"So, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?" said Fred.
It was evening; the hospital wing was quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron's was the only occupied bed. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I were sitting around him; we had spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey had only let us enter at eight o'clock. Fred and George had arrived at ten past.
"This isn't how we imagined handing over our present," said George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron's bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.
"Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious," said Fred.
"There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him —" said George.
"You were in Hogsmeade?" asked Ginny, looking up.
"We were thinking of buying Zonko's," said Fred gloomily. "A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it'll do us if you lot aren't allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymore. . . . But never mind that now."
He drew up a chair beside Harry and me, and looked at Ron's pale face. "How exactly did it happen?"
Harry, and I retold the story we had already recounted, it felt like a hundred times to Dumbledore, to McGonagall, to Madam Pomfrey, to Hermione, and to Ginny.
". . . and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he'll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says he'll have to stay here a week or so . . . keep taking essence of rue . . ."
"Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar," said George in a low voice.
"Lucky there was one in the room," said Harry.
"Well it's a good think I actually paid attention in class." I told Harry with a slight glare, although deep down I knew I wouldn't have been fast enough to complete the antidote in time. I was never going to admit that to Harry.
Hermione gave an almost inaudible sniff. She had been exceptionally quiet all day. Having hurtled, white-faced, up to Harry and me outside the hospital wing and demanded to know what had happened, she had taken almost no part in Harry, Ginny, my obsessive discussion about how Ron had been poisoned, but merely stood beside us, clench-jawed and frightened-looking, until at last we had been allowed in to see him.
"Do Mum and Dad know?" Fred asked Ginny.
"They've already seen him, they arrived an hour ago — they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon. . . ."
There was a pause while we all watched Ron mumble a little in his sleep.
"So the poison was in the drink?" said Fred quietly.
"Yes," said Harry at once. "Slughorn poured it out —"
"Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"
"Probably," said Harry, "but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?"
"No idea," said Fred, frowning. "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you or (Y/n)?"
"Why would Slughorn want to poison either Harry or (Y/n)?" asked Ginny.
"I dunno," said Fred, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to poison Harry, mustn't there? 'The Chosen One' and all that? And I'm sure you've made your own share of enemies (Y/n)."
"So you think Slughorn's a Death Eater?" said Ginny.
"Anything's possible," said Fred darkly.
"He could be under the Imperius Curse," said George.
YOU ARE READING
The Weasley of Slytherin: The Half Blood Prince
Fanfiction(Y/n) Riddle has spent almost two months in Azkaban, feeling more and more distract, devoid of almost all interacts expect for the occasional visit. His only hope is his upcoming trial, but who knows how that will end.
