The snake was catching up, closing in on him. He was running, running for his life. Up a staircase, one of the few not yet completely destroyed. The snake slithered behind him with astounding speed, chasing him. He tripped, falling into the banister. For a moment it looked as if he was about to fall over the edge, but he staggered backwards. He slumped against the railing, breathing heavily, eyes closed. The snake took its opportunity, and struck, piercing his leg with its fangs, blood and venom trickling down his calf. He screamed, his body stiffening in agony, blindly groping for anything to relieve the excruciating pain.

The battle was over. They had done it. They had won. Yet the price each side had paid was evident. The clean-up began, the people with the least injuries walking around the castle ruins, calling out to one another, carrying bodies to the Great Hall, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital wing.

Oliver Wood, one of the searchers, trudged up a staircase. He paused when he saw a redheaded body lying on the stairs.

"Shit," he cursed, upon realising who it was. "Come on Ron," he mumbled hurriedly. He crouched down next to the body. He scrambled to find the pulse, to check that Ron was still breathing.

He relaxed slightly upon finding Ron's weak, fluttering pulse. He straightened up and picked up Ron's body, carrying it towards the hospital wing.

The Weasleys were huddled in a corner of the Hall, anxiously waiting for Ron to be found. Harry and Hermione had been dragged off by Madam Pomfrey for an 'examination.'

"Barely seventeen, and running off into forests," she had clucked, her tone a mixture of concern and disapproval.

Someone entered the Great Hall. The assembled people looked up, hoping to see their loved ones enter the Hall, alive and well.

Oliver Wood entered, a grim expression on his face, the unmistakable body of Ron Weasley in his arms.

A collective gasp arose from those waiting.

"Thought he was with Potter," someone murmured.

"Guess he couldn't protect them all," another responded bitterly.

Oliver gently laid Ron on one of the beds, all of which had been conjured by McGonagall. Molly, tears streaming down her face, hurried over to her youngest son's side.

One of the Healers, summoned from St. Mungo's, bustled over. She waved her wand over Ron's lifeless body, and tapped her clipboard. She scanned over the results that appeared. "Right." She looked up at Molly and Arthur, talking as she began to work on Ron. "Our most pressing concern right now is that he's suffered a snakebite. We'll have to see to that immediately. I'll just arrange for the basic Healing potions and an antidote which should lessen the impacts of the snake's venom until we find the correct antidote."

She waved her wand once more, and a thin hospital blanket appeared. The Healer gently passed it to Molly. "Someone will arrange for the potions in a few minutes. Do you best to make yourselves comfortable, hmm?"

Harry and Hermione appeared, both pale. "What happened?" Hermione asked shakily, passing a hand over Ron's face.

"The - the Healer said something about a bite," Molly responded, somewhat stiffly.

Arthur put an arm around his wife. "It'll be alright," he whispered, kissing Molly's cheek.

The diagnosis arrived. The Healers had been unable to find the antivenom, and instead had given Ron a blood transfusion and he had to have powdered bezoar essence twice a day. They couldn't heal him completely, and he slipped in and out of consciousness, in addition to being paralysed from the waist down.

His family found it extremely difficult to cope. They had lost Fred, an integral part of their family unit, and Ron's future was so uncertain.

Hasn't the universe punished us enough? Arthur thought, lying awake in bed one night, unable to sleep. He had always been rather mild-mannered, but in years of late, the war had changed them. It's changed us all, he mused. He glanced at his wife, not covered by any blankets, having shaken them off in her sleep. She's too quiet these days, he thought. She used to be so full of energy. These days, she spent all her time trying to get the other family members to eat, and the rest of her time in their bedroom.

Percy sat in the meadow behind the Burrow, thinking. One of his brothers was dead, and another could look forward to a life lived, at best, on the sidelines. He had provided the blood for Ron. It was the least he could do, after all that had happened between himself and the rest of his family. Ron. The name echoed in his head. How well did he really know Ron, or Ginny, for that matter? He had left home when they were fifteen and thirteen, respectively.

Hermione sat on the window seat in one of the Burrow's bedrooms, swinging her legs.

"You're brooding," Harry spoke up.

Hermione jumped slightly. "As if you can talk," she retorted.

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

"It's just, you're so withdrawn, as if-" Hermione stopped.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat shocked.

"Look, forget it okay? I shouldn't have started to say that, I'm just - I haven't been myself lately. How are you?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Harry got the hint. "I'm alright. Worried about Ron, obviously. I hope the Healers know what they're doing, that they're good people."

Hermione smiled slightly. "You're the same as ever, in some ways."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Remember what Sirius told you, our third year? That the world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters and all? It sounds like you still believe that. I'm not saying the Healers necessarily support the purebloods, but it doesn't mean they are particularly in favour of our side, either. Maybe they're just doing their job."

"I guess," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably.

Hermione closed her eyes for a minute, picturing her boyfriend lying comatose in a hospital bed.

"Give it some thought, eh?" she whispered. "It's time for some controlled change."

Hermione was waiting, waiting for the day her lover could return to her, return to his senses as best as he could.

A/N: Written for Quidditch League.

Prompts used: Blankets, Sentence: S/he's too quiet these days, dialogue: "Look, it doesn't matter – forget it, okay?", "...the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters." – Sirius Black, uncovered

Written for the Doctor Who Appreciation Competition: Amy Pond: write about someone waiting.

Written for the Fan-fiction Terms Category Competition: AU: write about a change (figurative or physical) that happens to someone