Harry ascended to street level, stifling a yawn and trying to stretch in the confined space of the phone booth. He hated taking this way home, but as apparition was indefinitely banned & the Floo Network shut down, he had no other way. He longed for his Firebolt…any broomstick for that matter. But, alas, those too were regulated by the Department of Magical Transportation. Harry gave a slight grin as he recalled Mr. Weasley's overjoyed enthusiasm to use this time as an excuse to delve even further into the workings of Muggles' everyday world. For Harry, traveling like a Muggle had never before seemed to be so tedious, but listening to Mr. Weasley's daily adventures on the Underground made it easier to bear.
The streets were busy, holiday shopping. Harry had missed another sunset & was beginning to have doubts the sun had ever reappeared after that day…the day it rained…the day Vol---. Harry shook his head. No time to dwell. He had to get home to the Burrow. He smiled again thinking of the Burrow as home. One of the only decent things to have happened in these last few years was being able to tell the Dursley's to bugger off and moving in with the Weasley's. Course, by then, the only children left there were Ron & Ginny. Fred & George's joke shop was amazingly successful & allowed them the ability to live in Diagon Alley.
"People need laughter now more than ever." said Fred, when Mrs. Weasley scolded them that it was inappropriate to sell exploding wands or Sniggering Gumdrops—which reduced the victim to an uncontrollable fit of the giggles at the most unsuitable moments—when there was a war going on. "And we only provide what people need, Mum. We do an honest business & besides, it's a good front for the Order." George explained. "Can't go back to Grimmwald Place, no can we?"
War. Looking at the Muggles rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, Harry felt a twinge of anger. He'd had enough lessons to know life was most certainly not fair, but seeing these people living their lives as if nothing was wrong really pissed him off. What right did they have to go on living their peaceful, utterly clueless little lives when people were dying? Why did they get to exist in ignorance as they entire wizarding world fought for power?
Harry sighed as he walked toward the Underground. He was tired of questions with no answers. He supposed things could have ended worse, but with Ron ill, Hermione pulling double time with training & searching for Ron's cure, & Ginny…well, Ginny was fine. Safe & sound, only a few bruises & a slight concussion, though Harry though she suffered more than she let on. It could have been worse. He'd just keep saying that over & over.
Turning his thoughts away from Voldemort seemed to be getting easier, especially when he was alone; and the one person his thoughts always turned to was Ginny. They had spent a lot of time together over the summer. Worrying about Ron, recovering from their own injuries, & recuperating from the memories of that final day. Ginny was there, the only other soul. She was a victim of Voldemort's final ploy for power & Harry was ever thankful she hadn't ended up locked away at St. Mungo's like the Longbottoms. Ever since she brought to his attention, back in 5th year, the fact she'd been possessed by a young Voldemort he felt a bond grow. She told him she'd wait for him & he believed her. He just hoped he didn't keep her waiting long.
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"Hallo, Harry dear. Supper's almost ready. Arthur's going to be late so it'll just be you & me."
"Where's Ron?"
Mrs. Weasley sighed, "He's tired today. He was practicing the spells you &
Hermione brought home & wore himself out."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. We should have thought of that."
"Nonsense. You & Hermione helping him train to become an Auror is the only thing that keeps him going some days. That & his young lady's daily owl."
Harry smiled. Mrs. Weasley, who once felt Hermione belonged to Harry, now simply adored her. But his heart felt heavy. For 7 years Ron had stood by Harry. They'd argued, gone weeks without speaking & fought bitterly last Christmas when Harry tried to keep Ron & Hermione at the Burrow while he went off to find Voldemort. Through it all Ron had never failed him & Harry couldn't help but feel that Ron had been poorly repaid.
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Finals were cancelled again due to Voldemort & the mass exodus of Slytherin House. During a quiet celebration of Gryffindor's House Cup win, Ron had snuck down to the kitchen before the Midnight Feast for some butterbeer. He was shocked to find all the House-elves sleeping. He thought maybe he'd stumbled in on the one time they rested. But something was wrong. Someone was standing over the bubbling pots the elves used for dinner. Pale blonde hair covered the man's face, but was instantly recognizable to Ron.
"What are you doing here?" Ron exclaimed. Lucius Malfoy spun around obviously startled & Ron's heart seemed to suddenly beat in triple time.
"Aren't you going to be late for the feast, boy?" Malfoy said with a grimace. Ron turned to run.
"Cruciato!"
Pain. None like he'd ever known filled his being. He struggled in his mind. Think, he told himself between screams of agony. He knew Harry had lectured on this topic over & over. Ron focused on one thing---Hermione. The pain lessened a fraction. He saw her hair, her eyes, he saw her smile. The pain weakened more. Then he saw her in front of him and the pain was gone. Malfoy had stopped pointing his wand at Ron & was now looking at a vague outline of a girl standing at his side. The distraction was enough.
"Expelliarmus!"
Malfoy was thrown back and as his wand went one way a jar Ron hadn't noticed propelled toward him. Jumping back before he could be hit, Ron stumbled back. The glass shattered & instantly a black cloud plumed. Ron didn't stop to think.
"Contineorum," He
coughed and a bubble appeared & encased most of the smoke. Leaving all the House-elves
untouched. An elf caught Ron's eye & he aimed his wand, "Ennervate." The
coughing was worse now & he found it difficult to focus, but it worked.
Dobby opened his eyes & in a moment was scrambling toward Ron—eye's warily
on the cloud hovering nearby.
"Dumbledore." Ron gasped. He was feeling numb & drowsy. "Get Dumbledore."
Then all went black.
The potion was found to be a transmuted form of the Draught of Sleeping Death. Ingested, the victim would become paralyzed in a coma, but would be fully conscious of the slow deterioration of their bodies. The Ministry extensively tested Ron & even sent some minor samples found on a bit of the broken jar to Muggle scientists looking for answers of any kind. Ron had foiled Lucius Malfoy's plan of poisoning the school, using the house-elves as scapegoats. Ron had only inhaled the potion's fumes, thereby avoiding the full & immediate effects. However, the concoction still worked quickly & by the time Snape arrived in the infirmary, Ron was completely unresponsive & writhing in agony. Snape administered a Halting draught, normally used with other potions to allow them to work slowly & remain in the system longer. He used it undiluted & the results were immediate. The pain eased, Ron awakened……but it was still too late.
Weakened by the potion's onslaught, Ron remained in the hospital for months. Snape worked all summer on modifying the Halting draught to make it stronger, but there was nothing more to be done. Snape was able to delay the poison's effects, but was unable to stop them completely, much less reverse them. Ron's body was at the mercy of a malady similar to the nervous system diseases Muggles suffered from.
The instant Ron was able to describe his encounter; a search for Lucius began, but turned up nothing. Draco, as well as other Death Eaters, were of no help. Even those who were either under the influence of Veritus Serum or the Imperius Curse had no information. Draco, of course, refused the serum & fended off the curse.
St. Mungo's wizards were able to assist in Ron's rehabilitation, but no more than that. They predicted the steady loss of feeling & motor functions until the true effects of the potion reached his heart & lungs. Instead of lasting days, as would have happened on ingesting the liquid, it would take Ron months, possibly years before he finally succumbed. And died.
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