Author's Notes: Voila! Chapter 6! I re-wrote this sucker at least four times, and even had to do some research for it, bleh. As if exams weren't enough.
Special, huge thanks to Ivy Moss, who drew an awesome picture of Diana Drago for me. If I can figure out how to get it on my website, I'll post a link in the next chapter. It's so amazing! Thanks Ivy! ^_^
***
"The independent study project will be worth…" Professor Weasley twirled his wand around, musing. "Hm, let's say…twenty-five percent of your final mark." He wasn't one for thinking these sorts of things through, or planning ahead for them. When would people learn that independent study projects were just meant to…happen?
"Make it five," Tommy Greenwald called out. Ron raised an eyebrow; his seventh-year class was getting far too bold.
"Twenty," Professor Weasley challenged.
"Ten."
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
Ron considered this. "Done," he agreed. The class cheered.
"The topic will be…hm, water demons," he decided, pulling a random topic from the top of his head. "Kappas, Grindylows, Kelpies…" he listed, tossing his wand into the air and catching it. He noted the sound of quills scratching away at parchment, and smiled to himself. "Except that you cannot use the three that I just listed." A unanimous groan arose from the class as he grinned. "There will be a written essay, which you must hand in, and an oral presentation which you will…"
Professor Weasley trailed off, his gaze drawn to a student at the back of the classroom. Her head of curly, black hair was resting on her desk, cradled by her arm. He cleared his throat loudly.
"Oy! Miss Coles! Am I boring you?"
All heads in the class turned, amidst some snickers, as Ron continued to toss his wand into the air and catch it, waiting for a response. Jocelyn Coles wearily raised her head, and Ron's wand clattered to the floor.
The dark-skinned teen's face was as pale as death; her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles shadowing them, and her lips were cracked and bloodless. "I don't feel too well, Professor," she whispered hoarsely.
"Holy smokes, Jo," Ron said seriously, quickly walking down the aisle between desks to the back row, where he proceeded to feel the Jocelyn's forehead. "I think you'd better head up to the hospital wing, kid."
Jocelyn nodded weakly, pushing her chair back with a loud, grating noise as the class watched. A few students returned to their work, and others took the opportunity to engage in a little socializing, as Jo took a few steps towards the classroom door.
Suddenly Jocelyn stopped in her tracks and inhaled sharply, gasping as if short of breath, then staggered backwards. Professor Weasley was at the ill girl's side in seconds.
He was just in time to catch Jocelyn as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell backwards, unconscious.
***
"Drink it!"
"Professor, please don't let her make me drink it," Jocelyn begged Ron, pushing the goblet Madam Pomfrey was attempting to force down her throat away. The stuff smelled awful, and likely tasted five times as bad. Professor Weasley, who was standing next to the cot she'd been placed on, gave her an apologetic look. First the poor girl had fainted in class, then there'd been no empty beds in the hospital wing, and now she was forced to sleep on a rock-hard cot and drink a liquid with the appeal of old socks.
"Drink it, young lady. Now!" Madam Pomfrey snapped.
"But – "
"Now!" Jocelyn obediently gulped down the goblet, made a face, then slumped back onto her pillow, her eyelids drooping. Within seconds the seventh-year girl had slipped into a healthy, dreamless sleep. Taking a deep breath, Ron grabbed his black robes, which he had slung over a chair, and turned to Madam Pomfrey, smiling nervously.
"Well I'll just be going then…" he began, attempting to inch out of the hospital wing. The aged hospital matron had become somewhat eccentric in her old age, and, in Ron's opinion, quite mad. To make matters worse, she had taken quite a liking to him at the end of last year. Ron usually avoided the hospital wing at all costs.
"Oh don't be silly, Professor Weasley!" the hospital matron laughed shrilly, firmly clamping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until I make sure that you don't have the same thing this poor girl's got!"
Ron winced as Madam Pomfrey, surprisingly strong for her age, forced him into a chair and slid something metallic and very cold under his shirt. Ron yelped, jumping up.
"Good God, woman!" he roared. "What in the blazes was that?!"
Madam Pomfrey smiled, wagging her finger at him as if he was a naughty student. "A stethoscope, Professor Weasley!" She laughed again, and Ron was vividly reminded of nails scraping on a chalkboard.
"A Muggle device," Madam Pomfrey explained, "but very useful nonetheless. Now will you sit – " Ron was forced back into the chair. " – down and let me have a look at you?"
The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher could see no alternate means of escape. Ron winced, but consented to let her place the small, icy device back on his body. He breathed in, and then out, his flesh crawling as Madam Pomfrey moved the apparatus across his chest.
"All right," the hospital matron finally said reluctantly. She seemed hesitant to release him. "Everything looks to be fine…"
"Excellent," Ron said hastily, jumping up. He sloppily tucked his shirt back in and shrugged on his robes as Madam Pomfrey sighed heavily and went to check on one of her other charges.
Ron noticed absently that the hospital wing was, seemingly, the popular place to be these days; the lines of beds were occupied by twenty or so students. In a school the size of Hogwarts, and at the beginning of winter, this wouldn't seem odd to most people. But Madam Pomfrey could fix a cough or a cold in seconds, and then usually sent the students on their merry way. In a school where magic could be used to cure almost all ailments, twenty sick students - give or take a few - was quite a lot.
His glanced over at a petite figure, sitting by one of the beds, her back to him. Ron immediately felt a blush colouring his cheeks, embarrassed that someone may have been watching that rather awkward scene with Madam Pomfrey. But as the girl stood up and turned around, Ron felt a grin tug at his mouth.
"Hullo, Row!" he called cheerfully. The tiny girl jumped a bit, breathing another sigh of relief when she turned around to see that it was only Ron. Her hair, an orange-reddish colour, was pulled back haphazardly into a ponytail as usual, several pieces of it falling out or sticking up. She pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and smiled shyly.
"Hello Professor Weasley," she returned, looking at the ground.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that Professor Weasley nonsense any more," Ron shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. "You're a bona fide member of the staff now, aren't you?"
Rowan Richardson's pale face flushed with pride, and she started playing with the necklace that hung around her neck. She had been in Ron's seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts class last year. A shy girl with few close friends, Rowan had rightly earned her place in Hufflepuff; she was a hard-working student, even though she usually only got half-decent marks. Ron had immediately taken a liking to the sweet-tempered girl, probably because she reminded him of Ginny - in looks and, somewhat, in nature. He had been thrilled for her, and surprised, when she had been offered an apprenticeship at Hogwarts, serving as one of the professor's aids. He'd been even more surprised, and not so thrilled for her, when he'd discovered it was Professor Trelawney.
On closer inspection, Ron could see that Rowan's face was paler than usual, the freckles across the bridge of her nose contrasting starkly with her ashen face. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she seemed to be shyly fidgeting even more than usual. Ron felt suddenly angry with Trelawney; knowing her, she'd already frightened the poor girl out of her mind with predictions of doom and gloom. He felt even sorrier for her if she actually had some Divination talent, because Trelawney was going to be no help to her there. However, Ron reminded himself that Rowan had been offered the apprenticeship because Sybill Trelawney had decided to retire at the end of the year, and this thought cheered him a bit.
"So what're you doing down here in the morgue?" Ron joked. He immediately wished he could take it back – Rowan's face had just gone even paler, if possible, and she was now wringing her hands.
"Oh…" she said in a strangely high-pitched voice."A…a student wasn't feeling well…Professor Trelawney asked me to bring him down to the hospital wing," she nodded her head towards the bed she'd been sitting by.
Ron eyed her chalk-white pallor. "Maybe you should stay for a check-up too," he advised. "You're not looking very well, Row."
"Oh no, I'm fine," Rowan answered, looking flustered. She cast a worried look at the beds around her and bit her lip. She looked as if she wanted to tell Ron something.
"Erm – Professor?" Rowan said in the barest of whispers, taking a step forward. The light from the setting sun suddenly blazed through the window, illuminating the copper-coloured hairs falling out of her ponytail. "Could I…I just need to talk to you…only for a second - "
"Busy, busy, busy," Madam Pomfrey announced loudly, startling both Ron and Rowan. She began bustling from bed to bed; checking a temperature here, placing a cold cloth on a forehead there. "I'm getting too old for this."
"Mmhmm," Ron replied vaguely, attempting to get back to what Rowan was trying to tell him. His light-heartedness was gone; he suddenly had a very bad feeling in his gut. It only increased as he stared at Rowan, who seemed almost on the verge of tears.
"I…I really have to go," she said, seeming to lose her nerve. She started towards the door to the hospital wing, the Professor's robes she wore looking overly large on the tiny girl. Ron was just about to open his mouth to ask her to hang on a minute, when Rowan abruptly turned around, mouthed the words, "Good luck," and disappeared. Ron stared after his former student, at first assuming that she meant good luck getting away from Pomfrey. But remembering the look on her face, Ron began to think otherwise. He scratched his head.
"I've had to bear with Muggle flu season before, but this is ridiculous!" Madam Pomfrey was still rambling on, oblivious. "Eighteen students out of classes – nineteen, with Miss Coles here – and more are coming in every minute!"
Ron abruptly straightened as a thought – a farfetched one, but a thought nonetheless – occurred to him. It probably would have never hit him before, but Rowan's strange nervousness and mysterious good luck message had unnerved him. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as the horrible thought flashed through his mind again. Flu. That word sounded familiar. But it couldn't possibly be an abbreviation for…
"Muggle flu season?" Ron croaked, and then stopped to clear his throat.
"Oh yes, or some nonsense like that. That's what the Muggle news is saying, anyhow," Madam Pomfrey explained with relish, obviously thrilled that someone actually wanted to listen to what she had to say. She bent over Jocelyn again, sticking a magical thermometer in the girl's mouth. It promptly shouted out the girl's temperature in a squeaky voice.
"It really pays to read the Muggle papers, you know," Madam Pomfrey said matter-of-factly. "They're making fascinating leaps in medicine every day! The ways they cope without magic, really unbelievable – "
"Flu…as in influenza?" Ron asked faintly.
"Why yes! I believe that's the full name for it," Madam Pomfrey said in surprise, looking at Ron in delight. "You know your illnesses, Professor Weasley!"
Ron felt ill himself; it was nothing to be proud of. It was difficult to find his voice. "Wasn't there a…a Muggle pandemic? Before? With influenza?" Ron tried hopelessly to sound casual and mildly curious, and failed miserably.
Madam Pomfrey straightened, not able to hide her delight that someone actually wanted to listen to her ramblings. "Why yes, there was," she said gravely. "I believe it was back in 1918, during or after the First Great War…millions of Muggles died, it was horrible. But it didn't affect our kind, thank heavens."
Ron briefly tuned Madam Pomfrey out, closing his eyes and massaging his temples; he knew that. Ron had heard all that he needed to hear. The former Auror knew the rest of the story too well.
"…and so Hebert Hedgeclip the Healer - with, believe it or not, the help of a select few Muggle scientists - finally developed a potion that prevented the Muggles from catching influenza. The Vaccinus Potion was lethal if ingested, however, so the Muggles thought of this really brilliant idea - they put the potion in a needle and injected it into people. They made up some fancy scientific story to feed to the Muggles, and called it a vaccination. It worked wonders; I don't think anyone has died from the flu alone in ages. Still, the Vaccinus Potion isn't totally perfect, and around this time of year a few Muggles who have weak immune systems or haven't had their shots still get sick. But this," Madam Pomfrey gestured around, "is ridiculous! And some of their symptoms are new. Not in forty years have I - "
"Madam Pomfrey," Ron interrupted urgently, now feeling a sense of foreboding descending upon him. "The students…the ones here…" he gestured to the lines of beds, "are they all Muggle-born then?"
The hospital matron folded her arms. "Well yes, weren't you listening? The flu doesn't affect our kind."
Ron's heart was now racing. "Could you – could you check?" he asked throatily, feeling his hands start to tremble. He quickly shoved them in his pockets, embarrassed but still feeling shaken nonetheless.
"I suppose…" Madam Pomfrey answered, shaking her head. She disappeared into her office, adjacent to the hospital wing, and Ron was forced to wait out there, amongst the sick. Breathing heavily, he looked around at the bed-ridden kids. There was a slim chance that anything had happened, that it had been found – Madam Pomfrey seemed to be surprised about the number of sick kids, but not worried - and yet that feeling of anxiety would not go away.
The hospital matron returned, jerking Ron out of his own little world and back to reality. He shakily crossed the room, where the hospital matron was thumbing through the files of all of her charges. "Hm, let's see now…Brady, Amelia…first-year student, et cetera, et cetera; two siblings, both graduated…mother, Muggle; father, Muggle."
Ron's swallowed hard. Just one, he reminded himself. That's just one…
"Coles, Jocelyn…both parents Muggle. Gregory, Elisa…both parents Muggle. Lawrence-Lochlan, Christopher…both parents Muggle. McKenzie, Elijah…mother, Muggle; father, wizard."
Ron breathed. There was a Half-Blood. Then it was all just a coincidence, and he'd gotten worked up over nothing. It was the Muggles and the Muggle-borns they targeted, not the Half-Bloods, Ron reminded himself, sighing in relief.
"Oh, wait just a moment, now," Madam Pomfrey frowned, running her finger down the piece of parchment. "Never mind. His step-father is a wizard; his birth father was a Muggle. Mr. McKenzie's a Muggle-born too, then. Now, let's see, who else…McNeal, Ryan…both parents Mug – "
"That's enough," Ron whispered, holding up a hand to stop. The feeling of relief had disappeared, and he now felt nauseous. "Are they…are they all like that?"
Pomfrey skimmed through the folders, looking more and more curious. "Yes, it seems. I told you, Muggle flu season." She glanced up, seeing the look on Professor Weasley's now pale face. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked suspiciously, fingering the stethoscope hanging around her neck.
It was painful to swallow. Ron tried again, and nodded. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine…"
"I wouldn't worry about it, Professor, it doesn't mean anything," the hospital matron said lightly, closing the folders and tucking them under her arm. "These children are obviously not getting enough Vitamin C in their diet, that's all," she said darkly.
"They all have the same symptoms?"
"Well, yes, it seems. But, as I said, it's a branch of the flu I'm not familiar with. Particularly nasty strain, too. But a few weeks' rest, and they'll all be back on their feet!"
Ron wanted to believe it. He wanted believe it so badly that it physically hurt to think otherwise. But his Auror training had already kicked in; alarms were sounding in his head, and he suddenly had the impression that he had to act, and fast. The Ministry had probably already read the signs, just as he had, but still…
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Ron said in a raspy voice, trying not to look at the row of pale faces on either side of him. "I…I've got to go send an owl…"
"Alright, Professor," said the hospital matron, and her tone was sweet once more, a note of fondness present in her usually strict tone. "Don't hesitate to visit!" she called after him.
Ron felt his feet carrying him to the Owlery, even though his mind was otherwise occupied. Madam Pomfrey's words echoed in his head. If his worst fears were confirmed, he wouldn't need to visit the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would soon have all the company she needed.
***
Ron lay on his bed, fully clothed, too exhausted to move. Though he hadn't done anything physically strenuous today, he felt sick and fatigued with worry. Hermione had seen him in the corridors on his return from the Owlery, and had immediately demanded to know what was wrong. He had brushed even her off, muttering something about having a headache. It was partly true; his head did hurt from the thoughts swirling around in it at a dizzying pace. He didn't know as much as Harry did about the Scrolls of Scuro – the Aurors had just begun to aid the Unspeakables in their investigation of the scrolls' whereabouts when Ron had abruptly been called to Hogwarts last year – but Harry's ominous warning kept replaying over and over again in his head, like a bad play on a pair of Omnioculars.
"That one is still out there. And it could still do a hell of a lot of damage alone. If some deranged person got a hold of it…"
"Who's gonna know how to read them though? Aren't they written in ancient gobblygook or something?" Ron repeated his own response to Harry out loud, massaging his temples. Who would know how to read them? He knew far too little, and it exasperated him. He needed to know more.
This had been his favourite part of being an Auror – Harry had covered the heroics, and Ron had always tried to use logic to solve the numerous puzzles that they had encountered. Dark wizards may have been ignorant, but they weren't stupid. In fact, they were conniving and manipulative, and enjoyed toying with the Aurors' minds.
Ron had always risen to the challenge; he'd never been very academically ambitious, like Hermione, but he had loved a challenge. Growing up and having to contend with five older brothers had made him competitive and determined. It had led him to fervently believe that whatever someone could do, he was sure he could do it better.
Ron had understood completely what was going on in some of those Dark wizards' minds. It was exactly like chess. They would always move their pawns first, and they'd sacrifice them willingly, because most of them were cowards. Ron almost smiled in the darkness of his room. Pawns were vital in a game of chess; they were, by far, the most important pieces. The powers of evil always underestimated their pawns. More importantly, they underestimated the pawns of their opponents. And, in the end, it was always their downfall.
Ron rolled over onto his side, the feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach refusing to disappear. He felt helpless here at Hogwarts, and being helpless always infuriated him. Yet the past year or so of teaching at Hogwarts had been the best of his life. No vampires, no werewolves, no evil plots, no puzzles to solve. Just him and Hermione. It was pure bliss.
Still, that feeling nagged at him, and Ron realized, his heart sinking, that it was guilt. "Damn conscience," Ron muttered to himself hoarsely, but he couldn't stop the guilty thoughts from pouring into his mind. Harry may have needed him. The Ministry may have needed him. And who did they have instead? Diana Drago. Ron groaned in the dark.
To his surprise, his groan of frustration was answered by an urgent tapping at his window. Exhaustion forgotten, Ron leaped out of bed and hurried over to the window, where an important-looking owl was hovering. Ron slid the window open, feeling a blast of cold November air hit him with full force. The owl tumbled into his room, followed by a tiny snowflake or two. It would snow tomorrow. Hogwarts would be beautiful in its winter splendor. He'd challenged a couple of his sixth-years to a snowball fight outside as soon as the first snow fell. He, Professor Roberts, and Professor Wood had decided to go down to Hogsmeade for a Bloody Merlin tomorrow. Ron had planned to curl up with Hermione in front of the fireplace in her bedroom.
"There are these psychos out there, Weasley. This is what they've been waiting for…"
Ron snapped back to reality, untying the piece of parchment from the regal, tawny owl's leg. His fingers slipped; he knew the seal on the letter well. And he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what would be written on the piece of parchment, in the small, but bold cursive he'd come to know so well. Ron unfurled the letter and closed his eyes after reading the two words written on it:
Surreptitus Scriptay.
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Confused? You should be. Mwahaha! I play to reveal things veeeeeery slowly, so as to build suspense and get everyone puzzled and possibly mad at me. Maduzzled?
But don't worry, more will be revealed my friends. Everything will eventually come together and make sense, if things go as planned…*shifty eyes*.
Now, speaking of reviews, it's getting to that point in the fic where I desperately need feedback, because if the plot is shaping up to be incredibly stupid, I need to know. Your honesty is greatly appreciated. I'm swayable on almost everything so far depending on what kind of feedback I get, except for H/G. Because dude, it's not gonna happen. Sorry. v_v
For those of you who do not bother to read these stupid notes that I leave every chapter, here is a summary of this chapter's notes:
Maduzzled is not a word according to the good people at Microsoft. Shifty eyes. Need feedback. Review!