Content Harry Potter
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Harry was unconscious for days, but it wasn’t a normal kind of unconsciousness.   He kept ripping at his covers, tearing at his skin with his fingernails, as if he was trying to tear his heart out.   When he wasn’t trying to rip himself apart, his arms and legs were flailing wildly, getting him hopelessly tangled in his covers.   He was dangerous to anyone taking care of him.   Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey and Snape tried several restoratives, potions and charms at various times, but any magical treatment they tried only seemed to make him more ill.   Now he was burning up with fever and was lying in bed with his hands in restraints to keep him from hurting himself further or from hurting those caring for him.   It was Ginny’s turn to look after him.

"Professor," she asked Dumbledore when she came in the room and found him standing over Harry, his hand on Harry’s sweaty forehead.   "What’s really wrong with him?   Is all this just from taking out too large a memory for the Pensieve?"

"I’m afraid it’s a combination of many things, Miss Weasley.   It’s the large cluster of memories he removed all at once, combined with grief and terrible, soul-crushing guilt.   Harry. . ." The old wizard looked sadder than she’d ever seen him.   "Harry is. . . .   I’m afraid he may have given up," Dumbledore said sorrowfully.   "He’s had so very many horrible things happen to him in his life — I think this family’s death was just too much for him."

"Is he. . .going to. . .die?" Ginny asked in a small, horrified voice.

"If he doesn’t start fighting back, he very well may.   He seriously damaged his mind with that cluster of memories he removed, but the mind is a wondrous thing and can heal itself given enough time.   His fever is not a normal fever.   He’s not sick in the usual sense.   His mind and his body’s resources have been overwhelmed.   The only strength he has left at the moment is his magic, and he’s a very powerful wizard.   His magic is burning him up — that’s why he’s fevered.   This is a very rare illness."

"How do you treat it?" she said hesitantly.

"I must be honest with you.   So few wizards have survived this illness, there has never been a particular treatment that we can say truly cures the illness."

"So few?"  She gulped.   She just had to know.   "What’s the percentage?"  

"In all our records, there are only two known survivors."   The old headmaster sighed heavily before going on.   "If. . .if Harry makes it, he will be the third."

Ginny sat down hard on the chair by Harry’s bed.   "Two?" she said in a small voice.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his face grim.   "This illness is called The Refiner’s Fire.   If a wizard survives it, his magic is much more powerful than it was before he became ill.   But most don’t survive.   Harry has to develop a will to live — he seems to have given up, but at the same time he’s angry and frustrated.   His rage is not helping, because it’s directed at himself.   He just won’t get better as long as he feels that way."

"What can we do, Professor?   I’ll do anything I can to help him," she said earnestly.

"I know you will, Miss Weasley," he said kindly, patting her on the shoulder.   "You’re doing wonderful work here.   Just keep caring for him as you have been.   I’m not giving up on Harry.   He’s very strong.   He can pull through this.   He just needs to fight the illness, not wrestle with his inner demons."   Gazing sadly at Harry, he patted Ginny once more on the shoulder and left.

A short time later, Hermione came in.   "Any change?"

"No, not really," Ginny said in a weary voice.   "Dumbledore did say what it is, though."

"What is it?"

"The Refiner’s Fire.   It’s an extremely rare wizard’s disease, and only. . .only two wizards have ever survived it."   As she said this, Ginny began to sob.  

"No.   Oh no," Hermione groaned.   She sat next to Ginny and put her arm around the grieving girl.   "There has to be some treatment," she began as she wiped tears from her own eyes.

"Dumbledore said there isn’t," Ginny whispered, appalled that the headmaster didn’t have a solution to the problem.   He’d always seemed all-powerful to her.

Hermione shook her head, willing herself to be strong and find a solution to this problem.   "There just has to be a treatment, some way to fight this, something we can do.   I’ll go and do some research.   I’ll research Muggle things too.   Maybe there’s something wizards have just missed."

Ginny looked at her friend in disbelief.   "You think Dumbledore is mistaken?   And you think Muggles have a cure for a magical illness?   Harry’s magic is burning him up — that’s why it’s called ‘The Refiner’s Fire.’   If he survives, his magic will be much more powerful."

"Did Professor Dumbledore say who the two wizards were who survived?"

"No.   I didn’t ask."

Hermione sat thinking a few moments.   "Well, I can’t just sit here doing nothing.   Can I give you a break?"

"No, I’m fine."

"OK. You’re good at healer stuff, I’m good at research.   I’m off to the libraries, both in Diagon Alley and the Muggle one," Hermione said, giving Ginny a brief hug before she left the room.

* * * * *

Hours later, Hermione sat at dinner with everyone but Remus, who was sitting with Harry at the time.   "I found out that in the Muggle world, Harry’s symptoms are like catatonia.   Children who are the victims of terrorists react the way he is.   Usually they’re just quiet, but I suppose him fighting with his magic is part of why he’s so violent."

"That’s probably true," Arthur replied.   "What do they do about it, Muggles?"

"They’ve found if they give a child a teddy bear, they calm down if they’re upset, and they heal faster.   I think Harry needs a teddy bear."

"A teddy bear?" Ron was stunned.   "He’s sixteen years old!"

"He’s not sixteen right now, not in his mind.   He’s a victim of lifelong abuse at the hands of the Dursleys, and he’s been terrorized by Voldemort — get over it, Ron!" she snapped as he flinched at the name, "his whole life, and he blames himself for all these deaths.   I can see why he thinks he’s at fault for them, too."

"Those deaths weren’t his fault!" Ginny retorted defensively.

"No, but they were connected to him, because those people were in his life.   That’s why he thinks he’s at fault," Hermione reasoned.

"So what do you think we should do?" Ginny asked urgently, realizing Hermione was offering at least some form of action.

"I think he needs to be loved — a lot.   Petted, talked to, hugged.   I think that may bring him out of this."     Hermione sat thinking a while.   "Dumbledore has told Harry in the past that one of his greatest strengths is his ability to love.   Maybe that’s what will bring him back to us.   At least, it can’t hurt him."   She looked around the table, studying the faces of each of Harry’s friends in turn.   Ron, Ginny, Arthur, Fred, and George all looked stunned at what she said.  "Do you have any better ideas?"

"Erm. . .no," Ron muttered.   "How do we. . .I mean. . ."

"I’ll do it," Ginny said in a determined voice.   "It will be good to have something positive to do."

"I’ll help you, too," Hermione said.   "We can take turns.   You boys," she said, looking at the Weasley brothers, "can talk to him about Quidditch, tell him jokes, be his friend.   That’s probably the best we can do for him."

"Hermione?" said Ginny in a small voice.   "Did you find out who the two wizards were who survived this?"

"Yes, I did," Hermione said, a grim look on her face.   "You won’t believe it."

"Why?"

"They’re probably the two most powerful wizards in recorded history.   Merlin and Dumbledore.   For Harry to join them as a survivor, he’s going to have to be very strong.   And once he’s well — his powers will be unbelievable."

* * * * *

As Remus prepared to go to the basement for the night, he said, "Good work on the research, Hermione.   I hope you’re right.   Let me know how it goes, will you?"

"Of course," Hermione agreed.   "Ginny, you’ve been taking care of him so many hours, you look exhausted.   I’ll take the first shift with him tonight, all right?"

"I don’t mind," Ginny began.

"He’s my best friend," Hermione said, tears in her eyes.   "Please let me help.   This is something I can do."

"All right.   Come get me when you need a break — or I’ll just come and check on you when I wake up, whichever comes first."

"OK."   After Ginny left, Hermione sat and smoothed Harry’s hair back from his forehead, held his hand, rubbed his arm, told him silly stories as she thought of them, trying to find cheerful things to talk about.   He still fought his restraints from time to time, apparently in the throes of horrible nightmares.   He alternated between sweats and chills, fighting through both with equal ferocity.   Hermione was soon exhausted from trying to calm him.   A few hours later, Ginny showed up.

"It’s still the middle of the night.   What are you doing here?"

"I just had to see how he was doing, and if your plan was working," Ginny said hopefully.   "I couldn’t sleep much anyway.   How is he?"

"The same.   He seems to have lots of nightmares and nothing I say or do is helping."   Hermione’s concern showed in her face.   "I’m so frustrated.   I honestly thought. . . ."

"What have you tried?"

"I’ve talked to him, I even sang to him — as horrid as that sounds.   I tried holding his hand, rubbing his forehead. . .I just don’t know what else to do."

"You go on to bed, I’ll take care of him," Ginny offered.   "If I’m going to lose another night’s sleep, I may as well be doing something useful."

"What are you going to try?" Hermione asked.

"I don’t know yet.   I’ll let you know if anything seems to work."

"OK.   Good luck!" Hermione said as she left the room.

"Thanks.   I expect I’ll need it," Ginny replied quietly as she looked at Harry’s exhausted face.   He was grey with fatigue and illness, going rapidly from sweats to chills, still fighting the restraints, but more feebly than before.   He was getting weaker and weaker.   Ginny got a pan of warm water and a flannel and washed the sweat off of Harry’s face, chest and arms.   Then she watched him struggle a while longer, talking to him about Quidditch and whatever other light-hearted things she could think of.

"I just can’t take this anymore," Ginny said as she watched Harry fighting the restraints on his hands.   His wrists were red and raw from his struggles with his bonds.   "I’m going to trust that the Harry I know is still inside there somewhere," she said in a firm voice.   "Harry, listen to me.   It’s Ginny.   I’m going to untie your hands.   Don’t hurt me, and don’t hurt yourself, either.   Listen to me, Harry.   If you can calm down, you can stay untied."   She took a deep breath and unbuckled one restraint, then the other.   He writhed on the bed, flailing his arms and legs wildly a moment, then less wildly.   When he slowed down a bit, she said, "I’m going to hold on to you, Harry.   I won’t let you go.   You’re safe.   Don’t hurt me, OK?" and she dived between his still-moving arms and lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around his heaving chest, laying her head on his shoulder.   "I’ve got you, Harry.   You’re safe now.   You’re going to be fine.   Please don’t hurt me."  

Harry writhed on the bed, struggling with whatever demons were in his mind, but as Ginny doggedly held on, he began to quiet, and finally, after a very long half hour or so, he relaxed, dropping his arms around her in a loose embrace, which tightened when he seemed to understand she was actually there, not part of a dream.   He sighed, nestled his cheek against her hair and at long last, rested.  

Early in the morning, Remus came into the room to find Harry holding Ginny, both of them apparently asleep.   Harry was still pale and drawn, but finally calm.   Remus walked quietly to the bed, gently feeling his godson’s forehead for fever, tenderly smoothing the sweaty hair off his face.   Ginny was covered in scratches and bruises, and had a shiner any little boy would be proud of.   But she’d apparently won the battle.   Harry’s hands were unrestrained and he was holding Ginny tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.   Remus rubbed his hand over his careworn face, exhausted from his own ordeal, and heartbroken he wasn’t able to help Harry through his.   He sat in the chair by the bed and watched the teenagers sleep, then drifted off himself with his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

A few hours later, Ron and Hermione opened the door to Harry’s room to find the three occupants sound asleep.   "Bloody hell, look at Ginny!   He’s beaten her!" Ron cried.   The bruises on her face and arms made him sick to his stomach.

"Shhh," Hermione warned.   "He didn’t know what he was doing.   She apparently worked out the right thing to do.   He’s calm, he’s untied and he’s got a little bit of colour in his face.   Her bruises will heal."

"Hermione, she could be hurt!   I need to see how she is!" Ron insisted.   He was at the bedside in three long strides.   "Ginny?   Ginny, can you hear me?" he said softly as he touched his sister’s shoulder.

"Mmm?" she murmured as she opened her one good eye.   "Ron?   Whassup?" she mumbled.   She started to lift her head, then realized where she was and relaxed against Harry’s shoulder again, afraid to disturb him.

"You’ve got a bleedin’ great shiner, that’s what’s up!" he said in a hoarse whisper.   "Are you OK?"

"I’m fine.   They’re just bruises.   I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can heal them quickly.   Don’t worry about me right now."   She glanced up at Hermione.   "How’s he look?"

"Better, actually.   He’s got a little colour in his face, doesn’t look so awfully grey," Hermione replied.   "Good work, Ginny.   Why is he untied?"

"I thought he might actually rest this way, at least if I held him," she whispered in reply.   "Don’t wake him.   I think he’s just sleeping now, not unconscious.   It’s different than before, I can’t explain it.   He responds if I move a little, and he didn’t before."   She moved her head away from his shoulder and they all noticed him tightening his arms to keep her in place.

"I hope you’re right." Hermione said.   "Do you need anything?   Do you want me to take a turn with him?"

"No, I’m fine for now, thanks," Ginny replied quietly.

"How about some ice for your eye — or a steak?" Ron asked, concerned.

Ginny smiled at her brother.   "No, thanks.   I’ll manage without them for a while.   It doesn’t hurt that much."

"Wow, Ginny, you really are a brave Gryffindor," Ron said with a proud grin, touching her shoulder gently.

Hermione turned to Ron and said, "Let’s leave them alone."   She dragged the reluctant Ron out of the room before he could disturb the occupants’ much-needed rest.

Half an hour later, Hermione and Ron returned, laden with trays full of food and drink for breakfast for Remus, Ginny and Harry whenever they awoke.   They sat the trays down and looked at the three sleeping people.   Ginny woke up with a start and looked around to see who was in the room.   Harry murmured something unintelligible and pulled her back down.   His movement woke Remus.

"Oh, breakfast!   How lovely," Remus said with a smile as he stretched and yawned.   "Thank you both."   He leaned over Harry and brushed the boy’s forehead with his hand.   "Any change?" he asked Ginny.

"I think he’s asleep instead of unconscious, but I can’t be sure," she whispered.   "The oddest thing is, when he’s having a nightmare, I can feel something tingly coming off him in waves.   Sometimes it happens when he’s just a bit agitated, but if he’s having a bad dream, it’s really strong."

"Something tingly?" Remus asked, puzzled.

"Like when your hand’s asleep?   Kind of tingly like that, but coming out of Harry, not from my arm being asleep or anything."

"Is he doing it now?"

"No.   Watch for when he starts moving around a lot again.   That’s when I feel it."

Ron said, "Ginny, do you need to get up?   One of us can take a turn sitting with Harry."

"Not yet.   I don’t want to disturb him.   Give me another hour or two, okay?   I’ll need a break then, I’m sure."

"OK, we’ll check on you in a couple of hours then," Hermione agreed as she and Ron headed for the door.

Remus offered Ginny some breakfast, which she declined, then ate some himself.   "Are you all right there, Ginny?"

"Yes."

"I’m going to try to find out when Albus will be back — he had to leave last night on Order business, but said he’d be back this morning.   I want to talk to him about that tingling thing," Remus said as he rose to leave.   "If you need anything, let someone know, all right?"

"We’ll be fine.   Thanks."   She settled back onto Harry’s shoulder, glad he was having longer peaceful periods.   Before long, she dozed off.

* * * * *

Harry felt something warm by his side and his eyes seemed to be filled with a rosy glow.   He blinked a few times, then realized he was looking at long red hair spilling like silk over his arm and the bed beyond the sleeping girl on his shoulder.   He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again.   That rosy glow was still there.   She was real.   His dreams had been so vivid, he wasn’t certain this wasn’t a dream as well.   If this was a dream, it was a million times nicer than the ones he’d been having.   He tried to speak, couldn’t get any words out, swallowed, tried again.   "Ginny?" he croaked.

She sat up with a start.   "Harry, you’re awake!"

"Hello," he said with a small smile.   "What. . . happened?"

"Long story.   Can I get you a drink or something?"   Ginny started to get off the bed, but he held her back.   He gently reached toward her black eye.

"F-face?"

"What?"

He tried again.   "Face.   What?"

"Oh, my shiner?   Don’t worry about it.   I think Ron’s jealous of it being such a good one," she said flippantly, then flinched as her smile made her bruises ache.

Harry frowned, his eyes terribly sad.   "Did I. . .?"

"You know how clumsy I am — I just walked into a door or something," Ginny replied, trying to avoid giving him something else to feel guilty about.

He looked at her thoughtfully a moment, then turned on his side a bit and patted the pillow beside him.   "Come. . .here."

Ginny lay down on the pillow facing him as he seemed to want her to do.   He reached up to her face and started stroking the bruise around her eye with his thumb, gentle touches that barely caressed her skin, but somehow eased the pain.   "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Dunno.   Seems like. . ." he began, then had to stop speaking.   He just didn’t have the strength.   But he kept rubbing that black eye.   Finally, he looked satisfied and dropped his hand.   "Better?"

"Yes!   It doesn’t hurt, and I can see out of it!   What did you do?"

"Dunno.   ‘S’gone."

"It’s gone?"

Harry nodded, then yawned and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back and pulling her close to him again.   "Sorry," he said softly.   "Didn’t mean. . .hurt. . . you."

"I know," she murmured, then realized he was already asleep.   "Thank you, Harry," she said quietly, then snuggled into his shoulder again as he tightened his arms around her.   She relaxed and started to fall asleep, then felt his muscles go unnaturally slack.   "Oh, no.   Not again," she said, a tear running down her cheek.   She reached out for her wand and shot red sparks out the door, hoping somebody would notice and come see what was going on.   She was afraid to leave him, but afraid to not call for help since he seemed to have lost consciousness again.

Remus, Ron and Hermione hurried into the room.

"What happened?" Remus said.   "I saw your red sparks."

"He woke up for a little while," said Ginny.   "He didn’t say much, and wasn’t awake long."   A tear slid down her cheek.   "He seems to have lost consciousness again.   I felt his muscles change a little while ago.   I suppose I should’ve called somebody sooner," she berated herself.

"You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.   You’ve done a great job of taking care of him, of all of us, really," Remus assured her.   "He’ll come around again."

"Ginny, what happened to your black eye?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"Harry did it."

"Did what?" said Ron, studying his sister’s face and finding no traces of the bruise anywhere near her eye.

"He rubbed it with his thumb for a while.   It felt so good, and the pain went away."

"So did the bruise," Hermione noted.   "That’s amazing."

"Yeah, that’s what I thought, too," Ginny agreed, "but he lost consciousness right after that.   Using that much magic must have hurt him."   She looked up at Remus, tears in her eyes.   "I didn’t realize he was doing magic, or I would’ve stopped him.   It just felt so good. . . ."   She sobbed.   "I’m sorry.   I shouldn’t have let him do it."

"There’s no way you could have known what he was doing, Ginny.   Don’t blame yourself," said Remus comfortingly.

"Have you ever heard of a wizard who could heal with just a touch?" she asked.

"No, I haven’t," he replied, a puzzled look on his face.

"You look exhausted, Ginny.   Are you ready for a break now?" Hermione offered Ginny.

"Actually, I could do with a trip to the loo.   I don’t know if I can get up without disturbing him."

"Does someone need to be lying down with him?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing else I tried worked.   I’m being the teddy bear you said he needed," Ginny replied.

"OK, then.   Ron and Remus can hold his arms while you slip out and I take your place so you can have a break," Hermione said.

Ginny nodded, and Ron moved next to the bed where he could reach one of Harry’s arms, while Remus reached for the other.   Remus said, "On three, then?   One, two, three!" and he and Ron each held one of Harry’s arms as gently but firmly as they could, while Ginny and Hermione switched places.   Harry fought a little, and Ron and Remus had to struggle to keep the girls from being hurt.  

"Oh!   I feel the tingles Ginny was talking about!" said Hermione in surprise.

"Yeah, me too," said Ron as he tried to settle Harry’s arm quietly on Hermione’s shoulder.

"Interesting.   I don’t understand it," Remus mused as he, too, settled Harry’s arm gently around Hermione.  

Harry twisted in the bed a little longer, but began to settle down when Hermione wrapped her arm around his chest and nestled her head on his shoulder.   He laid his chin on top of her head, and his nose started twitching as her hair tickled it.   He brushed at his nose and smoothed her hair down, then relaxed.

"Those tingles stopped when he calmed down," Hermione said wonderingly.   "That’s just odd.   I’ve never read about anything like this."

"Are you going to be all right for a while?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, he seems to be fine now.   Go ahead and have a break," Hermione murmured.

"I’m staying here to look after you," said Ron stoutly.   "I don’t want you winding up with a black eye like Ginny’s."

Hermione chuckled and responded, "You’re so sweet," which made Ron’s ears turn pink.  

* * * * *

"Tingles when he’s active?" Dumbledore was saying.   "His magic is causing that."

"Why?" asked Remus.   "I’ve never heard of anything like that."

"The Refiner’s Fire is a unique ailment.   His magic seems to be streaming out of his pores, and one might be concerned he’d have no magic left.   But the magic within him is being refined, like gold in a refiner’s fire.   Whatever is ‘dross’ is being burned out — that’s the tingles, and part of what’s sapping his strength.   But from the sound of things, he’s calming down, so the worst may be over.   The critical stage of the ailment goes very quickly, and I believe he passed that stage last night."

"And the healing he did?"

"That’s something I’ve never heard of.   It’s a remarkable achievement, but I think Miss Weasley is right — he was too weak to use that much power, and that’s what caused his setback."  

"So you think he’s going to get better?"

"I have every hope of it, if he can get past this setback from using his magic to help Miss Weasley.   When he’s well, we will have to train him very carefully in how to control his powers.   Both Merlin and I had the ailment when we were grown, mature wizards and had excellent control of our skills.   Harry is going through a growth spurt, huge variations in his hormone levels, and tremendous stress.   Controlling the power he will have if he survives this will be an awesome responsibility and a difficult task, made much more difficult by his youth and the fact he is not yet a fully trained wizard."

"But first he has to get well," Remus said sadly.   "And he just got worse."

* * * * *

After healing Ginny’s black eye, Harry’s condition worsened rapidly.   He was having horrible sweats and chills, and nightmare upon nightmare.   There seemed to be no end to the torment his mind and body were dealing with.   The thrashing incidents were getting fewer and weaker, but not because he was improving.   He was visibly weakening, his face getting more and more grey, lines of strain making him look old before his time.   He was panting as if it was difficult for him to breathe.   Hermione was sticking with him through this ordeal, with Ron close at hand talking to her and Harry about anything he could think of.   Remus sat nearby, his head in his hands, his face filled with grief.   Ginny sat by the bed holding Harry’s hand, tears streaming down her face.   Only a couple of hours ago, it had seemed as if Harry was getting better. Now, however, he looked worse than ever and his strength and the life force in him were visibly fading.

"Remus!" Ginny cried.   "He’s dying!"   She, Ron and Remus clustered around Harry’s bed, and Hermione was still lying on his shoulder, clutching him tightly.   They watched him diminish right before their eyes, his breathing getting shallower, with periods when he didn’t breathe at all.   Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore were due at any moment, but had not yet arrived.

Harry was falling to the bottom of a deep, dark lake.   The water was murky, warm, with vegetation tickling his face, neck and chest.   He thought he was drowning, but he was so tired, so very tired, and didn’t much care anymore.   It was time.   He’d run his race.   He was done.   He couldn’t do anything else.   He sank into the oblivion of the darkness below him.   He’d almost found the light once — there was a red glow near his eyes, he could feel it.   He thought he’d reached it, he remembered that red glow around him, but it slipped away.   He tried to get back to it, and he almost. . .almost managed to get through the murk to that light, but then it disappeared.   What seemed like a long time later, he heard a voice calling from far, far away.   "Harry?   Harry?   Can you hear me?"   He slowly turned around in the darkness, trying to find the source of the sound.   It was the faintest whisper - he could barely hear it.   It was a sweet, light sound.   "Harry?   Please come back, Harry, please!."   No, leave me alone.   I’m tired.   I don’t want to fight anymore.   Another voice, deep, rich, kind.   "Harry?   Come back to us, Harry.   You can do it," the voice encouraged.   He turned his head and found something in the way.   Soft but hard, it tickled his nose.   A voice came from this ticklish thing.   "Harry?   Come on, you can do it.   Come on, Harry."   An energetic voice chimed in, "C’mon, mate, we’ve got Quidditch practice this afternoon.   You’re Captain, we need you to run the plays."   Quidditch?   His face twitched as he tried to find some light, some direction.   "He’s heard us, look at that!" "Come on, Harry!   Quidditch!   Hurry up!   No homework today!   Let’s go and fly!"   Harry swam up from the darkness, trying to reach that sound.   "Let’s fly, Harry!   You can be Chaser and Seeker, and I’ll be Keeper.   No Bludgers today, just fun!   C’mon, Harry!"   Harry turned his face toward that voice and cracked his eyes open.   A glare of bright red accosted his weary eyes.   He closed his eyes again and turned away.   "Come on, Harry, get up!   We need to run some plays!   I’m going to take the Firebolt out myself if you don’t get a move on!"   Harry turned back toward the eager voice of his best friend.   He opened one eye, trying to focus on the red haze in front of him.   "Ron?"

"HARRY!" Ron cried in excitement.   "I knew Quidditch would get through to you!"

"Huh?" said Harry, trying to open the other eye and focus the two of them together.   "Ron. . . hold still. . . there are. . . three. . . of you.   You’re. . . making me. . . dizzy."

Ron laughed aloud.   Harry felt a vibration on his chest, a warm chuckling near his breastbone, and fuzzy hair tickling his nose and lips.   He looked down and found himself nose to nose with Hermione.   "’Mione?   Ron’s. . . going. . . to kill me."   His head fell back and his eyes closed again, but his face was more alive than it had been for hours.

Both Ron and Hermione laughed.   "No, he’s not," she said with a merry smile, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.   "I’m so glad you’re awake, Harry.   You had us terribly worried."

Harry opened one bleary eye and cracked a tiny smile.   "Again?"

Hermione laughed.   "Again!"

"Did I . . fall off. . . my broom?   Is the. . . Firebolt. . . OK?" Harry spoke very slowly, as if the act of talking was painful.

"Your Firebolt is fine.   You’ve been sick.   You didn’t fall off your broom," Hermione assured him.   "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."   Harry rocked his head back and forth a couple of times, hoping his vision would be better the next time he opened his eyes.   "Hurts."

"What hurts?" Ginny said in alarm.

"Ginny?" He turned toward her voice.

"Yeah.   Hi, Harry," she said with a warm smile.  

"I dreamed . . .you were here. . . not Hermione.   You were. . ."

"Yes, I was there with you for a long time.   Hermione and Ron just took a turn looking after you so I could have a break."

"Ginny?"

"Yes?"

Harry reached out to her and pulled her hand to his face.   He put her hand on his cheek and leaned against it.   "Oh.   I . . . remember."   He held on to her hand, and drifted off into a doze for a moment.   Hermione didn’t notice he’d fallen asleep.   She moved out of his arms to sit up beside him, which awakened Harry again.   He fought to stay awake, but he was so tired.  

"Ron, I think I hear Dumbledore downstairs.   Would you please tell him what’s going on," Remus said.   "Madam Pomfrey may be here now as well."

"’ K.   Great to see you awake, Harry!" Ron said with a grin as he raced out of the room, shouting all the way down the stairs, "Professor!   He’s awake!   Come and see!"

Remus shook his head and chuckled.   "I could’ve shouted, I suppose."

"Remus," Harry breathed.   When Remus looked at Harry, Harry saw tears in his godfather’s eyes.   Harry slowly lifted his hand toward Remus.  

Remus took Harry’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze, then reached down suddenly and pulled Harry into a warm embrace.   "Try not to scare me like that again, OK?" he sighed, his voice breaking with emotion.   "I love you, Harry.   I can’t bear the thought of losing you."

Harry pulled back and looked into his godfather’s eyes, the smile in his eyes no match for the joy in his heart.   "You do?"   Remus nodded.   "Me . . . too," he whispered, doing his best to hug the man tightly.  

A moan escaped Harry, and Remus, filled with remorse, laid him back in the bed.   "I’m so sorry, you said you were hurting and I just. . .just grabbed you.   I’m sorry, Harry."

"’ S’okay.   Worth it," Harry breathed, a ghost of his crooked grin appearing briefly.

Hermione leaned forward, businesslike as usual.   "Where does it hurt, can you point to it?"   She carefully put Harry’s glasses on his face so he could see them better.

Harry shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.   "Oh.   Shouldn’t have."

"Shouldn’t have what?"

"Done that.   Hurts."   He squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth, moaning as he did so.

Dumbledore came striding into the room, talking to Ron as he entered the room. "How did you get him to wake up?"  

Ron shrugged, a happy grin on his face.   "Dunno.   Quidditch, maybe."

"We just kept talking to him, and then Ron mentioned Quidditch and he seemed to respond.   Wouldn’t you know it?" Hermione said with a laugh.   "He says he hurts all over."

"What hurts, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he looked fondly at the boy.

"Everything.   Everywhere.   Hurts."

"Hurts a lot or a little?" Remus said, smoothing the hair off Harry’s forehead tenderly.

"A lot."   He moaned softly.

"Can you tell me what the pain feels like?" Dumbledore said kindly as he placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.  

"Like. . .sharp knives. . .cutting. . . shredding. . . ."   Harry stopped speaking, caught his breath and went on.   "Skin hurts. . . . Bones hurt. . . .   Muscles hurt. . . . Hair hurts. . . .   Whatever. . .else there is. . .it hurts," Harry said with a moan, rocking his head back and forth slowly, obviously miserable.

Dumbledore smiled.   "Your hair hurts?   Poor dear boy," he said with a chuckle.   "Your sense of humour is still intact, so you must be on the road to recovery."

Harry looked at him seriously with one eye, the other squinched tightly shut.   "Hurts," he insisted.

"Madam Pomfrey is on the way.   I’m sure she will have something that will make you feel better," Dumbledore assured him.

"In the meantime, chocolate is always good for whatever ails you," Remus said lightly as he broke off small pieces from a huge chunk of Honeyduke’s Best Chocolate.   He put a sliver of chocolate in Harry’s mouth, small enough it would soon melt with no effort from Harry at all beyond swallowing.   "How’s that?"

Harry seemed to be considering the question gravely.   "More."

Remus complied with a smile.   "As much as you want, Harry."   One tiny sliver of chocolate after another disappeared into Harry’s mouth, and as they dissolved there, his colour improved, little by little.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in.   "Chocolate!   Well done, Remus," she said with a smile.   "Now, Mr. Potter, let me have a look at you." She examined his eyes, ears, mouth.  "You have a chocolate tongue.   Remus, how much did you give him?"

"Not. . . enough," Harry mumbled, then tried to smile.   Everyone in the room chuckled, glad to hear him being funny.

Madam Pomfrey commended everyone on the care Harry had received so far, and gave him a restorative potion to help him get his strength back, as well as a potion to ease his pain.

"What’s. . .wrong with. . .me?" Harry croaked.

"Thirsty?" Madam Pomfrey asked, ignoring his question.

Harry nodded.   She gave him some water, then some pumpkin juice, and then turned to Dumbledore.   "Perhaps it’s best if you explain it to him," she offered.

"Perhaps so," Dumbledore agreed.   He sat gently on the side of Harry’s bed, trying not to jostle him too much.   "You have been through a very serious illness, Harry.   It’s called The Refiner’s Fire.   You hurt all over because your magic was so . . . so active, so powerful, it was wearing out your body. You’ve had a long hard fight to get through this illness, but you’re on the road to recovery now."

"Did I. . .lose my magic?" Harry asked, a frown creasing his face.

"No, no, I didn’t mean to imply that.   Your magic has been refined, purified, made much more powerful.   Most wizards who have this ailment are mature, grown wizards when it hits them.   Most don’t survive — the young ones have never survived it, until now.   You’re a very strong young man, Harry."

Harry’s hand fell to his side, feeling his wasted body, his ribs prominent.   "I . . .used to be. . .strong."

"You’re still strong, you’ve just lost weight.   We’ll get you built up again quickly, never fear," Dumbledore said reassuringly.

Harry, exhausted, was drifting off to sleep again.  

"Should we try to keep him awake?" Ginny asked.

"Let him rest.   I think he will be fine now.   He just needs to get his strength back.   Do not allow him to try any magic, whatever you do.   His magic will be completely out of control for a while," Dumbledore warned.   "I mean it — he cannot light his wand, summon his glasses, anything, not the smallest bit of magic."

"OK, Professor," Ginny said solemnly, taking Harry’s glasses off his face and laying them by his wand on the bedside table. Hermione and Ron nodded their agreement.

* * * * *

Harry’s screaming woke Ginny up from her doze in the chair by his bed.   He was struggling again, fighting his covers.   "Oh no," she moaned as she watched him thrash about.   "I’m here, Harry, hang on," she cried as she dived between his failing arms and held him tightly.   "Hold on, you’re going to be fine!"

His eyes flew open and he looked wildly around, then saw her face near his.   "Not you too!   No!"

"Harry, calm down.   You’re safe," Ginny assured him.   He continued to struggle, panic on his face.   "What are you feeling?"

"Falling!   Falling. . ." he cried.   He glanced at her again, finally focusing on her.   "Ginny?"

"Yes, it’s Ginny.   We’re in your room.   You’re in bed.   You aren’t falling.   It must have been a bad dream.   Can you tell me about it?"

Harry’s eyes darted around the room, settling here and there to squint at something before moving on.   "My room?" he said in confusion.

"At Grimmauld Place, Harry.   Your room."

He took a deep breath and held it a moment, then blew it out.   His body started to relax.   "Oh.   My room.   Quidditch posters."   He sighed, a relieved sound.

Ginny was confused.   "Did the Quidditch posters give you a bad dream?   I can take them down if you want."

"No.   I remember. . .you put them here," he said, with a slight smile.   "Bad dream, though."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I’ve had it. . . over and over.   I’m flying, but the Firebolt disappears or something and I’m falling from the top of the sky, out of control, no way to stop."

"Maybe that’s what you’ve been dreaming when you’ve been fighting your covers and waving your arms around — that would make sense.   It’s like you’re trying to find something to hold on to."

Harry looked at her intently.   "That’s it exactly."   His look softened.   "Then I feel someone grab me and hold on tight, and I think maybe I won’t get killed from this fall after all.   But this time I woke up while I was still falling, and thought you were falling with me.   Scared me.   I couldn’t save you."   Ginny nodded.   What he said was making what she’d experienced with him make sense.   "It was you, wasn’t it?   When I was falling, you caught me, every time."

"Actually, Hermione was holding you when Ron got you to wake up by telling you that you were late for Quidditch practice," Ginny replied.

"Is that what he did?   I don’t remember."   He thought a moment.   "Not falling through the sky then.   In the bottom of a black lake."   He shivered.  

"You’re all right now, though, you’re safe," she assured him.

He looked at her a moment, still tense, then relaxed and nodded.   "Safe."

"How are you feeling?" Ginny asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed again.   "You seem stronger."

"Everything still hurts.   Not. . . sharp knives like before, but still lots and lots of knives."

"Knives?" Ginny was confused.

"Stabbing, slashing, chopping knives.   It feels like . . . my body is full of them, especially in the bones."   He held his hand up to rub his eyes, then stopped, staring at his hand in front of his face, the fingers spread wide.   "Wha. . .is that. . .MY hand?"

"Yes, silly, of course it is," Ginny said, smiling at Harry being funny again.

"Have you looked at it?" he asked her, his eyes alarmed.

Ginny was getting concerned.   This line of questioning was very odd.   "What’s wrong with it?"

"Give me your hand," he said, then held their hands palm to palm, fingers outstretched against each other.   "The last I remember, my hands weren’t that much bigger than yours.   Now your fingers don’t come to my second knuckle!"

"Well, we’ve never actually done this kind of comparison before, have we, Harry?"

"I know my hands are a lot bigger than they were — and my feet are cramped at the end of the bed.   How long have I been sick?"

"Twelve days."

"It’s not normal for people to grow this fast," he said with a worried frown.

"If you’re in a growth spurt, that would explain why you’re in so much pain, especially in your bones."

Ron rushed into the room.   "I heard Harry yell.   Is he OK?"

"Yes.   He had a nightmare."

"Hey, mate, feeling better?" Ron said, plunking himself down on the side of the bed.

"Ron!" Ginny cried, "he’s in pain, be careful!"

"Oh, sorry," Ron apologized, hanging his head glumly.

"S’okay," Harry said with a brief grin.   "Good to see you."

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.   "I could use a trip to the loo."

"I’m just the bloke who can make that happen!   Let’s go," said Ron cheerfully, offering Harry a hand up.

Harry took Ron’s hand and sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly, carefully stood up.   When he straightened up, he laughed out loud.   "No way!"

"What?" said Ginny.

"I’m not as tall as Ron, am I?" he asked Ginny.   Turning back to Ron, he said, "Am I?"

Ron’s face showed his surprise.   "Whoa!   That was one wicked growth spurt!   You were shorter than me by a good bit and now you’re at least as tall as I am!"   He pulled his friend’s arm over his shoulders to help him to the bathroom.  

Harry gasped as pain shot through his body.  

"All right, there, mate?" Ron asked in concern.

"I guess this pain will be worth it," Harry groaned, "if I end up taller than Malfoy."   He sniggered in spite of his discomfort, while Ron laughed aloud.  

"Just imagine his face when he sees you," Ron said with a snort of laughter.   "He’s going to freak out!   No way he’ll ever out-reach THESE long arms!"   The boys laughed and talked about Quidditch all the way to the bathroom.   "You gonna be okay, or do I need to come in with you?" he asked at the door.

"I think I can manage," Harry said, holding on to the door frame as he entered the bathroom.   He turned around and closed the door, then screamed as he glimpsed the mirror.   Ron and Ginny hit the doorway at nearly the same time.

"Harry!   What’s wrong?"

"There’s someone in here!" Harry called in a panic, hobbling out the door as fast as possible.

Wand out and grim-faced, Ron slipped into the bathroom, keeping his back to the wall, covering the small room with his wand.   After a brief look around, he called to Harry. "There’s nobody in here.   Were you dreaming or something?"

"No, I was sure I saw a man in there — tall, thin, with a beard and . . ." Harry straightened up and ran his hand over his face, "and glasses.   Was that me?"   Red with embarrassment, he leaned into the bathroom and peered at the reflection in the mirror.   "It IS me!   When did I grow a beard?"

"You’ve been shaving for quite a while, haven’t you?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, but it was just . . . fuzz.   It was nothing like that!" Harry replied, bemused by his own reflection.   "Wow."   Harry stood looking at a tall man with a gaunt face, his cheekbones and collarbones seeming ready to burst out of his skin, a thick black beard covering the lower third of his face.   All three friends were laughing by the time Remus joined them to see what the commotion was.

"I guess I’d better get rid of it," Harry said.   "Yuk, it makes me look old."

"Yeah, I bet you could buy some Ogden ’ s Old Firewhiskey and not have them check your age!" Ron said with a laugh.   Glancing at Remus he added, "Not that you’d want to. . ."

Remus just chuckled.   He remembered being young.

"Harry, when you shave, don’t cut it all off," Ginny said, moving closer to him.   She reached up and slid her fingers over his face, drawing imaginary lines.   "Just trim it here and here, and these places," she said, moving her finger to define the areas on cheeks and lower lip she wanted shaved, "and trim the part under your chin so it’s not fluffy.   You’ll look like a pirate!"

"And is there a reason I should look like a pirate?" Harry said with a laugh.

Ginny stood on tiptoe and tugged on his sleeve, asking him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear.   "It will look dead sexy, that’s why."   She blushed and giggled as she backed away from him.   Harry blushed and laughed in turn, but looked thoughtful.

"What’d I miss?" Ron asked.   "What’d you tell him?"

"None of your business!" Ginny replied, still blushing.

Harry leaned against the wall, thinking about what Ginny had said for a little while, then glanced at her.   "This better?"

They were all astonished.   "Perfect!" Ginny cried in delight.   "That’s it exactly!"   Then her face fell in horror.   "Oh no!   Dumbledore said you aren’t to do any magic until you’re stronger!"

"Really?"   Harry was surprised to hear this news.   "I don’t feel ill from doing this."

"How did you do it?" Remus asked.

"I dunno.   I’ve always been able to control how long my hair is.   I thought it might work on a beard too," Harry said with a shrug.

"You can control your hair?" Remus said in wonder.

"Just the length of it.   Not how it looks," he chuckled.   "Haven’t any of you ever noticed I haven’t been for any haircuts when I’m at school?   It used to drive Aunt Petunia mad.   She’d take me to a barber, or she’d cut it off herself, because they hated how my hair looked, but by the next morning, it looked just like it had before they cut it.   She finally gave up on it."

"That’s a remarkable skill.   If you can control your hair like that, Harry, you should talk to Tonks.   You may be able to learn how to be a Metamorphmagus," Remus commented.

"Cool!"   Harry had been excited about Tonks’s skill ever since he’d met her.   "But if I’m getting extra training from Tonks as well as Dumbledore, I won’t have time to eat, much less for Quidditch."

"It will all work out in good time, Harry.   Don’t worry about it.   The beard looks nice, by the way.   Very dashing.   Sirius would be proud.   He used to have one like that."

"Did my dad have a beard too?   In the pictures I have of him and Sirius, they’re both clean-shaven."

"No, James was always clean-shaven.   Sirius was the one who changed his look frequently, going from clean-shaven to a beard to a moustache, to a different kind of beard, all the time."   Remus smiled at the memory.

Harry’s heart lifted at these new bits about his dad and Sirius and he smiled gratefully at Remus.    

Remus continued, "But Ginny’s right.   Dumbledore said no magic for you until you’re stronger, so, no more magic until he says it’s safe."

"OK."   Harry glanced at Ginny.   "So this is perfect?   Does it meet your expectations?"   He grinned wickedly at her, teasing her.

She blushed, but grinned cheekily back at him.   "Even better than I expected."   With another blush, she went back into the bedroom to tidy up, calling over her shoulder as she went, "Don’t forget you went to the bathroom for a reason!"   She laughed and went back to work.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a grin, and grabbed the doorframe and hobbled back into the bathroom.   "Dunno if I can get used to looking like this, though," he called back as he glimpsed himself in the mirror.

"So don’t look!" Ginny called back, laughing again.  

"You’ll put on weight soon enough, Harry," Ron assured him through the door.   "That will put you right, make you look normal again."

"So now I don’t look ‘normal’?" Harry replied, turning to look at his friend.

"Not normal for Harry," said Ron helpfully.

"I look like Harry at the age of forty.   It’s weird."

A small, light voice came quietly from the bedroom, as if Ginny were commenting to herself.   "It’s dead sexy, that’s what it is."   A giggle followed the comment.   Ron and Harry looked at each other and burst into laughter.


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Author Notes:

Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my beta-readers Blakevich, Starfox and Pilar!