Harry's eyelids fluttered open and it took him a moment to recognize that haze around him as the hospital wing. He tried to recall how he had ended up there, but nothing came to mind. The last thing he remembered was arguing with Ron in the common room.

"Harry?" it took him several seconds to realize someone had spoken to him. He turned his towards the source of the voice. Two faces looked back at him. At first, he couldn't figure out why they wouldn't come into focus.

"Glasses," he rasped. His throat was parched, his lips dry. Hermione handed over his glasses and he put them on. His limbs felt sluggish and heavy, as though he'd been lying still for too long.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" It was Ron who addressed him this time. The redhead looked concerned. Why was he concerned? Oh, right. Hospital wing.

"Tired," Harry finally replied. "Thirsty."

"I'll go get Madame Pomfrey." The boy got up and headed towards the mediwitch's office.

Bring some water, Harry thought, watching him go. Slowly, he directed his gaze back to his other best friend. She looked like she wasn't sure whether to scold him or ask if he was all right. "What happened?"

"You had a seizure," Hermione answered.

Well, that stinks.

"I told Madame Pomfrey you haven't been taking your potion this week," she told him.

"Oops," said Harry as his brain pointed out, That's not good. The girl frowned at him, but he wasn't sure how to classify it, so he didn't bother.

"Ah, good," Pomfrey commented as she approached, Ron trailing behind her. "You're looking much better, Mr. Potter. How do you feel?"

Didn't he already answer that? "Tired," he started to repeat.

"And thirsty," the woman finished with a smile. Well, if she already knew, why had she asked? The mediwitch adjusted his bed so he was sitting before offering him a glass of water.

"Madame," Hermione pointed out, "Harry's acting a bit... odd."

"It's the effect of the pain draught I gave him earlier," Pomfrey explained. "He hit his head pretty hard when he fell – it's a wonder he didn't crack his skull. It should wear off in a few minutes, now that he's awake."

"That's why I don't have a headache," Harry mumbled between sips.

Poppy frowned at him. Everyone was frowning at him today. "Have you had a headache, Mr. Potter?" she demanded.

Harry hesitated before answering. "Sort of."

"'Sort of'?"

"A little bit."

Poppy sighed in exasperation. "What did I tell you just last week, Mr. Potter?"

Oh. he was supposed to tell her if he didn't feel well, wasn't he? Harry decided he had a new favorite word: "Oops."

"I'm sure you said that every morning this week," she remarked.

"Something like that... ma'am." Harry was beginning to feel more alert and was considering "crap" or perhaps something more colorful for his favorite words list. He shot a scowl at Hermione, who he realized (now that his brain was functioning again) had just confessed to ratting on him.

"Enough of that, now, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey clucked reprovingly. "I would have known you weren't taking your potion even if Miss Granger didn't care enough about you to inform me of you negligence." Harry stared down at his hands, but remained silent.

"Harry," Ron started, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I think that will be all for today," the mediwitch interrupted. "I need to give Mr. Potter a thorough exam and after supper, he'll need his rest. Anything else you wish to say to him can wait until tomorrow."

"But he's been asleep all day!" Ron protested, at the same time Harry exclaimed, "I just woke up!" Hermione didn't look too pleased, either. Pomfrey fixed them each with a stern gaze until they finally gave up, Hermione and Ron saying goodbye with promises to return first thing in the morning. Harry glumly watched them go, then let out a sigh. He returned his attention to Madame Pomfrey.

When the mediwitch said 'thorough', she hadn't been exaggerating. The exam had been entirely thorough – including even such mundane things as flexibility and balance – and utterly humiliating. The latter of these grew worse when Snape stepped out from whatever shadow he'd been lurking in. Considering the fact that the man was garbed in his typical all-black, Harry thought he should have noticed him in the hospital wing's light interior.

Apparently, his presence came as no surprise to the mediwitch, who calmly handed her notes to him. Harry sulkily wondered how his health was any of Snape's business.

"Have you given up the foolish notion that there is nothing wrong with you, Potter?" the professor asked snidely, handing Pomfrey back her notes without comment.

"Sir?" Harry returned, barely biting back a retort.

"I'm assuming that you must have had some reason for refusing to take your potion all week," the man snapped. "Since the headmaster and several of your other professors insist that you do, in fact, have some form of higher brain functioning, I can only conclude that you did not believe me when I wasted my breath, along with several minutes of my time, explaining to you that you are dying. Unless, of course, you have a death wish, in which case, I have a good number of other projects on which I can spend my time, rather than squandering it on an ungrateful whelp like you."

"Severus!" Poppy scolded.

"I am merely speaking the truth," Snape told her, then continued to address Harry. "Unfortunately for both of us, the headmaster would never let me off were I to fail at putting forth every effort to save his precious Golden Boy. Make no mistake, Potter, you will be taking whatever I brew for you if I have to pour it down your miserable throat myself."

Harry stared at the man in shock. Snape had never been one to hold back on the barbs, but his latest diatribe had brought his threats to an all-new level. He couldn't help but find it a bit impressive, if not a little disconcerting as well.

Snape, uncomfortable having the boy openly gaping at him, turned his full attention to his colleague. "Potter will have to remain here tonight, Poppy," he told her, "not that I believe you are ready to release him from your care. The arrangements won't be complete until late tomorrow afternoon."

"I understand," Pomfrey said. "It's not a problem." Snape nodded, then turned to go.

"What arrangements?" Harry asked.

Snape paused. "Your new room, of course, Potter," he silkily replied.

"New room?"

"Why, yes. As it is apparent that you cannot be trusted to do as you're told, it is necessary that you have increased supervision – particularly in regards to taking your potion. Therefore," the man turned his head just enough to watch the boy through his peripheral vision, a smirk firmly in place, "you'll be staying with me from now on."

The look on Potter's face was almost worth the inconvenience of practically having to babysit him.

Almost.

0o0o0

"You," Ron declared, "are the unluckiest person I know."

Harry groaned. "Don't remind me!"

"But why would Professor Dumbledore make you stay with Snape?" Hermione asked. "What do you have that's so serious?"

"Nothing," Harry snapped. "They're just all overreacting. And Snape wants to make sure I take that disgusting potion, himself." He was feeling irritable. Shortly after supper the night before, Harry had laid back, thinking there was no way he'd fall asleep, then woke the following morning. At that point, he'd had to choke down Snape's vile concoction and he'd been in a foul mood ever since.

"Harry," the girl admonished, "you can't say it's nothing. You've been getting that potion for a week and not taking it led to you having a seizure. Whatever is wrong with you is bad enough that you were disqualified from the Tournament. It has something to do with the potion you tried to make, doesn't it? Did you –"

"It's none of your business," Harry growled. "You can stop prying or leave. Either way, I'm not going to talk about it."

"Easy, mate," Ron spoke up. "'Mione's just worried about you, is all."

"Really?" the dark-haired boy retorted. "I think she just can't stand the thought that there's one thing she doesn't know. Well, you know what? I'm not gonna tell you! I don't want to. I've got enough people meddling in my life – I don't need my 'friends' doing it, too!"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Shut up!" Harry shouted. "Just shut up and leave me alone! Both of you, just leave. I don't want to talk to either of you. GET OUT OF HERE!" He starting grabbing things off the bedside table to throw at them. Hurt, they got up and made their exit.

They had just reached the door leading out to the hall when Madame Pomfrey caught up to them. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley." Reluctantly, they turned to face her, Hermione scrubbing tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I know Mr. Potter's words just now were unkind," the woman began, "but I feel I should let you know that I don't believe he is angry with either of you, but at what is happening to him. He's... truly dealing with a lot, and I think he's probably a bit scared, and that's why he's lashing out. I just hope that neither you will let his anger push you away because he really does need you right now, even if he isn't ready to tell you what's wrong."

"That's just mental," said Ron.

Pomfrey smile sadly. "That's often the way these things go."

"I'm worried about him," Hermione said.

"And I think part of him knows that."

"It's bad, isn't it? Worse than anything else that's happened to him."

Poppy studied the girl's anxious expression, her worry for her friend showing clearly in her brown eyes. She couldn't lie to her, to either of them. "I'm afraid so," she answered.

"How can we help him?" Ron asked.

"For now, all you can really do is be there for him, even if he sometimes believes that he doesn't want you to be."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "We'll come back to visit him after lunch," she said. Ron shot her a dubious glance before agreeing.

"I think Mr. Potter would like that," Poppy smiled. The two Gryffindors continued on their way as the mediwitch made her way to the only occupied bed, where Harry still appeared to be fuming. "Do try to calm yourself, Mr. Potter. It wouldn't do for you to have another fit."

"I wasn't throwing a fit," Harry muttered grumpily, throwing his head back against the pillow and crossing his arms.

"I was talking about another seizure," Pomfrey dryly informed him, "though tantrums are most unbecoming."

"I thought that stuff was supposed to keep that from happening."

"It should help, but that doesn't mean you should get worked up over every little thing, either."

Harry scowled, continuing to stare moodily out a window in the far wall.

"Do you feel sick, at all?" Poppy asked him. The boy shook his head. "Any pain? Headache?" Another shake. "Nothing unusual? You're certain?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered quietly. "I feel fine."

She put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll leave you alone, now."

"Thank you." As the witch stepped into her office, Harry pulled his gaze from the window to stare down at his lap. A pair of tears trickled silently down his cheeks. It wasn't fair. All he wanted were a few good memories of his parents. Why was this happening to him?

Poppy Pomfrey quietly stood in her office doorway, watching her patient across the room. It wasn't fair...

0o0o0

"What are you looking for, Hermione?" Ron asked as he helped his friend carry an armload of books to a library table.

"I'm trying to find out what's wrong with Harry," she responded.

"Shouldn't we just wait for Harry to tell us?" the boy asked, their last meeting with their friend fresh in his mind.

"Do you really think he will tell us?" Hermione questioned rhetorically. "I just want to understand what he's going through."

"If he found out you were doing this, he'd be mad."

"Well, Harry won't find out," the girl stated, fixing him with a warning glare, "because I know I won't be telling him."

Ron threw his hands up in surrender, then took a seat across from her as she sat. "What do you think is wrong with him?" he asked, studying the cover of one of the numerous potions texts Hermione was browsing.

"I'm not sure," Hermione frowned, putting aside one volume and opening another. "I think his sickness is directly related to his potions accident."

"That makes sense. That's when all this started. Do you think he poisoned himself?"

"Whatever happened to him, he's having special potions made just for him."

"How do you know that?" Ron wanted to know.

"When is the last time a pain draught made you disoriented?"

"Oh. So the ingredients were changed. That's why he reacted differently."

Hermione eyed him appraisingly. "And I thought you didn't pay attention in class."

"I had to rewrite that essay," Ron admitted with a grimace. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. He pulled a thick tome towards him and opened it to the Table of Contents. "Hey, 'Mione?"

"Hmm?" she murmured distractedly.

He fidgeted in his chair a moment, then asked, "Do you really wanna know?"

The girl looked up to meet his gaze. "No," she answered, "but I have to, Ron. Whenever anything is wrong with you or Harry, I have to know, even if knowing is hard or painful. I just..." It had become one of the rare moments in which words failed her, so she gave a tight smile and returned to her search.

Ron nodded. He knew how she felt.