Chapter 8
Harry
"You feeling all right, son?" Arthur asked.
"No." Harry replied. Harry was feeling even worse than the previous day.
He swore he could see black spots on his feet, and they seemed to be growing bigger. He had woken up that morning and Arthur had asked if he was feeling better now that he'd had some rest.
"No I feel worse."
"Worse than you did an hour ago? When you came out to tell me how sick you were?"
"What do you mean? I only just woke up." Harry replied.
"But an hour ago you came out into the kitchen and told your mother that you had started throwing up and you had a huge headache." Arthur said.
"What? No I didn't!"
Harry didn't tell him that an hour ago, while he was sleeping, he swore that he could see the inside of his bedroom and his Aunt Petunia leaning over him, taking his temperature.
"Your temperature is over 39! You need to be taken to hospital!"
"St Mungo's…" He murmured, not being able to properly speak.
"No, the local hospital. What's St Mungo's? Is that some freak hospital? I am taking you to the local one, I don't want you infecting by Dudders."
That was when Harry had been pulled back into Ron's body.
Harry stopped daydreaming and focussed on Mr Weasley again.
"You must have been sleep-walking." Arthur told him.
"I've never done that before."
"I know Ron, I would know if you had."
"Oh, right."
Arthur left to talk to Molly. I don't know if my dream was real, but if it was it means that Ron is sick too.
Hedwig was pecking at the window. Hedwig! Harry walked over to the window, but it was hard because his feet were numb. Eventually he got to her, and the letter was just to let Harry know that Ron was alright.
But is he?
Harry quickly wrote a response telling him of his illness, his being in Egypt and asking Ron if he was okay or if he was sick too.
Harry went back to sleep and dreamed that he was being pushed into a car by his Aunt.
Ron
Ron had been awake for nearly 4 hours. Despite his tiredness, he couldn't sleep. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them it had only been a few minutes.
Petunia had come in regularly to take his temperature, and Ron couldn't decide if he was feeling cold or hot. If he had his blanket off, he shivered, if he had it on, he felt too hot.
Eventually, Petunia had had enough of it and taken him to the hospital. Now he was in a room with a healer, only they called him a "Doctor". The "Doctor" said that Ron has a very vicious flu and must take "this" medicine twice a day.
They also said they would keep him in overnight for "observations". Ron had lain down on the bed provided, but couldn't sleep. The doctor came in, and gave him two small pills and told him that he would be asleep within half an hour.
Finally, sleep came. Ron could see his father, talking to him, asking him how he was.
"I still feel awful. I keep vomiting, I have awful headaches, I get random nosebleeds, apparently I'm sleep-walking and my feet have black spots on them."
That's weird; I don't have any of that.
"We may have to take you to St Mungo's." his father told him.
"But that's all the way back in London." He replied. It was only then he realised his room wasn't his room. It was some slightly larger room that had two other beds, clean, white walls and a red and blue striped carpet.
Where am I?
"We'll see how you feel tomorrow and if you feel worse we'll take you back. Do you think that there's some disease you may have picked up here?"
"Dad, I know Egypt is ancient, but even I doubt that I can get a disease from a mummy." Ron replied.
I'm in Egypt?!
After that he had a dreamless sleep, or, he supposed, Harry had gone to sleep too. It seemed that whenever he slept he was in his own body. Is it the same for Harry? Ron wondered when he awoke.
The medicine didn't appear to have worked. Ron was still sick. He expected to feel a little better, but if anything he felt worse. He checked his own feet, after he knew that Harry had spots, and saw that he indeed did too.
How can Harry and I have the same disease if he's overseas?
It must have something to do with the spell, Ron supposed. Something had backfired causing them to get some mystery disease. Does Hermione know? Is she trying to help?
Little did Ron know, Hermione had helped more than she realised.
Hermione
I'll never be happy again, Hermione thought for what seemed like the hundredth time since she'd been brought here.
She kept seeing things from her past: her Grandma's funeral, her ill grandfather, when she had been petrified earlier that year. Nothing was pleasant.
I wish they'd hurry up and kill me, she thought. But that was an odd thought, seeing as they weren't going to kill her, just leave her to the Dementors for the rest of her life.
She tried screaming, it didn't work. She learned quickly. There was no point. No one was going to help her, that would defeat the purpose of her imprisonment.
It was silent in there, like silence in memory of the death of someone. Which was fitting, as with the sadness she felt, it was as if someone had died.
She tried to not think about the images that kept cropping up; she just sat there focussing on positives. At least with the cure, Harry and Ron will be safe. At least they get to have their happy ending.
She couldn't struggle any longer; she sat down, staring at the wall, not moving. What's the point? She thought. I'll never be happy again, even if I do get out of this place.
How long had she been there? A day? A day and a half? At least the Minister would know by now whether or not her cure had worked. She hoped it had, for Harry and Ron's sakes.
For a moment, she felt warmer. The dark, cold of the Dementors had been lifted for a moment.
She saw silver light coming from the end of the corridor. What could that be? She wondered.
"Hermione Granger?" The voice asked.
"Yes! Yes! I'm here!"
"We have been given orders for your immediate release from Azkaban!" the voice replied, sounding oddly familiar.
"What?" she asked. Last she heard, she was getting life.
The cloaked figure approached her cell. The silver light looked like mist in the shape of a wolf. The man took off his cloak- it was Fudge!
"Minister, why am I getting released?"
"Because: your cure worked! And as far as I am concerned, that means that you committed no crime. The spell was only banned because of the awful consequences if it doesn't work. Now that you've fixed it, you can be released."
He put the key in the lock and the gate opened. "So it definitely worked?"
"The young man who had the disease has shown no symptoms since. We don't know if he's definitely cured, but Derwent and Perkins are very thrilled."
"That's great. Harry and Ron didn't switch back, which means one must have the disease. We need to find them so we can cure them!" Hermione said.
"We? Young lady, there is no 'we'!"
"But please, Minister-!"
"Enough. As you are no longer a student of Hogwarts, you are classified as a muggle. You must go live back with your muggle parents."
"Sir-"
"No. I am sorry; there is nothing I can do."
Hermione was close to tears. She got released from Azkaban, but she couldn't use magic, she couldn't see her friends, and she couldn't be a witch. It was like her nightmares in her cell all over again.
Fudge took her through Azkaban, to the Entrance, which was concealed, and took her on a boat to the main land. From there, they apparated into her street.
"Goodbye, Hermione."
"Wait! Don't I get a trial, at least?"
The Minister looked surprised. "Well… yes."
"So, when's mine?"
"I'll organize something." He said vaguely before disapparating.
I could still get to return Hogwarts, Hermione thought.
