Ictus
Hermione flicked her wand, silently sending her family's breakfast dishes to the sink.
I'll clean those later she thought to herself while Ron, Rose, and Hugo assembled in the living room, readying themselves to go to the park.
Hermione was gathering a few last minute things, including, and most essential for her pale-skinned family, Sidney Solar's Sunscreen Salve when a wave of fear washed over her, causing her heart rate to noticeably quicken.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, gripped the back of the nearby kitchen chair to steady herself, and breathed slowly and deeply in and out. Just as she knew it would, the fear quickly began to fade away.
It happened again! Hermione cried silently in frustration as she pulled out the kitchen chair and sunk, suddenly exhausted, into it.
For the past few months she had been experiencing infrequent 'episodes' for lack of a better word. During the most mild attacks (like this one), she felt fearful, but quickly back to normal and, during the worst, would lose conscious awareness and, as such, would experience memory loss. Worst about the latter attacks were the aftermath – for several minutes after she would be in such a state of confusion she could not perform everyday activities. She had one such 'episode' while she was writing a letter to her parents and, for several minutes afterwards, did not remember how to spell the simplest of words!
"Hermione!" Ron called from the other side of the kitchen door. "We're waiting for you."
"Rose, help your brother find his shoes," Ron called over his shoulder as he opened the kitchen door and walked through, rolling his eyes good naturedly at Rose's annoyed groan. His expression turned to concern when he spotted Hermione sitting at the table. "Are you all right?"
Hermione shot up from the chair and gave what she hoped was a convincing smile to her husband. "I'm fine, Ron. I think I'll go help Hugo find his shoes."
Hermione looked away from Ron's still concerned expression as she rushed out the kitchen and into the living room where Rose and Hugo searched in vain.
Moments later Ron joined them, carrying the sunscreen and other essentials she had left on the table.
As Hermione handed Hugo his shoes (Accio always did the trick), she refused to meet Ron's still questioning eyes and tried to ignore her feelings of guilt.
It had been months now and she still hadn't told Ron.
Hermione left the muggle physician, one her parents had recommended to her, with mixed feelings. Upset because of the results. Scared to tell Ron. Glad to finally know for certain what was going on with her.
She looked down at the prescription in her hand as if it was about to attack her. Why did this have to happen to her? Of all the things that could happen to a witch, why did she have to have this? If she had been a muggle, sure there would have been the occasional stare and ignorant remark – that's why afflicted muggles didn't usually advertise their condition. But to be a witch with this problem? She was doomed.
Immediately after the first "episode" she had rushed to the library to find any information she could about what might be going on with her. What she had read about this condition hadn't been good when it came to the response she was likely get from much of the wizarding community. Wizards and witches clearly had some very antiquated beliefs about the origins of the illness.
That was largely why she had decided to go to a muggle doctor instead of a healer. She knew she would get better treatment there.
Now, how am I going to tell Ron? Hermione thought miserably before slipping into a nearby loo and discreetly apparating home.
Later that week, Hermione picked up her prescription and had begun taking the pills. It had been two days now and so far so good. She hadn't experienced any side effects or "episodes."
She had also decided to tell Ron today.
Frankly, she was having a difficult time making excuses about why she felt like apparating to a magical neighborhood to get their groceries instead of driving to the nearby, more convenient muggle store. Or, explaining why she hadn't felt like visiting her parents for the past month (which would also require driving).
Besides, and most importantly, she hated lying to Ron and she knew she would feel better if she told him the truth.
All day, Hermione tried to get up the nerve to tell him, but, she still hadn't had the opportunity. What with the kids running around and today being the day of their weekly lunch at the Burrow, no time had been right.
It was now getting on eleven and Ron and Hermione were settling in for the night.
Ron leaned over and kissed Hermione on the cheek. "Good night, love. Don't stay up too late reading."
Ron smiled teasingly, but frowned when Hermione didn't even acknowledge him.
"Hey, are you okay?" Ron asked, waving his hand in front of her face knowing how much she hated when he did that. It was sure to get a response out of her.
Hermione blinked several times and looked over to Ron, but quickly looked away again.
"I'm okay, but I wanted to talk to you about something." Her stomached clenched nervously.
"All right. What is it?" Suddenly, Ron groaned. "Is this about letting Hugo play Quidditch with us today, because he begged me Hermione and I couldn't say no. Besides, if he is ever going to be on the Gryffindor's Quidditch team when he gets to Hogwarts he needs to get practicing."
Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. "No, this isn't about that. Although…"
"What is it then?" Ron interrupted, trying to change the subject. Seeing that he had succeeded, a thought that had been bothering him recently came to mind. "Is this about what's been going on with you lately?"
Hermione jerked her head up to look him in the eye. "What do you mean?" Did he already know?
Ron sighed, sitting up beside Hermione, his back against the headboard. "You've been acting…weird. Secretive."
Hermione nodded slightly, tensed her shoulders, and reached into the drawer of her bedside table.
Hermione held something in her clenched hand and brought it to lie between them on the bed. Slowly, she unclenched her hand from what Ron now realized was a bottle of some sort and brought her hands together to fiddle anxiously in her lap.
"What is it?" Ron grabbed for the bottle and attempted to read the words. Big words. Big, complicated, unfamiliar words.
"It's called Tegretol" Hermione whispered, still not looking at Ron. "They're for…" Hermione drew in a long breath, exhaled quickly and spoke in a rush. "They're for epilepsy."
At Ron's questioning look, Hermione elaborated. "Seizures."
The story came rushing out. About how she had been feeling strange lately. About the 'episodes' she had experienced. About her visit to the muggle doctor.
It felt good to finally tell Ron. But, she became nervous when minutes passed and he still had not spoken.
"Ron?"
"You've been having seizures?" Ron asked in disbelief.
Hermione nodded silently. He seemed angry. She had hoped he wouldn't be upset but, after all, the books did say wizards and witches had problems understanding it.
Hermione drew in another breathe in an attempt to relax her clenched stomach. "I know most of the wizarding community still believes that seizures are due to wild dark magic and other such nonsense but muggles and some advanced-thinking wizards and witches know that they are really due to the rapid firing of neurons."
"Neur-. What?"
"Neurons. They…"
"I don't care!" Ron jumped out of bed, throwing the pills down beside her.
Hermione couldn't help it. She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. She had hoped he wouldn't react this way. She had known it was a possibility but she had really hoped… Now he would leave her and take their children and, of course, he would get their children because what wizarding court would grant them to some crazy woman with wild dark magic messing with her brain and…
Hermione felt Ron's strong arms wrap around her shoulders and draw her close to his chest.
"Shhh. Don't cry, love. I don't think you're a 'crazy woman.' Most of the time," Ron added as a joke. It didn't work. "I would never leave you or take our children away from you. I love you."
Warm lips pressed softly against Hermione's forehead as her sobs slowly subsided and some embarrassment set in. Apparently, she had been thinking her worst fears aloud.
"I wasn't angry because you have seizures. I'm upset because you've been suffering for months and hiding it from me! You should have told me."
Hermione nodded, clinging to Ron. "I wanted to, but I was afraid of how you would react. I was afraid of what you would think…or do. I should have told you."
Ron and Hermione sat holding each other silently for several minutes before Ron reached between them to grab the bottle of pills.
"Do you think these will work? Isn't there any –"
Hermione interrupted, shaking her head. "Most of the wizarding community thinks epilepsy is due to wild dark magic. They haven't developed any effective treatment."
Ron nodded, handing the bottle back to her and watched as she shut it back in her drawer. "I want you to tell me when, or if, you have another seizure. I want you to talk to me about this. I'm your husband and you should be able to tell me."
"I promise." Hermione snuggled hesitantly against Ron, still somewhat nervous about his reaction. Ron was having none of this, though, and drew her close to him as he slipped under the covers.
Hermione sighed softly. She never should have doubted him. He was an amazing husband and father and she was so lucky to have him.
"You know, there is one thing about these seizures you might like," Hermione said her check resting on Ron's chest, his arms wrapped around her waist.
Ron looked down at the top of Hermione's head, confused. He didn't see anything good about his wife suffering. "What's that?"
"It's too dangerous for me to drive anymore – at least until we are absolutely certain the medication can control them."
"I get to learn to drive? Brilliant!"
Hermione giggled softly at her husband's happy exclamation, somehow knowing that everything would be all right.
Long (but hopefully informative) author's note:
"Ictus" is a Latin word that describes, among other things, a seizure.
I came up with this idea as a way to explain why Ron, after so many years without a driver's license, decides to get one.
In case anyone is worried about it, Hermione (who, in this story, is experiencing complex partial seizures) does not have a tumor or any such thing. Sometimes people have seizures and there isn't any particular, or life-threatening, reason for it.
In the past, our ancestors either revered or reviled epileptics, some believing that they carried messages from the gods while others believed the afflicted was being attacked by evil spirits or demons. I decided that much of the wizarding community would hold the latter outdated belief, with a magical twist.
This is not, in any way, an advertisement/recommendation for Tegretol. I only chose it because it was on a list of epilepsy meds I found that are prescribed in the UK and are specifically used to treat complex partial seizures.