Chapter 6 - Return to the Hospital Wing
The darkness claws at my eyes, it consumes me. I fear it will swallow me. It will take my task - it will take it to destroy! No. I can't let it. If I just hold it off a little longer...
Hermione watched the last embers of the Common Room fire dwindle. Her arms were folded on the table in front of her, and had served as her pillow for the last three hours. She sighed, exasperated -- she needed to talk to Ron.
'Why do I need to talk to Ron?' she thought, shifting her head from one arm to the other. 'Well, I'd really like to know what took him... is taking him... so long, but I doubt he'll just out and tell me... why has he been gone so long? I probably shouldn't have waited for him, he might get the wrong idea... might think I -- not that I do, of course, but he might get the wrong idea... I don't... do I?'
She was shaken out of her thoughts when suddenly the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, and a tired, ragged Ron staggered into the room. He was clutching his right hand into a fist, and was smudged and dusty from head to foot.
Hermione stood up quickly. "Ron," she exclaimed, "What happened? Where did you go?" She looked at him, and for a fleeting second, she thought she saw the concern he'd been showing all day in his eyes. Then he scowled and turned his face away, glancing up the staircase.
"Hermione, what are you doing down here?" He said in as condescending of a tone as he could manage.
Hermione's anger flared up in her. "I was waiting for you, Ron Weasley, because you said you'd be back soon. Of course, soon was TWO HOURS ago. You know, when there were still people in the Common Room? But me, silly me, I thought it would be a good thing to wait for you, like the good friend I am. So sor-ry for trying to be a nice person. Good night," she yelled, and stormed past him, almost knocking him over, and up the staircase to her dorm.
He sighed. He'd done exactly what he'd set out to accomplish: to pick a fight with Hermione in order to put distance between them. But instead of feeling triumphant, he felt horrible. It was a relatively new feeling for him when it came to fighting with Hermione. Usually he felt enraged, yet empowered. Now he just felt like a terrible person. He walked over to the maroon couch and sank into its deep cushions, and stayed there, watching the embers of the fire fade to a smoky black.
After the fire let its last light waver and fail, Ron made his way up to his room. He silently opened the heavy oak door, then eased it back into its frame behind him. He tiptoed past a softly snoring Neville to his own bed. A board creaked softly under his foot, and Harry sat straight up in his bed, eyes wide, looking straight at Ron.
"Harry?" Ron whispered, and Harry let out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping forward.
"Ron, you scared me! What are you doing awake so bloody late?" Harry yawned, his half-closed eyes glinting emerald in the pale moonlight.
Ron sat on his bed and tugged at the laces on his shoes. "I had to..." he paused, remembering Professor Dumbledore's warning. "Send an owl home to Mum. She's having kittens over us even being at school," he finished, kicking off his socks and hoping that Harry would believe him. He did, and sunk back into his bed, mumbling a goodnight. Ron pulled off his trousers and threw them in the beginning of the year's laundry heap, and replaced them with pyjama pants. He hung his tie on the chair next to his bed and added his jumper and button down shirt to the pile of worn clothes. Pulling an old Quidditch shirt on, he sank into his bed and let the day's exhaustion lull him into a dreamless sleep.
Breakfast the next morning was painfully tense and silent, not only between Ron and Hermione, but throughout the Great Hall. Harry was staring quietly into his pumpkin juice. Ron pushed his food around his plate with a fork absentmindedly, and Hermione glared at the pages of a large volume she had propped up against the edge of the table.
"So..." Ron began timidly, trying to break the silence, "So. Who do you think's going to be Defence against the Dark Arts teacher this year?"
Harry looked up and shrugged listlessly. "I don't know. I want to get through today as quickly as possible. I want to get to this afternoon. Quidditch tryouts."
"We've already got almost all the players, why do we need tryouts?" Ron grumbled.
"Because," Harry explained, "I'm making everyone from last year try out again." What Harry did not mention was that he wanted to make everyone tryout again because, as Quidditch captain this year, he really didn't want anything messing it up. And he was afraid Ron would mess things up. He hadn't seen him play since the year before, but he was still more than sceptical, even though Ron had been training extensively with Oliver.
Hermione looked up with a face of ill-disguised concern, but Ron missed it, concentrating instead on cutting his toast into small pieces with his fork.
"Ron," Neville asked, looking down the table at him, "You all right? You look as if someone's poisoned your socks."
"Really, Ron," Dean tried to reassure him, "I'm trying out too. As a Chaser, of course, but Keeper's not any more dangerous, and you've already tried out once, so you should be fine. You're not going to die out there... unless, of course, your broom flies out of control, you fly right into one of the bleeding goal posts, and someone throws the Quaffle straight at your face."
"Thanks a lot, Dean," Ron moaned, dropping his head onto the table.
"Good luck, man," Seamus said.
"Oh, we've got to get to Herbology," Harry announced, and Ron picked himself up. Hermione swept past Ron and Harry in a huff and stormed to the greenhouses. Harry and Ron walked slowly after her, neither one saying much of anything. They were just in time for class, followed by four or five late students, all of who received sharp looks from Professor Sprout. She looked back to the workbenches and announced to the class, "Welcome back. Congratulations, all of you. You have made it into an N.E.W.T. preparation class, which means you're very adept at Herbology. This will be a very rigorous course, as the N.E.W.T.s are next year, and yes, you will need to start worrying about them this early in this year."
Many people in the class groaned. "Why'd she look at me when she said that?" Ron whispered to Harry. Hermione glared at him, and he looked at the ground, silenced.
"Now, we are going to begin with a little biology, a study of what separates normal plants from magical ones, besides the obvious characteristics. Take out your notes," Professor Sprout raised her voice above the grumbling. Everyone pulled out parchment and quills. Ron leaned toward his bag to reach his and a sharp pain shot through his head, followed by an intense throbbing. He took out his parchment and quill, set them on his desk, and put his hands to his temples.
"Now, we will start with the basic anatomy of a strictly non-magical plant. It gathers its energy from the sunlight, through a process called photosynthesis, write that down, as opposed to the way magical plants get theirs, the process of asynthesis."
Ron leaned toward his parchment, reeling with pain. His brain felt as though it was slamming itself into the walls of his skull. Hermione repeatedly looked over at him, huffed, and turned sharply back to the lecture. Harry looked at his friend.
"Are you all right?" he asked. Ron nodded slightly. Black was creeping into the corners of his eyes, and the muscles in his body were ceasing to hold him up, though his nerves were screaming to them to keep functioning.
"Asynthesis, a much more reliable process, is one in which the plant gathers energy from the dark in which its roots are placed. Though this places more stress on the lifespan of the moving plants... Mr. Weasley, if you cannot sit up straight and begin to take notes, then-" Professor Sprout was cut off when Ron slumped, then fell off his stool with a clatter.
The class gasped and stood up as a whole. Harry quickly kneeled down and tried to wake Ron up. He was laying still, eyes rolled into the back of his head, shuddering slightly. Harry grabbed him under the arms and moved him away from the tall stools. The class took a step back and began whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
"I'll bet he's been experimenting with some obscure charm," a Hufflepuff girlwhispered to her friend, who nodded fervently. "Or maybe he's a dark wizard, and -" She stopped quickly at a scathing look from Hermione, who then joined Harry in trying to help Ron. Professor Sprout, who had bolted from the room immediately, returned with Madame Pomfrey, who shouted, "Clear away, clear... CLEAR AWAY!"
Startled several students moved aside to make a wide pathway for her. She ran in, took one look at Ron, and immediately conjured a stretcher. Once he was on it, she looked at the students.
"Harry, Hermione, come with me. The rest of you, go back to your work. No one's dead." She stormed out of the room, stretcher in front of her, at an alarming rate. Harry and Hermione ran down the halls after her. She turned sharply into the infirmary and left the doorway swinging open for them to follow. When they finally reached to door and went in, Ron was in a bed, and Madame Pomfrey was hovering over him. Professor Dumbledore walked swiftly in and to her, saying, "Madame, I believe this is a special case. If you will allow me to explain?"
She looked at him sharply, then said, "In my office." They stepped briefly into her office, a windowed addition to the large room. When they stepped back out, Madame Pomfrey was shaking her head. "Professor," she said, "He's only a teenager! Do you really think his body could handle a..." She looked at Harry and Hermione, who were sitting tentatively in chairs in the entryway, "a- something like that?"
"That is exactly what I believe, Madame. Now, I suggest the best thing for him is to let him simply wake up, as he should do soon, and he will be perfectly fine, unless his fingernails turn purple. Then contact me."
"Of course, Professor, I understand completely. I'll keep an eye on him."
Professor Dumbledore smiled, then turned and walked calmly out. Madame Pomfrey walked briskly to Harry and Hermione, and said, "You will not go to his bed until he wakes up. Hear?" They nodded.
Harry looked out the window. It seemed about midday, a few hours after Herbology, yet no teachers had come in to tell him or Hermione to get to class. More surprisingly, Hermione didn't seem to care at all about having missed two classes. She was wringing her hands silently and glancing from the window, to her feet, to Ron's motionless bed, back to her feet again. Harry himself was trying desperately to keep his mind occupied. A fly he had been watching intently was beating itself against the windows, but it was beginning to lose his attention.
Percy rushed in suddenly, out of breath and dishevelled. "Where is he?" he shouted. He turned and noticed, for the first time, Harry and Hermione sitting in the waiting chairs. He threw a leery glance at Harry, then said, "Hermione, what happened? I came as soon as possible... oh, no, my little brother..." he buried his face in his hands. "I was supposed to protect him," the muffled voice filtered miserably through his fingers. "This is my fault..."
Hermione stood up tentatively and said, " Percy, it was nobody's fault. He's only fainted. He was in Herbology. He was nervous about Quidditch tryouts this morning, so he didn't eat anything. Maybe--"
Harry was cut off by Ginny running into the room.
"Is he all right?" Ginny asked, concerned.
Harry heard rustling noises and looked over at Ron's bed. Ron was awake and pushing himself into a sitting position. Percy ran to his bed, and began fussing frantically, "Ron, are you all right! What's your temperature? Are you-"
"Perce, I'm fine," Ron interrupted him raspily. He put his hand to his throat. "God, I need a throat lozenge," he croaked. Hermione, who was at the other side of his bed, quickly handed him a glass of water. He drank it in one gulp, then said, "Cheers," apprehensively.
"What happened?" asked Harry from the foot of the bed.
"I..." Ron paused, "I dunno, I just didn't have enough this morning to eat, I guess."
"Right," Ginny rolled her eyes. "Just trying to get out of Quidditch, were you?"
"Quidditch? Absolutely NOT!" Madame Pomfrey's shrill voice reverberated in the small hospital wing.
"What?" cried Ginny indignantly.
"You're joking!" Harry argued, and Madame Pomfrey fixed a glare on him that told him plainly that she was far from it.
"Do you want him fainting out of the sky?" Madame Pomfrey scolded.
"Really, Madame Pomfrey," Ron pleaded, "I feel fine. Nothing else will happen today. I promise. Nothing." He looked straight at her, and to everyone's immense surprise, she gave in.
"Well, if you're sure then, I see no reason to hold you back. Go ahead, and good luck."
When no one moved, she said briskly, "Weasley, there are other students who need these beds!" nodding to an unfortunate second year who was spouting blue smoke from her nose and fingertips. "Go!"
Harry and Ginny helped Ron, who was still in his school robes, out of his bed. He slipped his feet into his trainers, which were at the side of his bed.
"Neville brought your things from Herbology," Hermione said, holding Ron's bag out to him.
"Cheers," Ron said again, smiling, apparently very relieved at this second sign of approval. He suddenly dropped his shoulders and smile and said to Harry, "'s it almost lunch? I'm starved."