Chapter 07 – Panic at the Burrow
Fred had been the first to scream. "GEORGE! He's bleeding!"
George skidded into Ron's room, eyes wide at the sight of his younger brother sprawled on the floor, a thin red trail running from his nose. For once, the twins weren't laughing. Fred's voice cracked, "This wasn't us. This wasn't even close to one of our pranks!"
Within minutes, the Burrow was chaos. Ginny's shrill cries echoed down the crooked stairs. "Mum! Ron's hurt!" Percy stormed up behind her, stiff-backed but pale. "What have you two done this time?!" he snapped at the twins.
Fred shook his head violently, voice sharper than usual. "We didn't do anything!"
George, holding up a half-finished joke box, blurted, "Look—our pranks aren't even ready yet! This one doesn't even work!" He shoved the box toward Percy and Molly, hands trembling. "If we were behind this, do you think we'd be standing here panicking?"
But Percy wasn't convinced. "It's always you two," he hissed, though his voice wavered.
Molly shoved past them all, her face ashen as she fell to her knees beside Ron. "Oh my baby… oh no, oh no…" Her hands fluttered helplessly over him, trying to clean the blood with her apron. "Arthur! I need Arthur!"
Charlie was the first to move, bolting downstairs. He fumbled for the fireplace, his usually steady hands uncharacteristically shaking as he grabbed the Floo powder. "The Ministry… I'll get Dad." He hurled the powder into the flames, shouting, "Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office!"
Moments later, Arthur stumbled out of the fireplace, robes covered in soot. His glasses were askew, and the moment his eyes fell on Ron, his breath caught. "Molly—what happened?!"
"They say they didn't do it," Molly whispered, tears threatening to spill. "But look at him, Arthur! Look at him!"
Arthur crouched down, brushing a trembling hand over Ron's forehead. "Merlin's beard… he's burning up. We can't risk waiting—St. Mungo's. Now."
The decision made, the family scrambled. Charlie lifted Ron gently, cradling him against his chest as if he were porcelain. Ginny clung to Molly's skirts, sobbing quietly. Percy, pale and silent now, carried a towel soaked in cold water. Fred and George, uncharacteristically subdued, followed like shadows, their earlier defensiveness giving way to naked fear.
At St. Mungo's, chaos only deepened. Medi-witches hurried about, waving diagnostic charms, scribbling on parchment, muttering under their breath. "No curse damage… no external injuries… brainwave patterns unstable…"
Molly wrung her hands raw, pacing at the foot of Ron's bed. "What's wrong with him? Tell me what's wrong with my son!"
One of the healers sighed, lowering his wand. "We can't… find the source. His body's fine, his magic is stable. But his mind—something's overloading it."
Arthur frowned. "Overloading? What does that even mean?"
"We don't know," the healer admitted.
Panic grew thicker. Finally, in desperation, Molly whispered, "Call Albus. Please. He'll know."
Within the hour, Dumbledore arrived, his long robes sweeping like a tide. His eyes twinkled, but his face was grave. He stood by Ron's bedside, silent for a long moment, then murmured, "This is… peculiar. Most peculiar indeed."
Fred burst out, unable to contain himself. "It wasn't us, Headmaster! We swear!"
Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the twins, calm but penetrating. "I believe you, Frederick, George. This is no ordinary mischief. No prank could leave a child like this."
He sent for Madam Pomfrey. The Hogwarts matron bustled in, carrying her satchel of potions. She wasted no time, running her wand over Ron, clicking her tongue. "Overworked. His mind's been stretched past its limit. Foolish boy." She administered a series of calming draughts and memory stabilizers, her wand glowing as she muttered steadying charms. "He needs rest. Lots of it. No stimulation. His brain is simply overwhelmed."
Molly whispered, "But by what?"
Pomfrey shook her head. "That… I can't say. But I've seen similar exhaustion in students who push themselves too far. The difference is—he's only a child."
The words cut deep. Molly sank into a chair, clutching Ginny close. Arthur stood behind her, his hands firm on her shoulders though his own face was etched with worry.
Two days passed in quiet tension. The ward in St. Mango's was unnaturally still. Fred and George didn't joke. Percy didn't lecture. Ginny curled up beside Molly every night, refusing to let go of her hand.
On the morning of the second day, as sunlight streamed through the ward's tall windows, Ron stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, confusion painted across his face.
Fred nearly toppled over his chair. "He's awake!"
Molly shot to her feet, tears springing anew. "Ron! Oh, thank Merlin—"
Arthur's voice cracked as he leaned closer. "Steady, son. You gave us quite the scare."
Ron blinked, lips dry, voice faint but clear. "Did I… oversleep?"
Fred and George, for the first time in days, burst out laughing and crying at the same time.