Colorado.
Colorado. That's a state in America and it's where I went when I left Harry. I'd remembered him and Hermione talk about hotels. The moment I got there I found a bar, had a couple beers, and asked the bartender where I could find a hotel.
I realize how dangerous it all was, looking back. I was fighting with Harry Potter in the war and I was just wandering about in the States all alone. I found a hotel and booked a room for two weeks. I figured that would be enough time for me to find a flat of some sort. The city was Everwood. It was cold.
The first three days I locked myself in my room and slept. The girl at the front desk said something about room service but I'll be damned if I know what the fuck that was.
I got ahold of my Healer and she gave me the 'Doctor's' address in Everwood. Apparently the only other guy in the world with my sickness, who died after a year, was a muggle. After muggle healers (called doctors) couldn't find a cure, he was sent to a magic hospital like St. Mungos except it was in the States. Nothing could stop the sickness. Nothing could stop his death. But for whatever reason, here I was knocking on this muggle's office door, practically handing him my life; and then I realized I didn't exactly have a life to hand him.
(Change in POV)
"Mr. Weasley?" the lady behind the desk called.
Ron looked up, realized she was speaking to him, and then stood up and walked to her.
"Hi, Mr. Weasley, I'm Jennifer, how are you today?" she asked.
"'M fine, thanks," he mumbled.
"Oh! You're not from the states, are you? Where are you from?"
"London." He didn't mean to be short with her, but he had a hangover and he was tired and he just wanted her to fix him.
"That's so amazing! I've always wanted to go there! Maybe someday. Okay, take off your shoes and stand up on here." She pointed to the weirdest thing Ron had seen since he arrived here, but he did as he was told. After she messed with a few different things, mumbled and jotted down a few numbers on her charts, she instructed him to get down, and he was soon following her again down a hallway.
"Right here. Okay, have a seat, Mr. Weasley, I'm just gunna take your blood pressure, temperature, and a few other things really quick."
Ron just sat on the table and did whatever she told him to do. For a moment his mind wandered to leaving the office and going home to tell Harry what a weird experience it was and ask him if certain things were normal for muggles, but he quickly caught himself and reminded his brain that he wasn't going home. He'd probably never return back there again, for the pure reason that he couldn't bare to see Harry and not be able to have him.
"Mr. Weasley?" the girl asked.
Ron's eyes went wide and he came back to reality. "Wha?"
"I was just asking if you were here on vacation."
"Oh. Sorry, no, actually. Blimey, I wish it was a vacation. My heal- erm- doctor sent me here because I have a disease that apparently can't be cured. You've everything else on that little chart-" he pointed to her clipboard, "you didn't know that's why I was here?" He snapped that time. Damn. If only he wasn't human.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. Just trying to make polite conversation. I'm finished up here, I'll just, um, leave. Sorry again."
Her face was bright red from embarrassment and she looked like she was about to cry.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I just snapped. I shouldn't have been that rude to you. Fuck, you've done nothing wrong, I'm sorry, I'm just being a bloody prick."
"It's alright, sir, nothing to be sorry about. The doctor will be right in."
Damn. She was pretty, too. Shoulder-length black hair, cute smile, tight ass.
"Finally," Ron groaned as the door to his room finally unlocked and he came crashing in, Jennifer from the doctor's office attached to his neck. He slammed the door and pushed her up against it, shoving his tongue into her mouth and grinding their bodies together. Moaning, she removed his shirt and waited for him to do the same. She pushed him around so that he was up against the door and she kissed him hard again, undoing the belt on his jeans. He led her over to his bed, laid her down, and climbed on top of her.
An hour later, with Ron awake sitting up against the headboard of the bed and Jennifer's black hair sprawled across his chest with her head on his stomach still sleeping, his brain started to replay his day.
"Yep, I'm afraid you have the same thing Mr. Smith had. I'm so sorry Mr. Weasley. What we can do is we can still try to do anything we can. Just because nothing worked on him, doesn't mean nothing will work on you. I promise you, Mr. Weasley, I'm going to try everything humanly possible to get rid of whatever it is that's in your body. You have my word," the doctor told him.
Ron sat on the table, staring the doctor, emotionless. He nodded his understanding to the doctor, noting that he'd said 'anything humanly possible', which in other circumstances would've made him laugh because Muggles couldn't do nearly anything compared to witches and wizards.
"Alright, I'm going to write you a prescription for some pills that will start to tell me what you might react to. I'm going to be immature and send you home with some antibiotics. This pill can't even make a dent with your disease, but we will try to see, anyways. Take this over to the Drug Store across the street and Robert will fill these up for you. I want to see you back tomorrow, set up a time that fits with Jennifer and she'll pencil you in. We'll get you through this, Mr. Weasley."
Ron took the paper slip the doctor handed him, shook his outstretched hand, and stared at his feet when the doctor left the room. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and walked to the desk where he set up a time with Jennifer.
"Where is the 'Drug Store'?" Ron asked Jennifer.
"It's just across the street, there, on the corner. Here just wait a moment. My shift is over, let me go get my stuff and I'll take you."
After the drug store was dinner. After dinner was his place. The beers and alcohol they had brought up to his room were everywhere. He grabbed one from the bedside table.
He looked down at her again, all curled up next to him. She wasn't Harry. She would never be Harry. And that was probably a good. Bugger. Give him a couple more drinks and he might be able to pretend none of this was happening. He might be able to forget he was dieing and go home and fuck the shit out of Harry.
No. Push those damn thoughts away and drink up.
