You see, there's this murder with a fishhook and some sprinkles, and Wendell apparates to the murder scene to find these Doxy droppings - of course Doxies are completely non-native to the Easter Islands - so naturally he devises a theory that-"

Harry was only half listening when Hermione started describing the plot of the book, as he was getting increasingly preoccupied with the tickling in his nose. Scrunching his nose didn't help, nor did rubbing it. Eventually, he buried the lower half of his face in the crook of his arm, inhaling shakily.

"-and they put Baron Tumblebrook in Azkaban," Hermione finished.

"Hehh... CSSumph! HehhIshm!" sneezed Harry, muffled by his sleeve.

Hermione turned in her chair so she could have a better look at him. "Bless you," she said. "Are you sure you're alright? You're sneezing a lot."

Harry held up his free hand, signifying that he wasn't finished sneezing a lot yet. His eyes fluttered shut again. "Hehh," he breathed delicately, rubbing his nose again to bring out the lingering sneeze. With relief he felt the build-up flourish to completion. "Ahh... TSHuh!"

"Bless you," Hermione repeated.

"Thags," Harry said, snuffling, wishing he had some tissues or a handkerchief, but not wishing to get up and actually go get any.

Hermione seemed ahead of him though, as she bent over her ever present book bag to pull out a package of tissues. She handed them over to Harry, who took them gratefully.

"Thags, Herbione," he said again, then proceeded to discreetly blow his runny nose.

"Seems like you're going to need them more than I will," she pointed out.

"It's just a bit of a chill," Harry said. "I feel okay, really."

Hermione raised her eyebrows a little at this, noting Harry's curled up position and the slight paleness to his cheeks, but she decided not to push the subject and directed her gaze to the fire instead.

"I wonder what's keeping Ron and Ginny," she wondered aloud.

"Probably Madam Pomfrey won't let her leave without twenty physicals," Harry said, speaking from experience. "And plenty of rest, of course."

"And Ron will be hovering outside the hospital wing, refusing to leave before she can," Hermione added. "He'll ask Madam Pomfrey to be let in every four minutes."

"Until the point when she gets so fed up with this that she'll get that irritated, flustered look, and she'll start telling him to bugger off if he doesn't want to end up in a bed with a cauldron of pepper-up potion poured down his throat through a funnel, if he's so keen on being in the Hospital Wing."

They both grinned, then settled into a comfortable silence. Hermione opened her book for a reread. Harry stared into the merrily crackling fire, feeling a little more snug and cosy as the flames' warmth caressed his face.

After a while of this, Harry shifted a little, getting bored with watching the fireplace. "It's times like these that I almost wish that the Wizard World knew what a television was," Harry observed. "It'd be nice to kick back and watch something brainless but entertaining right now."

"Hmm," Hermione sort of agreed, though she was pretty content to be reading instead of watching a TV. She looked up. "You know what muggles did before they had telly's right?"

"Er, sure," Harry said.

"They'd read to each other," Hermione explained. "It was the most popular way to spend an evening at home back then."

"Mm-hmm," intoned Harry.

"You know what," she smiled engagingly. "I'll read from my book. It'll be quaint, and better than reading coursework."

Harry had to agree that anything would be better than reading coursework, so he nodded and put his head on his arm, which was resting on the armrest - settling in.

Hermione opened the novel at the first page and started to read, in a relaxed and easy manner, about the Warlock Wendell, who was relaxing in his magi-bubble Jacuzzi with his Veela girlfriend, when an auror gave him a panicked call about an insolvable murder case.

Harry felt heavy and drowsy as Hermione's soothing voice rolled down the lines, and he closed his eyes. The warmth from the fire covered him like a blanket. The soft-spoken words drifted on the edge of his thoughts like a lullaby. It took three and a quarter page for Harry to fall asleep.

"I think we should wake him," a voice permeated Harry's odd dream of a whirling Jacuzzi filled with bushy-haired Veela's trying to fish for a Giant Squid using sprinkles.

"I don't know," another, feminine, voice answered. "He looks so peaceful, sleeping. Maybe we should let him rest."

"But it's Christmas dinner! Surely he won't want to miss Christmas dinner?"

"Not everyone is as obsessed with food as you are! Besides, he looked a bit under the weather earlier. Maybe he'll feel better after a good long nap."

"But it's Christmas dinner!"

Harry groaned silently as awareness drove the heaviness of sleep away. His head was pounding, his joints felt achy and when he swallowed his throat felt like Peeves had manhandled it with sandpaper. Plus, as he pressed his face deeper into the cushion - which he was sure he'd drooled a little on - his nose awakened with a fiery tickle.

"Look, why don't you just bring something up for us when you're finished eating, and we'll let Harry wake up by himself."

"What do you mean `us'?"

"I'm going to stay here with Harry in case he wakes up and doesn't feel well."

"But it's Christmas dinner!"

"Ihsshh! Ihhtchoo!"

Ron and Hermione startled as the sneezes interrupted their impending argument.

"Urrgh," Harry groaned as he lifted his head to look for the packet of tissues which, unbeknownst to him, had fallen to the floor. It felt like his head had grown three sizes, and he felt uncomfortably warm in his thick Weasley jumper and woollen socks. These concerns only grazed his thoughts, though, as he was still preoccupied with his nose. His breath hitched again, his expression turned undeniably sneezy, and still he hadn't found the packet.

Hermione was onto his predicament in a flash and she pressed some of the tissues in his hand.

"Thags," Harry managed to bring out, before: "HepTISHhh!" He caught the sneeze in the tissues and then blew his nose to try and get rid of the residual tickle.

`Wow, Harry, you sound awful," said Ron. He was sitting on the carpet, a chessboard before him and Hermione on the other side of it. It looked like Hermione's white pawns were being brutalised off the board by Ron's victorious bishops.

"I feel pretty awful too," Harry said hoarsely. He moved a little, trying to get more comfortable, then proceeded to try and pull his jumper over his head with uncooperative, limp arms. He emerged from the cloth with hair upright because of static and coughing painfully with the effort. His throat did not agree with the harsh treatment this gave it.

"Ouch," Harry grimaced as the cough came to an end. He dumped the jumper on the floor.

"What're you doing?" Hermione asked him, voice high with concern.

"It's too hot," Harry explained to her. He got up from the chair, intending to walk to the bathroom to get a drink and splash some water on his hot, hurting head.

He took two steps before he started to tilt sideways, his vision blurring dizzily. Just as he thought he was going to topple over and crack his head on the table's edge, strong arms grabbed his shoulders and steadied him.

"Whoah," Ron said (it had been his arms that had caught him). "Why don't you stay in your chair for a bit, mate?"

"m'Alright," muttered Harry, blinking to clear the dancing spots from his sight.

"Humour me," said Ron, steering him back into the cushions. There wasn't much Harry could do about it. His legs were shaky and felt like they could hardly hold him up, and he had the distinct suspicion that if he struggled from Ron's steady hands, he'd find himself getting to know the carpet a little too up close and personal for comfort.

Harry immediately rested his head against the backrest as his weight settled into the chair. The headache had not benefited from his tiny, little stroll. But he was still thirsty as anything, and his throat hurt most of all. He grabbed the armrests with his hands and made to get up again.

"Wait a minute, Harry," Ron said, pushing him back (Harry flopped bonelessly backwards). "Tell me what you want and I'll go get it for you."

"Some water," Harry croaked. "Thanks."

"No problem." Ron's frowning face disappeared, only to be replaced by Hermione's within a second. She opened her mouth.

"No," Harry said.

"What?"

"No, I'm not going to the hospital wing," he told her firmly.

She looked exasperated. "But you almost fainted, just now!"

"I did not faint," insisted Harry.

"Oh, really," Hermione said, disbelievingly. "What do you call it when someone's eyes roll to the back of their head and they tilt in a ninety degree angle to the floor?"

Harry pressed his lips together. "Maybe - just maybe - I spaced out for a tiny, ickle second," He grumbled eventually. "But I didn't faint. I just got up too quickly."

"Harry, you're obviously not feeling well. You should go see Madam Pomfrey."

"No."

"Harry!"

"Hermione..." Harry paused, then coughed harshly for a few seconds. Grimacing, he continued in a softer and hoarser voice. "I spend enough time there as it is. All I have is a cold from falling into that stupid lake. I'll be okay here. I don't want to spend Christmas in the hospital wing. You know how Madam Pomfrey gets."

"But -"

"Oh, go on, Hermione. It's Christmas."

She hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

"Good," Harry sighed, relaxing in the chair. "Anyway, if you really want to help me, you could hand me my jumper."

Hermione grabbed the jumper from the floor and handed it to him. "I thought you said it was too hot."

"I changed my mind," said Harry, shivering a little in his T-shirt. He pulled the jumper back over his head - messing up his hair even more as it crackled with static - and curled into a compact position to keep his body-heat close.

Hermione seemed ready to start arguing again despite her promise, when Ron reappeared. He handed Harry a tall glass of cool water, put a handkerchief with the Hogwarts crest embroidered in the corner on the armrest, and then draped a thick blanket over Harry's lap.

"Thought you might need this too," Ron explained.

Harry nodded his thanks, and proceeded to drain half the glass in one gulp. He broke it off to cough again, then sipped a little more water before handing the glass back to Ron, who put it within reach on the table.

"How's Ginny?" Harry asked.

"Fine," Ron said, a bit sullenly. "She's still in the hospital having a bit of a rest. Madam Pomfrey said she'd release her for Christmas dinner. She kicked me out of the Hospital Wing, though. Threatened to feed me Varmin's Vitamin Shakes if I didn't leave."

Harry and Hermione shared a grin, until another shiver coursed its way through Harry, and this time he didn't quite manage to keep it hidden.

"Are you cold, mate?" Ron asked neutrally.

Harry shrugged.

Ron pulled the blanket higher, over Harry's chest, and then walked over to the hearth to throw more woodblocks in. The fire crackled merrily and burned a little higher and hotter.

"There," Ron said. "Nice and toasty."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled again, getting embarrassed with all the attention. Hermione had seated herself back in her chair, but she was staring at him all the same. Ron hovered, saying: "No problem. Anything else you need?"

"I'm okay now," Harry said, wishing Ron would occupy himself otherwise. Not only was it extremely unfamiliar and uncomfortable for Harry to get fussed over, but he also felt the persistent tingling up his nose take it up another notch, signifying the coming of more sneezes. He hardly wanted to sneeze when his two best friends were watching him with eagle eyes.

Ron edged closer. "Sure?"

"Y-yeah." If only Ron would move back a little; look the other way.

"I could get you some cough-drops if you want," Ron thought up. "I think we still have some upstairs."

"Um, okay," Harry nodded, nose twitching.

"You know, from when Neville had that bad cough of his."

"Ehh..." Harry inhaled sharply, then exhaled more slowly, fighting the impulse that beckoned him to sneeze out that irritating, nasty itching in his nose. His eyes turned slightly teary, and he blinked them, only to find that that enhanced his need for a sneeze all the more.

Ron peered at him. "Gee, Harry, you look like you have to-"

Harry buried his face in his blanket. "HehhISHH!" he sneezed violently.

Ron startled and stepped back. "Bless-"

Hermione shook her head at him. A little more familiar with the look on Harry's face, she could tell that surely he wasn't done yet. Ron shut his mouth and waited.

"Ehh... ehh... esshh! EhhTSHuhh!" Harry continued sneezing. "Ahhhcsshoo! Ugh..." Harry grabbed a handkerchief from the armrest and buried his nose in it.

"Blimey," Ron blinked. "Bless you! You know, Harry, maybe we should take you to the Hospital Wing. You really do sound awful."

"Do," Harry said from behind the kerchief. "I'b dot going."

Ron had his hand flat against Harry's forehead before Harry realised what he was doing. He pulled away, but not before Ron had felt the dry, hot skin. "You're burning up, Harry!" he exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, having cleared his nose by wiping it with the handkerchief. "I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"Hermione!" Ron said, ignoring him and turning to what he considered to be the voice of reason.

She shrugged. "He doesn't want to go," she said disapprovingly. "Says it's Christmas. Says he spends enough time there as it is. Says he's not that sick."

"Well..." Ron hedged, considering. "I guess he's right, after all."

"Ron!"

"Oh, come on, Hermione, you know it'd be miserable spending Christmas in the Hospital Wing with that fussing old harpy dumping potions down your throat."

"Ron! Honestly!"

"As long as we're here, we can keep an eye on him. It'll be fine."

"But look at him! He looks like death warmed over!"

"Okay, yeah, he does look a bit peaky."

"Peaky?!"

"Excuse me!" Harry interrupted, sounding extremely irritated. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not here. I've a cold, not a defective brain or anything! I think I can make up my own mind about seeing Madam Pomfrey or not." He glared at them.

Then he turned away and broke down coughing.

When he surfaced again, Ron and Hermione were there, shoulder to shoulder, at his side. Ron held out the glass of water, which Harry accepted gratefully. Hermione pulled the blanket back up to his shoulders, tucking it in around him, and squeezed his shoulder.

"Okay Harry, if you want to stay here, that's okay," she said, placating. "I did promise, after all."

"You just take it easy, mate," Ron babbled at the same time. "You know best how you feel. Just let us know if you want anything."

Harry ducked his head under all the attention. Plus, his head was pounding with all that coughing shaking his body. He rubbed a hand against his temple. "Okay, okay," he said, to settle his friends. "I'll let you know if - if! - I start feeling worse, and then you can take me to the Hospital Wing and I won't complain. Is that good enough?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then both nodded in sync. They could live with that.

Suddenly, Ron's stomach grumbled mightily.

"Oops," Ron grinned sheepishly.

"You might as well go and get some dinner, Ron," Hermione said, dropping back in her armchair. "Like I said before, that way you can bring back some food. I'd like some too, and this way we won't have to leave Harry alone."

"You can both go have dinner," Harry said, exasperated. "I'll be fine."

Ron and Hermione gave him identical death-glares, Harry cowered and admitted defeat, then Ron stood and stretched.

"Do you want anything to eat, Harry? I can bring you something," Ron asked him. He turned to Hermione. "Mum says that if you're hungry enough to eat then you can't be all that sick."

"Sure, that sounds great," Harry lied, not feeling hungry at all.

"Soup? Some pudding? Toast?" Ron asked.

Harry smiled (he hoped it didn't look as much as a grimace as he feared). "Whatever you think is good."

"Right. See you in a bit." Ron looked over at Hermione. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," Hermione waved him along.

"Don't fall in any lakes while I'm gone, Harry," Ron said, grinning, as he stepped through the portrait hole. "I'd love to see it properly next time."

"Har-di-har," Harry said to Ron's retreating back. Hermione chuckled behind a hand.

"I'll get you some more water," she said, gathering his glass. "And those cough-drops Ron forgot to get."

"You don't have to take care of me all the time," Harry said, a flush on his face both due to fever and to innate shyness activated by all the fuss made over him. "I'm really not that bad off."

"I want to," Hermione smiled at him, and disappeared up the boy's staircase.

Harry exhaled - coughing a little after this - then pushed down the blanket to his feet as it felt like it was stifling him. He pulled at the collar of his sweater to feel some cool air on his warm skin. Rubbing his temple again, he moaned a little at the incessant throbbing in his head. How did this manage to sneak up on him so quickly? He'd thought a nap would have been refreshing, but he felt worse now than before.

He dropped his hands back into his lap as Hermione trotted back down the stairs with a full glass and Neville's cough-drops. She put them on the table, then jumped around. "Oh, I remembered something!" she squealed, and leapt up the girls' staircase. Harry wished she wouldn't move around so much, because it was making him tired just looking at her.

This time when she came back, she brandished a familiar looking packet at him. "It's muggle aspirin," she said. "Sometimes I get a headache, from... well, reading too much-"

Harry rolled his eyes at this.

"...anyways, I don't generally feel to walk all the way down to the Hospital Wing to get a potion, so I just keep these in my trunk. It'll help you, surely." She looked smug.

Harry, knowing that Hermione was never happier than when she'd found a solution to a particular problem she was dealing with, brushed aside that she was acting like he was one of her homework questions, and accepted the aspirin gratefully. He swallowed the tablet with the water, and took an extra few swallows of the cool liquid. It felt good going down his throat.

Now have one of those cough-drops," Hermione bustled around, digging in the bag. With the way she was behaving, Harry wondered idly if he wouldn't have been better off in the Hospital Wing after all, but then he brushed that aside. Everything was better than being cooped in there.

He waved Hermione and her cough-drop aside to catch a sneeze in his handkerchief first. He snapped forward - "Hetsshoo! Hehh... assshhoo!" - and rubbed his nose in the cloth, wishing his head wasn't pounding so much.

"Bless you, Harry," said Hermione sympathetically, then she offered him the cough-drop again.

Harry took it more because she kept pushing it at him than because he wanted it - he remembered Neville complaining they stuck to his teeth - and put it in his mouth. To his relief, though, it didn't taste too bad, and it was soothing on his throat.

"There," said Hermione, standing before him and fidgeting. "That's better, isn't it?"

"Yep," said Harry. "Thank you, Hermione, really. You can sit down now."

"Oh, yes," Hermione grinned guiltily, but before she sat she still lifted the blanket back up from the floor over Harry's legs. "See, I'm sitting," she said, dropping in her chair. "Uh-huh, sitting right here. Not doing anything. You think the fire needs more wood?" She made as to get up.

"It's fine!" Harry hurried to say. "Everything is fine."

"Oh, okay." She lowered herself back into the cushions, looking mildly disappointed not to have anything else to do.

"Why don't you read from your book again?" Harry asked her.

That cheered her up. She lifted the book and opened it on her lap. She began to read again in her clear and even voice, at a point which Harry was completely unfamiliar with (he'd probably been sleeping long before she realised and stopped reading aloud).

Harry rolled up in the blanket, covering himself completely, and relaxed in the chair. It was so big and soft that it didn't feel uncomfortable or cramped at all, just cosy. He watched the fire, listening more to the sound of Hermione's voice than to the plotline, until his eyes drooped close again.

He didn't know if he'd completely fallen asleep or not, but the next time he blearily looked up, there were two more people in the common room, and they weren't students.

"Wotcher, Harry! Hermione!" said a chipper voice, with an even chipper-er appearance. Tonks stood grinning at the both of them, and Remus Lupin was smiling next to her. Tonks' hair was a mixture of streaky red and black, and clashed horribly with her violet robes. Lupin looked older than he used to, with more grey in his hair and more wrinkles around his eyes, but he was wearing a pine and tinsel ornament on the breast of his robes, and his clothes looked their best.

"Professor Lupin! Tonks!" Hermione exclaimed happily. "What are you doing here?"

"We were waiting for you down at the Christmas dinner," said Lupin. "But when you didn't turn up, we thought to come look for you. It was largely to see you that we came up to Hogwarts, after all. Is everything all right?" He eyed Harry.

Harry pushed himself up straighter in his chair, brushing the blanket down to his lap. "Didn't you see Ron?" Harry asked, ignoring the question. "He went down there."

Tonks shook her head. "No, we must have just missed him." She walked closer and dropped on the rug before the fire. "Ah, that's good. Those hallways get so drafty in winter." She put out her hands towards the flames, then looked back to Harry and Hermione. "So why are you two missing a perfectly good and decadent Christmas dinner?"

"Well-" Hermione piped up, glancing at Harry.

"Ron's going to bring some food up," said Harry, wishing his voice wouldn't sound so stuffy and hoarse.

"Because Harry isn't feeling too well," added Hermione anyway, ignoring Harry as he turned and glared at her.

"Oh?" said Lupin, stepping closer to get a good look at Harry, who - predictably - ducked his head under the scrutiny. "You're looking rather pale, Harry. And you don't sound too good either."

"I've a cold," Harry mumbled.

"He almost passed out earlier," said Hermione helpfully.

Harry looked furiously at her. "Hermione!"

"Well, you did," she snapped at him.

"I did not!" he snapped back, before coughing. "Stop making it sound worse than it is!" he said afterwards.

Hermione snorted. "Stop making it out to be nothing."

"It is nothing!"

"Enough of that," said Lupin, coming between them. "Obviously Hermione is worried about you, Harry. And obviously Harry doesn't like people to fuss, Hermione." He sat down in a free armchair and said to Harry: "Have you thought about going to the Hospital Wing yet?"

Hermione huffed with a roll of her eyes. Harry groaned and threw up his hands.

"Okay, so you have." Lupin chuckled. "Let's talk about something else then." Clearly he could see the entire subject was making Harry uncomfortable. "Anyone for tea?" He conjured a steaming teakettle and mugs from thin air and poured them all a cuppa. "Sugar, milk, anyone?"

After they each gave their order and sat back with a steaming mug in their hands, Tonks grinned at the two teenagers. "Let's talk about the really important stuff. What presents did you get this morning?"

Harry sent the both of them a grateful look, then proceeded to tell about the puce, snidget imprinted socks Dobby had given him, and about the wand-holder from Hagrid, which growled and snapped at anyone who touched it who wasn't Harry.

Then Hermione, having calmed down and sipping her cup of tea, chatted amiably about her presents - mostly books, to her enjoyment - showing the detective novel to Tonks, who leafed through it with interest. Harry listened at first, then couldn't help himself as he leant back into his chair and allowed his eyes to flutter shut, just to rest them a bit. He was very tired.

"Then my mother sent me a book about Hair Care Charms and Potions, which she picked up in Diagon Alley last time we were there, I suppose... but, well, what was she thinking?! I'd have much preferred the one about Illusions and Delusions - The Art of Spellbinding for the DA, as you can surely understand..." Hermione babbled.

"Hehh... asshhoo!" sneezed Harry suddenly, turning away from the others. "Hehh, ahh... csshoo!"

"Bless you!" Three voices sounded as one, as they turned to him. "Thags," said Harry sleepily. He frowned a bit, then buried his nose in the handkerchief again to add another: "Hehhccshuh!"

Before he could look up, there was a hand on his forehead, brushing back his fringe. "You're feeling rather warm, Harry," said Lupin, frowning at him.

"Well, it is rather warm in here, with the fire and all," said Harry, momentarily leaning against the cool hand. He caught himself and moved away from the touch, pushing the blanket off him and fussing a little with his jumper as it was too warm indeed.

Lupin stood back looking worried, and then in a flash Tonks also had her hand on Harry's forehead. "He's definitely feverish," she surmised.

"I wish people would stop doing that," Harry complained, leaning back from the touch. "I'm really not doing too bad."

"Well, I think you should see Madam Pomfrey anyway," said Tonks, putting her hands in her side and looking for anything like a lollypop version of Hermione. "If it really is nothing she'll send you back here with a flask of pepper-up, and we'll shut about the subject. No harm, no foul."

"I just don't want to go all the way to the Hospital Wings because I have a simple cold, especially when I'm perfectly fine here. Anyway, Madam Pomfrey will be down at dinner as well and if I go she'll have to miss it," Harry reasoned.

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey won't mind to help one of her students who isn't feeling well on Christmas day, Harry," Lupin said rationally.

"I can go get her," offered Tonks.

"No!" said Harry, getting increasingly frustrated. Why did they all have to treat him as if he was a fragile doll ready to break? All he wanted was to curl into a miserable little ball and be left alone until he felt decent again. Was that too much to ask? It wasn't as if he hadn't done it dozens of times before when he wasn't feeling well at the Dursleys. "Will you all just let it go already?"

"Harry, we just want you to feel better," pleaded Hermione, but her tone did not measure with her features, which were looking annoyed at his stubbornness. "It will only take a bit."

Harry dropped his head against his arms for a moment, feeling himself starting to give in. He had a terrible headache, his throat hurt and his head felt about three sizes too big it was so hot, and he wished he could make them all disappear. He wondered briefly if vanishing spells worked as well on wizards as it did on iguanas, but figured it would be easier for him to vanish than the three of them.

A hand was placed on his back, rubbing it gently. "Harry?"

Harry sat up and brushed Lupin's arm aside. "Look, can't we compromise?" he said to three pairs of concerned eyes. "I'll go to bed and take it easy, and we'll see how I am in the morning. If I'm not better, I'll go to see Madam Pomfrey." He was sure he'd feel better if he got a little sleep in, and they'd all feel stupid for overreacting.

"I don't think-" started Hermione, but Lupin put up his hand and she stopped talking.

"I think that might be a solution, Harry," nodded Lupin. "I'll walk you up there and get you settled in, and I'll stay over in Neville's or Dean's bed, and in the morning we'll talk more."

Harry stared. "You don't have to babysit me!" he said, getting angry again.

"It's not babysitting," placated Lupin, hands up. "Tonks and I were planning to stay over before all this, to have a little bit of a break from Order work. Tonks'll be staying in Hermione's dormitory. See, it was all sorted out earlier."

Harry missed the wink Lupin and Tonks shared, but he wasn't completely fooled.

"Fine," he said, annoyed. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight." He kicked away the blanket and got up slowly - he still remembered what had happened last time he'd gotten up too fast - and started walking over to the boys' staircase, ignoring the others but aware that Lupin was following him.

Halfway there, he could barely see for the spots that were dancing in his vision. Heat seemed to rush through his body and set his head pounding worse than ever. Putting a hand to his temple, as if to push the fuzziness from his brain, he turned chalky pale and met Lupin's eyes.

Lupin, who'd watched him pass out multiple times during dementor classes, recognised the look immediately and hurried forward to catch him before he hit the floor.

There were running feet before him, and the flapping of a curtain in a steady breeze. His own feet pounded against the ground, propelling him forward as fast as he could, but suddenly he was certain he wouldn't make it; he wouldn't be on time. With the greatest effort he could muster he put on a last bout of speed, stretching his hand to grab. But his fingers brushed past the other's hand without grasping, and then he was alone. Alone with the billowing veil, and there were terrifying whispers from behind it, drifting on the wind, hissing his name. "Harry..."

"Harry?"

When Harry opened his eyes, the first thing he saw - after blinking the spots away - was a white ceiling he recognised very well. He closed his eyes again and groaned. He might as well get his own bed in the Hospital Wing with the amount of time he spent in here. Perhaps with a special nametag and his own sheets with little snitches on it, ready to wait for his certified arrival of the term.

"Harry?" a voice sounded to his right. "Are you awake?"

Harry turned his head to the blob next to his bed, then blinked again. Vaguely he realised the blob had sounded female and looked violet, so it must be Tonks.

"Hmm," he intoned, turning over and pressing his face in the pillow. His head was throbbing as if a herd of hippogriffs had just stampeded over it. He shivered and gripped his blanket tightly in his fists. Why did he have to be either too hot or too cold, why couldn't the two agree to get along and find a measure in between... and what were those fingers doing brushing through his hair? He turned his head away from the intrusion, and the hand was pulled away. He felt much too hot and hyper-sensitive to stand any sort of touch.

"Harry?"

The voice seemed persistent that he wake up. Harry opened his eyes again and squinted at the light. It set his nose tingling and he started sniffling.

"There you are," said Tonks, trying for a cheerful grin, but ending rather more with a cross between deranged and anxious. "How do you feel now?"

"Um," Harry thought about that one, bringing a finger to his nose to rub at it, then murmured: "Dizzy `n tired, I guess."

"I'll say." Tonks was sitting on a chair next to his bed, and she relaxed a little at hearing him lucid. "You right fainted in the middle of the common room just now."

"I did... ehh... did not," Harry protested, burying the lower half of his face in his blankets. "Ehhchisshh! Ahh, ehh... Chisshh!" The sneezes sent him reeling, but he closed his eyes a moment until he got his bearings.

Tonks paused until his eyes were on her again and chatted on. "Bless you. And right well you did. Keeled over like Kingsley does after five Fire-whiskeys. Remus carried you all the way down here - wouldn't let me cast a mobili-corpus, Mr Manly Man that he is - and you were muttering about nametags and linens just now. What was that about?" She smiled softly at him.

"Oh," said Harry, embarrassed, rubbing his forehead. His scar was so sensitive to the touch he flinched when his fingers brushed it. "Nothing really." He frowned confusedly, looking around the Hospital Wing. "Where's Hermione?"

"She went down to get Madam Pomfrey. Remus is... oh, here he is."

Lupin entered from the restroom, a wet cloth in his hands.

"It's not much," he said, walking up to Harry and smiling at seeing him awake, "but it'll help a little. Lean back, Harry."

Harry was happy to do it, as it cost him a lot of effort just keeping his head up. It was strange, really, as normally he didn't have that much trouble walking around with the very same head on his shoulders without feeling like falling over.

Lupin draped the cloth over Harry's forehead. Harry hissed as the cool fabric touched his hot skin, but then relaxed as the heat that pounded away at him abated a little on that spot. He closed his eyes, feeling immensely drowsy again.

"Harry, can you stay awake until Madam Pomfrey has had a look at you?" Lupin asked, putting a hand on his arm.

"Mm'kay," murmured Harry, but his mind drifted and a curtain billowed and snapped at him like a whiplash. It coiled around his foot, pulling it out from under him and he crashed to the ground. He was yanked forward into the flapping fabric.

"Harry?"

"Huh!" Harry exhaled as his eyes snapped open. "No!"

"Harry, are you awake? Can you see me?" Lupin's worried face was just inches from his own.

"No," muttered Harry, restless. "Leave me alone."

"Harry, we're not leaving..."

"Not you," frowned Harry. "That awful whispering beyond the veil." He wished his thoughts weren't so confused. For now that it was out, he was pretty sure he hadn't meant to say that out loud after all.

Lupin stared at him, a sad expression on his face. "Have you been having nightmares about Sirius?" he asked gently.

Harry closed his eyes. He felt light, as if he was floating in a swimming pool filled with feathers. If only those hippogriffs would stop pounding on his head. Sirius would know how to deal with them. He'd taken excellent care of Buckbeak, after all.

Harry looked up at Lupin with a dreamy look on his face. "Sirius transformed into a grim," he mumbled vaguely. "Wasn't that ironic?"

Lupin dropped his gaze, looking at his hands.

"He used to scare me, make me think I was seeing a grim, that first year," Harry whispered. "I wish I could see the grim now, if it meant Sirius was here."

"I know," said Lupin, brushing Harry's damp fringe back from his fever-bright eyes. "Me too."

Harry shut his eyes and mumbled, stirring restlessly as his addled head got the better of him. He was hardly aware of the main door opening, or of new voices joining the ones that had already been there. Through the slits of his eyes he could see bits of movement around him, but he couldn't get himself to wake up enough and see what was going on. He was sure someone was standing over him, touched him and talked about him, but he didn't open his eyes again until the someone was lifting up his head.

"Kill the spare!" A green flash and a thud.

Harry startled and flinched. Then he moaned as his head seemed to explode, and he curled around himself.

"There, there, now Mr Potter," came the kindly voice of the school nurse. "Wake up a little for me, please."

"Umm," Harry grimaced at the soreness of his head, at the way his clothes hurt against his skin, and he wished people would just let him sleep until he woke up better. He squinted up at Madam Pomfrey.

"You're unfortunately a bit too far gone for a simple pepper-up, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, leaning over him. "But I have just the thing to help you. First, you'll need a little fever-reducing potion. Go on, sit up a little bit."

Harry pushed himself up, leaning heavily against the big, fluffy pillow Lupin had hurriedly placed at his back.

"Good, good," nodded Madam Pomfrey. She handed him a quarter-filled glass - he held it with both hands to keep it from shaking too much - and smiled encouragingly at him. "Drink up now, and we'll see if we can get that nasty temperature of yours under control."

Harry put the glass to his lips and sipped at the see-through pinkish potion until he'd drank it all. It didn't taste too bad; a little like raspberries dipped in maple syrup, with a tang of something mint. He took a few deep breaths after he'd finished, as the potion seemed to seep down his throat and into his stomach like a cold bite of ice cream. Then the feeling stretched outwards, into his chest, arms, and finally to his head. The intense heat that had been beating at him dissipated a little, and he felt cold sweat break out on his forehead.

Madam Pomfrey was nodding to herself, then dabbed at his forehead with the cloth Remus had put on the bedside table. "That must be better, hmm?"

Harry nodded, relieved. Though he felt far from okay, at least he no longer felt as if he was about to rise from his bed like a hot-air balloon.

Madam Pomfrey stood and started bustling around. "Now, the next step would be an Aches and Pain Potion," she explained to Lupin, Tonks, and - Harry just noticed them now - Ron and Hermione, who were sitting anxiously on the next bed over. "You have a headache, Potter? A sore throat?"

Harry nodded, then wished he hadn't, as the hippogriffs did an encore stampede despite the heat wave being over. "Yeah," he rasped instead, swallowing against the hurt in his throat.

Madam Pomfrey measured three spoons of a thick, syrupy potion into a full glass of water and stirred it. "Drink this up, Potter. The water will be good for you as well, with that fever of yours."

Harry tried hard to finish the water, but unfortunately this potion made it taste like old dishwater, so after only a few swallows he stopped and pulled a face.

Madam Pomfrey put her arms in her waist, towering over his bed, and pulled up an eyebrow at him.

Harry sighed and drank up, trying not to breathe - which wasn't hard with his stuffed nose - so he would taste as least as possible. However, as soon as he finished, he was glad that he had, because he could instantly feel his headache clear, and his throat felt much less sore as the liquid eased it as it went down. It worked so much faster and better than Hermione's Muggle aspirin, that he wondered if she wasn't wrong in not walking to the Hospital Wing whenever she had a headache.

In the meantime, Madam Pomfrey had taken the glass away again and was muttering over her potions cabinet. She turned and pointed at Hermione and Ron. "You two," she said briskly. "Why don't you go get Mr Potter's necessities for spending the night-"

Harry sighed. He hadn't really had any hope that he'd be able to leave after getting the potions in, not after passing out in the common room and everything, but the final vestiges of it ebbed away at this. Nametag and snitch-illustrated blankets, he thought bitterly. And a mug that said `Hurt Harry's Hospital Mug.'

"-and enough clothes and entertainment for an added day or two," continued the nurse.

Harry groaned at this news. Hermione and Ron waved feebly at him as they traipsed through the door to get his stuff. "We'll be right back, Harry," said Hermione sympathetically. Ron nodded and closed the door behind them.

Madam Pomfrey turned on him. "Now, I know being here is not where you want to be, Mr Potter, but I'd like you to understand the seriousness of the situation. You were very ill. In fact, you should have come to me straight away." She frowned down on him. "I heard you fell into the lake today ("students!" she huffed) and walked around like that, soaking wet, outside no less, for quite a while before changing! Then, when you felt ill you refused to come down here even though four people told you it was necessary, until you ended up being carried here unconscious!" She shook her head at his stupidity, before pointing out: "In fact, you wouldn't have come down so hard with this illness if you hadn't been feeling ill before, as dipping in freezing water might cause fever, but it does not cause a cold. To top all this, Mr Weasley informed me you were standing outside this very room this afternoon when Miss Weasley was brought in here, but you didn't even think to come in to get a preventive Pepper-up, even feeling as you did. I am not impressed."

She rounded on him, all puffed up and indignant - reminding Harry like no other of Mrs Weasley - and asked him exasperatedly: "What is wrong with you, Potter?"

"Nothing!" Harry defended, blushing red in embarrassment. He was happy Ron and Hermione weren't here, though he was going to have a firm conversation with both of them on the subject of blabbing. "It's just... It's Christmas and all... and I... you... being here every time... it's just..." He shrugged. "Sorry?" he offered instead.

Madam Pomfrey grumbled and threw up her hands, signifying that she'd at least tried. "Okay then, Potter," she said, turning back to her potions, letting it drop. Harry glanced over at Lupin, who was watching him with a thoughtful look, and a frown between his eyes. Harry had a nasty feeling Lupin was not going to let it drop, and that he'd hear about it more later. Tonks was grinning and staring at the ceiling, leaning back on the two hind legs of her chair. Luckily she didn't seem to intend to catch out his every act and decision. She was so cool.

"Feeling any nausea, Potter?" Madam Pomfrey called from within her bottles of remedial potions and powders.

"No," said Harry quietly, relieved at the distraction. "Just not hungry."

She nodded, then listed: "Any pressure in your ears? No? Diarrhoea? No? There's no need to blush like that, it happens you know. Any muscle cramps? Are you still feeling dizzy? No?"

She walked over to his bedside with another bottle. Before opening it, she waved her wand over Harry's body, especially his chest, and glanced quickly at the coloured lines that spouted from the wand. Harry was sure she'd done that before, when he wasn't paying attention.

"Right, she said. "Take three drops of this..." she dropped three in a spoon and mixed it in a swallow of water. "Drink that," she ordered, handing him the glass.

Harry did, anticipating a horrible taste and being quite right in that assessment. "Gah!" he said as soon as it was down. He was glad he hadn't been feeling nauseous, because he couldn't see how anyone who was could keep that one down.

"Yes, that one's quite nasty," said the nurse, hardly paying attention to Harry's grimace. "But it'll help your cough and keep this infection from spreading deeper into your lungs, so no complaining."

Harry glared. How could you not complain if you were forced to swallow soluble tar flavoured potions.

Madam Pomfrey meanwhile wiped the wet cloth over his forehead again - he was sweating a lot, Harry realised.

"Now that you're doing a bit better," said Madam Pomfrey, "as soon as we finish this round of potions, it's about time for you to change into pajamas. You can hardly get a good night's sleep in your clothes.

Harry blinked. He hadn't even realised he was still in jeans and jumper, but he wasn't particularly uncomfortable in them either. Of course, the nurse was right in that he would be better settled in bed in his night clothes, especially with him sweating so much.

Madam Pomfrey was bringing over yet another bottle - was there ever going to be an end to them? - but Harry lowered his head and rubbed at his nose, which was startling to itch again.

"Heh, ehh," Harry started to sneeze, "Hep-"

"Suspenda," Madam Pomfrey said briskly, giving her wand a little wave as she stopped next to his bed. Harry blinked dizzily as the sneeze left him just on the verge of completion. "That reminds me, Potter. Here." She reached over to the bedside cabinet and pulled a handkerchief from the drawer, handing it to him. "Use this kerchief. It's charmed for use, and whenever you sneeze in it, it'll make sure you won't be spreading any germs around my infirmary."

Harry took the offered cloth. It looked like the one Ron had handed him earlier in the common room, with the Hogwarts crest embroidered in the corner.

"Now, place that one against you face please," ordered Madam Pomfrey.

Harry frowned at the request, but he folded out the handkerchief and held it up. Was she going to order him to blow his nose as if he were a five-year old?

"Finite Incantatum," Madam Pomfrey intoned casually.

"Chisshh!" Harry sneezed violently in the proffered cloth. He paused a moment, caught off guard by the sudden return of the aborted sensation. Then, "HehhChusssh!" he finished.

"Bless you," Madam Pomfrey said kindly. "That brings me to the next potion."

Harry rolled his eyes. Obviously there was no end to the potions. And why did they all have to taste so foul anyway? Did healers do that on purpose to make their patients take better care of themselves so they wouldn't be back for more?

"You're sounding pretty congested, which will not help you get the sleep you need, but I have just the thing," prattled Madam Pomfrey as she picked up the round bottle. "This will help clear your airways, which will also help with your coughing and sneezing. You'll feel much better for it."

Harry had to admit that it sounded pretty attractive to be able to breathe through his nose again.

Madam Pomfrey pulled the stopper from the bottle. Dark orange clouds billowed from the opening. "Now, this will make you a little sneezy for a bit, but it's all for the better," said the nurse. Then, instead of offering Harry a drink, she blew the clouds in his face. "Take a deep breath, Potter," she instructed.

Harry did as she ordered, and breathed in deeply. Immediately he knew that "a little sneezy" was rather an understatement. As the orange condense entered through his nose, he felt like he'd never had to sneeze more. His eyes glazed over and fell shut, his nose twitched, and his mouth fell half-open - but he hardly cared what he looked like as his breathing turning irregular and shallow. "Heh, heh, heh!" he inhaled shakily. His entire nose was tingling, itching, tickling with the urge to sneeze! He buried his face in the handkerchief.

"Ehh, heh! Heh! CHISHhh! Ahhtchoo! Hetchushh! Chusshh! Heh, hehh CHISHhhoo!"

It was a huge relief getting rid of the sensation, but also, with every sneeze, he could feel his sinuses clear themselves, until he no longer felt sniffly and stuffed up, and he could breathe freely again, which was wonderful.

"Wow," was all Harry could think to say.

Madam Pomfrey nodded to herself. "That'll do for now, Potter. Change please, and then sleep, I think." She pulled up the curtain around his bed so he could change with some privacy. For a short second, Harry blanched as the curtain snapped shut, flashing to his nightmares, almost jumping up to break through the confinement... but then Lupin sided around the end, handing him his pyjamas, and Harry relaxed as he focussed on his former professor's kind face.

"You know, Harry, you really should not feel so reluctant to let anyone know when you're feeling bad," said Lupin, helping Harry pull his jumper over his head. Even though Harry didn't feel any longer as if his head was about to blow up or like the world was doing flips around him, his arms were still very uncooperative and surprisingly weak. "We care about you and want to help you. Wouldn't you do the same for us?"

"Well, sure, but..." Harry frowned down at his hands, which were still shaking a little. He shrugged. "I guess I'm just not used to anyone paying any attention to me when I'm sick. I prefer just to be left alone and let it sort itself out. It's never been a problem before."

Lupin sighed, and when Harry looked up at him, it seemed as if the weight of the world was pressing the older man down. "It shouldn't have been that way," Lupin murmured, and Harry wasn't sure if Lupin had meant for him to hear that.

"But it was," Lupin resolved, squaring his shoulders. "No more though. Promise me, Harry, that if you're feeling ill, or bad in any sort of way, that you'll tell someone about it. Be it me, or Ron and Hermione, or Dumbledore, or whoever you feel comfortable with. Really, I promise we won't bite, and it will make things better in the end. Can you promise me that?"

Harry looked at the earnest plea in the eyes of his parent's and Sirius' best friend, and thought about all the times his scar had hurt this year; about all the times he'd woken up screaming with nightmares - only undiscovered because he'd placed silencing charms around his bed. He thought about the flue he'd had at the Dursley's this summer that no one had ever known about, and how his occlumency lessons left him with searing headaches and sleepless nights. He thought about the worry that laced his friends' eyes even when nothing was happening, their fear about the danger he was constantly in, and the imminent fulfilment of the prophesy that always loomed over his head.

"I'll try," Harry said softly, looking down.

Lupin beamed at him and brushed his damp hair back from his forehead.

There was a loud crash and a startled shriek from outside the curtain. Tonks' chair had toppled over.

After Harry had changed and settled under the blankets in his bed - to his frustration he suddenly noticed that he always ended up in the third bed on the right... apparently even Madam Pomfrey had decided that he needed a bed of his own.

Hermione and Ron had returned with Harry's stuff and were sitting on the next bed, chatting a little (Ron was talking about Christmas dinner and how Snape had adamantly refused to accept to wear the matching set of party hats Dumbledore had pulled from his wizard cracker). Harry was only half listening. Now that he was settled in, he was starting to feel incredibly drowsy again, and he was yawning frequently.

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office with Tonks, who had a bandage around her head and a sheepish grin on her face.

"Now don't take that off for about an hour and the bump will go right down," Madam Pomfrey instructed the young auror. "Honestly I should've to let you suffer, to teach you to sit on a chair properly."

Tonks winked at Harry, then winced a little and rubbed at the back of her head.

"Don't touch that!" Madam Pomfrey snapped over her shoulder.

"Eyes in the back of her head," whispered Tonks to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You'd think Moody is scary, but at least I can explain how he does it, with the eye and such. What's her excuse?"

The four of them sniggered.

"You know," said Tonks wistfully, looking around, "I think I spent just as much time in here as I did in my dormitory. You know how I always break stuff - bit clumsy aren't I? - but then I tend to do that to my bones as well. This one time I was late for class and running through the fifth floor corridor - you know the one with the painting of Ethel the Obtuse - and I slipped on a cockroach cluster and fell smack bang into the armoury that stands there - near cut off my toes with that rusted sword it's holding too. Then, it started sliding down the stairs, and since my robes were caught in it's helmet it pulled me along and we went rolling down all the way-"

"Honestly, Miss Tonks, that will do," said Madam Pomfrey, but she looked down fondly on the bandaged head. "It's about time for Mr Potter to get some rest."

Harry, who'd been half asleep already despite Tonks' entertaining story, wanted to protest, but decided not to as he caught the nurse's strict look. Instead, he scuttled deeper under the soft, warm blankets and buried his head in his pillow. He yawned again.

"I doubt you'll be needing a sleeping potion tonight," Madam Pomfrey said gently, as she put a full glass of water on his bedside table for him. "So no more potions until tomorrow for you." Then she turned around, a no-nonsense look on her face, and said to the others: "But I don't want this thing to be going around the school, so if you'd all follow me for some Pepper-up now?" She motioned for them to follow her.

Ron and Hermione grimaced, but followed the school nurse obediently.

"You too, Remus, Nymphadora," said Madam Pomfrey over her shoulder.

"Aw, what?" groaned Tonks, sharing a horrified look with Lupin before the two adults grudgingly trudged after the others.

Had Harry not been so near sleep, he would have laughed heartily at the look on their faces. However, he buried himself deeper in his blankets and pillows and dropped off almost instantly. He didn't even hear the others leave quietly.

A hundred dementors surrounded him, closing in until they formed a dark and impenetrable wall around him. Their breaths rattled deeply in their chest; their arms stretched with bony, claw-like fingers protruding from their robes. The air in Harry's breast froze and he felt he'd never be warm again. "Expecto..." he whispered, but he couldn't figure how anyone could ever be happy, and his mind was blank. Screaming roared in his ears, frightened cries and pleas of dying parents, and when he looked down, Ron and Hermione, Tonks and Lupin, Dumbledore and Ginny and Neville, other friends and fellow students, were lying at his feet, unconscious, as the dementors drew nearer with their hoarse, rattling breathing.

"Wake up, Harry. It's just a dream."

A hand reached for Hermione... lifted her up... a hood was lowered. "No!" rasped Harry. "Stop. Expecto..." A head bent lower, a rattle of a breath was pulled.

"Shh, wake up, Harry. It's just a dream."

Harry ran forward but was caught by a skeletal arm. When his dementor lowered its hood, Voldemort's snake-like face stared down on him.

"It's okay, Harry. It's only a nightmare. Don't let it bother you. Go back to sleep."

Harry became aware of a hand brushing his hair. The nightmare faded slowly, drifted away as his mind rationalised the truth of his situation - the blankets around his waist, the pillow under his cheek, and the soft stroke of a gentle hand through his hair. He sighed, relaxed against the mattress, and slowed his quickened breathing.

He didn't wake up completely, didn't acknowledge the fact that someone was sitting with him, watching him sleep, but allowed the hand to smooth his hair back and lull him back into the sleep hen needed so much. Words weren't necessary. He'd more or less promised Lupin that he'd allow people to look over him a bit more. It didn't feel too bad either.

He had no more nightmares that night.