It Only Takes a Drop of Blood

Chapter Fifteen: Kisses

The Azkaban breakout was all anyone could talk about the whole weekend. Students gossiped any chance they could get, speculating how the prisoners broke out and where they were hiding. Even the teachers whispered to each other in the corridors or at their table in the Great Hall. Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys quickly agreed that this was probably Voldemort's next big move — which Sirius confirmed in his next letter.

According to the Order, the ten escapees were some of the worst Death Eaters imaginable, including Sirius's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort hadn't taken over the whole prison and freed all of his followers, probably to avoid alerting the Ministry to his presence, but for those that realised the truth of Voldemort's return, the Dark Lord's involvement was a no-brainer.

Sirius had been enlisted by the Ministry to help figure out how the prisoners escaped, being the only successful escapee on record. In his letter, he confirmed what Dumbledore had said last year to Fudge: the Dementors were on Voldemort's side. A few had escaped in the chaos of the breakout, a fact which the Ministry was keeping quiet to avoid a panic.

They probably would have succeeded, if not for the news on Monday morning. The day dawned bright and Harry had started nodding off in his toast and tea when a flurry of owls swooped down through the rafters. Hedwig settled in front of him, a letter tied to her leg.

Harry eagerly reached for it. "It's from Clarisse!" he exclaimed, recognizing the Muggle paper.

"It's been a while since she's written," Hermione noted, her eyebrow raised.

"Oh, Hermione, leave him alone," Ron muttered, stuffing his mouth with another spoonful of eggs.

"She probably got busy," Harry shrugged, unfolding the letter inside. "I'm sure everything's… fine."

His face dropped as he stared dumbly at the words written out in a shaky hand.

"Harry?" Hermione prodded, leaning over slightly. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Ron's head swiveled sharply. "Mate?"

His mouth worked numbly, opening and closing confusedly. Finally he looked up at Hermione and Ron, face white. "She's dead."

"What?!"

His friends' shouts were cut short by the cries of students who had opened their morning papers. On the front page of the Daily Prophet, was a picture of Aurors shooting Patroni at a crowd of Dementors.

Hermione snatched Seamus's paper from his hand, firmly ignoring his indignant yelp, while Ron grabbed for Harry's letter. The black haired wizard didn't even blink, staring blankly at his plate.

"'Denizens of southeastern England were shocked on Sunday evening when a small group of Dementors attacked Ashford, Surrey. Local wizards contacted the Ministry and held off some of the Dementors until help arrived. Aurors and Hit-Wizards were able to regain control of the Dementors within the hour, but not before several Muggles had been Kissed…'" Hermione intoned, her face twisted in horror.

Ron silently read the letter, his hands shaking as he set it down. "She's from Ashford," he said lowly, carefully glancing at his best friend. "This must be from a Muggle friend of hers, because they said her whole family went out to dinner last night and were all found catatonic a few hours later. Clarisse died this morning."

Hermione covered her mouth, eyes watering. "That's awful," she murmured.

They both turned simultaneously to Harry, who was still frozen in his chair, staring at the soggy toast in front of him.

"Take him up to the dorms, yeah?" Ron told Hermione quietly. He glanced at her. "I'll tell McGonagall."

The bushy-haired girl swallowed quickly and inclined her head. Ron watched her get to her feet and coax Harry to his, as the taller boy got up from the table and made his way to their Head of House.

The teachers, like the students, were exclaiming over the Daily Prophet and talking amongst themselves. McGonagall was muttering to Dumbledore and Flitwick with a stony expression on her face.

"Professor?" Ron interjected as he reached their raised dais.

"Yes, Weasley?" McGonagall asked sharply. "What is it?"

"Harry got some bad news this morning," Ron hedged with a quick sideways glance at the suddenly interested Umbridge. He felt something sick flutter in his belly and focused wide eyes on McGonagall, hoping she'd get the message. "If it's alright, Hermione took him up to the Common Room to freshen up. I think they may be a little late to our first class."

"Ah yes, thank you for telling me Weasley," McGonagall said with a firm nod. "Well, run along, then."

Ron did just that, avoiding everyone else's gaze. Ignoring his half full plate, he grabbed his bag and left the hall, intent on reaching the Gryffindor Common Room in record time.

Behind him, the teachers began to disperse and usher their students on to their classes. Minerva McGonagall waited the appropriate amount of time before excusing herself as well. She walked steadily through the Great Hall and up the stairs, but once she reached the first landing, the witch ducked behind a tapestry and sprinted up the narrow passageway that led directly to the seventh floor.

Harry Potter was one of the most collected students she had ever had the pleasure to teach. McGonagall drew a sharp breath as she hit the top of the stairs and clutched at her side. She shuddered to think what this bad news could be.

Harry spent most of Monday's classes in a state of shock. McGonagall, though sympathetic, could not excuse him from classes unless a family member was injured or dead — especially with Umbridge looking over everyone's shoulder. Since the Dursleys and Sirius were alive and well, McGonagall gently sent the three of them to class with notes for Binns.

If asked, he couldn't remember a thing taught that day. Ron and Hermione guided him from class to class, setting out his things and putting them away when he forgot. They also fielded the curious looks and stares from their year mates when they noticed how out of it Harry was.

He was sitting on his bed with Hermione curled up next to him and Ron perched on the end when things finally came into focus later that evening. It was like a dam had broken and suddenly the words resonated in his head with more clarity than before.

Clarisse is dead. Gone forever, like Cedric, like his parents. She'd never hold his hands again or tell him it would be okay again. She wouldn't smile at him or tease him about having an owl as a pet or write him another letter again. She wouldn't be there to talk to about being sick or feeling like an alien in his own life ever again. Harry's breath caught and he fought at the burning sensation in his eyes and throat.

At his gasp, Hermione dropped the book in her hands and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Harry hesitated before surrendering to the deep need inside his soul. He hugged her back and buried his head in her neck, shaking with the feelings rising up in him.

He stayed there, folded into his best friend's arms and feeling Ron's warm, large hand on his back, until the sobs subsided and the sharp pinch of sadness bled out of his belly. He sniffled and withdrew, wiping his eyes and nose with a grimy sleeve.

"Sorry," he muttered, snivelling. "I'm just gonna go… wash up."

Harry refused to meet their eyes as he stumbled to the bathroom. Cold water splashed on his face felt heavenly, as it cooled and soothed his sore eyes and warm cheeks. He blew his nose thoroughly in a bath tissue and wiped off his glasses that were smeared and snotty.

Finally he could put it off no longer and he walked into the dorm. He ignored the concerned looks on his friends' faces and plopped down on the bed once more. "So, what were we talking about again?" he asked weakly. At their looks, he shook his head. "Guys, I'm fine, really. What were you talking about again?"

Ron and Hermione were kind enough to start up their conversation, allowing him to fall back into his brooding. It was good for them to stay and their presence kept him sane as he fell back into thoughts about Clarisse. Both of them stayed until he fell asleep a few hours later.

Tuesday was much more difficult than Monday had been, Harry noted as he pushed his way through his morning classes. His mood was alternatively depressed and angry, depending on the minute, and it was hard to focus on class when his thoughts kept swinging back to Clarisse…

Harry took a bracing breath and forced himself to focus as he, Ron and Hermione trudged down the grounds to Hagrid's hut for their first Care of Magical Creatures class since Hagrid got back. He craned his head, keeping an eye out for Umbridge, as they plodded through the snow to the edge of the forest, where Hagrid was waiting for them.

He still looked awful - cut up, covered in green and yellow bruises - and he was carrying half a dead cow over his shoulder. Harry held back a shudder, hoping that Hagrid hadn't planned a lesson that would get him sacked.

Harry, Ron and Hermione led the group of students as they followed Hagrid into the forest. He brought them into a small section of the forest where the trees were packed in tightly and the ground was clear of snow. Hagrid dumped the cow carcass on the ground with a grunt and turned to the students.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," he said encouragingly. "Now they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me..."

Hagrid then gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the forest like the call of a monstrous bird. He called another two times until Harry spotted the pair of blank, white, shining eyes staring at them through the dark. Moments later, a great, black, winged horse-like creature with a dragonish face, neck and skeletal body emerged from the darkness. It looked around at the class, swished its long black tail and then bowed its head to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

Harry sighed with relief and watched intently as another horse-like creature began to emerge from the trees.

"Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Ron asked confusedly, staring around into the trees.

The dark haired wizard looked around at the class, where most of the students were equally confused. Neville and a stringy Slytherin boy were the only others who could see the strange horses.

Hagrid explained that the creatures were called thestrals and quickly explained about them. Parvati screeched that they were unlucky and proceded to hide behind a tree when she felt one near her.

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," said Hagrid patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?"

Hermione raised her hand immediately.

"Go on then," said Hagrid, beaming at her.

"The only people who can see thestrals," she said, suddenly pausing and glancing at Harry, "are people who have seen death." Her voice finished on a hesistant note.

Harry's throat seized, a rushing sound filled his ears and his chest began to burn. Death. Clarisse. He sniffed and clenched his fists, refusing to break down or cry in front of Malfoy or the other Slytherins. With conscious effort, Harry forced down the awful feeling in his chest and tried to smooth out his expression into something neutral.

As he started to regain clarity and the sound began to return, he heard Umbridge's high-pitched simper insult Hagrid, to the unending amusement of the Slytherins. Hermione's face was scarlet with fury, surpressed rage burning from her eyes.

Harry's eyes followed the toad-like woman as she walked around the class, his sadness and anger rapidly turning into a burning hate in his belly.

"Do you find," said Professor Umbridge in a ringing voice to Pansy Parkinson, "that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

Pansy had tears of laughter in her eyes as she giggled incoherently through her answer. "No... because... well... it sounds... like grunting a lot of the time..."

Hagrid tried to act like he hadn't heard Pansy's answer, though his face was a bright red with humiliation. Malfoy then added more fuel to the fire with his loud rejoiner and Umbridge smiled indulgently as he and Pansy collapsed in another fit of laughter.

"You can see the thestrals, Longbottom, can you?" Umbridge said, turning to the round boy.

Neville nodded.

"Whom did you see die?" she asked indifferently. Her tone grated against Harry's ears.

"My... my grandad," said Neville.

Umbridge hummed and threw a sharp look at Hagrid and then Harry, pure spite written all over her face.

"And don't you think it's quite insensitive that Professor Hagrid chose to remind you of your grandad's death in such a grotesque manner?" she asked. "This experience must be quite dreadful, isn't it?"

"Erm," said Neville nervously, with a glance at Hagrid. "No-"

"You sanctimonious, self-righteous bitch," Harry uttered in a low, ringing tone that silenced the clearing. He stepped forward, his body shaking in anger, while Ron and Hermione watched in silent horror. "Hagrid is the most compassionate, kind-hearted person I have ever met," he intoned, "and he has more heart and consideration in his little finger than you have in your entire body." Harry's eyes narrowed at Umbridge, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "So why don't you take your bloody clipboard and your prejudice, and just shove both of them up your arse!"

Bells were ringing in his ears and heat flushed his face as Harry stood there, fists clenched. Umbridge's eyes narrowed and she smiled smugly.

"Mr. Potter, there's that nasty temper popping up again. I believe that will be another week of detentions with me."

A sinking feeling broke through Harry's rage, cooling it immediately. Umbridge's smirk widened and she turned to Hagrid, triumphantly. "Well, Professor Hagrid, I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive the results of your inspection in ten day's time." This time she didn't bother treating Hagrid like a large, stupid idiot. She'd gotten what she wanted.

As Umbridge flounced off, Hermione and Ron turned to Harry.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, her face still twisted with fury. "She's a foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle, but you shouldn't have said that."

"McGonagall's going to skin you for sure," Ron added, his face pale with certainty.

Harry swallowed and hung his head.

"Harry," Hagrid's gruff tone resounded above them. Harry looked up as Hagrid's large paw descended on his shoulder, nearly knocking the boy over. "I appreciate wha' you said," the man said with a loud sniff, "but yeh shouldn'a gotten detention on my accoun'."

The dark haired teen forced a smile to his face. "It was worth it, Hagrid," he said. "You're worth ten of her."

Hagrid's eyes grew watery and he had to blow his nose loudly in a spotted handkerchief before he could resume teaching the class.

Harry cradled his right hand as he walked up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower later that week. Umbridge had been even more vicious than before, probably because of what happened with Sirius after the Quidditch match. She'd made him write lines with her quill for hours, until it was well past curfew and Harry had to duck professors, ghosts, Peeves and prefects on his way back to the tower.

He'd wrapped a handkerchief around the cut, but his handkerchief was stained a deep red by the time he reached the portrait hole and Harry'd started to feel dizzy.

He muttered the password and stepped inside, bracing himself against the wall so he wouldn't fall over.

"Harry!" Hermione cried as she and Ron looked up from their seats by the fire.

In a colorful whorl of dizzy lights, they ushered him to an armchair and placed his hand in a bowl of murtlap essence. The cuts bled furiously, turning the clear liquid into a red-brown haze.

"Blimey mate, what did Umbridge do to you?" Ron asked, his freckles standing out sharply on his cheeks.

"'m fine," Harry murmured, trying to think through the thick fog clouding his senses. His eyes began to close of their own accord and he could hear a roaring sound in his ears.

"You're not," Hermione said, looking into the bowl with a pinched expression. "Ron, he's still bleeding."

Sure enough, when Hermione lifted Harry's limp hand out, the cut was still seeping blood, not healed over like before.

"Maybe she cursed the Quill?" Ron suggested.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Hermione said darkly, wrapping Harry's hand in a clean handkerchief. "Come on, we've got to get him to the Hospital Wing."

The two pushed Harry up between them, but the young man was already semi-conscious. It didn't take more than two more steps before he passed out completely.

Hermione's startled scream echoed in the common room and sent shivers down Ron's back. She knelt by Harry's body, shaking the black-haired boy's shoulders and slapping his cheeks, her scared cries drawing the rest of the Gryffindors from their dormitories. Ron couldn't help but stare at the dead white of his best friend's face, dread creeping into his belly.

"Hermione, stay with him," Ron ordered suddenly. "I'm going to get McGonagall."

Without waiting for a response, he leapt out of the portrait and down the corridor for the Professor's quarters. Her rooms were not far from the tower, but it felt like days had passed before he was pounding at her door.

"Professor!" he shouted desperately. "Please, open the door!"

Suddenly the door gave way and he fell silent, the sharp eyes of his Head of House flashing at him as she tied a tartan dressing gown to her waist. "Well? What is it Weasley?" she barked impatiently.

"Harry," he stuttered, backing away from the door. "It's Harry. He's collapsed!"

McGonagall's eyebrows twitched with worry as she rushed down the hall with him, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent corridor. "What happened?" she asked brusquely.

"His hand - Umbridge's been making him write with this quill in detention," Ron explained, the truth spilling out of his mouth, "except instead of ink, it uses his blood." Even the explanation made him feel ill. "He's got this cut on his hand - it wouldn't stop bleeding even after soaking it in this potion Hermione made!"

They stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait so McGonagall could utter the password. As they climbed in, Ron saw his friend's body, still prone on the ground, his hand bleeding into the carpet. A small, red puddle had grown and Ron swallowed, shoving down the sick threatening to come up. Instead, he focused on the tears making their way down Hermione's cheeks.

He pulled her to the side as McGonagall conjured a stretcher and lifted Harry onto it. Curious students were already milling about the common room in their nightclothes, whispering and staring at his best friend. At the best friend they'd been mocking and jeering at all year.

"What the hell are you all staring at?" Ron snapped, scowling at them. "Go on, get to bed before I start taking points!"

"You heard him!" said one of the twins, prodding at the shoulders of a couple of second years. "Up you get, you lot."

The other twin joined in, scowling and crossing his arms. "There's nothing to see here. Move along, move along!"

Ron shot a grateful look at his brothers, who nodded at him, before he cleaned up Harry's blood with a flick of his wand and wrapped an arm around a shaking Hermione. He then hurried her out of the common room and headed straight for the hospital wing. It was about time someone took care of that bitch, once and for all, and he, for one, wasn't about to miss it.

A/N: Erm, so, yeah. Hi. I bet you never thought I'd actually update. I wasn't sure about it myself.

I'd honestly seriously thought about dropping this story and never coming back to it, mostly because it's tied into a lot of personal family stuff that I've been trying to deal with for over a decade.

See, a good half of my family have had or died from cancer, including my paternal grandmother and uncle. When I started this fic, I'd just realized that I could have a genetic predisposition for it too and was dealing with the idea that I could get seriously sick and die at some point in my future. This fic was my way of processing that fear.

Over the years, I've kept it up because the threat of cancer in your life isn't something that just goes away. Since I started this fic, I've lost three family members to cancer and had a fourth see it come back for the second time. After losing my grandfather last year to a form of bone marrow cancer, I nearly gave up on this story. But then, about a week ago, I had the urge to come back to this story and add more to it. So here's chapter 15.

I can't honestly promise that I will finish this story or that I will update with any frequency. A lot of that is out of my hands, but I can say that, as of today, it's not dead yet. I still feel like I have a lot to process and sort out, so maybe this fic can still serve its purpose for me. I hope that if you have or are dealing with the Big C in your life, this can help you too.

All the best,

Gallatea