Behind These Hazel Eyes- Infiltrated and ill.

"What?" Ron looked a considerable amount like Crabbe and Goyle: his mouth hanging open gormlessly. "W-well good or bad news, Harry?"

"It's hard to say it, but bad. I know that there's no room for bad things anymore, nevertheless, I have to tell you. It's vital." It seemed like there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from speaking, but still he maintained his voice.

Hermione didn't seem to be speaking at all, she just sat on Ron's bed, not at all like her talkative, correcting-people self.

"Just tell us mate. I'm sure we can handle it."

"OK, just brace yourselves..." His hand was shaking, and he couldn't continue speaking.

Miss. Mudblood-Granger...Snape's voice rang in his head, and before long, he couldn't take it anymore. "Hermiizbeentrak" he suddenly blurted out.

"Hermione's bean track? What the hell is a been track?"

"Not a bean track! Being tracked." Once again, Ron looked gormless, and he could have sworn he just saw Hermione's face whiten more. Harry couldn't find the words to say, and felt reluctant that he said it. It appeared that Ron felt the same too.

"The ministry... they track muggleborns, Voldemort.-For God's sake Ron!Will soon have it infiltrated and there will be nothing we can do about it. Hermione and the rest of us will have to go into hiding--"

"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione interupted. "but I cant. I'm not feeling well."

"Well, I'm sure that we can get rid of a bit of headache or stomachache soon enough."

"Smooth!" said Ron.

"No! You don't understand! I'm ill!" Hermione blurted out.

"In what way Hermione?" Ron asked.

"It's-it's an illness... a muggle illness, and there's no cure..."