your cold hands

Chapter Three

"You know, it's only normal he has trouble performing that spell. He always used it against... you know."

"The first time he cast it he was fine, 'Mione. Malfoy definitely cursed him."

"No, McGonagall checked his wand with Priori. There was nothing on it."

Green eyes opened slowly to two faces peering down at him.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're awake!"

Harry sat up slowly, rubbing his head. His insides felt... burned. Incinerated.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked. "And what happened?"

"They don't know, mate," Ron said, looking relieved now that his best friend was awake. "Personally, I think it was Malfoy. He's livid, by the way, thinks you tried to set him up."

"Ugh, let him think what he wants," Harry groaned, leaning back on his pillows. "I feel like a charred husk."

"What?" Hermione asked, brows furrowing. "Are you alright? I'm going to go get Madame Pomfrey."

And before he could stop her, she flounced off in the direction of her office.

"Now she's gonna come and shove some potion down my throat and keep me here the night," Harry complained. "There goes sneaking out."

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Ron said. "You were fine one second and the next you're on the floor. Is it... the war?"

And there, the taboo subject was mentioned. It conjured a dark, black cloud that hung over the pair and started to rain small memories.

Before Harry could react, however, the matron appeared.

"One week in, Potter, this is your new record," she said as she checked for fever. As Harry suspected, she had two vials with her, and he suppressed a huff.

"You're very malnourished, Potter," she commented, thrusting them into his hands. "We think that's why you collapsed - "

" - I didn't collapse - "

"And this is a Nutrient Replenishing potion," she said, gesturing towards the larger of the two. "And the second one is a Calming Draught. No more than two sips per day, mind you. At the Headmistress' request."

"I don't need a Calming Draught," Harry argued. "And I am not malnourished."

It was true; he had no Dursleys to limit his food intake now. He could eat what he liked, and he had Kreacher cooking for him, too. The elf made sure to take care of him. Most of the time, when Harry could be bothered to summon him.

"Potter, please," Pomfrey said, raising an eyebrow. "You're about as skinny with your wand."

At this, Harry was extremely offended. He had plenty of muscle, thanks! He played Quidditch!

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione said hurriedly, cutting in before Harry could say something he would regret. "When will he be discharged?"

Pomfrey deliberated; clearly it pained her for a patient to leave the Wing, but there was no need for the boy to stay.

"You may go now," she said reluctantly. "But do not overexert yourself, Potter. And come back for a refill on the potions when you're finished with them."

"But why do I need a Calming Draught - "

"Thank you, again," Hermione said, interrupting him once again, before dragging him out with Ron in tow.

Harry shook off her grip once they were in the corridor. He noticed the lights were much brighter out here than the infirmary. "Hermione! Why didn't you let me ask her?"