Fic: Every Step Of The Way
Title: Every Step Of The Way
Pairings: Ron/Harry, Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Ron is diagnosed with a serious illness, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley family rally around him to help him through it.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This was written for magicofisis as part of the magicoffriends community. My thanks go to aome and abigail89 for the most excellent betas. I've purposely ignored some of Deathly Hallows to suit the story.
Ron should not have been this tired.
He’d just gotten home from work and could only muster the energy to drag himself to the couch and flop onto it. And he shouldn’t have been this tired, he knew; he’d been in his office for most of the day. He hadn’t gotten as much sleep the previous night as he should have, thanks to Harry, but he never complained about that. He loved Harry as much as Harry loved him.
But he was so exhausted that he didn’t even hear his husband arrive home an hour later.
“Ron?” Harry said softly, lifting Ron’s feet up so he could sit down and placing them on his lap. “Have you been here since you got home?”
Ron opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him intensely, with those green eyes that Ron so adored looking in to. “Yeah,” he said, struggling to sit up. “I’m exhausted.” He allowed Harry to help him into a sitting position. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Harry said with a smile. He leaned in and kissed Ron softly. “Long day?”
Ron lay back down on the couch. “Not really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired all the time lately.”
Harry frowned and pulled Ron’s shoes off, dropping them onto the floor. “Maybe you should go see a healer,” he said, massaging Ron’s feet.
“Nah, it’s nothing. I’m just tired, is all.”
Harry’s frown didn’t dissipate as he continued to massage Ron’s feet. “Are you hungry?”
Ron thought for a moment. “No, not really.” He didn’t see the look of alarm on Harry’s face as he closed his eyes again.
“I’ll get some dinner on anyway, and you can see how you feel when it’s ready.”
“Okay.” Ron felt Harry move off the couch, and then the brush of lips against his temple.
“Love you,” Harry whispered in his ear.
“Love you, too,” Ron said sleepily. He didn’t hear Harry cooking in the kitchen, or firecalling Hermione.
~*~
“Where the hell did this come from? You didn’t have this last night!”
Ron felt Harry’s fingers ghosting over his lower right side. “What?”
Harry had stuck his head in the shower to ask what Ron wanted for breakfast, and Ron could hear the worry in Harry’s voice. He twisted around to see what Harry was talking about, and caught sight of the large, purple-grey bruise sitting behind his right hip. “Weird,” he said, as Harry touched it again gently. “I don’t remember hurting myself there.”
“I’m owling the healer right now to see if we can get you an appointment this morning,” Harry said determinedly. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.” He paused for a moment, his mouth curling up in a small smile. “Neither will Hermione.”
“Oh, that’s low, even for you!” Ron said in mock anger. “You know I’ll go if it means I get to avoid having Hermione nag me for the next ten years. You’re a cruel man, bringing her into it. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Harry laughed. “Because you love me. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
“Just some toast, I think.” He grabbed Harry’s arm, deliberately wetting his sleeve, and kissed him. “Cruel.”
Harry just laughed and patted Ron’s bottom affectionately. “Don’t be too long - your toast will get cold.”
Ron tutted. “Are you a wizard or not? Ever heard of a warming charm?”
The sound of Harry’s laughter echoed through the bathroom as he walked out.
Ron waited until Harry was out the door before he twisted again to look at the bruise. It wasn’t the only bruise he had on his body - he’d noticed them popping up with some frequency over the recent months - but it was certainly the biggest.
As he stepped out of the shower and started to dry himself, he wondered if something was really wrong.
~*~
“Thanks for fitting us in with such short notice, Healer Sanderson.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Potter.” The short, stout Scottish witch had been seeing Harry and Ron for many years now, and they both liked her immensely. They’d never seen her grey and dark brown hair in anything other than a bun, and her no-nonsense attitude served them well. She stated the facts and didn’t treat them any differently from any of her other patients. “Now, tell me what brings you both here this morning.”
Ron told her about his exhaustion and weariness, the bruises, and how run down he felt in general. Harry helpfully added Ron’s lack of appetite to the list.
“Hmmm,” the healer said, as her wand flew up and down in front of Ron. A piece of parchment hung in the air next to her, and words appeared magically on it as her wand continued to move to and fro. “Any problems with your magic?”
“No,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Ron simultaneously. He felt Harry’s questioning gaze burning into him, but didn’t turn to meet it.
“What type of problems?” asked the healer.
“Just little things,” Ron acknowledged. “I accio one thing and get something else. One spell turns into another. Nothing major, and it’s not frequent, so I just put it down to being tired.”
Healer Sanderson eyed him thoughtfully. “I’d like to run some tests on you, Mr. Weasley. Just to rule things out, you see.”
She instructed him to lie down on the bed behind him, and fifteen minutes later the tests were apparently over. Ron hadn’t felt a thing.
“I’ll owl you as soon as I have results.”
“Do you have any idea what it might be?” Harry asked, struggling not to sound anxious.
Healer Sanderson looked from one man to the other, and her face softened a little. “It could be one of a few things, and I honestly don’t know which it is yet. So let’s wait and see, shall we?” Moments later, she was back to her brisk self. “Are you out and about today, Mr. Weasley, or in the office?”
“In the office today,” Ron answered. “I’m not due out until next week.”
Healer Sanderson nodded. “I want you to take it easy today, just to be safe. Now scoot, you two, I have other patients to see.” Her brusque tone might have put off someone who didn’t know her very well, but neither man was bothered.
Healer Sanderson looked as pleased as punch when Harry kissed her on the cheek before they left.
~*~
Harry had just settled into his chair to work on some files after his early afternoon meeting when the pale purple memo zoomed through his door and fluttered overhead. He grabbed the tiny piece of parchment and instantly recognised Ron’s scrawl.
H,
Healer Sanderson wants me to go see her at 4pm for the test results, and she said I should bring you with me. Hope that’s not a sign it’s something bad.
Love you,
R
Harry stared at the parchment, his throat going dry. Something was wrong, he could tell. If it had been nothing serious, Healer Sanderson would have said so in her owl. The fact that she wanted to see them both in person meant something was wrong.
He tried not to worry. He managed to resist the urge to go to his husband for a whole ten minutes before he threw down the quill that had been hovering over a piece of parchment without writing a single word, and stood up.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told his secretary as he strode out of his office. She nodded but said nothing.
He took the elevator from level two to level seven, and was almost relieved when the doors opened on level five to reveal a six months pregnant Hermione Malfoy.
“Harry!” She got in and kissed his cheek, and he held her as close as he could for a few long moments.
“I’m glad to see you,” he confessed.
“I got an owl from Ron ten minutes ago,” she said. “He told me you have to see the healer at four, so I wanted to drop by and give him a hug. I’m worried about him.”
Harry took in Hermione’s appearance; she was as beautiful as ever, but her face was pale and the grey smudges underneath her eyes couldn’t be missed. He realised that she’d been losing sleep and, because he knew her so well, could guess the reason why.
“How long have you suspected something was wrong?”
Hermione eyed him thoughtfully, and took a deep breath before answering. “A few weeks, no more. I wasn’t truly worried until Ron showed me one or two of his bruises and confided his magic was, in his words, ‘wonky’.”
She didn’t miss the flare of hurt in her best friend’s eyes. “He told you about his magic?”
Hermione gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t be angry with him, Harry. He didn’t want to worry you because he wasn’t sure it meant anything.”
“He should have seen a healer before now,” Harry said, his anger still smouldering.
“Perhaps,” Hermione said. “But what matters now is that he has, and if something is seriously wrong he’s going to need you now more than ever. He’s going to need all of us.”
The elevator doors opened on Ron’s floor and they both got out. “You know what’s wrong with him, don’t you?” Harry said.
“I’m not a healer. I don’t know anything for sure.”
“But you suspect something.”
Hermione shrugged non-committedly, trying to drop the subject, but Harry took her hand and led her into an alcove that shielded them from view.
“Tell me, Hermione,” he said, keeping his hand firmly entwined around hers to stop her leaving. “If you know what it is, I want to know.”
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes looking down. “I told you, I don’t know anything for sure!”
Harry took a deep breath to stop himself from shaking her, then gently lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “Hermione,” he said gently. “You are the smartest person I know, and I know a lot of people. If anyone could make an educated guess, it’s you. Please, sweetheart. If you know what’s wrong with Ron, tell me. I have to know.” His voice broke, and his eyes pleaded with hers.
Hermione blinked back tears. “Based on all his symptoms - the extreme tiredness, the bruises, the problems with his magic, the lack of appetite - it sounds as though Ron might - and I do mean might, Harry - have Jobin’s disease.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she burst into tears, and Harry drew her to him, holding her close as she cried.
“Oh, God,” he said, closing his eyes to stop himself joining her. There wasn’t a wizard alive who didn’t know about Jobin’s disease. Alfredic Jobin had first discovered the disease two centuries ago, but had largely been written off as a heretic by his peers. They had said it wasn’t possible for a disease to attack the magic of a wizard, but as the number of people diagnosed with the disease grew, the medical community could no longer ignore its existence. Jobin himself eventually died from it.
“It’s treatable, though,” Harry murmured more to himself. “Depends on how bad it is.”
Hermione pulled back far enough to look at Harry as he wiped away her tears. “Oh yes, of course. These days more than eighty percent of those diagnosed make a full recovery, thanks to the many advances in understanding magic. I’ve done some research and if Ron does have it, he’s only in the early stages so there’s absolutely no reason to think he won’t recover completely.” She was putting on a brave face, and Harry knew it.
“Right, well, what we need to do right now is go and see Ron, and wait until the healer confirms what’s wrong with him.” Harry breathed in and out, trying not to fall apart completely. No point doing that until he knew there was something to fall apart over.
Once they were both ready, they went to hug the man they both loved.
~*~
At precisely four o’clock that Tuesday afternoon, Ron and Harry were seated opposite Healer Sanderson.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it,” she said. “I’m so very sorry, Ron, but you have Jobin’s disease.”
The room was totally silent for a few moments as both men took in the news.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his face and voice totally devoid of any emotion.
Healer Sanderson nodded. “Yes. I analyzed it myself.”
Ron, who had been totally silent, blindly reached out a hand. Harry took it and laced their fingers together.
“Neither of you seem terribly surprised,” the healer noted softly. “Did Mrs. Malfoy work it out?”
Harry nodded, while Ron spoke. “I did my own research, actually. All the symptoms fit.”
Harry turned to look at Ron, who refused to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ron brought their joint hands up to his lips and kissed Harry’s hand. “I didn’t want to worry you until we were sure.”
Harry tamped down the flare of anger that burst through him. “You should have told me,” he said evenly, angry that Ron had kept something so important from him.
“Harry, I only figured it out this morning, after I got the owl to come here,” Ron said, finally looking over at his husband. “Does it really matter now?”
Harry felt the anger whoosh out of him like a deflated balloon. “No, of course it doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
Ron smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. “I know.” He turned back to Healer Sanderson, who was waiting patiently. “Am I dying?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” the healer said brusquely. “I don’t have time for dying patients, Mr Weasley, so you can get that thought out of your head. We’ve caught it fairly early, so with the right treatment I have no reason to believe you won’t make a full recovery.
“However, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. The next five months are going to be tough for both of you. I’m not going to sugar coat it for you, Ron - the treatment is most unpleasant. There are many side effects, and you’ll feel sicker than you ever have before. There are no guarantees with Jobin’s disease.” She took in Ron’s pale face and the anxiety and worry etched into Harry’s.
“But on the bright side, once it’s over you’ll walk out of here feeling as good as new. And as you probably know, once you’ve recovered you can never get it again - part of the treatment gives you an immunity from the disease.”
“But Hermione told me that you can’t get that immunity until you’ve actually gotten the disease, is that right?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy is correct,” Healer Sanderson confirmed. “Did she also tell you that it’s not contagious?” Harry nodded. “Smart witch, that one. Wish she’d do more than just consult for this hospital.”
“So, what now?” Ron asked.
The healer grasped a small pile of parchment and gave it to Harry. “I’ve prepared a file with information and paperwork that needs to be completed, but that can wait for later. What I want both of you to do right now is go home, and be there for each other. Tell your family and your close friends, because you’re going to need their love and support.
“Go home, and let it out. Cry, scream, do whatever you have to do. Tomorrow morning, I want you to come back here first thing so I can show you around and walk you through exactly what will happen. Then I’ll give you a couple of days to get everything in order, and will expect you on Friday morning to begin treatment.
“You’ll need to stay here at St. Mungo’s while you’re having the treatment, Ron, so you can be monitored around the clock. That way, should anything not go as we plan, you’re here. Do you have any questions?”
Harry squeezed Ron’s hand once more. “Will I be able to stay at the hospital with him?”
“I don’t see any reason why not. He’ll be having treatment during the day, but if you wish to stay through the night, you may. Each room comes equipped with its own bathroom and extra sleeping space for immediate family, and food will be provided for you.”
Ron nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now. If you have any further questions, owl me. Take this information home and have a look when you’re ready, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She stood and came around to where they sat and gave Ron’s arm a squeeze, before leaving them alone in the consulting room.
They rose up out of their chairs and stood for a moment, facing each other without saying a word, and then Harry opened his arms. Ron stepped into them willingly, breathing deeply and trying not to break down.
The knock on the door interrupted them before they had the chance to say anything, and Healer Sanderson’s head poked back around the door. “Mrs. Malfoy is outside and is most anxious to come in and see you. Do you want me to send her away or let her in?”
“Let her in, please,” Ron said, pulling away from Harry but keeping hold of his hand.
Healer Sanderson nodded and disappeared, and moments later Hermione entered the room. “Hi! I just had a check up and thought I’d pop by and see what the healer said.” She looked from Ron to Harry and back again. “Well?” she asked softly. “What’s the diagnosis?”
Ron smiled. “You were right, Hermione. As always.”
She blinked a few times and glanced at Harry. “Jobin’s,” she said.
“Jobin’s,” Ron confirmed with a nod.
Hermione bit her lip and looked away for a moment, obviously trying to compose herself. But when she looked at her best friends, the tears wouldn’t be abated.
“Oh, Ron,” she whispered, as the news of his illness finally sunk in. And that was all she needed to say. Tears started to fall down her cheeks, and she was unable to hold in her grief. Ron opened his arms and she flew into them, hugging him tightly. She started to cry in earnest, and it wasn’t long before Ron did, too. They both reached out for Harry, who stood frozen next to them, and as he was pulled into the warmth of their embrace, his tears flowed with theirs.
~*~
When Ron and Harry got home, they went into their bedroom and lay together on their bed. The seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to an hour. No words were exchanged or needed to be said; all the comfort they needed, they found in each other’s arms. Eventually, Ron made himself get up and, with Harry, flooed over to the Burrow. Both the elder Weasleys cried at the news and vowed to do whatever they could to help their youngest son through his illness. He asked them not to say anything to his siblings, because he wanted to do it himself. Molly reluctantly let him and Harry go, so he could start writing owls and get everything sorted.
When they got home, Harry insisted Ron eat something before he got in touch with his siblings. He ate to appease his husband, even though he had no appetite. He firecalled Ginny in China, where she was on tour with the Holyhead Harpies; she was distressed by the news and promised to come back to England as soon as she could. Once he assured her he’d keep her posted and closed the connection, Ron had a relaxing shower and changed into his pyjamas. He then decided that he was wasn’t ready to go through the same conversation with his brothers, so instead he sat down in the study and wrote to each of them, tailoring each note to suit the brother in question.
Once he sent the owls out into the night, he was surprised to find that while he was tired, he couldn’t sleep. Harry had been busy making firecalls to various people while Ron had been in the study, to arrange time off work for the next day. Ron sat on their bed and began reading the information that had been sent home with him about what to expect over the coming months while Harry finished up, and once he was done, Harry joined him.
It was only later that night, as they lay together in the moonlight, that Ron succumbed to the darkness that had been creeping over him since that morning. He cried out his fears and his worries, and let Harry hold him tightly and kiss everything away. He drew strength from his husband, knowing it would be the first of many such days and feeling guilty because he needed it so much.
~*~
Ron,
Fleur and I are most upset about the news, mate. I’m glad to hear that your healer is confident you’ll make a full recovery. We’ve told the kids you’re not well and they’ve already gone through a stack of parchment drawing you pictures to hang up in the hospital. I’ll be bringing them over personally. See you soon.
Love,
Bill
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ron,
You daft bugger! What the hell are you doing getting Jobin’s disease? I suppose if you’re going to be sick, you may as well go all out, eh?
Seriously? I love you and I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Charlie
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dear Ron
I’m very sorry to hear about your diagnosis. I’m sure St. Mungo’s will be able to treat you more than adequately; I’m familiar with some of the staff there, through my important work at the Ministry, and I know they will do a good job.
Keep your chin up, and don’t let Harry break anything - I’ve seen his temper.
Love,
Percy
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ronniekins,
Well done! You’ve picked one of the most serious diseases a wizard can have! We’re very proud of you for not doing anything by half and we’re already writing a list of stuff from the shop we’re going to bring you to help make your stay at St. Mungo’s a good one. Leave it all to us, we won’t let you down! If you get any healers that need to be taught a lesson, all you have to do is let us know.
Love,
F&G
PS: We’ll bring the toilet seat.
~*~
Hermione was already there when they arrived the next morning, having insisted on accompanying them the previous day, and the three of them were escorted around the hospital by Healer Sanderson. She told Ron that he would start the treatment that night; he would take a potion at home every night until he was admitted on Friday. She explained what the rest of the treatment entailed, what possible side effects Ron might suffer, and showed them the part of the hospital that Ron and Harry would call home for the next five months. Their private space consisted of two average size rooms; one was a bedroom for Ron, with a large bed and en-suite bathroom, and the other was a living area with a couch that could be converted to another bed. Down the hall was a shop that stocked everything a patient might need to alleviate pain or boredom, or both.
Healer Sanderson made it clear that visitors would need to be kept to a minimum to ensure Ron got the rest he needed in between sessions, but gave him free licence to bring whatever he wanted to the hospital.
Hermione had been terribly quiet for the entire tour, which was unlike her. Her lips thinned as she looked around Ron’s rooms, and Harry could almost see the cogs turning in her head. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at her when he managed to catch her eye, but she didn’t give anything away.
Once their tour was over, Healer Sanderson gave them a few days to get everything done that needed to be done, and asked Ron to come back first thing Friday morning
~*~
That afternoon, Molly firecalled to ask if they felt up to having dinner at the Burrow. Ron was extraordinarily tired, but wanted to see his parents so he didn’t say no. When he and Harry arrived an hour later, Ron was shocked to find the kitchen was not only occupied by his parents, but by two more redheads: one with long hair tied back into a loose ponytail, the other with numerous burns over his face and arms. Both wore cheerful grins and stood up when he arrived.
“Bill,” Ron said, allowing his oldest brother to pull him into a hug. “Charlie.” The brother in question pulled him away from Bill to administer a hug of his own. “What are you guys doing here?”
Bill sat back down and picked up the goblet of elderberry wine in front of him. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Ron,” he said. “I told you in my owl last night that I’d deliver the kids’ pictures personally.”
“And I said I’d be here as soon as I could,” Charlie chimed in. “I got the first Portkey out this morning.”
“You really didn’t have to,” Ron said, swiping at his misty eyes.
“Sure we did,” Charlie said. “Now tell us what the healer said.”
Ron relayed everything he’d been told, with Harry chiming in when Ron floundered over the details. He then hugged his parents as his brothers greeted Harry, and the six of them sat and ate some appetizers that Molly had laid out for them. While she cooked dinner, the men chatted about Quidditch and work, deliberately avoiding the more serious topic that was foremost on everyone’s minds. As dusk approached and the sun set, Fred and George arrived, followed soon after by Percy and his family. His daughters flung themselves into Uncle Ron’s arms, and proudly presented him with some gifts they’d made.
Just before six, the loud crack of Apparition rent the air, and feminine voice called out from the living room. “HELLO! ANYBODY HOME?”
“Ginny,” Ron breathed, before getting up off his chair and going into the living room. “Hey,” he said as she threw off her cloak.
“Ron!” Ginny didn’t hesitate to throw herself at her brother, wrapping herself around him as he picked her up in a hug. “Oh, Ron,” she breathed in his ear. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“You’re supposed to be on tour!”
Gin slid to the ground, finally letting him go. “Fuck Quidditch,” she said dismissively. “You’re more important.”
Ron had to breathe in and out a few times to stop himself from crying. “Thanks, Gin,” he whispered. After one final squeeze, Ginny let him go and wandered past him into the kitchen to greet the rest of her family.
Ron took a few moments to compose himself before following his sister back into the kitchen; he was a little overwhelmed and very grateful that his entire family had come from whatever part of the world they lived in to be with him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed them until now.
Only one person was missing, and she turned up, with her husband in tow, just as Molly was serving up dinner. “I’m sorry we’re late,” Hermione said as she greeted each Weasley in turn. “Draco got unavoidably detained at work.”
Draco Malfoy clearly looked like he was feeling out of his depth with so many Weasleys in one place, but to his credit he did his best not to show it. Theirs was a strange coupling, Ron mused as he sat and ate his mother’s cooking. They’d been forced to work together on a case for the Ministry five years ago, and somewhere along the line they’d gone from being schoolyard enemies to friends. From there, quite slowly and to everyone’s surprise, a romance had developed between them. Still, he and Harry had been wary of Malfoy, even when Hermione confided in them that he had asked her to marry him. It wasn’t until after the marriage that they’d come to see that Draco Malfoy was no longer the arrogant prick he’d been at Hogwarts, and that despite their wanting otherwise, he really did love Hermione and made her happy. But Ron knew that neither he nor Harry would hesitate to make good on their threat to beat the living daylights out of Malfoy if he ever so much as harmed a hair on Hermione’s head. So far, though, he’d given them no reason to do so, and now they were expecting their first baby in three months time.
Funny how the world worked sometimes, Ron thought.
~*~
On Friday morning, Ron and Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s to find Healer Sanderson waiting for them. She greeted them warmly and led them down the corridor they’d seen on Tuesday, but both men were surprised when she walked straight past the door that led to the room they believed Ron would be staying in.
“Healer Sanderson,” Ron called out. “Isn’t this my room here?”
The healer looked over her shoulder without breaking stride. “We’ve moved you to another room, Mr. Weasley, so I suggest you catch up.”
Ron glanced over at Harry, who simply shrugged and laced his fingers through Ron’s, dragging him after the healer, who was almost out of sight. They eventually caught up to find her standing outside a door at the end of another corridor.
“This is your room here,” she said. “I’ll leave you to get settled, and I’ll be back in an hour or so.” With that, she promptly disappeared, leaving them on their own.
They exchanged a puzzled glance, and Ron pushed the door open. What greeted them behind it left them both open mouthed and speechless: the room was enormous, much bigger than any of the others they’d seen earlier in the week. A bed big enough for the both of them was positioned underneath bay windows to allow maximum exposure to the sun. The walls were painted Chudley Cannons orange, and various posters and banners of the Quidditch team were pinned up. On either side of the bed was a small table, and on each table was a framed photograph. To the right of the bed was a bookcase, every shelf laden with books and comics. More photos were scattered on each shelf. To the left of the bed was a comfortable looking chaise lounge, presumably for Harry to rest on while he was watching over Ron.
On the bed was an orange and black quilt, and sitting neatly at the foot of the bed in two separate piles were pyjamas with broomsticks whizzing to and fro, dressing gowns and slippers. On the chaise was a blanket and two pillows.
Harry moved across to the right of the room when he spotted the doorway. It led to a tastefully decorated, good sized bathroom, which had a large copper tub with a dozen taps arranged as a fountain, and a separate shower.
“There’s a kitchen over here,” he heard Ron call out. Following him across to the other side of the room, he entered the first of the two doorways on this side and saw the cupboards fully stocked with food. An icy blue square of contained magic sat in one corner, to be used for keeping things cold. Harry could see there were already several dozen bottles of various drinks, along with butter and milk. All the essentials were there.
“This is incredible,” Ron said. “Did you do this?”
“I wish I could say yes, love,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “But I’ve had so much on my mind these last few days-”
“I know,” Ron replied, squeezing his hand. “I just don’t understand.”
But it became very clear when they went into the final room to find none other than Draco Malfoy sprawled out on the sofa, reading a newspaper. This was obviously the living area, given the presence of two sofas, a coffee table with two neat stacks of magazines, a television with an enormous screen, a DVD player, a wireless, and a beanbag (in Chudley Cannons orange, no less). Along the far wall was what looked like a tiny owlery, obviously designed to accommodate three to four owls. Along another wall was a fully equipped desk, presumably for Harry to work from.
“Malfoy?” Ron said, unable to disguise his surprise.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” Malfoy drawled, putting his paper down so he could see them. “I’ve been waiting for at least half an hour. I’m a busy man, you know, Weasley. Places to go, people to crush.” He spoke in such a pleasant manner than one might have thought he was discussing the weather.
“You did this?” Harry exclaimed.
“Of course I did. Who else would have the resources to do all of this in three days?” Malfoy waved his hand about in a flourish. “You wouldn’t believe how many elves I had to pay to get this done. Not to mention the sizeable donation I had to give the hospital to make it happen. Although why you’d want to support a Quidditch team with such garish colours is beyond me, Weasley. I mean, really. Orange?”
“But… why?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.
“What, don’t you like it?”
“No, it’s not that at all. It’s great, it really is. I’m just… surprised.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I know you have a tough time believing it, but I love my wife,” he said. “And for reasons I’ll never be able to work out, she loves the two of you. So when she asked me if I could do something to make your stay a bit more comfortable, I couldn’t find any reason to refuse her. And believe me, I tried. Anyway, most of this was her doing. She supervised it and chose everything, I just paid for it.”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Harry said quietly.
Malfoy looked him in the eye. “I know I didn’t. But it will help.” With that, he got up from the sofa and tucked the newspaper under his arm. “Anyway, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I must dash. I expect you’ll want to get settled, anyway. Hermione said to tell you that she’ll come see you this afternoon and make sure you have everything you need.”
“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ron croaked. “For everything.”
“I bet that hurt,” Malfoy said, but the slight smile on his face showed he meant no malice. He patted Ron’s back so briefly that if Harry had blinked, he’d have missed it. “Don’t thank me, Weasley. Thank my wife.” With that, he left the room and the two men alone. They went back into the bedroom and Ron lay down on the bed.
“I can’t believe this,” Ron said, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the bed dip slightly at the end as Harry sat down.
“Just when I think Malfoy can’t surprise me any more, he does.” Harry couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “This really was very decent of him, Ron.”
Ron sat up. “Yeah, it was. But don’t tell him that, his head’s big enough as it is.”
They both laughed, and then Ron lay back down on the bed. Harry joined him, kicking off his shoes and stretching out next to his husband. They stayed that way until Healer Sanderson came back to get Ron for his first round of treatment. The potion he’d started to take every night had left him even more lethargic, so Harry was worried about what everything else would do to Ron.
It seemed that mere minutes had passed before Healer Sanderson was knocking on the door. “It’s time, Ron,” she said gently. “Are you ready?”
Ron nodded, and the healer shut the door again to allow the two men a few moments privacy.
“Guess I’d better go, then,” Ron said, his mouth curling upwards into as much of a smile as he could manage.
“I’ll be here when you come back.”
Ron closed his eyes for a moment and took great comfort from those few words, knowing that the person he loved most in the world would be waiting for him. “I love you,” he said quietly, opening his eyes.
“I love you, too,” Harry responded. He leaned in and gave Ron a lingering kiss, and then watched as Ron followed Healer Sanderson down the corridor and out of sight.
He sat down on the bed forlornly, feeling completely useless and not knowing what to do with himself while he waited. The coming months were going to entail a lot of waiting, and he felt suddenly grateful to Hermione and Malfoy for the space they’d given them - the desk was going to prove very useful. It meant he could work and be close by to support Ron.
He went back over to the bed and looked at the two piles of sleepwear at the end of it, smiling as he observed them closely. Then, brushing them aside, he lay down on the bed alone, wondering how long it would before Ron was returned to him.
Harry had no idea how much time had passed when the knock on the door caused him to sit up again.
“Hi,” Hermione said, moving her bulky frame through the door. “Am I too late to wish Ron well?”
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “He left a little while ago.”
Hermione’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I got waylaid by a member of the Wizengamot who wouldn’t leave me alone.” She went over and sat next to Harry, rubbing a hand over her belly.
“Is everything all right with the baby?” Harry asked, brushing a stray hair off her face. “You look tired.”
“The baby is fine, but I’m exhausted.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and the two friends sat together, drawing strength and comfort from each other.
“You really should be resting, you know, not working harder than ever. You and the baby are more important than the Wizengamot.”
“You sound like Draco,” Hermione said with a laugh as she lifted her head. “I’m okay, honestly. Just uncomfortable now I’m so big. I’ve already started to pass my workload on to others.”
“Good,” Harry said, impulsively putting his arms around her and kissing her temple affectionately. “I don’t want to be worried about you, too. And thank you, by the way, for everything you did here. This place is great!”
Hermione beamed at him. “Did Ron like it?”
“Are you kidding? I think he’s ready to move in permanently.”
They both laughed a little, and it did Harry’s heart good to still be able to smile about something.
“I thought it would help Ron’s recovery if his quarters had a bit of familiarity for him.”
“The walls are a nice touch.”
“That was Draco’s idea, actually. Anyway, I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay. I’ve got another case before the Wizengamot this afternoon and I want to take a final look over all my notes.” She held her arms up. “Help me up, please?” Harry stood and obliged by grabbing them and helping her up off the bed. With a hug, she was gone, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
~*~
Over the next few months, Ron and Harry settled into a routine at the hospital. Ron started his treatment every morning, then came back to have lunch with Harry (although he wasn’t always able to eat anything, but he appreciated the break) before heading back for more treatment in the afternoon. While Ron was gone, Harry kept himself occupied with work when he could manage it, although he allowed himself some time to sit and read or chat to the various family and friends who dropped by regularly. Molly and Arthur came by every day to see how Ron was, and Harry religiously owled the Weasley siblings to keep them posted on Ron’s progress. Fred and George were chased out of St. Mungo’s on more than one occasion for disrupting the peace, but it made Ron laugh every single time.
The treatment, as Healer Sanderson said it would, made Ron sicker than he’d ever been, but Harry and his family were with him every step of the way, and Ron didn’t know what he would have done without them. In his darkest moments, he begged Harry to leave him and move on, but Harry always squashed any such notions with a stern gaze, a few words, and a kiss. Harry made it clear to Ron that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Almost three months after Ron went into St. Mungo’s, Hermione went into labour. A beautiful owl arrived at their window one afternoon, leg proudly stuck out to deliver the small piece of parchment. On it was Malfoy’s elegant scroll, informing them that Hermione was two floors above them, getting ready to deliver their son.
Late that night, long past visiting hours, Ron was lying in bed with Harry perched next to him reading aloud from a Quidditch magazine, when there was a knock at the open door. They both looked up, and Ron let out a delighted, “Hermione!”
“Hi,” a tired but beaming Hermione said as she slowly shuffled into the room. Malfoy was right behind her, a small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms.
Harry helped Ron up into a sitting position as Hermione perched herself on the edge of the bed next to Ron. He leaned over to kiss her, his lips lingering on her cheek. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. I thought you might want to meet our son.” She turned to her husband, who handed the baby to her and stood next to her with his hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I’d love to,” Ron said, his voice a little hoarse. Hermione carefully placed the baby in his arms, making sure his head was properly supported.
“Oh, Hermione,” Harry said, as he studied the baby’s button nose and soft, wispy pale hair. “He’s beautiful!”
“Of course he’s beautiful,” Draco said smugly, “he’s a Malfoy.”
Once upon a time, Ron and Harry would have had a smart comeback for such a comment, but time and adulthood had tempered their tongues. “Congratulations, Dad,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Potter.”
“Does he have a name?” Ron asked as he ran a finger down the baby’s cheek, marveling at the softness of the tiny boy’s skin. Looking at the baby made Ron even more determined to beat his illness so he could see his godson grow up.
“He does,” Hermione said. “His name is Julian Luka Malfoy.”
“Hi, Julian,” Ron said, lifting him up for a kiss. “I’m your Uncle Ron, and this is your Uncle Harry. Here, you want to hold him?” Harry nodded and Ron carefully passed the baby to him. The three friends chatted for a short while about the birth and the new arrival; Malfoy stood silently behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders, every inch the proud new papa.
The Malfoys were eventually shooed away by Healer Sanderson herself, who’d come to check on her patient and declared that both Ron and Hermione needed to get some sleep. Harry handed the baby back to his father, and Hermione hugged her best friends goodbye before the new family left to get some sleep.
“He’s beautiful, just like his mother,” Ron declared as he lay back down in bed.
Harry agreed with a grin. “With any luck, he’ll be a Gryffindor.”
Ron laughed and settled in to sleep.
“Do you want me to stay?” Harry asked the same question every night, because some nights the treatment left Ron unable to bear anyone’s touch.
Ron nodded, and Harry got into bed next to him. He leaned over to kiss Ron good night; Ron waved his hand to put out the candles, when all of a sudden the curtain burst into flames. Harry calmly picked up his wand and waved it, extinguishing the fire almost as quickly as it had begun. He was used to such things; Ron’s magic had gone haywire, a side effect of his illness.
~*~
Four months, two weeks, and three days after Ron went into St. Mungo’s to begin treatment for Jobin’s disease, Healer Sanderson swept into his room with the news they’d all been so desperate to hear.
“You can pack up your things, Mr. Weasley. It’s time for you to go home.”
“Home?” The word sounded almost foreign to Ron now; he’d been there for so long he wasn’t sure he remembered what home looked like.
“Yes, home. I don’t treat wizards who aren’t sick.” She smiled at him, her expression warm. “I got your most recent test results. The disease is gone and there are no longer any traces of it anywhere in your body. The treatment has been completely successful and I’m happy to release you today.”
Ron sat, a little stunned. He’d been feeling much better over recent weeks, but had expected he would continue on with his treatment for a while yet. “Really? I can go home?”
The healer nodded. “I want you to continue taking a potion every night for the next week, but I see no reason to make you stay any longer. Go home, resume your life.”
Harry kissed Ron’s temple, then went over to Healer Sanderson and swept her up in an impulsive hug. “Thank you for everything,” he murmured in her ear.
“Really, Mr. Potter,” she said, but the blush on her face told him she hadn’t minded one bit.
Ron stood and made his way over to where the healer was. “Thank you,” he said, embracing her briefly. She patted his back, and then told them about the discharge procedure and left them alone to pack.
Harry waved his wand, and all of their belongings started flying into two large bags that had magically appeared from a cupboard. Once they were packed, Harry shrunk the bags and tucked them into his pocket. He held out his hand to Ron, who took it and laced his fingers through Harry’s.
“You ready to go home?” Harry asked gently.
Ron gave the room that had been his home for the past four months one last look, then nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Pairings: Ron/Harry, Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Ron is diagnosed with a serious illness, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley family rally around him to help him through it.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This was written for magicofisis as part of the magicoffriends community. My thanks go to aome and abigail89 for the most excellent betas. I've purposely ignored some of Deathly Hallows to suit the story.
Ron should not have been this tired.
He’d just gotten home from work and could only muster the energy to drag himself to the couch and flop onto it. And he shouldn’t have been this tired, he knew; he’d been in his office for most of the day. He hadn’t gotten as much sleep the previous night as he should have, thanks to Harry, but he never complained about that. He loved Harry as much as Harry loved him.
But he was so exhausted that he didn’t even hear his husband arrive home an hour later.
“Ron?” Harry said softly, lifting Ron’s feet up so he could sit down and placing them on his lap. “Have you been here since you got home?”
Ron opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him intensely, with those green eyes that Ron so adored looking in to. “Yeah,” he said, struggling to sit up. “I’m exhausted.” He allowed Harry to help him into a sitting position. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Harry said with a smile. He leaned in and kissed Ron softly. “Long day?”
Ron lay back down on the couch. “Not really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired all the time lately.”
Harry frowned and pulled Ron’s shoes off, dropping them onto the floor. “Maybe you should go see a healer,” he said, massaging Ron’s feet.
“Nah, it’s nothing. I’m just tired, is all.”
Harry’s frown didn’t dissipate as he continued to massage Ron’s feet. “Are you hungry?”
Ron thought for a moment. “No, not really.” He didn’t see the look of alarm on Harry’s face as he closed his eyes again.
“I’ll get some dinner on anyway, and you can see how you feel when it’s ready.”
“Okay.” Ron felt Harry move off the couch, and then the brush of lips against his temple.
“Love you,” Harry whispered in his ear.
“Love you, too,” Ron said sleepily. He didn’t hear Harry cooking in the kitchen, or firecalling Hermione.
~*~
“Where the hell did this come from? You didn’t have this last night!”
Ron felt Harry’s fingers ghosting over his lower right side. “What?”
Harry had stuck his head in the shower to ask what Ron wanted for breakfast, and Ron could hear the worry in Harry’s voice. He twisted around to see what Harry was talking about, and caught sight of the large, purple-grey bruise sitting behind his right hip. “Weird,” he said, as Harry touched it again gently. “I don’t remember hurting myself there.”
“I’m owling the healer right now to see if we can get you an appointment this morning,” Harry said determinedly. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.” He paused for a moment, his mouth curling up in a small smile. “Neither will Hermione.”
“Oh, that’s low, even for you!” Ron said in mock anger. “You know I’ll go if it means I get to avoid having Hermione nag me for the next ten years. You’re a cruel man, bringing her into it. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Harry laughed. “Because you love me. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
“Just some toast, I think.” He grabbed Harry’s arm, deliberately wetting his sleeve, and kissed him. “Cruel.”
Harry just laughed and patted Ron’s bottom affectionately. “Don’t be too long - your toast will get cold.”
Ron tutted. “Are you a wizard or not? Ever heard of a warming charm?”
The sound of Harry’s laughter echoed through the bathroom as he walked out.
Ron waited until Harry was out the door before he twisted again to look at the bruise. It wasn’t the only bruise he had on his body - he’d noticed them popping up with some frequency over the recent months - but it was certainly the biggest.
As he stepped out of the shower and started to dry himself, he wondered if something was really wrong.
~*~
“Thanks for fitting us in with such short notice, Healer Sanderson.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Potter.” The short, stout Scottish witch had been seeing Harry and Ron for many years now, and they both liked her immensely. They’d never seen her grey and dark brown hair in anything other than a bun, and her no-nonsense attitude served them well. She stated the facts and didn’t treat them any differently from any of her other patients. “Now, tell me what brings you both here this morning.”
Ron told her about his exhaustion and weariness, the bruises, and how run down he felt in general. Harry helpfully added Ron’s lack of appetite to the list.
“Hmmm,” the healer said, as her wand flew up and down in front of Ron. A piece of parchment hung in the air next to her, and words appeared magically on it as her wand continued to move to and fro. “Any problems with your magic?”
“No,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Ron simultaneously. He felt Harry’s questioning gaze burning into him, but didn’t turn to meet it.
“What type of problems?” asked the healer.
“Just little things,” Ron acknowledged. “I accio one thing and get something else. One spell turns into another. Nothing major, and it’s not frequent, so I just put it down to being tired.”
Healer Sanderson eyed him thoughtfully. “I’d like to run some tests on you, Mr. Weasley. Just to rule things out, you see.”
She instructed him to lie down on the bed behind him, and fifteen minutes later the tests were apparently over. Ron hadn’t felt a thing.
“I’ll owl you as soon as I have results.”
“Do you have any idea what it might be?” Harry asked, struggling not to sound anxious.
Healer Sanderson looked from one man to the other, and her face softened a little. “It could be one of a few things, and I honestly don’t know which it is yet. So let’s wait and see, shall we?” Moments later, she was back to her brisk self. “Are you out and about today, Mr. Weasley, or in the office?”
“In the office today,” Ron answered. “I’m not due out until next week.”
Healer Sanderson nodded. “I want you to take it easy today, just to be safe. Now scoot, you two, I have other patients to see.” Her brusque tone might have put off someone who didn’t know her very well, but neither man was bothered.
Healer Sanderson looked as pleased as punch when Harry kissed her on the cheek before they left.
~*~
Harry had just settled into his chair to work on some files after his early afternoon meeting when the pale purple memo zoomed through his door and fluttered overhead. He grabbed the tiny piece of parchment and instantly recognised Ron’s scrawl.
H,
Healer Sanderson wants me to go see her at 4pm for the test results, and she said I should bring you with me. Hope that’s not a sign it’s something bad.
Love you,
R
Harry stared at the parchment, his throat going dry. Something was wrong, he could tell. If it had been nothing serious, Healer Sanderson would have said so in her owl. The fact that she wanted to see them both in person meant something was wrong.
He tried not to worry. He managed to resist the urge to go to his husband for a whole ten minutes before he threw down the quill that had been hovering over a piece of parchment without writing a single word, and stood up.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told his secretary as he strode out of his office. She nodded but said nothing.
He took the elevator from level two to level seven, and was almost relieved when the doors opened on level five to reveal a six months pregnant Hermione Malfoy.
“Harry!” She got in and kissed his cheek, and he held her as close as he could for a few long moments.
“I’m glad to see you,” he confessed.
“I got an owl from Ron ten minutes ago,” she said. “He told me you have to see the healer at four, so I wanted to drop by and give him a hug. I’m worried about him.”
Harry took in Hermione’s appearance; she was as beautiful as ever, but her face was pale and the grey smudges underneath her eyes couldn’t be missed. He realised that she’d been losing sleep and, because he knew her so well, could guess the reason why.
“How long have you suspected something was wrong?”
Hermione eyed him thoughtfully, and took a deep breath before answering. “A few weeks, no more. I wasn’t truly worried until Ron showed me one or two of his bruises and confided his magic was, in his words, ‘wonky’.”
She didn’t miss the flare of hurt in her best friend’s eyes. “He told you about his magic?”
Hermione gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t be angry with him, Harry. He didn’t want to worry you because he wasn’t sure it meant anything.”
“He should have seen a healer before now,” Harry said, his anger still smouldering.
“Perhaps,” Hermione said. “But what matters now is that he has, and if something is seriously wrong he’s going to need you now more than ever. He’s going to need all of us.”
The elevator doors opened on Ron’s floor and they both got out. “You know what’s wrong with him, don’t you?” Harry said.
“I’m not a healer. I don’t know anything for sure.”
“But you suspect something.”
Hermione shrugged non-committedly, trying to drop the subject, but Harry took her hand and led her into an alcove that shielded them from view.
“Tell me, Hermione,” he said, keeping his hand firmly entwined around hers to stop her leaving. “If you know what it is, I want to know.”
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes looking down. “I told you, I don’t know anything for sure!”
Harry took a deep breath to stop himself from shaking her, then gently lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “Hermione,” he said gently. “You are the smartest person I know, and I know a lot of people. If anyone could make an educated guess, it’s you. Please, sweetheart. If you know what’s wrong with Ron, tell me. I have to know.” His voice broke, and his eyes pleaded with hers.
Hermione blinked back tears. “Based on all his symptoms - the extreme tiredness, the bruises, the problems with his magic, the lack of appetite - it sounds as though Ron might - and I do mean might, Harry - have Jobin’s disease.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she burst into tears, and Harry drew her to him, holding her close as she cried.
“Oh, God,” he said, closing his eyes to stop himself joining her. There wasn’t a wizard alive who didn’t know about Jobin’s disease. Alfredic Jobin had first discovered the disease two centuries ago, but had largely been written off as a heretic by his peers. They had said it wasn’t possible for a disease to attack the magic of a wizard, but as the number of people diagnosed with the disease grew, the medical community could no longer ignore its existence. Jobin himself eventually died from it.
“It’s treatable, though,” Harry murmured more to himself. “Depends on how bad it is.”
Hermione pulled back far enough to look at Harry as he wiped away her tears. “Oh yes, of course. These days more than eighty percent of those diagnosed make a full recovery, thanks to the many advances in understanding magic. I’ve done some research and if Ron does have it, he’s only in the early stages so there’s absolutely no reason to think he won’t recover completely.” She was putting on a brave face, and Harry knew it.
“Right, well, what we need to do right now is go and see Ron, and wait until the healer confirms what’s wrong with him.” Harry breathed in and out, trying not to fall apart completely. No point doing that until he knew there was something to fall apart over.
Once they were both ready, they went to hug the man they both loved.
~*~
At precisely four o’clock that Tuesday afternoon, Ron and Harry were seated opposite Healer Sanderson.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it,” she said. “I’m so very sorry, Ron, but you have Jobin’s disease.”
The room was totally silent for a few moments as both men took in the news.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his face and voice totally devoid of any emotion.
Healer Sanderson nodded. “Yes. I analyzed it myself.”
Ron, who had been totally silent, blindly reached out a hand. Harry took it and laced their fingers together.
“Neither of you seem terribly surprised,” the healer noted softly. “Did Mrs. Malfoy work it out?”
Harry nodded, while Ron spoke. “I did my own research, actually. All the symptoms fit.”
Harry turned to look at Ron, who refused to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ron brought their joint hands up to his lips and kissed Harry’s hand. “I didn’t want to worry you until we were sure.”
Harry tamped down the flare of anger that burst through him. “You should have told me,” he said evenly, angry that Ron had kept something so important from him.
“Harry, I only figured it out this morning, after I got the owl to come here,” Ron said, finally looking over at his husband. “Does it really matter now?”
Harry felt the anger whoosh out of him like a deflated balloon. “No, of course it doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
Ron smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. “I know.” He turned back to Healer Sanderson, who was waiting patiently. “Am I dying?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” the healer said brusquely. “I don’t have time for dying patients, Mr Weasley, so you can get that thought out of your head. We’ve caught it fairly early, so with the right treatment I have no reason to believe you won’t make a full recovery.
“However, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. The next five months are going to be tough for both of you. I’m not going to sugar coat it for you, Ron - the treatment is most unpleasant. There are many side effects, and you’ll feel sicker than you ever have before. There are no guarantees with Jobin’s disease.” She took in Ron’s pale face and the anxiety and worry etched into Harry’s.
“But on the bright side, once it’s over you’ll walk out of here feeling as good as new. And as you probably know, once you’ve recovered you can never get it again - part of the treatment gives you an immunity from the disease.”
“But Hermione told me that you can’t get that immunity until you’ve actually gotten the disease, is that right?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy is correct,” Healer Sanderson confirmed. “Did she also tell you that it’s not contagious?” Harry nodded. “Smart witch, that one. Wish she’d do more than just consult for this hospital.”
“So, what now?” Ron asked.
The healer grasped a small pile of parchment and gave it to Harry. “I’ve prepared a file with information and paperwork that needs to be completed, but that can wait for later. What I want both of you to do right now is go home, and be there for each other. Tell your family and your close friends, because you’re going to need their love and support.
“Go home, and let it out. Cry, scream, do whatever you have to do. Tomorrow morning, I want you to come back here first thing so I can show you around and walk you through exactly what will happen. Then I’ll give you a couple of days to get everything in order, and will expect you on Friday morning to begin treatment.
“You’ll need to stay here at St. Mungo’s while you’re having the treatment, Ron, so you can be monitored around the clock. That way, should anything not go as we plan, you’re here. Do you have any questions?”
Harry squeezed Ron’s hand once more. “Will I be able to stay at the hospital with him?”
“I don’t see any reason why not. He’ll be having treatment during the day, but if you wish to stay through the night, you may. Each room comes equipped with its own bathroom and extra sleeping space for immediate family, and food will be provided for you.”
Ron nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now. If you have any further questions, owl me. Take this information home and have a look when you’re ready, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She stood and came around to where they sat and gave Ron’s arm a squeeze, before leaving them alone in the consulting room.
They rose up out of their chairs and stood for a moment, facing each other without saying a word, and then Harry opened his arms. Ron stepped into them willingly, breathing deeply and trying not to break down.
The knock on the door interrupted them before they had the chance to say anything, and Healer Sanderson’s head poked back around the door. “Mrs. Malfoy is outside and is most anxious to come in and see you. Do you want me to send her away or let her in?”
“Let her in, please,” Ron said, pulling away from Harry but keeping hold of his hand.
Healer Sanderson nodded and disappeared, and moments later Hermione entered the room. “Hi! I just had a check up and thought I’d pop by and see what the healer said.” She looked from Ron to Harry and back again. “Well?” she asked softly. “What’s the diagnosis?”
Ron smiled. “You were right, Hermione. As always.”
She blinked a few times and glanced at Harry. “Jobin’s,” she said.
“Jobin’s,” Ron confirmed with a nod.
Hermione bit her lip and looked away for a moment, obviously trying to compose herself. But when she looked at her best friends, the tears wouldn’t be abated.
“Oh, Ron,” she whispered, as the news of his illness finally sunk in. And that was all she needed to say. Tears started to fall down her cheeks, and she was unable to hold in her grief. Ron opened his arms and she flew into them, hugging him tightly. She started to cry in earnest, and it wasn’t long before Ron did, too. They both reached out for Harry, who stood frozen next to them, and as he was pulled into the warmth of their embrace, his tears flowed with theirs.
~*~
When Ron and Harry got home, they went into their bedroom and lay together on their bed. The seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to an hour. No words were exchanged or needed to be said; all the comfort they needed, they found in each other’s arms. Eventually, Ron made himself get up and, with Harry, flooed over to the Burrow. Both the elder Weasleys cried at the news and vowed to do whatever they could to help their youngest son through his illness. He asked them not to say anything to his siblings, because he wanted to do it himself. Molly reluctantly let him and Harry go, so he could start writing owls and get everything sorted.
When they got home, Harry insisted Ron eat something before he got in touch with his siblings. He ate to appease his husband, even though he had no appetite. He firecalled Ginny in China, where she was on tour with the Holyhead Harpies; she was distressed by the news and promised to come back to England as soon as she could. Once he assured her he’d keep her posted and closed the connection, Ron had a relaxing shower and changed into his pyjamas. He then decided that he was wasn’t ready to go through the same conversation with his brothers, so instead he sat down in the study and wrote to each of them, tailoring each note to suit the brother in question.
Once he sent the owls out into the night, he was surprised to find that while he was tired, he couldn’t sleep. Harry had been busy making firecalls to various people while Ron had been in the study, to arrange time off work for the next day. Ron sat on their bed and began reading the information that had been sent home with him about what to expect over the coming months while Harry finished up, and once he was done, Harry joined him.
It was only later that night, as they lay together in the moonlight, that Ron succumbed to the darkness that had been creeping over him since that morning. He cried out his fears and his worries, and let Harry hold him tightly and kiss everything away. He drew strength from his husband, knowing it would be the first of many such days and feeling guilty because he needed it so much.
~*~
Ron,
Fleur and I are most upset about the news, mate. I’m glad to hear that your healer is confident you’ll make a full recovery. We’ve told the kids you’re not well and they’ve already gone through a stack of parchment drawing you pictures to hang up in the hospital. I’ll be bringing them over personally. See you soon.
Love,
Bill
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ron,
You daft bugger! What the hell are you doing getting Jobin’s disease? I suppose if you’re going to be sick, you may as well go all out, eh?
Seriously? I love you and I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Charlie
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dear Ron
I’m very sorry to hear about your diagnosis. I’m sure St. Mungo’s will be able to treat you more than adequately; I’m familiar with some of the staff there, through my important work at the Ministry, and I know they will do a good job.
Keep your chin up, and don’t let Harry break anything - I’ve seen his temper.
Love,
Percy
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ronniekins,
Well done! You’ve picked one of the most serious diseases a wizard can have! We’re very proud of you for not doing anything by half and we’re already writing a list of stuff from the shop we’re going to bring you to help make your stay at St. Mungo’s a good one. Leave it all to us, we won’t let you down! If you get any healers that need to be taught a lesson, all you have to do is let us know.
Love,
F&G
PS: We’ll bring the toilet seat.
~*~
Hermione was already there when they arrived the next morning, having insisted on accompanying them the previous day, and the three of them were escorted around the hospital by Healer Sanderson. She told Ron that he would start the treatment that night; he would take a potion at home every night until he was admitted on Friday. She explained what the rest of the treatment entailed, what possible side effects Ron might suffer, and showed them the part of the hospital that Ron and Harry would call home for the next five months. Their private space consisted of two average size rooms; one was a bedroom for Ron, with a large bed and en-suite bathroom, and the other was a living area with a couch that could be converted to another bed. Down the hall was a shop that stocked everything a patient might need to alleviate pain or boredom, or both.
Healer Sanderson made it clear that visitors would need to be kept to a minimum to ensure Ron got the rest he needed in between sessions, but gave him free licence to bring whatever he wanted to the hospital.
Hermione had been terribly quiet for the entire tour, which was unlike her. Her lips thinned as she looked around Ron’s rooms, and Harry could almost see the cogs turning in her head. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at her when he managed to catch her eye, but she didn’t give anything away.
Once their tour was over, Healer Sanderson gave them a few days to get everything done that needed to be done, and asked Ron to come back first thing Friday morning
~*~
That afternoon, Molly firecalled to ask if they felt up to having dinner at the Burrow. Ron was extraordinarily tired, but wanted to see his parents so he didn’t say no. When he and Harry arrived an hour later, Ron was shocked to find the kitchen was not only occupied by his parents, but by two more redheads: one with long hair tied back into a loose ponytail, the other with numerous burns over his face and arms. Both wore cheerful grins and stood up when he arrived.
“Bill,” Ron said, allowing his oldest brother to pull him into a hug. “Charlie.” The brother in question pulled him away from Bill to administer a hug of his own. “What are you guys doing here?”
Bill sat back down and picked up the goblet of elderberry wine in front of him. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Ron,” he said. “I told you in my owl last night that I’d deliver the kids’ pictures personally.”
“And I said I’d be here as soon as I could,” Charlie chimed in. “I got the first Portkey out this morning.”
“You really didn’t have to,” Ron said, swiping at his misty eyes.
“Sure we did,” Charlie said. “Now tell us what the healer said.”
Ron relayed everything he’d been told, with Harry chiming in when Ron floundered over the details. He then hugged his parents as his brothers greeted Harry, and the six of them sat and ate some appetizers that Molly had laid out for them. While she cooked dinner, the men chatted about Quidditch and work, deliberately avoiding the more serious topic that was foremost on everyone’s minds. As dusk approached and the sun set, Fred and George arrived, followed soon after by Percy and his family. His daughters flung themselves into Uncle Ron’s arms, and proudly presented him with some gifts they’d made.
Just before six, the loud crack of Apparition rent the air, and feminine voice called out from the living room. “HELLO! ANYBODY HOME?”
“Ginny,” Ron breathed, before getting up off his chair and going into the living room. “Hey,” he said as she threw off her cloak.
“Ron!” Ginny didn’t hesitate to throw herself at her brother, wrapping herself around him as he picked her up in a hug. “Oh, Ron,” she breathed in his ear. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“You’re supposed to be on tour!”
Gin slid to the ground, finally letting him go. “Fuck Quidditch,” she said dismissively. “You’re more important.”
Ron had to breathe in and out a few times to stop himself from crying. “Thanks, Gin,” he whispered. After one final squeeze, Ginny let him go and wandered past him into the kitchen to greet the rest of her family.
Ron took a few moments to compose himself before following his sister back into the kitchen; he was a little overwhelmed and very grateful that his entire family had come from whatever part of the world they lived in to be with him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed them until now.
Only one person was missing, and she turned up, with her husband in tow, just as Molly was serving up dinner. “I’m sorry we’re late,” Hermione said as she greeted each Weasley in turn. “Draco got unavoidably detained at work.”
Draco Malfoy clearly looked like he was feeling out of his depth with so many Weasleys in one place, but to his credit he did his best not to show it. Theirs was a strange coupling, Ron mused as he sat and ate his mother’s cooking. They’d been forced to work together on a case for the Ministry five years ago, and somewhere along the line they’d gone from being schoolyard enemies to friends. From there, quite slowly and to everyone’s surprise, a romance had developed between them. Still, he and Harry had been wary of Malfoy, even when Hermione confided in them that he had asked her to marry him. It wasn’t until after the marriage that they’d come to see that Draco Malfoy was no longer the arrogant prick he’d been at Hogwarts, and that despite their wanting otherwise, he really did love Hermione and made her happy. But Ron knew that neither he nor Harry would hesitate to make good on their threat to beat the living daylights out of Malfoy if he ever so much as harmed a hair on Hermione’s head. So far, though, he’d given them no reason to do so, and now they were expecting their first baby in three months time.
Funny how the world worked sometimes, Ron thought.
~*~
On Friday morning, Ron and Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s to find Healer Sanderson waiting for them. She greeted them warmly and led them down the corridor they’d seen on Tuesday, but both men were surprised when she walked straight past the door that led to the room they believed Ron would be staying in.
“Healer Sanderson,” Ron called out. “Isn’t this my room here?”
The healer looked over her shoulder without breaking stride. “We’ve moved you to another room, Mr. Weasley, so I suggest you catch up.”
Ron glanced over at Harry, who simply shrugged and laced his fingers through Ron’s, dragging him after the healer, who was almost out of sight. They eventually caught up to find her standing outside a door at the end of another corridor.
“This is your room here,” she said. “I’ll leave you to get settled, and I’ll be back in an hour or so.” With that, she promptly disappeared, leaving them on their own.
They exchanged a puzzled glance, and Ron pushed the door open. What greeted them behind it left them both open mouthed and speechless: the room was enormous, much bigger than any of the others they’d seen earlier in the week. A bed big enough for the both of them was positioned underneath bay windows to allow maximum exposure to the sun. The walls were painted Chudley Cannons orange, and various posters and banners of the Quidditch team were pinned up. On either side of the bed was a small table, and on each table was a framed photograph. To the right of the bed was a bookcase, every shelf laden with books and comics. More photos were scattered on each shelf. To the left of the bed was a comfortable looking chaise lounge, presumably for Harry to rest on while he was watching over Ron.
On the bed was an orange and black quilt, and sitting neatly at the foot of the bed in two separate piles were pyjamas with broomsticks whizzing to and fro, dressing gowns and slippers. On the chaise was a blanket and two pillows.
Harry moved across to the right of the room when he spotted the doorway. It led to a tastefully decorated, good sized bathroom, which had a large copper tub with a dozen taps arranged as a fountain, and a separate shower.
“There’s a kitchen over here,” he heard Ron call out. Following him across to the other side of the room, he entered the first of the two doorways on this side and saw the cupboards fully stocked with food. An icy blue square of contained magic sat in one corner, to be used for keeping things cold. Harry could see there were already several dozen bottles of various drinks, along with butter and milk. All the essentials were there.
“This is incredible,” Ron said. “Did you do this?”
“I wish I could say yes, love,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “But I’ve had so much on my mind these last few days-”
“I know,” Ron replied, squeezing his hand. “I just don’t understand.”
But it became very clear when they went into the final room to find none other than Draco Malfoy sprawled out on the sofa, reading a newspaper. This was obviously the living area, given the presence of two sofas, a coffee table with two neat stacks of magazines, a television with an enormous screen, a DVD player, a wireless, and a beanbag (in Chudley Cannons orange, no less). Along the far wall was what looked like a tiny owlery, obviously designed to accommodate three to four owls. Along another wall was a fully equipped desk, presumably for Harry to work from.
“Malfoy?” Ron said, unable to disguise his surprise.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” Malfoy drawled, putting his paper down so he could see them. “I’ve been waiting for at least half an hour. I’m a busy man, you know, Weasley. Places to go, people to crush.” He spoke in such a pleasant manner than one might have thought he was discussing the weather.
“You did this?” Harry exclaimed.
“Of course I did. Who else would have the resources to do all of this in three days?” Malfoy waved his hand about in a flourish. “You wouldn’t believe how many elves I had to pay to get this done. Not to mention the sizeable donation I had to give the hospital to make it happen. Although why you’d want to support a Quidditch team with such garish colours is beyond me, Weasley. I mean, really. Orange?”
“But… why?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.
“What, don’t you like it?”
“No, it’s not that at all. It’s great, it really is. I’m just… surprised.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I know you have a tough time believing it, but I love my wife,” he said. “And for reasons I’ll never be able to work out, she loves the two of you. So when she asked me if I could do something to make your stay a bit more comfortable, I couldn’t find any reason to refuse her. And believe me, I tried. Anyway, most of this was her doing. She supervised it and chose everything, I just paid for it.”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Harry said quietly.
Malfoy looked him in the eye. “I know I didn’t. But it will help.” With that, he got up from the sofa and tucked the newspaper under his arm. “Anyway, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I must dash. I expect you’ll want to get settled, anyway. Hermione said to tell you that she’ll come see you this afternoon and make sure you have everything you need.”
“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ron croaked. “For everything.”
“I bet that hurt,” Malfoy said, but the slight smile on his face showed he meant no malice. He patted Ron’s back so briefly that if Harry had blinked, he’d have missed it. “Don’t thank me, Weasley. Thank my wife.” With that, he left the room and the two men alone. They went back into the bedroom and Ron lay down on the bed.
“I can’t believe this,” Ron said, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the bed dip slightly at the end as Harry sat down.
“Just when I think Malfoy can’t surprise me any more, he does.” Harry couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “This really was very decent of him, Ron.”
Ron sat up. “Yeah, it was. But don’t tell him that, his head’s big enough as it is.”
They both laughed, and then Ron lay back down on the bed. Harry joined him, kicking off his shoes and stretching out next to his husband. They stayed that way until Healer Sanderson came back to get Ron for his first round of treatment. The potion he’d started to take every night had left him even more lethargic, so Harry was worried about what everything else would do to Ron.
It seemed that mere minutes had passed before Healer Sanderson was knocking on the door. “It’s time, Ron,” she said gently. “Are you ready?”
Ron nodded, and the healer shut the door again to allow the two men a few moments privacy.
“Guess I’d better go, then,” Ron said, his mouth curling upwards into as much of a smile as he could manage.
“I’ll be here when you come back.”
Ron closed his eyes for a moment and took great comfort from those few words, knowing that the person he loved most in the world would be waiting for him. “I love you,” he said quietly, opening his eyes.
“I love you, too,” Harry responded. He leaned in and gave Ron a lingering kiss, and then watched as Ron followed Healer Sanderson down the corridor and out of sight.
He sat down on the bed forlornly, feeling completely useless and not knowing what to do with himself while he waited. The coming months were going to entail a lot of waiting, and he felt suddenly grateful to Hermione and Malfoy for the space they’d given them - the desk was going to prove very useful. It meant he could work and be close by to support Ron.
He went back over to the bed and looked at the two piles of sleepwear at the end of it, smiling as he observed them closely. Then, brushing them aside, he lay down on the bed alone, wondering how long it would before Ron was returned to him.
Harry had no idea how much time had passed when the knock on the door caused him to sit up again.
“Hi,” Hermione said, moving her bulky frame through the door. “Am I too late to wish Ron well?”
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “He left a little while ago.”
Hermione’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I got waylaid by a member of the Wizengamot who wouldn’t leave me alone.” She went over and sat next to Harry, rubbing a hand over her belly.
“Is everything all right with the baby?” Harry asked, brushing a stray hair off her face. “You look tired.”
“The baby is fine, but I’m exhausted.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and the two friends sat together, drawing strength and comfort from each other.
“You really should be resting, you know, not working harder than ever. You and the baby are more important than the Wizengamot.”
“You sound like Draco,” Hermione said with a laugh as she lifted her head. “I’m okay, honestly. Just uncomfortable now I’m so big. I’ve already started to pass my workload on to others.”
“Good,” Harry said, impulsively putting his arms around her and kissing her temple affectionately. “I don’t want to be worried about you, too. And thank you, by the way, for everything you did here. This place is great!”
Hermione beamed at him. “Did Ron like it?”
“Are you kidding? I think he’s ready to move in permanently.”
They both laughed a little, and it did Harry’s heart good to still be able to smile about something.
“I thought it would help Ron’s recovery if his quarters had a bit of familiarity for him.”
“The walls are a nice touch.”
“That was Draco’s idea, actually. Anyway, I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay. I’ve got another case before the Wizengamot this afternoon and I want to take a final look over all my notes.” She held her arms up. “Help me up, please?” Harry stood and obliged by grabbing them and helping her up off the bed. With a hug, she was gone, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
~*~
Over the next few months, Ron and Harry settled into a routine at the hospital. Ron started his treatment every morning, then came back to have lunch with Harry (although he wasn’t always able to eat anything, but he appreciated the break) before heading back for more treatment in the afternoon. While Ron was gone, Harry kept himself occupied with work when he could manage it, although he allowed himself some time to sit and read or chat to the various family and friends who dropped by regularly. Molly and Arthur came by every day to see how Ron was, and Harry religiously owled the Weasley siblings to keep them posted on Ron’s progress. Fred and George were chased out of St. Mungo’s on more than one occasion for disrupting the peace, but it made Ron laugh every single time.
The treatment, as Healer Sanderson said it would, made Ron sicker than he’d ever been, but Harry and his family were with him every step of the way, and Ron didn’t know what he would have done without them. In his darkest moments, he begged Harry to leave him and move on, but Harry always squashed any such notions with a stern gaze, a few words, and a kiss. Harry made it clear to Ron that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Almost three months after Ron went into St. Mungo’s, Hermione went into labour. A beautiful owl arrived at their window one afternoon, leg proudly stuck out to deliver the small piece of parchment. On it was Malfoy’s elegant scroll, informing them that Hermione was two floors above them, getting ready to deliver their son.
Late that night, long past visiting hours, Ron was lying in bed with Harry perched next to him reading aloud from a Quidditch magazine, when there was a knock at the open door. They both looked up, and Ron let out a delighted, “Hermione!”
“Hi,” a tired but beaming Hermione said as she slowly shuffled into the room. Malfoy was right behind her, a small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms.
Harry helped Ron up into a sitting position as Hermione perched herself on the edge of the bed next to Ron. He leaned over to kiss her, his lips lingering on her cheek. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. I thought you might want to meet our son.” She turned to her husband, who handed the baby to her and stood next to her with his hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I’d love to,” Ron said, his voice a little hoarse. Hermione carefully placed the baby in his arms, making sure his head was properly supported.
“Oh, Hermione,” Harry said, as he studied the baby’s button nose and soft, wispy pale hair. “He’s beautiful!”
“Of course he’s beautiful,” Draco said smugly, “he’s a Malfoy.”
Once upon a time, Ron and Harry would have had a smart comeback for such a comment, but time and adulthood had tempered their tongues. “Congratulations, Dad,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Potter.”
“Does he have a name?” Ron asked as he ran a finger down the baby’s cheek, marveling at the softness of the tiny boy’s skin. Looking at the baby made Ron even more determined to beat his illness so he could see his godson grow up.
“He does,” Hermione said. “His name is Julian Luka Malfoy.”
“Hi, Julian,” Ron said, lifting him up for a kiss. “I’m your Uncle Ron, and this is your Uncle Harry. Here, you want to hold him?” Harry nodded and Ron carefully passed the baby to him. The three friends chatted for a short while about the birth and the new arrival; Malfoy stood silently behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders, every inch the proud new papa.
The Malfoys were eventually shooed away by Healer Sanderson herself, who’d come to check on her patient and declared that both Ron and Hermione needed to get some sleep. Harry handed the baby back to his father, and Hermione hugged her best friends goodbye before the new family left to get some sleep.
“He’s beautiful, just like his mother,” Ron declared as he lay back down in bed.
Harry agreed with a grin. “With any luck, he’ll be a Gryffindor.”
Ron laughed and settled in to sleep.
“Do you want me to stay?” Harry asked the same question every night, because some nights the treatment left Ron unable to bear anyone’s touch.
Ron nodded, and Harry got into bed next to him. He leaned over to kiss Ron good night; Ron waved his hand to put out the candles, when all of a sudden the curtain burst into flames. Harry calmly picked up his wand and waved it, extinguishing the fire almost as quickly as it had begun. He was used to such things; Ron’s magic had gone haywire, a side effect of his illness.
~*~
Four months, two weeks, and three days after Ron went into St. Mungo’s to begin treatment for Jobin’s disease, Healer Sanderson swept into his room with the news they’d all been so desperate to hear.
“You can pack up your things, Mr. Weasley. It’s time for you to go home.”
“Home?” The word sounded almost foreign to Ron now; he’d been there for so long he wasn’t sure he remembered what home looked like.
“Yes, home. I don’t treat wizards who aren’t sick.” She smiled at him, her expression warm. “I got your most recent test results. The disease is gone and there are no longer any traces of it anywhere in your body. The treatment has been completely successful and I’m happy to release you today.”
Ron sat, a little stunned. He’d been feeling much better over recent weeks, but had expected he would continue on with his treatment for a while yet. “Really? I can go home?”
The healer nodded. “I want you to continue taking a potion every night for the next week, but I see no reason to make you stay any longer. Go home, resume your life.”
Harry kissed Ron’s temple, then went over to Healer Sanderson and swept her up in an impulsive hug. “Thank you for everything,” he murmured in her ear.
“Really, Mr. Potter,” she said, but the blush on her face told him she hadn’t minded one bit.
Ron stood and made his way over to where the healer was. “Thank you,” he said, embracing her briefly. She patted his back, and then told them about the discharge procedure and left them alone to pack.
Harry waved his wand, and all of their belongings started flying into two large bags that had magically appeared from a cupboard. Once they were packed, Harry shrunk the bags and tucked them into his pocket. He held out his hand to Ron, who took it and laced his fingers through Harry’s.
“You ready to go home?” Harry asked gently.
Ron gave the room that had been his home for the past four months one last look, then nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”