Chapter 1
The feast was in full swing. The tables were laden with endless platters of food, a sparkling array of dishes that made Ron’s mouth water. He shoveled food onto his plate without a second thought—roast beef, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pasties, and a handful of cauldron cakes. But there was something about the odd, rubbery taste of the chicken leg he bit into that made him pause.
It wasn’t just the flavor. The chicken was... wrong. A little too slimy, maybe? Slightly too bitter? But Ron had been hungry—starving after a long day of classes—and shrugged it off. Surely it was nothing. After all, everything at the feast always tasted so good, how could it possibly be bad?
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It didn’t take long for the discomfort to set in.
Ron felt a strange, nagging ache in his stomach as he returned to the Gryffindor common room with Harry. The familiar warmth of the fireplace soothed his nerves, but the pressure in his gut only increased. By the time they reached the dorm, he could feel the nausea rising. It hit him in waves, his stomach twisting as though it were attempting to turn itself inside out.
"Ron, you okay?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as he watched his friend wobble to the bathroom door.
"Yeah, just… just a bit of a stomach thing," Ron muttered, trying to force a smile, though it barely reached his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it out loud.
But he couldn’t hide it for long. Moments after shutting the door behind him, the first wave of nausea hit with full force. Ron barely had time to kneel in front of the toilet before he was violently sick, emptying his stomach with no end in sight. His body trembled as he retched again, the burning sensation in his throat a bitter reminder of how badly he'd misjudged that chicken.
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Harry had been waiting outside, not fooling anyone with his calm demeanor. After the first few minutes of silence, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed the door open slightly, poking his head inside.
“Ron? You okay?”
Ron barely managed to nod before he lurched forward again, his body wracked with another painful round of vomiting.
“Maybe you should come back to bed…” Harry ventured, his voice soft.
"I’m fine. I just need some time to—" Ron started, but the words were cut off by another wave of nausea, followed by a muffled groan of distress.
Harry didn't hesitate. He stepped into the bathroom, his face full of concern. "Ron, you’re not fine."
The sickening sound of Ron's body retching filled the air again, and Harry winced. He reached out, his hand hovering near his friend’s back as though he might help, but unsure of what to do.
"Merlin, this is—" Ron gasped, but the words trailed off as he swayed unsteadily.
Ron’s skin felt clammy, his face pale and streaked with sweat as he struggled to regain his breath between violent, gagging coughs. It wasn’t just the vomiting anymore. Now it was the gut-wrenching, painful cramps in his stomach, the pressure building so hard it felt like his insides were being wrung out like a damp towel.
“Ron, you need to lie down,” Harry said, worry creeping into his voice as he gently placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You're gonna make yourself worse."
But Ron could barely keep himself upright, his body trembling with exhaustion. "I—I just… I can’t. It’s… it’s too much…" His voice cracked, a strangled sound that sent a pang through Harry’s chest.
"Ron, listen," Harry said urgently. "I’m not going anywhere. You're not doing this alone."
It was that quiet promise that snapped something inside Ron. He looked at Harry, his face twisted in pain, eyes wide with something more than just nausea. For a second, it was as though Ron was seeing Harry for the first time—really seeing him.
“You… you don’t have to do this,” Ron whispered hoarsely, his eyes welling up with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "You’ve got your own life. You don’t… don’t need to—"
Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. "I’m not leaving you, Ron. Not now. Not ever."
The sincerity in Harry’s voice was like a balm to Ron's frayed nerves. Despite the raging storm inside his stomach, Ron felt a strange sense of warmth seep into him. The pressure in his gut became less unbearable somehow, his head less heavy as Harry’s simple words settled in.
"Ron, you’re my best mate. I’m not going anywhere."
Another round of vomiting interrupted him, but this time, Ron wasn’t alone. Harry stayed by his side, rubbing his back soothingly as Ron’s body heaved, the last remnants of his meal escaping him.
“I’m not leaving,” Harry repeated, and despite the mess around them, despite the sounds of misery, Ron could hear the quiet promise behind it.
There was silence between the bouts of nausea. Ron’s body was exhausted, broken down by the pain, but the warmth from Harry’s presence soothed him in ways he couldn’t put into words.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ron mumbled after a long, painful moment, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re always there, and… I don’t even ask. You just… you just show up.”
Harry smiled softly, brushing a damp lock of hair away from Ron's forehead. "I’ll always show up. You never have to ask, mate. You’re stuck with me."
The thought should’ve made Ron laugh, but the weight of his exhaustion and the vulnerability that had opened up inside of him stopped him from responding with a joke. Instead, he just nodded, the tears on his face a silent acknowledgment of how much he relied on Harry. How much he needed him.
In that moment, amid the pain, amid the chaos of nausea and exhaustion, there was only one thing that mattered—he wasn’t alone. And that was enough.