A teaser for an upcoming fanfic. To be continued shortly.
Summary: Not really much here, it's a teaser for something I'm working on.
Ron gripped his hand to the cold metal railing, grasping it tightly enough that his fingers began to ache, but he payed no attention to that, completely engrossed on the words coming from the gray-haired Healer in front of him.
“…flipped out again today.”
Ron sighed, his hand releasing the railing and coming to rest on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remain calm, even though the dash of hope that he was getting better had just been ruined.
“But…” began Ron, thinking carefully about how to word it. “He was making so much progress… what was it that set him off?”
“The cleaning lady.” said the Healer, her voice melancholy. “She had red hair.”
Ron inhaled deeply, his hand ruffling his own red hair.
“And I’m still not allowed to see him?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’m sorry Mr. Weasley, but we just can’t risk it.”
“Right.” He glanced quickly at the Healer’s nametag. “Thank you, Constance. You’re doing a good job.”
She smiled sympathetically, and then turned and walked quickly away, heading off to help other patients.
Ron paced through the waiting room, deep in thought, but not ready to go home quite yet. He took in everything about the room; the pristine white walls, the smell of sanitation, the uneasy people sitting or standing around, waiting for news on their loved ones. Ron saw eyes follow his pathway across the room, and temporarily thought about stopping his pacing, but decided against it. Everyone knew why he was here. It’s not like it was a secret.
He watched someone out of the corner of his eye, reaffirming his theory. The man was tall and thin, with a somewhat receding hair line, and he watched Ron with a sad understanding.
He continued to pace, the wheels of his mind turning, dozens of new worries cropping up. How would he tell Hermione? What if the public found out? Should they find out? What about the rest of his family? How could he possibly tell his Mom?
He wished he didn’t have to think too much. He was always thinking too much. Anything and everything had to be carefully thought through. He was constantly in the eye of the public, one of the Saviors of the Wizarding Race, and couldn’t afford to screw up. Hermione was so much better at this than he was.
Ron exhaled sharply, and stormed out the double doors, letting the engraved logo that read “St. Mungo’s Psychiatric Ward” slam behind him.