Stage 3: Conformity

The pressure to conform to societal expectations forms the basis of the third stage of moral reasoning, and it is at this stage that many adults function for all of their lives. I do not steal because if I did so I would be ostracized by my neighbors. I do steal, because it is what my own social clique deems appropriate behavior. It is at this stage that one looks beyond our own needs to that of the whole, and it is upon this level of moral reasoning that the basis for a functioning society can begin to be built.

The chime to the shop's door rung, and Ron looked up from the paperwork. George was already gone, as were the assistants, and Ron was about to leave himself. He frowned at the door, then his jaw dropped. Standing there, hat in hand, was Charles Prewett. The man surged forward when he spied Ron.

"You! Are you George Weasley?"

A sense of relief flooded Ron. He obviously didn't remember their previous encounter. "No, I'm Ron Weasley. Where're about to close though so-"

"Please, please you have to help me!" Charles once more dug out two photos. "This is my daughter, Gisela. Please, she only has a few weeks to live! We've moved back here, to London, she's not very far! Please, just come with me, she's dying. Leukemia. It's in its final stages, the doctors say there is no cure. But you're a wizard! You can do something, can't you?"

Ron swallowed, taking the photos from Charles hands. The first one was different. It showed a little girl who looked scarily like Rose did, a chubby toddler who was coated from head to toe in chocolate frosting, grimy hands reaching up as she laughed with a party hat perched atop her head. The second was of a bald girl of about seven or eight, with some sort of tube running into her nose. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes vacant and unfocused. Her skin looked like parchment, stretched out over her skull so that she looked like a cadaver more than a living girl.

Ron was going to say no. It was what he should do. What was expected of him. Instead, he heard himself saying, "Let me get my coat and wand, and a potion kit. I'll come with you."

And he did, as Charles babbled his thanks, weeping openly and unashamedly at the news that his daughter was going to be saved. Ron thought about oblivating him again. The man would never know he had somehow made his way to Diagon Alley, or that he had found his family, or that Ron had promised to help cure the child.

But that picture. Ron swallowed. He thought about seeing his Rosie like that, dying alone in a hospital bed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't turn his back on this man, not with the evidence of his need shoved right under Ron's nose. He felt bound to help this man, family or no, because his child was so similar to Ron's own.

Charles led Ron down the alley and out the Leaky Cauldron, where Ron waved to Tom, the eternal barman.

"Oh, so he was related to you, then?" Tom said. "Thought it was funny, a muggle wandering in here, but they do from time to time. Said he was looking for the Weasley's, family business."

"Yes, he's my cousin," Ron said quietly. "A squib, you know. But still family."

Tom grimaced, but nodded. Despite Hermione's efforts at the Ministry, squibs were still seen as second class citizens by most, and Tom was not the most liberal minded of wizards.

Outside Charles hailed a cab. "Evelina London Children's Hospital," he told the driver.

Ron sat back and watched the cars go by. He hadn't ridden in a muggle car since that old ford anglia of his fathers all those years ago. Ron wondered if the old car was still prowling the Forbidden Forest. He'd have to ask Neville about that, as he was now the Herbology Professor at Hogwarts.

For his part, Charles fiddled nervously with his photos and chatted with the cabby. The drive was fairly long, but Charles shoved money at the cabby at the end and dashed up the steps of the hospital as soon as they arrived. The nurse at the reception area evidently recognized Charles, as he quickly got visitors badges for himself and Ron.

As they walked through the hospital, Ron's heart lurched. It was quickly evident that Gisela was not the only sick and dying muggle child in the world. They passed coughing children with dead eyes, parents who were quietly sobbing, grim faced doctors who talked quietly in corners, shaking their heads as they pronounced death for their patients. In each room they passed, Ron envisioned Rose, strange muggle tubes shoved up her nose, wheezing and sobbing as her life slipped away.

"Here, she's in here," Charles said, pointing at last to a door. "Maria! I found him! He's come! My cousin, Ron Weasley!"

Inside the room, a woman with red eyes sat beside the bed, where Gisela was dosing, the soft beeping of muggle machines giving the room an alien feel to Ron. He stared around at the various devices, totally lost and feeling completely out of place. He shouldn't be here. This was illegal.

But then he looked at Gisela, who blinked and opened her eyes. "Papa?"

"I'm here, sweetie, I'm here," Prewett said, getting down to the bedside and grasping his daughter's hands. "I've brought help. See? This is Ron. He's a wizard, like I told you about. He can make you all better."

Gisela looked up at Ron, her eyes showing just a hint of life in them. "Are you really a wizard?"

Slowly, Ron drew out his wand. "Yes, I am. I don't know if I can help you, but I'm going to try. Now, tell me, what exactly is this leuki-whatsits?"

Over the next half hour, Ron got a thorough rundown of what leukemia was, its causes and effects, and what the most modern treatments for it were. As they talked, Maria's hands flew, her Italian accent becoming rather noticeable. Ron wondered how his cousin had met and married an italian woman, but decided that at this juncture that wasn't important.

"Visiting hours are almost over," a nurse said, sticking her head into the room. "Say your goodbyes dear, I'll have the kitchen send up some soup if you want it."

"I threw up the last soup," Gisela complained. "I don't feel hungry."

The nurse looked worried, and glanced at Gisela's parents.

"Please, just for tonight," Charles begged. "We don't…we don't know how much longer she has."

The nurse slowly nodded. "Ok. Do you need anything? Should I send for a priest or a grief counselor?"

"Father Vincent was here earlier," Maria said. "He prayed the rosary with us."

"Alright." The nurse closed the door, leaving Ron with his new relatives, who were all looking at him with desperate hope.

He swallowed. "Well, since it's a disease of the blood, maybe a blood purifying potion and a blood cleansing charm?"

He worked long into the night. Ron had become much better at potions over his auror career and during his time helping George with the joke shop. A simple blood purifying potion was easy, but time consuming to make. Thankfully the ingredients were common enough, and Ron had them in his potion kit. He cast the charms over Gisela, who didn't flinch despite the fact that Ron knew that they made your blood feel like it was on fire.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Ron asked.

"I'm on a lot of morphine right now," Gisela said dreamily. "And it's not as bad as the chemo therapy."

Ron swallowed, and checked the potion. "Right, this should be ready. Drink this."

Gisela readily downed the potion, making a face. "I hope I don't throw it up."

Waving his wand, Ron added on some anti nausea charms. "You should be OK. Now, I've really got to get going, my wife is going to be worried sick."

"Will it work?" Charles asked, not taking his eyes off his daughter, who was drifting back to sleep.

"It should, I think," Ron said. "If it doesn't come back to the shop and we can try something else. I'll do a bit of research and see what I can turn up."

He left the hospital and found a quiet alley to apparate from, feeling a mixture of guilt, elation, and sadness. He knew what he had just done was against the law, but he was hopeful that he had cured Gisela. However, when he'd gone back through the hospital, against his better judgement, Ron had peeked into a room where weeping had been coming from. A doctor had been pulling a sheet over a small, still form, as a woman wept softly in the corner as a nurse hugged her.

Ron hadn't seen the face of the dead child, but in his heart, he knew who it was.

It was Rose. Someone's Rose had just died. And Ron hadn't tried to save her. No one had.

Because it was against the law.

The most fascinating part of the third stage of moral development and the later stages is that conflicting moral beliefs can be held in the mind at the same time. One group may judge an action to be morally reprehensible, another may applaud it as morally righteous. We must then weigh the differing moral arguments, and decide which is the most compelling. Perhaps the most famous of these problems is the Heinz Dilemma.