The Worth of Water

The Worth of Water

There was something oddly threatening about the stillness of the room, the lack of sound, the lack of movement. The room, decided Ron, was definitely not alive. But as he entered through the doorway it occurred to him what that meant, and he hurriedly banished the thought from his mind.

George was sitting in the only chair by the bed, fast asleep. Ron gently shook his shoulder, and he woke with a start, then rubbed his eyes with his fists.

"Morning already?" he said.

Ron nodded. "Go home," he said. "I think Charlie and Ginny are making breakfast."

"Where's dad?" asked his brother.

"At work, and so is Bill," Ron answered shortly. "Percy is off running errands," he added, meaning, as they always did, on assignment for the Order.

George shook his head, his recently overgrown red hair scattering messily.

"God, George, you're half-asleep," said Ron. "You're not thinking of Apparating in this condition, are you?"

"No choice, little bro," said George, but hesitated at the look on Ron's face. "Perhaps I'll just dash upstairs and get a coffee first, though."

He left, and Ron took his seat.

The room really was very bleak, despite the patterned curtains and a large potted plant that stood in one corner. He shivered, and turned to the bed. The sheets had slipped a little, so he got up and tucked them more securely around his mother's chest. Up close, she looked more wan than she had from the doorway. Quickly he sat back down and turned his face elsewhere.

The same metal bedsteads, the same striped sheets, although cotton now, not flannel, like in the winter. Ron hated hospitals because nothing ever changed in them, and the uniformity brought back memories he'd sooner forget. Yet somehow he'd gotten to know this particular hospital very well indeed, recently. He snorted; maybe fate enjoyed doing this to him and then watching him squirm.

Molly was asleep, or looked it. Her short, plump form, the one he was used to seeing flying around the house bearing baskets of clean laundry or pots full of food, was lying limp and motionless on the bed. He tried to listen for the sound of her breathing, but the pounding of his heart drowned out any other sound. She was so still, so lifeless.

"Mum?" He leaned forward in his chair. "Mum, can you hear me?"

Molly didn't move, and Ron was quite sure that she could not, in fact, hear him. Still, he kept talking, because the thought of treating his unconscious mother as though she was already dead was infinitely more than he could bear.

"Mum, listen, please. You've got to wake up. Dad misses you, mum; he needs you back. Charlie is sick of doing all the cooking. He keeps saying he's got to get back to work or else they'll sack him. Ginny needs to do her school shopping for her last year, and Hestia's too busy to take her. You've got to wake up."

Maybe she'd just received a particularly vehement Stunner. Those weren't too bad. She might wake at any moment.

"I'll get Bill to cut his hair. I promise!"

Harry had once taken two whole days to wake up from a Stunner. Of course, a week was much longer, but that didn't mean it was impossible.

"I'm sorry, mum! I'm sorry I didn't come home for Christmas! I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Fred!"

She was so very pale and motionless.

"I'll wear a maroon jumper every day, mum, I swear! Mum, wake up, please wake up!"

She didn't wake, and Ron stopped talking. He couldn't think of anything else to tell her, any more promises to make. He felt as though a very tiny candle inside him had just been snuffed, and all these words could not rekindle it. He had said all those things he'd been keeping silent about for seventeen years, all the things he'd thought but never considered speaking aloud, and it hadn't helped. Something trickled down his cheek.

"I love you, mum. Can't you please wake up?"