FicWad

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way to the ground floor of St. Mungo’s hospital, the memories of their previous visit flooding back and weighing heavily on their hearts. Moody and Tonks escorted them to see Mr. Weasley after his snakebite, but this time, the absence of the Aurors seemed to emphasise the loss as they almost served as parental figures to the trio. It was a sombre moment that underscored the constant peril they faced in their battle against Voldemort.

The atmosphere in the reception area was eerie, with an unusual silence hanging in the air, quite different from their bustling previous visit. The room, once filled with rows of witches and wizards, was now mostly empty, apart from a few patients whose injuries were apparent just by looking at them. The sounds of strange noises and the sight of disfigured individuals served as a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the magical world. Now, the only sound cutting through the silence was the occasional flipping of pages as witches perused old copies of Witch Weekly.

The trio approached the plump blonde witch stationed at the ENQUIRIES desk.

“We’re here to see Rubeus Hagrid.” Hermione quickly informed the witch, her tone eager and determined.

“Oh, the giant,” the witch replied in a bored voice, not bothering to glance up at them. She let out a yawn before continuing, “He certainly caused a stir when he arrived. He had to practically squeeze through the door.”

“What happened to him?” Ron asked in an offended tone after hearing the witch call Hagrid ’the giant.”

“He had deep cuts on his arms and chest,” the blonde witch nonchalantly explained, “blood flowing freely. The sight was quite alarming, but he seemed unfazed. He’s probably resting now.” She seemed indifferent to the severity of his injuries.

Ginny’s expression showed deep concern as she furrowed her brow. “Where can we find him?” She asked.

The witch gestured with a bony hand towards the large double doors located just beyond her desk. “You can find him on the fourth floor. Simply use the lift to reach there.”

“Thank you,” Hermione responded, taking the lead as they made their way towards the lifts.

They walked through the grand double doors that led them into a hallway adorned with candlelit portraits of renowned healers from the past. The click-clack of their shoes reverberated off the polished marble floors as they made their way up a staircase to reach the first floor. The faint echoes of cries and urgent footsteps mingled in the air, serving as a constant reminder that the hospital was bustling with activity.

As they hurried down the corridor, Hermione couldn’t shake the ominous feeling settling in her stomach. Hagrid had always been a pillar of strength for them, larger than life and fiercely protective. The idea that he could be lying in a hospital ward, injured and vulnerable, sent a wave of dread crashing over her.

Ginny walked beside her, glancing nervously at the door signs as they passed. “Do you think he’ll be alright? Whatever happened to him...” Her words trailed off, anxiety edging into her voice.

Ron, trudging slightly behind, aimed to lighten the mood. “He’s survived worse, hasn’t he? I mean, he’s been through dragons, bloodthirsty spiders, and a few other nasty beasts. A few cuts aren’t going to take down Hagrid.”

Beyond the hall, they stumbled upon two lifts behind intricate silver grilles. The grilles smoothly slid open, granting them access to one of the lifts, which started its gentle ascent once the grilles shut behind them. A few minutes later, a soothing female voice announced their arrival at “Level four, Spell Damage.” When the grilles opened, they were greeted by a flurry of paper planes soaring around them, each bearing the name “BILL” imprinted on the wings of one nearby plane, catching their attention. They took a moment to marvel at the peculiar sight before stepping out of the lift to explore the surroundings awaiting them.

A Healer caught sight of them and decided to approach them with a gentle smile. “How may I be of assistance to you, my dears?” she asked in a friendly manner.

“Could you kindly guide us to the ward where Rubeus Hagrid is being cared for?” Hermione asked.

“Certainly,” the healer replied. “His room is located at the farthest end of this corridor. Good luck, and I hope he gets well soon,” she added with a warm smile.

The small and dimly lit ward was originally meant for four patients, but it was currently occupied only by Hagrid. His massive build barely fit on the narrow bed, making him look uncomfortable and out of place amidst the sterile surroundings. Bandages wrapped around his arms and chest, showcasing the remnants of a confrontation that had left him injured but, thankfully, alive.

“Hagrid!” Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exclaimed as they hurried over to his bedside. Their expressions blended concern with relief, each of them aware how fragile the line between safety and vulnerability could be in their world.

Despite his heavily bandaged frame, Hagrid’s face broke into a broad smile upon catching sight of his friends. “Hello,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice resonating through the sterile room. “Good thing yeh received my letter. I’ve been so bored without anyone ter talk ter.” He shifted slightly, the size of him somehow managing to make the room feel smaller.

“We received your letter this morning and we came straight away,” Ron interjected, his brow furrowed with worry. “Harry would be here too if he knew you were hurt.”

A quizzical look crossed Hagrid’s rugged features. “What d’yeh mean?” he asked, frowning. “Harry doesn’t know I’m injured?”

“Harry’s condition has worsened,” Ginny explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s struggling to walk, move, or even eat. He’s exhausted all the time and has been asleep since we decided to come here. Knowing you’re hurt would devastate him; he truly cares for you.”

Hagrid’s gaze turned sorrowful, and his thick eyebrows furrowed. A lump formed in his throat. He blurted out, “I wish I could see him. Poor lad.”

Hermione reached out, gently touching Hagrid’s enormous arm, her voice filled with warmth. “You really scared us when you wrote about being attacked by Death Eaters. Please tell us what happened.”

“I was attacked, all righ’,” Hagrid replied gruffly, shifting in bed, wincing a bit at the movement. “Lucky I got in ’ere when I did; otherwise, I’d have lost too much blood.”

“But how did this happen?” Ron pressed, worry etched on his face. “Were you near the Thestral cave when it happened? Were you able to recognise the Death Eater?”

Hagrid rolled slightly in bed to look at them better. “I was lookin’ fer Thestrals in the eastern lands near Hogwarts and Ireland when I received yer letter, Ron. I suspected there might be some wild Thestrals there, but I had no idea where until yeh told me in the letter. Did yeh check yer owl this mornin’, Ron?”

Ron’s expression darkened. “No, why?”

“Well,” Hagrid began, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recalled the incident. “When yer owl brought me yer letter, his left wing was bent at an odd angle—he’s certainly hurt. His feathers were all ruffled too.”

“Is he? Do you think he was attacked?” Hermione asked, confusion and concern flooding her expression. “Are you saying Ron’s letter was intercepted?”

“It seems that way,” Hagrid replied, his tone grave. “I was afraid yer owl wouldn’t make it back, but he did alrigh’ in the end, eh?”

“I haven’t had a chance to fully check on him since he arrived,” Ron confessed, guilt creeping into his voice.

“Yeh should definitely look in on him once yer get back home,” Hagrid advised, sounding more like a teacher than a patient.

“What happened next, Hagrid?” Hermione asked softly, pulling a chair closer to the bed.

“I apparated near the cave yeh mentioned and discovered it empty at first,” Hagrid continued. “Lookin’ fer the Thestrals, I found ‘em huddled in a distant corner. Just as I was collectin’ the tail hair, dark, cloaked figures appeared from every direction. They looked like Death Eaters, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“How did you get those injuries?” Ginny asked, studying the medical wrappings curiously.

“Two of ’em hit me with a Severing Charm,” Hagrid answered, his eyes falling mournfully on his bandages.

Ron’s mouth dropped open, and Hermione gasped, her hand instinctively moving to cover her mouth. “It could’ve killed me, but the spell was botched in the dark. I disapparated jus’ in time before they cast more. I showed up here after that. The wound was deep, but the healers were able to mend it.”

“I shudder to think what might have happened if you hadn’t escaped right away,” Ginny murmured. “I don’t even want to imagine it.”

“Did you see any of their faces, Hagrid?” Ron asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

“Nay, it was pitch black inside tha’ cave,” Hagrid replied, eyes narrowing. “I couldn’t see a thing.”

Hermione fell silent, her brow furrowed in deep thought, swirling thoughts about the vulnerabilities they all faced. The truth of Hagrid’s experience loomed in the air between them, thick with unspoken fears.

Ron’s face was flushed with indignation, his fingers drumming impatiently against his knee. “Malfoy is the one who sent the Death Eaters after you, Hagrid,” he burst out, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and worry.

Hagrid frowned, the corners of his mouth dropping into a frown of confusion. “Draco Malfoy? But why would he do tha’?”

Ron’s jaw clenched. “He’s the only one who was aware of the cave—”

“We can’t jump to conclusions, Ron,” Ginny Weasley interjected, a pause hanging momentarily in the air. Her voice lowered, edged with caution. “You-Know-Who could have shared the information with his other followers. We must consider all possibilities.”

“Malfoy claimed You-Know-Who disclosed it to him,” Ron pressed on, undeterred. “It’s hard to understand why he would betray Harry when he owed him his life.”

Hagrid’s brow furrowed deeper. “He owes Harry? How?”

“During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry saved him,” Ron clarified, casting a disapproving look at Hagrid’s bewildered expression. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered saving him. If Malfoy betrayed Harry and orchestrated the attack on you, he doesn’t deserve to be saved.”

Ginny shook her head, her brows knitted in concern for both Hagrid and Ron. Hermione, seated on a nearby stool, lifted her gaze sharply to Ron, her eyes narrowing.

“But we can’t be certain, Ron. There might be someone else planning these attacks. I still can’t bring myself to believe Malfoy—” she insisted.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that, Hermione,” Ron interjected, annoyance creeping into his tone as he crossed his arms stubbornly. “It feels like you’re defending him despite the evidence against him.”

“I’m not taking his side, Ron,” Hermione rebutted, her voice tense. “I’m simply acknowledging that he knew about Harry’s condition and was willing to help, even if reluctantly. It shows he cares about Harry.”

“Cares? Ha! He’s just putting on a show, Hermione,” Ron shot back, his words dripping with scepticism. “He would never genuinely help Harry. That’s just who Malfoy is.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow in disbelief, feeling the frustration rising within her. “Then why did he visit the Burrow to talk to Harry?”

“He must have had some hidden agenda or ulterior motive,” Ron replied dismissively, waving a hand as if to brush off the possibility.

The tension continued to hover in the air like a storm cloud waiting to unleash rain. Hermione felt a sense of vulnerability, devoid of any more valid arguments to present against Ron’s relentless onslaught. She acknowledged the validity of some of his points, yet a sliver of doubt lingered in her heart about the truth behind Malfoy’s actions.

“We truly didn’t mean for you to suffer any harm as a result of our actions, Hagrid,” Hermione said finally, her voice softened by concern.

“Tha’s okay, Hermione,” Hagrid reassured her, a faint smile that resembled more of a grimace marring his rugged features. “I was aware of the risks. This is fer Harry’s well-being. I’d do anythin’ fer him.”

This declaration hung heavy in the air, carrying on Hagrid’s sincerity. Hermione nodded, wanting nothing more than to protect everyone she loved. “How long do you plan to stay here?” she asked, redirecting her thoughts to more immediate concerns.

“I had expected to stay a few days,” Hagrid explained, glancing around nostalgically. “But bein’ a giant, I don’ think they want me ’round fer too long. Oh! I almost forgot—” He rummaged in his pocket, his massive hands producing a stained envelope.

“Here yeh go.” He handed it over to Hermione, who accepted it curiously.

Opening the envelope, her breath caught as she discovered the delicate Thestral tail hair within. Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you, Hagrid. Harry will be delighted when he hears about this.” She carefully folded the envelope and tucked it away, meeting Hagrid’s gaze with renewed brightness. “Would you like to join us? I’m sure Harry would love to see you.”

“I’d love ter. Just a mo’—” Hagrid said, his voice brimming with warmth. He stretched and carefully manoeuvred himself to stand, avoiding the ceiling as he wrapped his giant fingers around his familiar pink umbrella.

Upon approaching the stairs, Hermione immediately recognised Augustus Pye by his garments and the name tag on his chest. She hadn’t seen him in a while, but his warm, cheerful demeanour was impossible to forget. When Ron and Ginny Weasley caught sight of him, his expression brightened as he made his way towards them.

“Hello!” Augustus greeted warmly. “I had a feeling I might run into the Weasleys here.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, his brow furrowing. “Why did you think we’d be here?”

“Aren’t you here to visit your brother?” Augustus replied, puzzlement knitting his brow. “I thought you had come to see him.”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny interjected, her voice rising with anxiety. “I didn’t realise any of my brothers were here. Which brother are you referring to?”

“Percy Weasley, of course,” Augustus reiterated, his casual tone a stark contrast to the horror dawning on Ron and Ginny’s faces.

“That’s impossible. Percy is currently at home with our parents,” Ron insisted.

Augustus’ eyes widened with genuine surprise. “I can assure you that Percy is here. He was brought in early this morning, unconscious. He was attacked.”

Ron’s face drained of colour as he processed the shocking news. Ginny’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “That can’t be!” she exclaimed, panic fluttering in her chest. “We just saw Percy, and he seemed perfectly fine!”

“He never left the hospital,” Augustus clarified, the confusion in his voice deepening. “There must be some misunderstanding. He’s currently resting, and I can take you to see him.”

Frowning, Hermione exchanged worried glances with Ron and Ginny, dread coiling tightly in her stomach as they followed Augustus down the hallway.

“This doesn’t add up,” Hermione murmured, brushing her fingers against the edge of the bannister.

As they entered the ward, Hagrid remained in the background, his towering figure blocking the small view through the window. Bending down, he peered inside, eyes narrowing on a resting figure with fiery red hair.

Inside the room, Percy lay on the bed, looking uncomfortable, his face betraying distress. His unexpected visitors startled him, causing him to jump. “I didn’t expect all of you to come visit me!” he exclaimed, mustering a faint smile.

“We were just as surprised to find you here, Percy. What’s going on? Is everything alright back at the Burrow?” Ron pressed, a tightness worming its way around his chest as he sized up his brother’s condition. “Are you okay?”

“The Burrow?” Percy chuckled nervously. “I’ve never been to the Burrow prior to this. I mean, I’d planned to visit but never got the chance.” He blinked rapidly, his mind visibly racing. “I heard Harry’s sick. Dad mentioned it, but I haven’t received any updates. I wanted to go see him, but work obligations got in the way.”

The unexpected revelation left Ron and Ginny wide-eyed and speechless.

“Also,” Percy added, his voice softening with shame, “I didn’t want anyone to know I was hospitalised. “I didn’t want to cause any worry. I had planned on dealing with everything on my own.”

“The Healer informed us about the attack, Percy!” Ginny responded, incredulity washing over her. “We were worried sick. How could you not tell us sooner?”

“Are Mum and Dad with you?” he asked, looking up expectantly, but Ginny shook her head.

“No, we’re here for Hagrid. Death Eaters attacked him.” She recounted all the details, her voice trembling with every word.

“Hagrid?” Percy echoed, appearing genuinely startled. “He’s always been gentle and harmless.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, relief starting to filter through the tension like sunlight after a storm. “But the healers have treated him, and he’s doing much better now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Percy’s demeanour shifted to one of palpable relief.

“What exactly happened to you?” Ron asked, the worry still evident in his furrowed brow.

“I was in my office this morning,” Percy began his explanation, trying to piece together the fragments of a day that had quickly spiralled into chaos. “I had planned to come to the Burrow, but I never got the chance.”

Hermione Granger leaned closer, her brow knitted with anxiety. “Did you see or hear anything during the attack?”

“I... I can’t be certain,” Percy stuttered, his mind racing. The memory felt like a foggy nightmare. “I don’t think I saw anyone, but I might have heard a mumble. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and lightheaded, and then everything went dark. After the attack, my memory is hazy.”

Ron’s grip on Hermione’s arm tightened, and Ginny remained palefaced, her eyes wide and fearful. An air of dread enveloped them, as if they were waiting for the storm to unleash its ferocity.

“What’s going on?” Percy demanded, concern racing across his features. “You said I was home, but I’ve been here all day.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, realisation dawning on her like a harsh light. “This morning, you flooed to the Burrow,” she explained, her voice trembling slightly. Beads of anxious sweat began to form on her forehead. “We had a conversation—oh, no!” She clamped a hand over her mouth in dread, her eyes darting toward Ginny and Ron.

Ron’s voice trembled as he pieced it together. “It wasn’t you, then. Someone must be impersonating you.” The words tumbled from him, each syllable sinking deeper into the pit of their collective stomachs.

Percy shot up straight, panic flooding his system. “Someone’s pretending to be me right now?” He glanced between their increasingly distressed expressions, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. The shadows grew darker; doubt crept in, and a gnawing fear took root.

Without uttering another word, Ginny let out a horrified gasp that confirmed Percy’s worst fears. “Mum and Dad—Harry!”

With urgency propelling him, Percy jumped out of the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side as he moved. The others followed suit, their minds racing with the implications of this deception.

“I’ll be back, Augustus!” Percy called over his shoulder, the words hanging in the air like a goodbye, leaving the bewildered Healer scratching his head in confusion.

Upon their arrival outside the Burrow, an unsettling stillness enveloped them. Even the usually mischievous gnomes lurking beneath the rosebushes appeared dormant, their little forms motionless and silent. It wasn’t just the outside that felt wrong; the air held a palpable tension that made the hairs on the back of Ginny’s neck stand on end.

Hagrid led the group with an urgency that contrasted starkly with the eerie calm surrounding them. The thud of his boots echoed on the stone path as he approached the door, holding his pink umbrella. With a determined push, he swung open the front door and stepped inside, the hinges creaking ominously.

The silence inside was suffocating, a heavy blanket that pressed down upon them. As the others filed in, the scene that greeted them was one of utter chaos. Chairs were upturned, glass lay strewn across the floor, and the remnants of a meal were scattered amongst the debris. The kitchen felt cold, hauntingly so. Cracked windows hung precariously, allowing a shiver of wind to sweep through and whisper unsettling secrets.

“Wha’ happened ’ere?” Hagrid’s voice broke the silence but only echoed in the chaotic emptiness.

A sharp intake of breath filled the room as Ginny caught sight of her parents sprawled on the floor, seemingly lifeless. “Mum? Dad?” She rushed to their side, her hands trembling with anxiety. Kneeling beside them, she felt for a pulse, her heart racing, seeking any signs of life. “They’re alive. They must have fought back before they were stunned,” she breathed out, relief washing over her like a cool tide.

Hagrid’s massive form loomed over the kitchen, worry etched on his rugged face. He scanned the room, piecing together remnants of the struggle. “We need ter get them outta ’ere. They could still be in danger.”

Before anyone could respond, a bone-chilling chuckle echoed through the living room, slicing through their moment of relief. It was followed by a pained cry that sent a shiver down their spines. Instinctively, they moved towards the source, propelled by fear but also an undeniable curiosity.

As they reached the living room, shock rippled through them, freezing them in place. Percy Weasley, normally the epitome of prudence and responsibility, sat comfortably in an armchair, an unsettling superiority sparkling in his eyes. He appeared untouched, unbothered by the chaos surrounding him, his arms and legs crossed as if he were a king surveying his domain.

The impostor looked at them, a sneer twisting his features. The real Percy stood frozen, a wand clutched tightly in his hands, his expression morphing from shock to anger in an instant. But it was Harry who commanded attention in that moment, doubled over in apparent agony—his hand clutching his stomach. Pain radiated through his body. The impostor noticed Harry’s discomfort, his eyes narrowing conspiratorially.

“It’s fascinating how a few drops of this potion can cause such pain.” His voice dripped with mockery as he savoured the small vial he held, the remaining fluid glimmering ominously in the low light. He seemed unfazed by the curious onlookers gathered around him and the threatening sight of five wands pointed in his direction.

“Who are you?” Ron spat, his anger boiling as he glared at the impostor. “What have you done to Harry?” He struggled against Hagrid’s formidable grip. “Let me go, Hagrid!” he growled, his gaze locking onto the impostor seated leisurely at the table, a wicked satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

“Poisoned him,” the impostor replied nonchalantly, revelling in the shock that rippled through the room. He leaned forward, a menacing grin twisting his lips. “It brings me immense satisfaction to witness his suffering after waiting for so long.”

Ron’s heart sank. A pit of dread formed in his stomach as he glanced helplessly towards his best friend, who lay incapacitated nearby, his face contorted in agony.

With a swift motion, the impostor yanked Harry’s head back, exposing the pallor of his skin. “I’m not the one you should be worried about,” he warned, his eyes glinting with sadism.

Hagrid’s voice boomed, filled with protective fury. “Don’t yeh dare touch him!” He lunged at the impostor, his massive hands reaching out, but found himself magically suspended in mid-air. The impostor chuckled, neither concerned nor intimidated by the threat.

Ron’s pulse quickened; his wand sparked angrily as he grappled with despair.

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione asked, her voice shaky as she stepped forward, defiance mingled with fear.

Ignoring her question, the impostor produced another vial from his cloak. He lifted it to his lips and drank with a flourish. The transformation was instantaneous. His hair shifted from unruly red curls to sleek, pale blond braids, while harsh angles appeared on his once freckled face. An icy chill gripped Hermione’s heart, recognising the figure now before them.

“Corban Yaxley,” Ron whispered, horror etching his features. The name whispered of dark nights and deadly encounters, a reminder of what they had narrowly escaped.

“That’s right,” Yaxley said, reclining in the chair with a casual arrogance. “I quite fancy that spot where you attempted to Disapparate from during your last visit to the ministry, posing as others. I’ve been using it as a hideout—it’s proven to be quite handy. I assume you were too preoccupied to return.”

Harry, lying on the floor, attempted to rise, his body wracked by pain. “G—grim… mauld pl—ace isn’t y—yours to keep,” he croaked, trying to hold onto some shred of strength. With a cruel kick to the back, Yaxley sent him sprawling once more, his laugh cruel and triumphant.

“Oh, but it is now,” Yaxley sneered. “You’ve taken from me; now I’ll take what’s dear to you. The Dark Lord’s plans were thwarted by you, but all will crumble, starting with this very place,” he taunted, looking at Harry as if delighting in his suffering.

Ron was furious, sheer rage flashing in his eyes. “Get away from him!” he shouted, a wave of protective instinct surging through him. Hermione and Ginny, faces streaked with tears, moved closer, wands raised, hands trembling with determination.

Yaxley, however, only laughed. “I heard Harry’s dying,” he jeered, raising the vial of poison mockingly toward Harry. “This will hasten the process, won’t it? But more painfully.”

“No!” Ron cried out, consumed by fear, as Yaxley tilted the vial dangerously close to Harry’s lips.

Harry’s body writhed uncontrollably, not from the potions he had ingested but rather the sheer agony coursing through him. He managed to turn his head, straining against Yaxley’s vice-like grip. Every muscle in his body fought against the pain, but Yaxley merely tightened his grasp, pouring the liquid into Harry’s mouth.

Screams echoed in the empty halls of the house, merging with Ron’s horrified protests and Hermione’s desperate pleas. Yaxley only basked in the chaos, his twisted smile growing broader as the room descended into panic.

With a final, sinister laugh that resonated coldly against the walls, Yaxley vanished, leaving Harry behind, writhing on the ground.

Hermione and Ginny rushed to his side, their hearts pounding with terror.

“We need to get him to St. Mungo’s!” Hermione shouted, urgency biting at her words.

“There’s a Portkey that can transport you straight to the hospital lobby,” Percy said. He quickly went to the kitchen and came back with an out-of-date Witch Weekly magazine, throwing it to Ron. “I’ll remain here to give the minister a report.” He performed a countercurse to free Hagrid from Yaxley’s immobilising spell and began muttering a spell to restore the damaged house, watching as it slowly pieced itself back together.

Hagrid lifted Harry’s frail form into his arms gently, whispering words of comfort between his own tears. “Don’t worry, Harry, yeh’ll be alright,” he soothed, though fear punctuated his words.

Hermione, shaking with panic, cast a spell that conjured stretchers for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, while Ginny fetchingly tended to her unconscious parents.

Hagrid nodded, his expression grim yet determined.

“Touch it!” Percy instructed.

They huddled together around the magazine. In an instant, the world spun. The room morphed into a blur of colours and sounds until everything stabilised into the sterile chaos of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Upon their tumultuous arrival in the lobby, Augustus Pye rushed to assist Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, stumbling over his words in shock at the sight of the couple lying unconscious on separate stretchers. Despite the unexpected turn of events, he immediately sprang into action, swiftly arranging for them to be settled into their respective rooms.

Ron Weasley stood nearby, the hairs on his arms prickling, as he watched Augustus dart back and forth like a startled pixie. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Augustus found it peculiar that the Weasley family seemed to have a knack for finding themselves in dire situations that led them back to the hospital, or if he had become accustomed to the recurring chaos and instability that seemed to follow them.

The air shifted drastically as a scream punctured the dim atmosphere. Harry’s agonising cries echoed loudly in the lobby, immediately catching the attention of those witches and wizards around them. His normally vibrant green eyes were wild with fear and pain, his frame trembling as he struggled for breath. Ron’s heart sank. He staggered toward his friend, panic coursing through him like wildfire.

But Hermione had already taken charge, her face pale and frantic as she recounted the events to the staff. “He needs immediate assistance! Harry has been poisoned!” Her voice wavered on the brink of desperation, pulling everyone’s focus to the dire reality unfolding before them.

The blonde witch behind the desk, her feigned boredom evaporating instantly, blinked at Hermione in disbelief. “Harry? You mean Harry Potter?” she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Ron felt a swell of irritation at the girl’s surprise, as if Harry’s name should have inspired reverence in all who heard it. “Yes! And if you could stop gawking and get someone to help!” he snapped, the tension in the air feeling suffocating.

Within moments, the healers began to swarm. It was an all-too-familiar sight for Ron: the scuttling feet and determined faces, the hushed commands echoing against the polished floors. He stepped back, a haunting shroud of dread settling heavily over him as if the very essence of the hospital had darkened. The blonde witch directed the others to a waiting area on the fourth floor, but Hagrid ignored her instructions and pushed past the healers to be by Harry’s side.

Once inside the waiting room designated for Harry’s immediate medical attention, Ron could no longer stand idle. Hermione paced relentlessly, her mind racing through strategies. Ginny sat beside her, hands wringing nervously in her lap. Ron knew he had to say something—anything—to steady the swell of fear that threatened to lay siege to them all.

“Look, the healers have tonnes of antidotes,” Ron reminded them, though his own voice felt hollow in his ears. “They can handle this! They have to!”

But Hermione’s eyes were stormy oceans of worry. “Even if they do have an antidote, Ron, it may not work fast enough. The poison could already be doing irreversible damage. We need to prepare the cure now, just in case.”

Ron turned to Ginny, who sat in silence, as if mulling over Hermione’s words. “If the poison is not completely removed, Harry’s condition could deteriorate rapidly. I fear he may not be able to withstand it this time,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a darkness that twisted in Ron’s stomach. He felt anger boiling beneath his skin—he wouldn’t let doubt consume them.

“Yaxley and Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed, fists clenched in fury. The memory of their recent attacks leapt to the forefront of his mind. “If I see them again, I’ll make sure they pay for what they’ve done! We need to confront Malfoy quickly. He cannot get away with this; I’ll make sure he ends up in Azkaban!” His voice dripped with a conviction that echoed off the waiting room walls, causing Hermione and Ginny to shoot him glances of mixed surprise and concern.

“Ron, it’s not really the time for revenge,” Hermione said, though the urgency filled her voice. The reality was thick; every passing moment felt like sand slipping through their fingers.

“I don’t care!” Ron burst out, the fear that his family would be torn asunder yet again erupting from somewhere deep inside him. “I can’t sit here while Harry—while anyone—is fighting for their lives against these monsters. Someone has to pay!”