Chapter 10: Awakening

Ron awoke with a pit in his stomach; this was deeper than a mere stomachache. In fact- he winced- he doubted it had been this bad since he'd been inflicted with Ali's thousand curses, which was just a fancy wizarding word for "really, really, really, bad diarrhea".

"Harry?" he called weakly into the corridor. A shirtless Harry emerged, ducking his head into the door. (godwhatifhesbeenhavingthreesomeswithHermandMcGonagallthefuckingGryffindorequivalentofmydream)

"Yeah?" he asked, innocent of Ron's torture.

"Uhm- Were ten trolls in here last night beating the shit out of me?"

"I don't think so," a bewildered Harry pushed on his glasses. "Why do you ask?"

"Never mind," Ron groaned. "I'm going to miss classes today, I think. If you need me, I'll be in the Hospital Wing."

"Need help?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned for his friend.

"Nah, I'll be alright,"

I fucking hate this, he thought as the world went black.

Despite the fact that she was sitting with the-very, very- tempting Draco Malfoy, Gwen couldn't help but notice that Ron wasn't attending any classes. It was kind of hard not to notice, she mused, as our schedules are nearly the same. It couldn't even be attributed to cutting; he hadn't been at breakfast-or lunch- either.

"Harry?" she asked as the sixth years left Snape's room, feeling instantly the ten-degree increase in temperature. "Where's Ron?"

"He's in the hospital wing. Why do you ask?" It was easy for even Harry to notice the change in her; although her facial expression was perfectly controlled, her eyes were crestfallen.

"Stomachache." Hermione jogged briskly to catch up. "Fainted in his own room. Just as he was saying 'Nah, I'm fine…' Stupid git, and it's just like him, too."

"Just curious, it's all. What's our next class?"

"School's out for the day, space cadet." Harry laughed. "Don't tell me you missed the entire day."

"Oh." Just distracted by Ron's absence, is all. "I'm feeling a little sick, actually. Something going around, maybe?"

"You should see Madam Pomfrey, then." Hermione conjured a map. "If you promise you won't faint on us, Harry and I should really be getting along to our Transfiguration project." Taking Harry's hand, she hurried her best friend along the hall. "Hope you feel better!"

"Transfiguration on the second day of school. Blech," Harry blushed at the touch of Hermione. She was holding his fucking hand. If only.

If only…

Somebody was holding his hand, Ron thought vaguely as he came to. Bless you, Hermione.

"Shh, it's all right. Keep your eyes closed." Although her voice was familiar, he couldn't put a label on it.

"Hermione, it hurts so bad…" he moaned. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

"Because you're sick, love."

"Not sick," he muttered, turning over.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not sick. I had a dream."

The raised eyebrow was audible. "Dream?"

"Gwen, the new girl-" He blushed. Was he actually going to say this to Hermione? She was one of his best friends, but…

"Ooh la la," she teased. "Did we have ourselves an erotic adventure?"

Ron nearly sat up. Don't get fired up, you stupid git, you can barely open your damn eyes. "Yes, but not-not with me. Herm, she had a fucking threesome with Snape and Malfoy. God, was it sick. I wanted to leave…she was such a slut, is such a slut. God, how could I have thought she was hot? All the time she was flirting with me, she has a boyfriend. Dirty Slytherin whore…"

"You think she would actually do that, Ron?"

Fuck.

That wasn't Hermione's voice, he realized as the world came sharply into focus. It wasn't anything like her voice. It sounded more like…like Gwen's.

He opened his eyes. Shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"Shh," Gwen whispered, stroking his forehead. "It's all right."

A threesome?

Luckily, Ron had fallen asleep (against his free will, of course, that's what came of studying Charms) in time not to notice the fierce blush across her face. How had he known about Norman? Had she really been flirting…?

I think the time has come, my dear, to set yourself straight. Reason glared at her. You've been with Norman for the better part of year; He doesn't mind (only because Norman's immature and without personality, thought a cynical voice), at least for now…

But this Ron Weasley fellow is quite a different deal altogether. If you-

NO! came the scream. No ifs, damn it! You love Norman and that's it. No, nothing.

I don't love Norman, she retorted. I had a crush on him.

Had?

She was taken aback. Had? A few months ago, those would have never, ever thought in the past tense about her feelings. A few months ago, she'd toyed with trying to kiss him, toyed with saying "Norm? I love you." Toyed with falling in love.

You're of His stock, though, came the whisper. Incapable of love, don't you know it. You don't even love your parents, much less your boyfriend. May have at one point, when you were small, but His blood's thicker than any other. And so are your screams.

Some-small-part of her knew that eventually, she would make Him angry, so angry that he'd kill Norman. Or maybe He'd kill Norman for, as he said, "shits and giggles. Hell, I was bored," as He said with her pets when she'd had them. "Don't pout, it doesn't become you. You're of my stock, darling; it's a cardinal rule not to get attached."

Not to get attached.

Even if you don't have feelings for him, her lip was trembling now, you liked him- still do- as a friend. He's a sweet boy. Don't get attached, it's too dangerous for him.

Inexplicably then, she fell asleep, her arm still draped over Ron's chest. You know what you have to do…