Rude Awakenings

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Harry Potter. They belong to Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.

Timeline (not including prologue): Harry Potter starts during the fifth book, The Order of the Phoenix. To be precise, in the middle of Chapter 27, page 605 (although, depending on the book, the page number will be different) during the end of March. BTVS begins the March after the series ends.


Mein Teil

Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings


It took a few seconds for Harry Potter to realize that the fans urging him to catch the snitch in his dream were not the source of the sudden noise filling his ears. Although the person was screaming, it was much too strained and painful to be from a happy member of the crowd. He looked around the Quidditch field, straining his eyes in search of the abrupt noise. Seeing nothing, he glanced at the filled stadium seating, but the mass of faces, although blurry, were not creating the sharp sound. Confused, he sat still on his broom, trying to decipher just where the noise could be originating from. In another few seconds he realized that it wasn’t even coming from his dream. His hand went up to touch his scar, then dropped back to the handle of his broom. No, he was certain it wasn’t from Voldemort either. The scar was feeling normal, well as normal as it could considering it had been tingling ever since Voldemort‘s return. He turned to the crowd again, noticing that everything looked in place. No dementors. No Death Eaters. No Voldemort. As strange as he thought it was, the only explanation he could fashion was that the screaming was coming from the room he shared with five other boys. He struggled briefly to wake up.

Harry’s eyes jerked open and he fumbled for a second trying to find his glasses. His suspicion had been right, the loud noise continued.

“Harry,” Neville yelled as he pulled open the boy in question’s curtains. With bed-head and matching pajamas, Neville’s voice was barely audible over the yelling. “Wake up.”

Harry was already pushing himself up and fumbling with his glasses, and Neville started in surprise to see an already awake Harry moving about.

“But if it’s not you,” the boy stammered as the screaming continued.

Harry looked around Neville to see Dean peaking out of his curtains. His hair was equally mussed.

“What the bloody’lls all that racket for!” Seamus yelled from his bed. Not bothering to draw back his curtain, the voice was muffled, tired, and irritated.

Looking around, Harry realized that there was still one person missing. His best friend.

Harry scrambled out of his covers and ran over to Ron’s bed. The floor was cold and smooth on his bare feet, and it further dragged him from the drudges of sleep. He yanked open the thick curtains, pushing them away almost frantically to find Ron thrashing about wildly in his sleep. There were lines of tension in his face and shoulders, and in the dark it was near impossible to see if he was injured or not. Grabbing his shoulder, Harry tried to shake his friend awake but stopped as he realized that Ron was covered in something. The substance was dark, sticky, and vine like; and when Harry pulled his hand back he froze. In the dim light it shone like blood.

“Get McGonagall,” he demanded to no one in particular. If Ron was hurt, if Ron was injured. If Voldemort had somehow gotten to him. . . . His hands were shaking slightly. “Now!”

It was Neville who ran out of the room, the footsteps sounding dull thumps on the hard flooring.

“What happened to ‘em?” Harry hadn’t even noticed Seamus standing beside him. Harry ignored him, and turned back to the red head.

“Ron, wake up!” he said shaking the sleeping boy violently. Although the sticky substance covered his hands, Harry didn’t remove them. “Ron! Please! Snap out of it! Ron!”

Ron continued to yell, the voice only lessening when he needed to gasp for breath.

Harry sat halfway on the bed, clutching at Ron as he shouted and moaned. The noise was eerie in its continuality, and Harry held on even as Ron’s movements were violent enough to cause him pain. Even more frightening however, was when Ron’s voice sputtered out and died a few minutes later. Harry held his breath in an attempt to hear his friend. The boy was obviously either asleep or unconscious, Harry wasn’t sure which, but he was still uneasy. Ron’s body continued to convulse, only this time to the tune of haggard breathing.

“Ron,” Harry said again, this time leaning forward. By this point he had stopped caring about the strange vine things. Or the fact that he was now covered as well with whatever substance they were made out of. He could feel drops on his face and knew that he must look a mess.

It was then that Professor McGonagall burst into the room with Neville at her heels. Dressed for the night, she wore a thick over-robe and had her hair pulled back in a severe braid. Despite her garb she looked alert and ready to handle whatever was happening. Harry was infinitely glad she had arrived. Pushing her way past Seamus and Dean, she stopped next to Harry. He couldn’t turn toward her fully, as he was still trying to hold onto Ron but he felt her come up behind him. She inhaled sharply as she laid her eyes upon the red head.

“Harry, move,” she said and waited for him to let go. Harry was reluctant to release his grip, but he did as he was told. “Petrificus Totalus.”

Once the body bind was on Ron she muttered, “Mobilicorpus.”

With the body floating, she began to rush it out of the door. It had all happened so quickly that Harry sat for a moment in shock, before jolting to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Harry called after her. His voice was unsurprisingly shaky.

“The infirmary,” she sternly replied. “Stay in the dormitories.”

Harry ran after her only to have the portrait door slam in his face.

“Damn it!” he yelled at the closed door. He resisted the urge to scream or cry.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Turning, he found Hermione at the end of the stairs looking worried. Wearing her own pajamas, her hair had been hastily pulled back into a ponytail. Lavender and Pavarti were behind her, curiously watching his movements.

“We heard screaming,” Lavender said. Her nightgown matched her name in color.

“Are you okay?” asked Parvarti. She was eyeing the dark stains.

“It’s not me,” he snarled louder then he meant to back. Unconsciously he began wiping his hands on his pants trying to get off the substance that looked, and smelled like blood. It was stupid of him though, the stuff was everywhere. Hermione watched him and bit her lip in worry, while the rest of the girls’ attentions shifted to Neville, Dean, and Seamus who came running down the stairs. A barrage of questions followed.

“Is he going to be okay-”

“Did You-Know-Who do it?”

“Was that blood?”

“Did your scar hurt-”

“Quiet!” Harry answered back. His anger seemed to be growing exponentially. “I don’t know anything more than you guys!”

They didn’t stop though, and the questions kept coming. Harry decided to ignore them all as they gossiped and prattled behind him. He stared at the door instead and took deep breaths. Right now a month worth of detentions, even with Umbridge, seemed worth it to go to the infirmary. On instinct he rubbed the scar etched into his hand; ‘I must not tell lies,’ it was still visible and slightly raised. He didn’t even notice Hermione appear next to him until she asked the only question that was worth answering.

“Where’s Ron?” she whispered as if afraid of the answer.

Harry looked into her wide eyes; they flickered down his body and took in every scratch and stain. Even though they were surrounded by talking people, the other noise seemed to fade away into a hazy background. She was smart and already knew what his reply would be.

“Professor McGonagall took him,” he replied softly not wanting to shift the others focus back to him. Not that it would have mattered, the rest of the people on the stairs were so caught up in wild theories and notions that they wouldn’t even notice an attack on Hogwarts.

Her face paled. “That was him, wasn’t it? Screaming.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on,” she said grabbing his arm and pulling him through the crowd still on the stairs.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she led him back to his room.

“Do you honestly expect me to just sit here when one of my best friends could be hurt? Or worse.” She dropped his hand and almost ran over to his trunk. “It’s in here right?”

“What?”

“Your invisibility cloak,” she replied opening his trunk. She began to carelessly toss the contents out.

“Yeah,” he went to help her find it before she broke anything. “But McGonagall said to stay here.”

Not that he really took what the professor said seriously.

“Bullocks,” Hermione cursed. “How can she expect that we would leave him?”

“You do realize that we are risking weeks worth of detention or worse if Umbridge catches us?” For once he was being the practical voice, even if he fully agreed with her.

“Some things are more important,” she huffed, “and you had better change.”

Letting her paw through his things, her quickly took a towel to his face and arms and scrubbed at the drying substance. His skin feeling raw, he then slid on a new pair of pants and a shirt. Throwing the dirty clothes into his hamper, he walked back to where Hermoine was still searching. Finding the cloak, he tucked it underneath his arm and then proceeded to dig around for the marauder’s map.

As he pulled out the well-used map he said, “We’ll need this too.”

With the important items in tow, the two of them ran back down the stairs. The others had moved into the common room where they could gather in a circle. Their voices were still raised in a combination of shock and excitement. It made Harry’s stomach twist, and he saw a sick expression cross Hermione’s face. They barely parted in time for Harry and Hermione to pass through. Hermione turned around as they reached the door.

“Back to bed,” she demanded. Her voice was prissy and proper, as if she were doing a caricature of herself during first year. “The Professor’s won’t tell us anything until morning anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” Seamus scoffed. The boy seemed to be enjoying the upset.

“Seamus Finnigan!” Hermione huffed. “Do not make me take off points because you know that I will!”

“Well, if we have to go back to bed you guys do too,” Lavender replied, a slightly snide tone entering her voice. “McGonagall didn’t mean that you two were exempt.”

“She’s right,” Neville added, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. “We’re not suppose to leave.”

Hermione’s eyes blazed and Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“If any one of you rats on us,” she whispered in a voice that lashed out and struck sharply. “Doesn’t matter who, I will personally hex each and everyone of you at the most embarrassing and opportune moments. There will not be a second that you are safe. You will have to sleep, eat, bathe, snog, and pee with one eye open.”

Silence.

Harry could visibly see each of them cower at what she just said. Hermione may get angry, but she was down right furious. And it was obvious that she meant exactly what she said. One by one, he noticed their expressions darken in both anger and resentment. It seemed that they all had decided that yes, she would do it.

Neville was the first to turn around, scratching the back of his head and walking up the stairs.

“I’ll make sure your bed curtains are closed in case McGonagall checks up on us,” he said to Harry.

“Me too,” Pavarti hastily added, looking at Hermione.

Slowly, they each made a motion of goodbye and walked up the stairs.

“Man, Hermione,” Harry looked to her. “You made me want to turn around and go back upstairs.”

She weakly smiled at him, visibly stressed. “Come on, let’s find Ron.”

Harry pulled the marauders map out of his pocket and unfolded it quickly.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he muttered and watched the dots appear. Studying them rapidly, he found Ron right where he’d thought he would. “He’s in the infirmary. It looks like Dumbledore, McGonagall and Pomfrey are with him.”

“Thank goodness Umbridge isn’t there right now, I don’t think I could deal with that cow tonight,” Hermione commented. “Let’s go.”

“Finch is over in the south wing with Mrs. Norris, Umbridge is in her bedroom and the way looks clear.” Harry responded, clearing the map and folding the map back into his pocket.

As soon as they were into the hallway, Hermione took off at a run. Startled, Harry stood there uncertain. The invisibility cloak was partially folded up and still in his hand. Tucking it back under his arm he chased after her.

“Shouldn’t we use the cloak?” he asked, trying to get her attention and be quiet.

“It’d take forever for the two of us to get there under that thing. Besides, you said the way is clear.”

“It is, but-”

“We’ll put it on when we get closer.”

Harry tried not to show any reaction to her words. Hermione was usually more cautious than this. Then again, whatever was happening to Ron was bad. After all, she and the rest of her bunkmates had been woken by his screams all the way from the girls’ dormitory. He could tell that she was worried sick, but so was he.

This was Ron. His best friend. Ron was not supposed to wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Really, that was Harry’s job. Harry was the one that had all the freaky things happen to him. Was this the way that Ron and Hermione felt every time he was hurt or missing or in danger? If it was, then he needed to give them more credit. It felt like his heart was trying to jump out of his chest. What if this was an attack on Ron from Voldemort? What if Voldemort had figured out a way to get to his friends? To get to those that he cared about. How many more would have to die because of him? His heart stuttered before continuing. No. He wouldn’t let anyone else die like Cedric. And Ron. . . .well Ron was just going to have to be alright because otherwise he would never forgive himself for involving him.

Hermione suddenly turned and skidded to a halt directly in front of him. He nearly ran her down.

“Why are you stopping?” he asked as she said, “Pull out your cloak.”

Looking around the dark hallways he realized that they were almost to the hospital wing.

Unfolding the cloak, he made sure that they put it on with the right side out. They had finally grown to the size that trying to fit more then one under the cloak was a challenge. Needing to move only added to the problem. Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist in an attempt to keep them close together. They then hunched down and walked slowly to make sure their feet were not visible. The movements had to be slow and cautious. Inch by inch they moved toward the hospital wing door.

It was closed. He hadn’t thought of how they would get in without anyone noticing. His frustration grew, and he turned toward Hermione. Maybe she would have a good idea. As he leaned closer to her, the door opened and Headmaster Dumbledore looked out. Harry froze. It seemed to slip his mind earlier that the Headmaster could see through the cloak. It was a stupid mistake for him to make. And now that the Headmaster seemed to be avoiding him at all costs, their chances of staying seemed to be slipping away. This night was getting worse and worse.

Dumbledore smiled grimly.

“Stay hidden and sit against a wall. Only then can you stay,” he whispered to them.

Harry felt a weight lift off his chest and Hermione nodded back. They quietly slipped underneath his arm and into the room. Circumventing beds and curtains, the two headed towards the wall where they would have the best view of the proceedings. Harry chewed on his lip as he took in the sight of Ron on the hospital bed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see much beyond that he was pale and barely moving.

“Was that Severus with the potions?” Pomfrey asked the old wizard without turning away from Ron‘s side. Her voice was lower then normal. A sign of worry from her that Harry had come to realize.

“Unfortunately no,” he replied. “I think my mind might be playing tricks on me in my old age. How is Mr. Weasley?”

“He’s calmed down and his breathing has returned to normal. It seems that the red substance covering his body has soaked into his skin. I’m not sure yet what effect this will have on him, if any at all.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding, and motioned for her to continue.

“There is a third degree burn on his left arm. I put some salve on it and wrapped it up. It’ll heal, slowly and not without some pain, but his arm should be alright. I’m more worried about the material he was coated in and what it’ll do to him. I haven’t seen anything like it before.”

Pomfrey was a professional and the words made Harry’s blood go cold.

“It was much more prominent when I found him in his dorm. It looked like blood,” Professor McGonagall scrunched her eyebrows. Hermione tightened her grip on Harry’s arm. The nails dug painfully into his skin.

“I want a sample of it to analyze. Between Severus and I, we should be able to figure out its composition,” Pomfrey frowned at the still form in the bed.

“I noticed it on his sheets when I picked him up,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Dobby,” Dumbledore commanded. The house-elf appeared a moment later with a sharp crack. He wore his usual mismatch of clothing, with multiple layers of scarves, hats, and socks. “Would you please go to the fifth year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory and pick up Ron Weasley’s bed sheets. Place them in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Dobby rung one of his ears and disappeared with another loud noise.

Dumbledore gazed toward the entrance of the hospital wing and frowned. The door opened and much to Harry’s dismay, the Hogwart’s High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge walked in. She wore a pink dressing gown covered partially with a matching pink and white striped robe. It was freakily reminiscent of a frosted six year old girl’s birthday cake.

“Is everything okay in here?” she asked in that soft and sickening voice of hers. “I heard a commotion and came to investigate the source.”

She looked around the room and smiled when she noticed the red-headed figure on the bed. It was not a kind smile that graced her face. Harry’s hate of the women churned in his stomach. He wanted nothing more then to stand up and scream at her. To tell her to stop looking so smug that one of his friends was hurt.

“Oh dear,” she said in her sugar covered voice. “Is that one of the Weasley boys?”

McGonagall stiffened. “It is Ronald Weasley. And he should be fine.”

“What ever happened to him?”

“We aren’t sure Dolores,” Dumbledore replied. “With O.W.L.s coming up, all of the fifth year students have been overly stressed. It must have caught up with him. He can tell us when he wakes up. There is no need for you to trouble yourself with this matter.”

“I disagree. As the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts it is my job to ensure that Hogwarts upholds the ministry’s standards and to take a personal hand in managing the students’ educations,” Professor McGonagall snorted softly, an act that Umbridge deliberately ignored. “If this boy was practicing unsafe material, then it is my job to lead the investigation and make sure that he is properly reprimanded for his actions.”

“I am sure that whatever caused Mr. Weasley’s injuries was an accident,” the Headmaster said. “A misspoken incantation or a reaction to stress. We will find out the events that lead up to this tomorrow when he wakes up. He is relatively unharmed and this is hardly a matter that the High Inquisitor needs to worry herself about.”

“Well, we shall see tomorrow after I speak with the boy,” she turned to the healer. “I want you to notify me as soon as he wakes up. If that is all, then I suggest that we should all get back to bed.”

Harry watched as she nodded to Headmaster Dumbledore and strolled out of the infirmary. Stupid git, acting like she owned the place. He resisted the urge to spit on her as she passed. Harry knew damn well that she wasn’t worried about Ron’s well-being at all. She just wanted an excuse to expel his friend, and himself as well if she could link him to the incident.

“I really do hate that women,” McGonagall muttered after Umbridge had left the room. Harry couldn’t agree more with her, although hate wasn’t nearly strong enough of a word.

“I’ll make sure you have a chance to talk with the child before I tell her that he’s awake,” Pomfrey said turning back to Ron’s side. She didn’t contradict McGonagall’s statement. “You don’t really think it was a reaction to stress?”

“Of course not. But there’s no need to let Dolores Umbridge think that it was anything else,” he softly replied, his eyes still trained towards the door.

It opened again and Snape appeared. Harry stiffened at the sight. The man wasn’t much better then Umbridge, and even at this time of night he looked slimy. Both were excellent at being pompous gits.

“And what exactly has Weasley been doing this time to end up in the hospital wing?” he sneered as he handed a vile to Pomfrey. She flicked her wand tilting Ron’s head and upper body up from the bed. Uncorking the bottle, she poured it down his throat, gently rubbing it to make sure he swallowed all of the liquid. Harry briefly wondered what potion they were giving Ron.

Dumbledore ignored the undertone to his comment. “We are not sure of the circumstances that landed him in the infirmary but we shall ask him when he wakes up. Thank you for the potion Severus.”

“Delighted, as always,” Snape said as he watched Pomfrey lower Ron back onto the bed. He lay motionless there, his chest slowly rising and falling the only noticeable movement.

“Come. Let’s continue this discussion in my office. Pomfrey, you are welcome to join us after you are certain that your patient’s vitals have stabilized.”

“I will be along in a few minutes,” she said, her attention never quite leaving Ron. “There isn’t much more I can do until he wakes up. The potion will make sure that his breathing remains stable and counteract the shock he’s suffering from.”

Snape left the infirmary first, his nose tilted toward the ceiling as he went. Behind him followed McGonagall, still dressed in her night attire. Dumbledore watched Pomfrey for a moment before speaking.

“Oh,” Dumbledore said. “That reminds me, you might find some guests here checking on Mr. Weasley’s health when you get back. If they are not in they way, you can allow them to stay. But of course, the decision is all yours. We‘ll be waiting in my office.”

Pomfrey nodded her head showing that she heard him but remained silent. Harry really hoped that the healer would allow them to stay. The Headmaster exited last, allowing Pomfrey to work in comfort. She cast spell after spell only pausing to write down notes about his condition. Harry wasn’t sure what spells she performed on his friend, but he could guess. Her tests continued for just over fifteen minutes until she put her wand away, evidently satisfied. Giving him one last potion, she put away supplies and instruments in the efficient manner of someone that knew her job. She left closing the door and shutting off the overhead lights.

Beside him in the dark, Hermione waited several moments before pulling off the cloak and making her way over to Ron’s side. Her footsteps sounded loudly in the large and nearly empty room. Harry watched her as he folded the cloak up. He didn’t think they’d need it again tonight. She gently sat down on the right side of her friend’s bed, so lightly that most of her weight had to be in her legs. When Ron didn’t stir, she carefully let herself relax.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” she quietly asked Harry. He hand moved up and haltingly brushed a hair from Ron’s face.

He set the cloak on the floor and walked over to her. “I’m not sure. When he went to bed everything was fine.”

Even in the moonlight, Harry could tell that Ron’s face was paler then normal, making his freckles look like red marker dots. The memory of seeing Mr. Weasley after he was attacked by Voldemort’s snake came to mind. The memory was a painful one, but he couldn’t help but compare. Mr. Weasley had been just as pale as Ron. The man had almost died that night. The image of him lying there, bleeding and in pain made Harry’s stomach churn. He could practically remember how the blood smelled, could taste it in the back of his throat. Harry felt like throwing up. He carefully swallowed and took in a mouthful of clear air. There had been blood on Ron too. The more he thought about it, the surer he became.

Reaching out, he pulled down the sheet to reveal Ron’s chest and arms, stopping at his waist. The blood was gone. Of course it would be. Pomfrey wouldn’t leave one of her patients in such a state. He couldn’t even see any cuts, and only the bandage covering his left arm stood out against his bare skin. It must have been the burn that Pomfrey was talking about earlier.

“Harry?’ Hermione asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. He realized that she had intertwined her fingers in Ron’s hair sometime after he stopped paying attention to her. “What are you doing?”

“It’s gone.”

“What‘s gone?”

“The blood. It’s gone,” he replied as he stared at his unconscious friend’s body. It felt like he should be dreaming. “The vines too.”

“Harry? What are you talking about?” She glanced down at Ron’s naked chest. “I don’t see. . .um . . .anything unordinary. There is hardly a scratch on him. . . “ he watched her eyes trace him in with scrutiny. Halfway through, her focus jumped to him. “Wait a minute, didn‘t Madam Pomfrey say something about a substance being absorbed into his skin?”

“That’s what I’m talking about Hermione,” he sighed, feeling his adrenaline beginning to ebb. “When I found him, he was covered in...” he struggled to define it, “He was covered in these vine…things. They were crawling all over his skin. And they…” Harry shook his head trying to dispel the memory, “But now there’s not even a hint that they were even there in the first place.”

“You said something about blood. . .the vines were made of blood?” she said the words very slowly. When Harry nodded, a look of horror covered her face and her hand threaded in Ron’s hair briefly clenched. “This is very bad. Blood is used in some very dark rituals. What if. . . What if he did something to Ron?”

Harry didn’t need her to elaborate on who he was. Voldemort.

“Did your scar hurt at all? Did you have another dream?” she asked, he voice going very still and quiet.

“No, everything was normal,” he responded, wishing that he had something more to say. “I just woke up to him, screaming.”

Hermione inhaled deeply.

While she remained close to Ron, Harry turned away and began to pace the infirmary. He needed to do something. Anything. The energy from the frustration inside of him was bubbling over and making his heart race. He didn’t want to wait around to find out what happened to Ron. If it was a plot of Voldemort’s he didn’t even know where to start. It wasn’t as if the Order would tell them anything anyway. Dumbledore had probably let them stay so that they wouldn’t go and listen outside the Headmaster’s office. But that wouldn’t change anything. His fists curled into tight balls. This was his fault, he knew it. And they would ignore him and tell him to not worry about it. They would treat him like the five year old they thought he was. But how could he do anything else? He was putting his friends in danger. Something awful had happened to Ron.

Not again, no one was going to die because of him again.

“Harry. Stop pacing and sit down. This wasn’t your fault.” She seemed to be reading his mind. “No matter what we might think, we really don’t even know what happened yet,” she said, some of her usual composure finally returning. “It won’t do us any good to broad over who is at fault . . . especially if you start blaming yourself.” She paused, “Which it’s not your fault by the way.”

“But it is! If Voldemort really did attack him, then it’s my fault! Why else would he come after Ron?” he argued back, feeling the bile rise to the back of his throat.

“Maybe because his family is full of light wizards?” she turned her attention back to the bed. “Look, just don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you and Ron won’t either.”

Harry glared at the wall, her words striking an odd thought. “You don’t know that.” It would almost make him feel better if Ron got pissed.

“Yes I do. Even if you weren’t a good friend, Ron and I would still be involved in the fight against You-Know-Who. We would still join the Order after Hogwarts. We would still become targets.”

“How do you know?” He was being belligerent, and the words spilled out of him like hot acid.

“Harry? How can you believe otherwise? I’d like to think that you know us well enough by now to realize that we’re in this fight. And that we’d be in it even if we had never met you. Like I said, Ron is from a family of light wizards and I’m a Muggle-born. Muggle-born, Harry. I highly doubt that I’d go on a crusade to kill myself, or that I’d just sit back and watch others do the deed.”

“But I made you targets.” The tone sounded whiny even to his own ears.

Hermione shrugged. “We would be targets without you.”

Harry didn’t respond, but just kept pacing. He was sick of arguing. The adrenaline had completely dissipated now, and he was left feeling tired and emotionally drained. All he wanted was Ron to be alright. He rubbed at his eyes and scratched the bridge of his nose. Maybe Hermione was right and it was useless to place blame when no one knew what had happened. Harry still didn’t feel better. He sighed and his pacing slowed to a stop. He found a chair in the corner of the room and dragged it to the end of Ron’s bed. Lumpy and uncomfortable, he shifted his weight and propped up his feet. Harry’s eyes landed on Ron’s sleeping form. How many times had Ron and Hermoine had a night vigil for him? His head ached. Hermione remained quiet, running her fingers through Ron’s hair in what looked to be a soothing matter.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked, then expanded when she looked confused. “Playing with his hair.”

“My mum used to do this when I was sick. It always made me feel better.”

Had his own mother done such a thing? Harry couldn’t remember if his parents ever had. He knew for certain though that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had never touched him unless it was necessary. And anything less than broken bones or blood did not fit the guidelines for touch in his relative’s eyes.

For a long time he watched Hermione and Ron, his eyelids beginning to feel heavier and heavier. Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep. This time there were no dreams about Quidditch, instead he dreamt of dark corridors and strangely familiar hallways. He was close to the end, so close. All he had to do was reach out and he would be there. But as he reached, there was a noise behind him. It jolted him and pulled him away from his goal and back into consciousness.

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. Looking around, he knew that it must be very early in the morning. A natural darkness still filled the room. It took him a moment to realize that he was in the infirmary. The events from last night slowly trickled into his head. His back was sore from falling asleep in the chair; it creaked painfully as he pulled himself up. But he didn’t think that was what had woken him. He turned his attention to the bed. There were two figures in it. It looked like Hermione had decided to just climb in next to Ron. Her breathing was soft as she slept. He looked over to the figure next to her propped up on an elbow. Ron. He was awake and staring at Hermione.

“Ron?” Harry quietly asked, a gladness filling him that his best friend had wakened and was not dead.

The boy startled and turned to look at Harry. His eyes, bloodshot and strained, widened in obvious surprise and shock. The skin of his face seemed to blanch and whiten, and a sudden tension ran through his shoulders and arms. Harry hadn’t meant to surprise Ron.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice painfully cracked. It was still strained from the night before.

Harry smiled. Ron was awake. Ron was awake and talking, that was a good sign. Ron was going to be all right. He resisted the urge to jump up and down.

“Why is she covered with blood?”

What? Oh Merlin. . . .blood? He felt his throat constrict. “Blood?” The words tasted thick in his mouth.

“It won’t stop,” his fingers lightly grazed Hermione’s cheek then jerked away. He rubbed them haphazardly on the sheets, his breathing slowly quickening. He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his hand. He took a long breath. “My head hurts.”

Harry looked over at Hermione. She lay asleep, only slightly adjusted because of Ron’s movements. Not seeing any blood he turned his attention back to Ron, who had started to mumble something under his breath. The words were quick, quiet, and seemed to rise and fall in waves. Ron had apparently forgotten that Harry was there. He began to tremble in small jerks, Ron either ignoring them or not noticing them. Harry began to worry.

“Ron?” Hermione’s soft voice was just audible. She had finally pulled herself out of sleep and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Pushing hair out of her face, she looked over at the shaking boy with worry in her eyes. She sat up and reached out to clasp his right hand. Ron became very still at her touch and pulled his hand away from her grasp. Slowly he turned his head towards her. “Are you alright?” Hermoine’s brows drew together.

But it didn’t seem as if he heard her. His eyes moved from his hands and fixated next on her mouth. He reached out his left hand to trace her lips. Hermione stayed frozen, not quite sure how she should respond. She grabbed his hand, for a second time, halting his trance like movements. Ron began to pull back once more but abruptly stopped as he looked at his bandaged left arm. Sitting up, he stared raptly at his wounded forearm. His eyes widened and he wrenched his arm away from her, cradling it to his chest. His breath became shallow and loud in the otherwise still room. Rocking back and forth he seemed to once again be lost in his own world.

By now Harry was perched at the end of his chair, anxiety and apprehension coursing through his veins. His attention turned back to Hermione who hesitantly held her arm out. She wanted to touch him again, but was holding back. Harry wasn’t surprised; especially after the first two times she had grabbed his hand. Biting her lip, the bushy haired Gryffindor seemed to take the plunge. She wrapped her arms around Ron and pulled him close to her. He didn’t fight her embrace and buried his head into her shoulder. She didn’t seem to take her luck for granted, and immediately dragged him nearer. For minutes it was unnaturally quiet. Then perched on his chair, Harry strained his ears and heard the noise. Ron was crying.

Harry was scared. No, that wasn’t even close to what he was feeling. He was terrified. Harry seriously debated moving closer, but was unsure of what Ron’s reaction would be. His friend, whose emotions were usually so easy to read, was now a closed book to him. It was terrifying. He had never been good with emotions and for some reason Cho’s face sprung to mind. He shook off the thought; this was his best friend, not some silly emotionally confused girl.

Slowly he stood up and sat on the other side of the bed, keeping his movements slow and calm. He reached forward and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The skin beneath his hand was clammy and shaking slightly. It got Ron’s attention, but not in the way Harry had hoped. Ron pulled out of Hermione’s arms and turned around to face him. Up close, Harry could see that Ron was sweating profusely, and his eyes were now puffy from crying. His friend’s look seemed hollow, far away, and it pierced Harry deeply. The fear Harry had felt was beginning to spiral out of control. Ron reached out and touched Harry’s face, much like he had done earlier with Hermione.

Ron pulled away and looked down, almost as if he were ashamed.

“You’re not here,” he said hoarsely. “Neither of you are here.”

With surprising strength, Ron shoved Harry to the end of the bed and clambered to his feet. He ran, the sharp noise of bare skin hitting the stone floor echoing in the large room. He threw his weight against the door, not stopping, but running through it as soon as it opened wide enough. Before either Harry or Hermione could respond, Ron was already gone.

Harry looked over at Hermione who still was staring at the door. She felt his gaze on her and turned to meet his eyes. He knew without asking that they had both come to the same conclusion.

Something was seriously wrong with Ron.