Formidable

Chapter 15

6 days.

6 days passed and Hermione still couldn't figure out what was wrong with him.

Draco had been in bed for six days. Most of the time he'd been administered sleeping draughts to make sure he's in as little pain as possible. What ever time he had spent awake was filled with drinking soup and water, speaking incoherent sentences and crying.

Harry, on the other hand, was distraught. He could no longer function, and with 6 days now gone by, Harry was beginning to feel the effects of the bond. He wouldn't eat, not willingly anyway. He didn't sleep. He didn't do much of anything these days.

"It's like he's a dead man walking. Quite literally." He overheard Hermione saying to Ron one day.

He was sat in the living room, mindlessly flicking through the tv programmes, not intending on watching anything in particular. He just liked the background noise.

His head lolled back onto the back of the couch, his mouth opened, and an almost empty bottle of firewhiskey was in his hand. Hermione was out at a potion store collecting supplies, and had been for about 2 hours, and had quite stupidly trusted Harry to stay here alone with Draco, considering the state he was in.

The bottle was nearly empty, he raised it to his lips and took a swig, swallowing the last few drops, not even wincing when the fiery liquid burned the passage of his throat and oesophagus. He tossed the now empty bottle down onto the carpet and rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily.

He'd been hit hard by Draco's illness. And with his condition deteriorating, Hermione still unable to find a cure, and the bond testing it's limits, Harry didn't know how much more he could take.

He was just getting up from his seat on the couch, now sweaty and warped to fit Harry's body shape noting how long he'd been there, before he heard the front door open. He stumbled to the living room door, holding onto the frame to stop himself from toppling over, and flinched when he heard Hermione's gasp.

"Harry!" She exclaimed, placing her bags at the foot of the stairs and walking over to where Harry was stood at the door. Her hands came up to his sweaty face, stroking his cheeks, looking at him with what Harry thought was a sympathetic frown.

"You alright, mate?" He heard Ron speak next, and he slowly raised his eyes to see his ginger-haired friend giving him the same look as Hermione.

It took his brain longer to process the question Ron had asked, just standing there and swaying on the spot, before he registered that Ron was speaking to him.

He shook his head slowly, his resolve crumbling as he reached his arms out, collapsing into Ron's burly arms. Ron held onto him tightly, kneeling down on the floor so Harry was sprawled out over him, his entire body quivering.

"It's okay. It's okay." He shushed him gently, cupping the back of Harry's head as he sat up and rested against the panel  of the stairs.

Harry's face crumpled, his voice hoarse and his breath stinking of alcohol. His white shirt was now stained a light yellow colour under his arms, and there were dribbles of what looked like firewhiskey and coffee down the front of him. His back was sweaty and patchy, and so was his face.

Ron took a good look at his best friend, and realised that Harry's state was far more than he could handle. After all, he was only an auror. Not a therapist, nor a healer. But he'd do his best for Harry, and for Draco.

"Why can't I just be fucking strong, Ron? For him..." Harry asked after a moment of silence, the only noise filling the air being the faint footsteps from the kitchen, courtesy of Hermione, and the thumping of Ron's heart against his ear.