the long night
The next few hours passed in an uncomfortable haze, punctuated by moments of sickness and waves of nausea that had Ron curled up on the bathroom floor, too exhausted to move. Every time he thought it was over, his stomach would betray him again, causing another painful spasm that left him breathless.
Harry had insisted on staying the whole time. He’d made sure Ron was as comfortable as possible, handing him a wet towel to wipe his face, offering words of encouragement between his bouts of sickness.
Ron couldn’t even bring himself to apologize anymore. The words felt too weak, too futile against the overwhelming pain he was enduring. But in between the agony, he caught glimpses of Harry’s quiet concern—the way he hovered nearby, never leaving, just waiting for the worst to pass.
“Harry…” Ron murmured weakly after another wave of nausea had passed. His voice sounded hollow, exhausted. “I don’t know how you do it. I feel like I’m falling apart…”
Harry smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ron’s face. “You’re not falling apart. You’re just sick. It’ll pass.”
Ron closed his eyes, feeling the coolness of the wet cloth on his forehead. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” Harry said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Friends don’t just leave when things get rough.”