Harry Sickfics {L.S}

Singing pizza's and dancing bananas

Blanket. No blanket. Blanket. No blanket. Sigh. Turn around. Stick one foot out. Foot back in. Arm out. Foot out. Both back in. Blanket. Turn over again.

Repeat proces.

Harry couldn't decide whether he felt too hot or too cold. By the time he had decided he was too hot and had pushed the blanket off him again for the umpteenth time, he was cold again. He could feel how clammy his hands and feet were and the curls that stuck to his sweaty forehead indicated his assumptions of having a fever only more.

If he wouldn't feel this dizzy, he would have gotten up and got something to reduce his fever. But anytime he moved his head too fast from one side to the other, it felt like the world turned upside down. His head was pounding and he felt queasy. The motion of the bus was not helping his stomach either.

He had no idea what caused him to feel like this. He hadn't been around sick people and he hadn't eaten anything weird or abnormal. On the other hand, his immune system was quite weak and Harry has a history of catching everything that goes around. Although the flu is not supposed to make its entry at the beginning of September.

Harry does know one thing, though; He feels like absolute shit.

***

Harry has no idea what time it is, but it has to be somewhere in the middle of the night. An hour at which every sane person would be asleep. But Harry isn't.

It hasn't been 5 minutes since the last time he turned around when his stomach starts to churn. A heat wave rolls over him and he feels his heart pounding in every part of his body. His mouth starts to water and his breathing becomes more laboured. He knows what's about to happen and shuts his eyes tightly. He tries to breathe slowly through his nose, hoping to ease the nausea.

But when he feels his dinner from last night getting ready to make a reappearance, he knows he can't hold it in. He carefully untangles his sweaty body from the white bedsheets and climbs out of his bunk. As soon as he stands, a spell of dizziness washes over him and he has to grab the bunk across from him to prevent from falling over. When he doesn't see as blurry anymore, he carefully, but as fast as possible, makes his way over to the small bathroom. He opens the door and he isn't even fully positioned in front of the toilet when his stomach contents make a loud reappearance in the toilet. He falls to his knees and grabs the toilet seat with both his hands, vomiting loudly.

In between rounds of sick, he coughs and tears start to stream down his cheeks. There is nothing in the whole world he hates more than getting sick.

Harry doesn't know how long he has been sitting in front of the toilet before he feels a warm hand touching his back. He tries to lift his head from the toilet brim, but he's too weak. His knuckles have turned white from the tight grip he had on the toilet seat and his breathing is still heavy. The hand starts to rub gentle circles on his back and he hears a voice talking to him, but he can't process what they're saying.

His stomach does another flip and he lifts his head up again, ready for another round of sick. He vaguely registers another hand touching his forehead and brushing some curls from it. When he's done for the moment, he falls back against the wall of the bathroom, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. He hears the toilet flushing and moments later he feels a wet cloth wiping his mouth and the rest of his face. He tries to open his eyes but he is so tired, he barely manages to hold his head up. He feels sick to his stomach and he's scared that if he moves too much, he'll start vomiting again.

The person in front of him touches his cheek and forehead. It's a cold touch and Harry moans at the welcoming coldness. The person is talking and Harry tries to register what they're saying.