Chapter Text
Harry groaned as he rolled out of bed, feeling like death warmed over. He’d been woken up way too early by another coughing fit, and couldn't fall back asleep because his nose was stuffed up.
He’s been sick for 2 days now. While he missed Hogwarts for a number of reasons, right now it was the hospital wing, and Madame Pomfrey’s knowledge he longed for. Being an independent adult was difficult. He’d successfully finished his NEWTS last year, but nowhere in the curriculum had he learned how to care for himself when sick.
He’d thought of calling Molly for help - she was such a good mom, surely she’d know what to do. But she was in Romania, visiting Charlie with Arthur. He considered what Hermione would do in this situation. She and Ron were also abroad, attending a conference on creature rights in Germany. She’d probably have told him to go to St. Mungo’s, but the thought made Harry feel even more sick. The crowds would be awful, and he hated the swarms that gathered every time he was seen in public.
The other thing Hermione would do, was research. The thought made Harry want to climb back into bed and hide under the covers, but he couldn’t see any other option. If there was no one to help him feel better, he’d have to do it himself.
Ten minutes later, armed with a steaming hot cup of tea, Harry wandered into the Black Family library. He only just managed to set his cup down before a large sneeze overtook him. He couldn’t tell if it was the dust or the fact that he was ill. Either way, he needed to find a book about healing at home. Surely there must be something here?
He wandered the aisles for a while, pulling books that seemed like they might hold the answers he was looking for. He finally settled down on the couch at the far end of the library, with his tea and a couple of books. He spent a few minutes flipping through the first one, not totally registering what was written on the pages. A lot of this book had complicated anatomy information that his tired mind was not understanding, let alone remembering. He was going to forget every bit of this as soon as he walked out of the room.
With a laboured sigh, Harry forced himself up again, and wandered up to his room in search of something to write on. His eyes wandered over to his school trunk, which he had only partially unpacked since returning from graduation. He dug through it, finding an old history of magic notebook that was mostly unused, and a self-inking quill. Armed with his new supplies, he returned to the library, ready to take some notes.
Or so he thought. Half an hour later, all he’d accomplished was doodling an owl in the margin of the page. He’d always loved doodling and drawing. Now that he was free of school and war, he’d considered taking art lessons. There was a studio in Diagon Alley that had opened recently, right next to Slug and Jiggers, that was constantly advertising lessons in the Quibbler.
But he couldn’t attend drawing lessons while sick. Armed with a new resolve, he tackled the books once more. He wanted to learn to draw.