BLUES
Rating: PG-13. I wonder if we'll ever get any higher than that. What do you guys think?
Disclaimer: I give up – they're MINE, they're ALL mine, and YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM! :P
Author's Note: I'm tired and sick and my legs hurt because I went to the Relay for Life thing on Friday night. It is under influence of these symptoms that this chapter was written. *sigh* More from me at the end. (I know you can't wait.)
* * * * *
Hot wrath surged through him; an uncontrollable platinum blaze fostered its ire behind his eyes and he couldn't think and all he felt was pain and what was happening? His limp muscles wouldn't work, they were burnt too badly. This must be Hell.
Something soft, cold, wet parted the flames and overrode the heat. He may or may not have audibly expressed his relief; he thought he did, but the pervasive inferno was roaring in his ears and he couldn't really hear. He relished the respite, leaned into it, bent and concentrated his entire body on it.
This was a bit difficult, because it was roaming restlessly over his torso, probably trying to accomplish something but he couldn't figure what until his shirt came off over his head. He realized that it must be a pair of hands. Following this insight was another that hit him in a breathless hiss, like the elusive dream that finally floats to the tip of the brain: Hermione. He tried to say her name but couldn't work it out, and it didn't matter because blessedly cool liquid flowed into the recesses of his mouth and took his words down with it. The spasms subsided but he didn't really notice, since her hands were on his neck, feeling his pulse.
The hazing began to clear. He sensed that there were several more people leaning over him. Water must be dripping off one of them – Hermione, he remembered, she'd been in wet clothes – and onto his parched skin, which absorbed it eagerly.
He was afraid to open his eyes or speak; if he could just lie here and not move, not at all, then maybe it wouldn't return.
* * * * *
"I think he's okay now," said Mrs. Weasley, relieved. "It looks like he's just sleeping."
Hermione swallowed, nodded, didn't take her eyes off Ron's bare chest – as if watching his serene breathing would insure its security.
"What happened?" demanded Harry.
"I don't know!" she told him exasperatedly. "He was just standing there talking to me and then he started clutching his forehand and he was all pale and he shook and I didn't know what to do – I tried a bunch of spells, I don't remember which ones, and then you were there."
"That doesn't sound like anything I've read about," said Bill. Charlie nodded. Mr. Weasley sighed in perplexed agreement.
"Maybe we should consult Headmaster Dumbledore," suggested Percy. He was standing in the doorway, with one reassuring and barely visible hand on his Ginny's back. She was absolutely colorless.
"Yes, yes, Percy," Mr. Weasley nodded distractedly. "I'll go and do that now."
He scurried from the room in a flutter of intangible solemnity. Mrs. Weasley looked worriedly after him; Hermione wondered if she herself ever gave Ron sort of look.
"Mrs. Weasley, I can sit here with him until he wakes up again," she offered.
Mrs. Weasley glanced at Hermione appraisingly. "Yes, that'll be fine, dear. Just... come and get me when he wakes, okay?"
"Of course."
With the phantom of a reminiscing smirk, Mrs. Weasley followed shortly behind her husband. Bill, Charlie, and Percy trailed wordlessly after her.
"I'm going to stay with you," Harry said quietly, almost as though he didn't want to intrude. Hermione was swamped with the reasons why he was her other best friend.
"Of course you are, Harry. Come here. You too, Ginny. Let's all sit down and rest."
They sank onto the bed opposite Ron. Ginny folded her legs under her; Harry hung his over the side. Hermione, between them, propped her back against the wall and felt the vertebrae align.
They scrutinized Ron's sleeping form and speculated on the spells, curses, charms, illnesses, ailments, demons that could have possessed him. He didn't wake for hours, and yet none of them noticed the twinges in their unmoving muscles. They weren't even tired. They had sacrificed themselves momentarily for the guardianship of their best friend and brother. There was a certain solace in that.
* * * * *
The voices reverberated in his unconsciousness and sought him, drew him out into the light.
"Maybe it was just a cold," suggested Harry.
"A cold? Have you ever had a cold that turned your skin into a scorching nightmare and shook you and finally knocked you out?"
"Well. No. But I bet there are viruses like that."
"You think it's a virus?"
"I don't know. What do you think, Ginny?"
"I... don't know. If it is something like that, he would've gotten it from some kind of foreign mosquito, right?"
"Well, probably," said Hermione knowledgably.
"And there aren't really any mosquitoes around here in October."
"Unless the virus has been in his system for a long time and just stayed dormant until something set it off."
"Ooh. It could do that?"
"Yes."
"Wow."
"Yeah. Do you think he could've gotten it in Egypt?"
"It would have had to stay in his system for years!"
"I know." The three turned grim.
After a moment, Ginny wondered, "Shouldn't we take him to a hospital then?"
"Not right now."
"But what if he's –"
"Awake, and listening to every word you say?" finished Ron, sitting up and entering the conversation. Hermione was the first to react.
"Ron! You had me so worried!"
"No kidding. How are you?" said Harry.
Ginny merely rose and threw her arms around her brother's neck fiercely. Over her shoulder, Ron said, "I'm fine, I'm fine, already."
"You could have fooled me," Hermione told him. "What happened?"
"I don't know, actually. It was really weird, I was just talking to you, and then all of a sudden I got really hot and my head was just searing. It was... hey... wasn't this bedspread a different color?"
Ginny looked at him oddly. "No, it's always been blue."
"That's funny, it looks gray to me."
"How does that look gray? It's really dark, like midnight blue."
"It just... does. Hey. Is that lamp gray?"
"No," said Harry.
"Is it blue?"
"Yes."
"Uh-oh."
"Maybe it's the light," guessed Hermione. "Come on, we have to take you to your mum anyway. Let's go out in the hallway. Can you stand up?"
Irritation bit at Ron's heels like piranhas. "Yes, I can stand." He stood and followed the others.
"Okay, do the walls look blue to you? Because that's definitely what color they are," Ginny told him.
"Uh... no. They look gray, just like everything else. Oh, shit."
"Don't swear."
"Hermione..."
"What?"
"Now is not the time to worry about my use of obscenities. Where's Mum?"
"Downstairs. Let's go."
The four trooped to see Ron's mum. Ron blinked energetically the entire route, and still the wall remained gray. The really terrifying thing was, though, that he couldn't remember what it had looked like before.
* * * * *
The situation was explained to Mrs. Weasley, who was intensely worried but relieved to at least have her son in no other way harmed.
"Perhaps you've hit your head on something," she said. "Anyway, all of you, pack up tonight. You're going back to Hogwarts tomorrow, and the first thing you'll do there is visit Madame Pomfrey, Ron."
"Mum."
"No 'Mum' – I've buried two sons today, and I won't bury a third. Anyway. The Headmaster would also like a word with you. You won't have to attend any classes until Tuesday."
So they packed, and then they slept fitfully at best. Ron, however, was the only one who didn't gain any rest at all.
* * * * *
Author's Note: (Also known as shameless self-promotion for future chapters.) Why can't Ron sleep? And why can't he see anything blue anymore? Was he bitten by some rare, evil Egyptian crawling thing? How worried is Hermione right now? (And if you were her, how worried would you be?) Does Rocio hate Harry so much that she's never going to let him have any significant role in this story? Where the hell is Dumbledore during all this? And, the million-galleon question: Are Ron and Hermione EVER going to just get it on already?
I can't promise anything, but most of the above questions will be answered soon. Yay! (Because, not having written it yet, I'm curious, too.)
