Chapter 3. In which Ron's world goes black…
Harry sat staring into the fire, thinking back over his somewhat eventful evening. It hadn't exactly gone as planned. And why was Ron so pissed off with him? Okay, so Harry had lied to him, and not actually gone to the library, but it wasn't the end of the world. And what about Malfoy? Bloody hell. Harry couldn't believe what he'd ended up doing. Blimey - with Malfoy! It had all just gotten away from him so quickly.
When Malfoy had spoken to him in that defeated whisper, Harry had suddenly been overcome with remorse. Bastard. His evening's entertainment lay completely ruined. Selfish Slytherin git. Harry had been looking forward to that for weeks. He'd imagined a fierce battle of wits, which would almost certainly end with Malfoy telling him to fuck off, but he'd expected it to be fun, at least for a little while. What Harry hadn't expected was for the other boy to crumble like that; hadn't realised the depth of feeling there. But it wasn't Harry's fault. Who'd have thought the bastard would turn out to be human? All too soon, Harry had been forcibly reminded of his own crush on Cho. How would he have felt if someone had tormented him the way he had tormented Draco? And it must have been so much worse for the blond boy - to be taunted by your worst enemy about fancying his best friend, who currently also happens to be your second worst enemy.
Harry had stood and watched the bowed head for a moment in shock. Then, feeling painfully ashamed, he'd slowly approached the desk.
"Er, look Malfoy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you. I won't tell anyone honestly. Not even Ron."
Malfoy had looked up and given Harry a slight nod of acknowledgement. Then, bowing his head again, he had let out a dry sob and started to shake.
Oh, bloody hell. Harry had started to panic. He wasn't going to…? Oh please no, not that.
Tears had begun to fall then onto the desk, slowly at first, and then, drop by rapidly increasing drop.
Harry had wanted to run. Not tears. Anything but tears. He wasn't equipped for tears. Cho Chang could attest to that. Okay, so he could admit that he'd been happy earlier when Malfoy had looked like he wanted to cry, but Harry didn't want him to actually do it - not in front of him! Where was Voldemort when you needed him?
Harry had moved a little closer so he could pat Malfoy on the shoulder. "Erm, steady on, mate," he'd stammered.
But if anything that seemed to make matters worse, and the poor boy had begun to sob in earnest.
Oh bugger.
Squaring his shoulders manfully and closing his eyes, Harry had squatted down next to the distraught blond and put one arm loosely around him. To Harry's utter shock and chagrin, Malfoy had thrown himself into his arms, buried his head in Harry's chest and sobbed brokenly. All over Harry's clean shirt. Fuck. Wearing a look of absolute horror Harry had absently started to pat the crying boy on the head, murmuring nonsense, all the while thinking please God don't let anyone see me like this…
Gradually, the torrent had subsided and Malfoy had been able to speak.
"Oh, Harry," he paused to take a deep breath. "It's all just so hopeless. I can't bear it anymore."
Harry hadn't known what to say; he'd settled rather lamely for, "It's okay, Draco. It'll be okay." And to his own amazement, had found himself hugging the boy closer, and wishing the words were true.
"No, it won't." Malfoy's voice was ragged now. "You were right earlier. I am being deluded. He'll never return my feelings. He hates me."
And Harry really had been unable to reply. After all, how could he deny it?
Ron had fallen into a fitful sleep, that was interrupted by the sound of the door closing. He listened intently. He could tell by the movements outside his curtains that Harry had come to bed. Ron was glad. There was something he had to say to him. He frowned, then winced. His head hurt. Really hurt. He couldn't remember what he wanted to say. And why was it so hot in here? He kicked off his blankets.
Ron wanted to say something but he couldn't remember what. He started to panic. Why couldn't he remember? Then he didn't care. He just wished someone would turn down the heat. Or open a window. Ron would do it himself, but he couldn't seem to lift his head from the pillow. He had a vague idea that that should worry him more, but his head hurt too much to think.
Merlin, he was cold. He was shivering now. When did it get so cold? He wanted to pull his covers up, but he'd kicked them on the floor, and now he couldn't reach them, everything was just too heavy. Ron closed his eyes tight. Please, I just want to sleep now. But his head was throbbing and his throat felt too dry. Maybe Harry would get him a drink.
He tried to shout but no words came out. Now, he couldn't feel his fingers and he felt like he was going to vomit. Ron knew he should sit up, but he couldn't seem to make his body do what he wanted it to. Fuck. Why couldn't he lift his head from the pillow? He tried to shout again. Then, all at once his world went black.
Images were swirling past at a dizzying speed. Suddenly, they slowed and the visions drifted into focus. Draco smirking. Harry grinning. "Looks like I win again, Ron."
No…
Draco smiling softly at him, eyes filled with warmth…turning to derision. A harsh laugh, vicious and mocking, "Harry, quick come and see - the stupid Weasel is drowning."
Harry, grinning down maliciously at him, "Good. We'll be rid of him at last."
Drowning? But he wasn't drowning…he was floating. And then all at once he was. Drowning.
Water filled his mouth as he screamed. Cold, stinging, suffocating. Water pulling at his clothes, pulling him down. Now his lungs were freezing over as he opened his mouth to scream again.
Then Harry's face, kind now. "Ron, Ron."
"Drowning Harry. I'm drowning."
An Irish voice cut in, "What's wrong with him, Harry?"
Seamus. What was Seamus doing here?
"Help Seamus, Harry. Seamus is drowning. Oh, please help him, Harry."
"Ron! Wake up, mate. You're dreaming. Come on, wake up!"
Voices. There were more voices now.
"How can he be dreaming if his eyes are open?"
Then hands…cool hands, bringing relief to his burning skin.
"Bloody hell, he's on fire. Quick Dean, go and get Madam Pomfrey."
"Ron, Ron! Can you hear me?"
Harry's face again. Looking worried now.
"Harry!" He tried to reach a hand up to his friend but his body still wouldn't cooperate. "Harry, I can't feel anything. And I think I'm drowning."
"Ron, you're sick. But Madam Pomfrey will be here soon and she'll take care of you."
He shivered. The water was so cold now. And the hands were gone. Then he felt himself slipping, sinking.
"No, Harry. You take care of me. Will Draco let you? He hates me. I hope he let's you, Harry."
"What are you talking about? Of course I'll look after you, Ron. But Madam Pomfrey will be here soon and she'll give you something to make you feel better."
"Draco…feel better with Draco…"
Whispering again; and then nothing as the dark engulfed him.
"Harry, why's he talking about Malfoy?"
"And why's he calling him Draco?"
"For God's sake Seamus, can't you see he's sick? He's hallucinating. Oh fuck, where's Madam Pomfrey?"
"She's right here, Mr Potter and we'll have no more of that language if you please."
Harry shared a look of relief with Seamus and a wide-eyed Neville as the medi-witch walked swiftly past them and over to Ron's bed. A moment later, Dean slipped in the door and joined them. Madam Pomfrey shooed the boys away impatiently. The four boys retreated to the door and watched as the witch bent to examine their friend. All four suddenly jumped out of the way as the door was pushed open and an anxious Hermione came rushing in.
"Oh." The bushy-haired girl lifted a hand to her mouth as she saw who the medi-witch was examining. She walked to Harry; grasping the arm of his pyjamas she turned concerned eyes up to him. "I couldn't sleep and then I heard a commotion. What's happening?"
But before Harry could reply, Madam Pomfrey turned towards him. "Mr Potter kindly go to the Headmaster's study and ask him to come here immediately."
A spike of fear jabbed at Harry's heart, but before he could move he was startled by a soft voice in the doorway.
"It's okay, Poppy, I'm here." And Dumbledore walked into the room and over to Ron's bed.
It never ceased to amaze Harry how the aged wizard always seemed to know when he was needed. And despite his growing concern for his friend, he immediately felt comforted by the headmaster's presence. Dumbledore would make it right.
Harry watched anxiously as the old wizard looked down at Ron. The redhead was mumbling incoherently to himself now, his whole frame shaking violently. The headmaster straightened and turned to Madam Pomfrey.
"I fear Mr Weasley is very ill. He needs to be moved immediately." A softly whispered incantation and the medi-witch and Ron disappeared without a sound.
Harry blinked, looking from the now empty bed to Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled at him, then turned to address the others in the room.
"I know you are all concerned for your friend, but be assured he is in the best possible care." His kindly eyes sought out Harry and Hermione. "If you two would care to accompany me to the Infirmary we can check on Mr Weasley's condition, and then you can return here and share the news with the rest of your friends."
And with a final nod, he walked quietly from the room, a very sombre looking Harry and Hermione following close behind.
Standing in the now silent room, Neville, Seamus and Dean exchanged worried looks. They knew only too well what Dumbledore's presence meant, and were deeply concerned for their stricken friend.
When they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Ron was lying in one of the pristine, white beds. He was moving restlessly, and letting out low murmurs. Harry moved closer and saw how deathly pale the other boy looked; sweat beaded Ron's face and plastered his fringe to his forehead. Madam Pomfrey was bustling quietly around his bed.
As Dumbledore walked to Ron's bedside, the medi-witch looked up with a solemn expression, and slowly shook her head. The headmaster gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Harry and Hermione, and she gave a small start of surprise before turning to address them.
"So, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, can either of you offer an explanation as to how Mr Weasley came to be this ill?"
Harry and Hermione had exchanged looks of alarm when Madam Pomfrey had shaken her head at Dumbledore. What did it mean for their friend?
At her sudden question, Harry's fear was momentarily replaced by bewilderment. He couldn't think of any reason why Ron should be sick at all. Nothing had happened lately that would explain this sudden illness. His friend had made no mention of feeling unwell, and apart from Ron's recent outburst, his behaviour had been as it always was. Actually, even the outburst was pretty characteristic for Ron; the other boy wasn't exactly known for his emotional restraint. Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt. Maybe Ron's grumpiness was because he felt ill, and all Harry had been worried about were his own feelings.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud gasp from Hermione, and he turned questioning eyes towards her. She was biting her bottom lip and had tears in her eyes. Harry reached out his hand to take hers, giving it a quick, comforting squeeze. Hermione held onto him gratefully, then, turned to face Madam Pomfrey.
"Oh, I knew he'd get sick. I tried to tell him, Madam Pomfrey. I really did!"
The medi-witch strode towards her frowning, "When girl? Tell me what happened!" She spoke very curtly and Hermione flinched.
"It - it was earlier this evening. Ron came into the common room about 9.30pm." She paused and glanced nervously at the headmaster to see if the boy would be in trouble for breaking curfew; but the old wizard just smiled and nodded for her to continue. "He was soaked through - I think he'd been walking in the rain. I told him he should change into dry clothes, honestly I did. But he seemed upset about something and just ignored me." She turned tear-filled eyes to Harry. "So - so I went off in a sulk telling him not to complain to me when he was in the Hospital Wing."
But before Harry could offer any words of comfort, he was startled by Madam Pomfrey's angry voice.
"Miss Granger! I am disappointed in you!" The medi-witch was clearly furious, wagging her finger at Hermione and seemingly only seconds away from stamping her foot. "Why did you not insist? Or call Professor McGonagall? If we had caught this earlier - if Mr Weasley had not sat around in wet clothes - I could have - I might have been able - but now-"
She came to a slow stop. Harry had never seen the usually composed witch so distraught. It made him feel more afraid than he had ever been before. And if suddenly seemed a very ominous word.
It was all too much for poor Hermione. At the older witch's harsh words, she crumbled and burst into tears. Madam Pomfrey was at her side in a moment, wrapping the distressed girl in her arms. "Oh, Miss Granger. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to shout dear - it's just - well I'm very fond of Mr Weasley and I would hate - to have to lose_" But she was unable to finish her words.
Throughout this exchange Harry had stood in horrified silence. Now he turned fearful eyes towards Dumbledore, willing the old man to give him one of his reassuring smiles. Desperately, he looked for the wink, the twinkle in the eye that would tell him all was well; that Ron was safe and everything would be okay. But for once it seemed he looked in vain. The headmaster shook his head sadly and turned away to look at the sick, young man in the bed. Placing his hand gently on Ron's forehead he spoke quietly to him.
"Please get well, Mr Weasley. There are a lot of people that need you."
He turned back to Harry. "One of those people, Harry, is waiting outside. When you have finished here please go to him."
Then he walked over to where Madam Pomfrey was still trying to comfort a sobbing Hermione. "Ron is in good hands, Hermione." Turning to the medi-witch, Dumbledore placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "He could have no better carer." He smiled fondly at his old friend, who blushed at his words. "Poppy when you are able I would appreciate an update please. Now, I will wish you all a good night, as I must go and inform Mr and Mrs Weasley about their son's illness." He turned to smile at Harry, "I believe the twins are already with Ginny. Fred and George apparently sensed something was wrong and floo'ed straight over." He sighed and glanced back at Ron, "A very close family the Weasleys." And with a nod of his head he was gone.
Harry stood for a few moments staring at the door. He was thinking about the headmaster's earlier words. He had a fairly good idea who it was that was outside, he just didn't understand how Dumbledore could know. But then Harry was often dumbfounded by what that old wizard knew. He really wasn't looking forward to having to face Draco. He knew the other boy was going to be devastated about Ron's illness, and he was pretty sure that right now he really wasn't the one to provide reassurance. But, before that, he needed to know exactly what was wrong with his friend and when - Harry determinedly did not think if - he would get better.
He looked over to Madam Pomfrey. The old witch had given Hermione one last hug and was moving back to Ron's bedside. Harry walked to the other side of the bed and looked down at his friend. The redhead was sleeping peacefully now; the medi-witch's ministrations seemingly having quieted his restless movements. He lay still, his shallow breaths barely perceptible.
For a moment panic gripped Harry's heart and he reached out to touch a freckled hand; afraid he'd find it cold. But the skin was hot, the fever clearly still laying siege to the boy's body. Harry felt the last of his strength leave him as a wave of relief hit his stomach and mixed with the fear already there. His legs wobbled and he reached blindly for the arm of the chair behind him, lowering himself into it. Adrenalin coursed through his body, leaving Harry shaking and struggling to breathe.
Hermione moved to his side and reached for his trembling hand. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at her and gave her a shaky smile. Nodding his head in Ron's direction Harry said, "The things he does just to get out of Potion."
Hermione's answering laugh sounded more like a sob, but at least this time she was able to maintain her composure.
"Right, you two." Madam Pomfrey was once again the capable carer they were used to seeing. "Five more minutes, and then you need to return to your dormitories and get some rest. And I'm sure your friends will be anxious for news." She then turned to go to her office.
Harry stood up, "Madam Pomfrey, what exactly is wrong with Ron?" The medi-witch turned back to look at him in surprise. "Erm, you haven't actually said," he continued, in answer to her questioning look.
"Oh." She looked momentarily nonplussed, then shook her head. "I'm afraid this case has me a little unsettled."
Harry smiled at her, warmed by the fact that it was her obvious concern for his friend that had her so distracted.
She walked back over to the bed and looked down at Ron's still form. Shaking her head sadly she explained, "I am sorry to say that Mr Weasley has Muggle Influenza." And she brushed her hand gently across the boy's forehead.
For a moment Harry was too stunned to speak, then he let out a bark of relieved laughter. "The 'flu! You're kidding! He has the 'flu!" He turned to Hermione smiling, "Did you hear that 'Mione? Ron only has the bloody 'flu!"
But he knew. Even before he saw the panic in the younger witch's eyes. Somehow Harry just knew. Ron was in real trouble. Harry's smile faded and he turned desperate eyes to the grey haired witch.
"But - but it's only the 'flu. He just needs rest and - and fluids and-" his voice trailed off.
Madam Pomfrey walked around the bed and placed an arm around each of their shoulders. "Come with me," she said kindly. "Mr Weasley needs his rest. We can talk in my office." And she led them both out of the ward.
Nearly always proven fatal.
Harry walked slowly from the room.
When they'd entered Madam Pomfrey's office, she had made them sit down, and had placed a large mug of hot chocolate in front of each of them. She had steadfastly refused to make any further comments until they had each drunk half. She had then sat down behind her desk, and began to explain exactly what Ron's illness meant in the Wizarding world.
Most of it had come as no surprise to Hermione. She explained to Harry later, that she had read about an epidemic of Muggle Influenza that had wiped out half the population of Hogwarts back in 1815 in 'Hogwarts: A History.' She had smiled sadly at that, doubtless imagining the roll of the eyes she would have received from Ron at the mention of 'that bloody book!'
For Harry though, it all felt like some sort of cruel joke. How could wizards die from something so innocuous; something that most Muggles recovered from in a matter of days? He'd grown angry then, standing and demanding to know why - why would Hogwarts allow Muggles to attend there, if they brought deadly illnesses with them?
Madam Pomfrey had been kind but firm when she had told him to resume his seat and keep his voice down, lest he disturb Ron. Once Harry had sat back down, looking shame-faced, she had gone on to explain about the introduction of inoculations to protect wizards against Muggle infections. All wizard children received vaccinations in potion form during their infancy, with regular booster drafts throughout their lives. Before either Harry or Hermione could ask, she had confirmed that Ron had received all his immunizations and that all his boosters were up to date. In short, Madam Pomfrey was at a complete loss as to how Ron had contracted the infection. They could worry about that later; the important thing now was to make sure he survived it. She had fixed them both with a determined look then and declared, "I will not rest until Mr Weasley is out of danger and well on the road to recovery." They had both smiled gratefully at her.
The medi-witch had insisted they finish their chocolate before leaving, and had then walked them to the door. Before they left, she had taken each of them by the hand and spoken softly, "I will do my best, but it would be irresponsible of me not to prepare you for all the possibilities. I am very sorry to say, that for wizards, the Muggle 'flu has nearly always proven fatal." She had released their hands then, and abruptly turned and walked back into her office, leaving them to contemplate those last chilling words.