Author's Note: This was written for round 3 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. My task was to write about some pandemic in history. It's definitely not something I would ever think to write about, but I did my best with it, so here's what I came up with.
Disclaimer: I must not tell lies! I'm not J.K. Rowling, and I do not own any part of Harry Potter.
2nd disclaimer: I'm aware that St. Mungo's and probably the Daily Prophet started after the events of this story occurred, but because I realized that after the idea for this story had been conceived, I put them in anyway. I figured that since Ron and Hermione are doing a little time traveling, then they can, too.
14th century Europe. The Black Plague is sweeping relentlessly through Europe, causing widespread death and destruction. No one is safe from this horrifying disease – not even the magical population of the wizarding world…
"Good morning, Hermione," Ron Weasley yawned, rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen for breakfast. "Are the children awake yet?" His wife Hermione turned to look at him meaningfully, but didn't answer. Frowning in confusion, Ron's eyes fell on the copy of the Daily Prophet sitting on the table.
"Is something wrong?" he asked warily.
"Just read it," Hermione said, her voice barely audible.
Ron picked up the paper and scanned the front page headline. "Disease Spreads, Claims More Lives," it read in thick black letters. Ron instantly felt sick to his stomach. The mysterious disease mentioned in the headline had appeared recently and spread quickly, and no one knew how or why.
"It's getting worse," he said in alarm.
Hermione nodded. "There's more. Keep reading."
Ron reluctantly returned to the newspaper and started reading the article accompanying the headline.
The terrible plague currently spreading through Europe has citizens baffled. Neither a cause nor a cure for this fatal disease has been identified. In desperate efforts to alleviate the devastating effects of the sickness, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has announced that it will begin opening its doors to Muggles.
"WHAT?" Ron yelled, his head snapping up. "They're going to let Muggles into St. Mungo's?"
"They have no choice, Ron. The Muggles are overwhelmed. They don't know what to do," Hermione said quietly.
"That's… that's breaking the Statute of Secrecy!" Ron protested.
"They can't just sit back and let this happen. St. Mungo's is the best chance people have of getting cured," Hermione said.
"This is unbelievable," Ron said, running a hand through his hair. "But I suppose you have a point."
Hermione hesitated before speaking her next sentence. "I've volunteered to go and help care for the patients."
Ron was now speechless. Hermione was going to be exposing herself to a deadly Muggle disease. "Can witches and wizards be affected by the disease?" he asked at last, fearing for Hermione's answer.
"Of course not," Hermione said. "It's a Muggle disease. The chances of me catching it are very low. Just… don't go outside. You need to stay here with Rose and Hugo, and I don't want them seeing what's happening out there."
"All right," Ron said in relief. He stood up and walked over to Hermione to give her a loving kiss. "I'm so proud of you," he told her, holding her tightly. Hermione simply smiled weakly in response.
Over the next several days, Hermione left every morning to go to St. Mungo's and treat the sick patients. And every day, after she came home and Rose and Hugo went to bed, she told Ron horrific stories of the things she witnessed. Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing; dozens of people were dying and hundreds more were becoming sick. Still, Hermione assured him that the hospital was doing everything it could to find a cure.
Then one day, Hermione returned home looking pale and tired. She collapsed at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.
"Are you okay, Mum?" Hugo asked worriedly, his sister standing beside him with a look of concern on her face.
Hermione mustered the strength to raise her head and smile at her two children. "I'm fine. It's just a headache. Why don't you two go play in the other room? I need to speak with your father."
Rose and Hugo nodded and ran off. Ron approached Hermione once they left, but she recoiled from him. "Don't touch me!" she said sharply.
Ron quickly backed away from her. "What's wrong?" he said in bewilderment.
Hermione suddenly broke down crying. Ignoring her orders, Ron moved closer to her again, but she jumped to her feet and backed away. "I told you not to touch me!" she said through her sobbing.
"Hermione, please, tell me what's wrong," Ron begged.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Hermione looked Ron in the eye. "I – I think I'm infected with the disease," she whispered.
Ron was stunned. "How do you know?"
"I have the early symptoms. Headache and chills," Hermione said.
"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "It can't be. You said that you couldn't…" He trailed off as realization dawned on him. "That wasn't true. You lied to me so I would let you go. And that's why you told me not to go outside."
"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I didn't want you to worry or take the chance of catching it, and, well, it worked, didn't it?"
Ron dropped down into the chair, trying to absorb the news. "There's nothing we can do?" he said hopelessly.
"No," Hermione replied.
"So you're going to die?"
"Everyone who has contracted the disease has died so far."
Ron met Hermione's gaze, his own eyes brimming with tears. For once, he was truly at a loss for words.
The next few days were easily the worst days of Ron's life. It was bad enough watching his wife waste away, and not being able to do anything about it or even go near her made it even more awful. He could only wait for her death and pray that it come quickly if it must. He didn't want her to suffer for long.
Hermione's temperature skyrocketed, yet her body was wracked with chills. She experienced nausea and vomiting. Soon afterward, the lumps appeared on her body. And there was blood, so much blood. Ron did his best to shield Rose and Hugo's ears from Hermione's cries of pain.
Then one day, the screaming stopped.
Ron stood before Hermione's gravestone, surrounded by the graves of all the other victims taken by the plague. He held a small bunch of flowers in his hand.
"I'm so sorry, 'Mione," he murmured. "You didn't deserve this. You were only trying to help, and this is what you got in return. It isn't fair. You were a better person than I ever was or will be. I wish I could've saved you."
Ron gently laid the flowers beside the gravestone and stared at it for a few seconds longer. "Goodbye, Hermione," he said tenderly. Then he turned and slowly walked away.