Chapter 47

                                        

                                              
Chapter 47
Published: 7/25/22
Harry gripped the porcelain, as another forceful round of vomit exploded out of his mouth. Bloody hell, he thought as he rested his head on the rim of the bowl, not even caring about how unsanitary the toilet was. Or at least he wasn't until he thought about it, then he focused and cleaned it with his magic. He was drenched in sweat and shaking. Joel had given him a few potions, but he was being stupid and refusing them.
"Fuck," Harry said, wishing he was dead. He hated feeling this smashed, hated that he let it get this far.
He thought maybe he should get back to his bed, but his stomach convulsed, and he nearly threw up, again. He slid off the toilet and upon the floor in a veritable heap. He realized that he was going to spend the night in the fetal position on his bathroom floor. He really couldn't care less at the moment. He just wanted this to be over with. He needed it out of his system. Over five years he had spent in the bottle... trying to survive. But Draco was right. He wasn't healing.
"Fuck," he whimpered, again, convulsing painfully on the floor.
Harry had no plans to do anything else for the next day or so. He had already informed his boss and Natalie that he was taking a few days off. He sent a Patronus to Ron and Hermione saying that he wasn't coming over and wanted some time alone. They both wanted an answer why, but he ignored their response back. He wasn't in the mood to talk, and he didn't want anyone to see him this bad.
He shuddered, remembering that Neville had found him at his parents' graves smashed to all hell. That was embarrassing. He didn't like an audience to his pain. He never did. He refused Joel outright when he asked to stay with him. Joel tried to reason that he needed support and someone to help him through it. But Harry couldn't stomach having Joel or anyone clean him and watch him wallow.
Draco... maybe. He could imagine Draco wiping his brow and rubbing his back as he hurled into the bowl, but he shook the image out of his head. His mind wasn't cooperating, really. He was sweating and his brain, he was sure, was messed up. Delirious. He was shaking, and his heart was beating like crazy, or at least, he thought it was. It was hard to separate reality from his imagination. He knew that hallucinations were possible during withdrawal and that he wouldn't understand what was happening.
He suddenly felt a ping in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep away the nausea and pain, but his eyes opened when he felt the ping, again. The wards. His mind told him, finally realizing what the feeling was. Someone tripped the wards he had set against intruders, but he closed his eyes, again, wanting sweet oblivion. He didn't care who was there, or rather didn't care what happened. Unconsciousness was better.
A sudden lurch made him wake up again as the room lit up... loudly. He groaned, annoyed. Was that a Revelio spell? He lifted his head up for a second before dropping to the floor and coughing up some vomit-infused phlegm on the tile floor. He heard something, but ignored it as long as he could until the loo door opened. He could barely open his eyes to see who it was.
"Ron?" he breathed weakly, just making out the red hair.
"Harry... holy Merlin... are you alright?"
"Fine," he mumbled and turned to press his face on the cold tile. It felt good.
Ron crouched down, and his hand touched his forehead. "You're sweating Incendios, Harry. Let's get you out of these robes and into bed."
"I like here," he mumbled.
"You're going to catch a cold on the floor!" Ron said and hoisted him up.
Harry didn't resist as Ron dragged him out of the bathroom and into his room. Then, Ron lifted him onto his bed and pulled his robes off. Harry luckily wasn't bothered by that. He was too far gone. Ron positioned him into his bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He sat down next to him, looking at him.