Terry had been sick, super sick. His parents had removed his from Hogwarts to get him to a muggle doctor because he had been so sick. Apparently he had a bad case of the flu. It had been a huge dampener in his schoolwork and his social life. And sadly, the illness had progressed and gotten worse, which was weird for the flu. So it eventually turned out that he was hospitalised for about three weeks when it just didn't get better.
He had been in the hospital through most of December and through Christmas, but made it home to New Year's, where he had passed out in his bed after the long haul of being in a muggle hospital. It had been awful. Everything had been a bright white, too sanitary for even clean Terry. It had been an awful dull place to spend Christmas and a lonely one after visiting hours had been over and they even shooed out his parents. Seriously, it had been the worst Christmas ever for the Ravenclaw.
As Michael came in, Terry opened an eye from his bed, where he was laying. Seriously after nearly a month of doing nothing and laying down, you'd think he'd be sick of it already. But the medication he was on made his a little drowsy and he was getting off of it in a few days. Good times, good times. At least a doctor's note from a muggle doctor cleared everything up, along with an owl from his parents explaining just how sick Terry was. As if his prolonged stay in the hospital wing had been any clue.
'Yeah, try a muggle hospital for a month,' he pointed out to Mike. 'And I haven't seen him. How was your Christmas? It had to be better than mine.'