Since I don't belong to any HP comms, this is just for my lovely Flist. Hope you guys enjoy it! I liked writing this and want to write more like it, so I gave it a 'verse tag.
Written all the way back in 2007. 778 words.
Title: Burrowing - A Simple Case Of The Normal, Human Flu
Fandom: Harry Potter
Category: General, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Wee!Weasleys
Characters/Pairing: Ron & Percy Weasley
Warnings: Mentions of vomiting.
Summary: Ron has a case of the normal, human flu. Percy is there to help.
Word Count: 778 words.
Date Written: August, 2007
Disclaimer: “Harry Potter” belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing but a magic wand that doesn’t light up anymore. I did write this story, but it makes me no money.
Author's Notes: Wee!Weasleys are adorable. I always felt bad for Percy, being so outside his family in the books. Writing this story just kind of made me feel worse for him, even if his political views are askew. I highly enjoyed writing this and want to do more Wee!Weasley fics in this Burrowing ’verse. Hopefully I will.
Dedication: For BFF-Cousin, the best cousin ever. Screw work, call if you need a babysitter for you or your kids and for Merlin's sake, feel better soon.
When Ron was eight, he got the flu. Not a case of Sproutgaff or Huffatitis or Poxinperosis, but a simple case of the normal, human flu.
He woke around three in the morning, covered in layers of his own sweat, shaking with the chills. Ron scrubbed at his eyes, wondered what had woke him in such a start. In the bed across from him, Percy was snoring softly, every breath in a small gasp and every breath out a small whine.
Something lurched in Ron’s stomach. He sat up, swung his legs out of bed, but that was as far as he made it. Bent over, feet hanging off the bed, covers pushed aside in a rush not to get them messed, Ron's stomach lurched again and he promptly lost that evening’s dinner - pork and potatoes - all over his bedroom floor.
Percy jerked awake, taking only a second to register his surroundings and then leapt out of bed. He grabbed for a waste can, but before he could secure it under his baby brother’s line of attack, Ron stopped vomiting. Percy settled on the bed next to him and Ron instinctively reached for his brother, using both hands to grab at Percy’s arm that wasn’t holding the bucket. Ron shook with a violent tremor, dug his fingers into Percy’s skin until he left little boy-sized marks there, and then burst into tears.
Huge, racking sobs erupted out of him and all Percy could do was rub slow, soft circles on Ron’s back with the arm that Ron wasn’t desperately clutching.
“S’alright,” Percy consoled him. “It’s alright. I’ll get Mum, yeah?”
Ron shook his head, the movement making him nauseous once again, as his stomach lurched. He clutched harder at his big brother’s arm and bent over, gasping for breath, trying to stop the watering in his mouth that signaled only one thing.
“You gonna retch again?” Percy asked and Ron grunted.
Percy stuck the waste can out and Ron buried half his face in it, just as he let loose again. Percy rubbed his back, let Ron clutch his arm and held the bucket steady.
This time, when he was finished, Ron collapsed back onto the bed, his legs still dangling off the side awkwardly.
“Under the covers,” Percy commanded and Ron complied.
Percy felt of Ron’s face, then tucked the covers up to his brother’s chin. Ron’s eyes fell half-closed, his mouth still slightly parted, his lips wet. He reached out and ran his hand along Percy’s arm, where his fingers had left bruises and a nail had drawn a prick of blood.
“Sorry,” he muttered, but Percy just smiled.
“Waking me up in the middle of the night, throwing up on me, beating and bruising me. It’s a wonder I don’t just toss you out the bloody window,” Percy told him, his voice light and teasing and making Ron smile even in his miserable state. “I’ll clean this up, get you some water, rinse that taste out of your mouth, yeah?”
“And Mum,” Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Naturally,” Percy said, smiling.
Ron eyes fell closed then, but he opened them when he heard Percy turn the doorknob.
“Yeah?” Percy asked, turning to meet his brother’s eyes in the light of the moon streaming in from the window.
“Thanks, you know, for looking out for me and all.”
“Somebody has to. Fred and George are completely useless,” Percy said, the twinkle in his eyes from more than just the moon. “And all Bill and Charlie ever think about are birds.”
“Yuck,” Ron said, fake-gagging, only to abruptly stop as his stomach lurched once more.
Percy laughed and turned again to leave.
“What about Ginny?” Ron asked him.
Percy looked over his shoulder at his baby brother and rolled his eyes. “She’s a girl,” he said, as if that were all the explanation he needed to give. “Now lay still. If you throw up on your bed, you are not getting into mine.”
And with a soft click, he closed the door behind himself.
Ron looked over at his brother’s bed, soft and warm and, he imagined, smelling of Percy. He looked down at his own bed where he lay, covered in sweat, hard and heavy and smelling of sick. Ron slid out from under the blankets, his feet careful to avoid the mess on the floor and crossed the room, sliding into Percy’s bed.
It was soft and warm and smelling of his big brother. Ron pulled the covers up higher and closed his eyes.
By the time his mother poked her head into the room, he was fast asleep.