Yuletide Blessing in Disguise

Lord of the Ring

Hermione slid off Harry and bolted upright on her knees, her face white with fear when Harry started thrashing wildly and moaning. His messy hair was damp, his forehead was covered with beads of cold sweat, and his eyes were still shut. He was obviously having one of his nightmare visions again. This one looked much worse than last time.

She shook him vigorously.

"Harry!" she yelled. "Wake up!"

Hermione shook him again, tears running down her cheeks.

"Wake up, Harry! Please!"

She tried kissing Harry. But even that didn't seem to be working this time, and Hermione began to panic.

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione clambered back on top of Harry's shaking body and wrapped herself tightly around him, feeling his cold, clammy skin against her own. She pressed herself against him and peppered his face with kisses, hoping that she could bring him out of it by forcefully asserting her presence.

It seemed like it might be working. His eyelids were flickering, and she could just make out between his ragged gasps and hisses something which sounded very much like, "... 'rmione." In a last-ditch effort to bring Harry round, still squirming against his writhing torso, she slipped one of her hands under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

It was no doubt a highly unorthodox method of revival, but it worked. Harry's eyes snapped open, his face contorted and pale. Hermione scrambled off him immediately to give him a chance to breathe—just in the nick of time.

Harry heaved once, his cheeks puffing out, and leaned over the side of the bed. He violently heaved again, vomiting on the floor; he couldn't seem to stop throwing up, retching even after he had clearly emptied the contents of his stomach.

Hermione didn't want to leave his side, but at this point she knew she needed help. Sobbing, she darted out of his quarters into the drafty stone corridor without bothering to waste time finding a robe and banged loudly on Dora's door.

It opened moments later, revealing a bleary eyed pink haired figure in a fuzzy nightgown.

"Hermione what...?" Dora's eyes popped when she saw Hermione's state—practically naked except for her knickers, damp disheveled hair, and tears streaming from her cheeks.

"It's Harry! He's really ill," she cried. "He can't stop throwing up."

"Blimey!" Dora muttered; she scurried quickly to Harry's quarters with Hermione, a bewildered looking Fleur following behind them.

The three witches found Harry still dry-heaving, and Hermione let out some more sobs.

"Finite Vomite," Dora incanted, flourishing her wand.

Harry's retching ended, and he slumped on his bed, panting heavily. Even in her distraught state, Hermione managed to mentally file that spell away for future use.

Fleur murmured, "Evanesco," waving her wand at the floor, and the pile of sick vanished.

Feeling less panicky now, Hermione conjured up a glass of water and sat on the bed next to Harry. He took the glass gratefully and gulped it down.

"Not so fast," said Hermione, "You don't want to make yourself throw up again."

"I can still taste it..." he said, looking revolted and anguished, then gulped down more water.

"What the hell happened?" asked Dora.

"Somezing 'e ate per'aps?" asked Fleur.

Harry just kept drinking water, averting his eyes and looking disturbed and ashamed.