Nightmares and Dreamscapes

disclaimer: Sure I share a name with JK Rowling, but I am certainly not her, don't have her bank account, nor her poise in public speaking. Anything I write in her world is for fun, practice, and to get my own story telling skills back up to personal par. Plot lines might be mine, but the characters are hers for a really long time.

(A/N - title borrowed from the Stephen King book by the same name. -D.G.)

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"I'm sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

Ron stood there, disarmed, yet furious at the turn of events. Hermione was his, and Bellatrix was not going to hand her over to Greyback. Not even over his dead body. He could never forgive himself if he didn't do something to keep her from that bastard's hands. Ron knew that monster's cruelty knew no limits.

A squeak, followed by a grinding that was pervasive in the otherwise sterile and yet elegant room, tore through it. All eyes looked up, and there was Dobby, eyes wide and a grin to light a room. One twist from his elf magic hands, and the chandelier started to fall.

Ron stood there, fixed to the floor, and watched in slow motion as the chandelier fell. He knew that he couldn't get to her in time. Fear was his mind killer. He wanted to act, but was paralyzed. There was still too much danger at the moment to try and rescue her. Another moment where he would hate himself for a lifetime: letting her suffer pain that he couldn't prevent.

The antique chandelier fell, impacting Hermione square on the back. She didn't move. She didn't cry out. She didn't even flinch when the forty pounds of metal and glass hit her. Crystals shattered, spraying the room upon impact. Draco, being closest, was hit. His face dripped blood immediately through his pale white fingers. Griphook fared worse, but Hermione took the brunt.

Reacting to the chaos, Ron ran forward. He didn't care that Bellatrix and Narcissa were still armed. That didn't matter. All that did was rescuing Hermione from Bellatrix. Nothing else mattered. Not even Harry. His life was forfeit if she was damaged permanently.

He yanked the chandelier from the victims, not caring for anyone else in the room save his unconscious bushy haired everything. He gripped her tightly, pulling her close to his chest. He couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. He didn't know if he was hurting her. He only knew that they had to escape.

Harry told him that He-Who-Stinks-to-High-Heaven was almost there and they had to run. They couldn't fight him without her. She was the brains of the bunch, and without her, everything would go to hell in a pile of dragon dung. They had to flee. There was no choice.

"Ron!"

Ron turned, and caught the wand that Harry threw at them. That would be necessary for escape. He spun, hoping on Merlin's baggiest y fronts that they made it to Shell Cottage in one piece. He didn't care about himself – just her. He held her for dear life, focusing completely on the cottage outside Tintham.

He landed hard, falling on his knees with her still in his arms. The pain was temporary if she didn't wake. He wouldn't survive her long if she didn't wake. He slipped, and she fell into the cold sand beneath his feet.

"HELP! Bill, Help!"

"Whose there?" a dangerous voice called out. "Show yourself!"

"Bill! Fleur!" Help us!"

"Ron?"

"Bill!"

"What's your worst fear?"

"Spiders!"

Bill stepped out from the wards, and ran to Ron on the beach. Fleur was on his heels, wearing her evening apron, covered in flour from baking. "Qu'est que C'est?"

"Hermione? What the Hell?" bellowed Bill when he saw who Ron was cradling.

"Yea. Help her!"

"Bring her in. We'll see what we can do."

Ron handed her to his brother, and then promptly retched into the beach scrub on his other side. From no food, and the adrenaline rush, he was spiraling. He wanted to purge out every last bit of rage and fury from what happened to Hermione. Beating Greyback with his bare hands would be fine. He wanted to go back there, and beat them to death for hurting Hermione.

He thought about that first step, walking away from her again to exact revenge. He retched again.

She needed him, regardless of how angry he was. He needed to know if she was still alive.

His vengeance would have to wait for another day. She needed him.

He scrubbed his sleeve across his mouth, not concerned at the foul stench that he wiped on his sleeve nor the mess he made in the scrub on the beach. He looked up into the moonlight, and saw Fleur standing above him, watching with tears in her eyes. "Mon chere!" she hauled him into a hug. "Come inside. 'ermione needs us."

She turned, and briskly walked back to the front of the cottage. Ron ran after her once he knew his knees wouldn't buckle on the rough stone walkway. They rushed towards the cottage, passing the wards, and were greeted with warm light from the kitchen. The smell of hot baked bread assailed his nostrils once he was inside. His stomach grumbled in protest.

Bill's bright hair stood out in the den, leaning over Hermione. "Ron, get in here!" he yelled.

Another resounding pop pervaded the silence outside the wards. "Fleur, go check outside for others. I have to save Hermione!"

"That should be Harry and the hostages!" Ron bellowed as Fleur ran out into the night. They heard the kitchen door bang as she ran outside.

Ron came closer, seeing that his brother was holding a flannel as a compress against her neck. "Here, hold this while I get something to help her."

He stood there, watching his brother look at him. "Damn it Ron, help her. Move your arse! I can't do anything if you're standing there frozen!"

Ron moved, falling to his knees at the edge of the couch. He took the blood soaked flannel from his hand, holding it on her grotesquely stained neck. Bill left, and Ron could hear him rummaging in the cabinets looking for potions. He looked down, seeing her for the first time in the harsh light of the parlor, and was shocked at how pale and gaunt she was. Where had the Hermione he knew gone to, and replaced her with this skeleton? He fought down the panic that was trying to betray him.

He watched in horror how the blood continued to seep into the flannel, leaking past it through his long fingers onto the pillow behind his head. Panic ensued.

"Damn it Bill, hurry up. She's bleeding here!"

Bill pushed back past him, bringing a thicker pad along with a potion vial for her. "Here, we need to change this, and put this on her neck. I tried to heal the wound on her neck, but it's resistant to magic. It looks like a goblin knife, the way it resists magic. I'll have to seal it, and let it scar. It's the only way."

Ron removed his hand along with the blood soaked rag, and saw Bill working quickly. He wiped her neck with the new flannel, and saw it oozing down her neck onto the pillow behind her head. He then opened the vial, and dropped dittany on it, hearing the wound sizzle under the liquid.

"Shite, Dittany isn't working. Scared that was going to be the case. Give me that kit there, Ron."

Ron handed him a sewing kit, something his mother would use.

"Put the flannel back on. Hold the pressure on there. I have to work quickly."

"What the hell?"

"Remember when Dad got bit? Same thing. Only thing I can to do staunch the bleeding. Goblin silver is resistant to magic – and needs to heal normally. Only way we can save her, along with blood replenishing potions."

He worked quickly, threading coarse fibers through the skin on her neck, trying to stave off the wound. Tedious work, along with constant cleaning on Ron's part, and within minutes, the wound was closed. Four blood stained flannels were on the floor, evidence of their work. The stitching wasn't pretty. It was three inches of angry red skin, jagged and puckered, right along the tendon on the right side of her neck.

Bill affixed a bandage over the wound, using spellotape on it to seal it further. It wouldn't make the grade at St. Mungo's, but Moody might have been impressed. It was his suggestion that he learn muggle first aid training years ago, after Arthur was bit and couldn't be healed by magic. Thank Merlin he listened.

"She's fortunate it only grazed the artery. Another half inch and she'd have bled out on the beach. Now come on, grab her, and let's get her in a bed upstairs. We'll need to check her for anything else."

Ron looked up, and saw Bill standing behind him. "If we can wake her, I can give her some potions to make better and let her sleep. But down here won't work. She needs quiet and we can ward it if necessary."

Ron stood up and lifted Hermione from the couch. The fatigue was clawing at him. "I'll carry her. I rather have you help her otherwise."

Bill watched, and noticed the blood dripping from her arm. "Put her back down. She's still bleeding."

Ron laid her back down, and moved out of the way. He watched as Bill gently moved the sleeve up her arm, hissing when he saw the additional wound.

"Merlin's Bollocks!"

He wiped the blood from her arm, showing Bellatrix handiwork. Carved in the tender skin of her arm was the word Mudblood. "That bitch." He whispered. "Ron, run into the kitchen and get me more flannels. Hurry!"

Ron scampered out, finding the stash in the spice cupboard. "Here!" once he got back to Bill's side.

"Keep that on there. I need my other kit from my en-suite. Don't take that off until I get back."

Seconds felt like hours, waiting for his brother to return. He watched as the white flannel turned red under his fingers. He watched her neck pulse opposite of where they had patched her. Each beat a sign she was still alive.

Ron kept the compress on her arm, praying to whatever deity would listen that she could hold on until they could get her healed up. He hoped she didn't move, or jerk, or any other sudden movements.

Bill returned, carrying bottles and a pack of pads. "Hold her arm steady. I'm going to clean it, and then dress it. I am going to assume that the bitch used the knife to do this too."

"I dunno. Didn't see her do that one." Ron whispered back. "Harry and I were… elsewhere."

Ron watched in fascination how calm his brother worked. He couldn't have done it, not like Hermione patched him after Yaxley made him splinch.

Bill washed the arm, removing the caked on blood, and cleaning out the sand grit that had embedded in it. Once clean, he put two pads on it, then covered it then wrapped it. She was slowly turning into a mummy.

"Looks like that is the worst of it. Come on. We'll put her in with Luna in the fourth bedroom. You remember that one, right?"

Ron leaned over again, and picked her gently for up a third time. His back groaned from the exertion, but he was too tired to be arsed. Fighting tears, he saw her small frame, shrunken from the stress of everything that happened the last few months. Her appearance made a difficult picture: The tear tracks on her dirt smudged face; the shadows under her eyes; the hard lines of her cheek bones. "Please wake!" he wailed silently.

Fleur came in, not quite as pale as Hermione was. She was carrying Griphook who had the sword in his clutches. She went ahead of them, struggling up the stairs with the goblin and the sword in his talon tipped hands. Bill went after her, carrying the potion vials in his hands, while Ron went last, gently carrying the unconscious Hermione to the fourth bedroom.

Luna was standing at the window, looking out into the night. She was still clothed in the rags of her clothes she was rescued in. Ron stumbled, realizing it had only been minutes since they got away, not the hours he felt like he had gone through.

She turned and saw the group of them come in, watching in interest as Ron laid Hermione down on the double bed. "Hello Ronald. Oh dear! What happened to Hermione?"

"Bellatrix, followed by a chandelier falling on her."

"Oh goodness, that's dreadful." She squeezed his hand. "She'll come back for you, Ronald. She loves you."

He barely heard her as she left the room. He only had eyes for Hermione, haphazardly lying on the bed. The patch on her neck and the bandage on her arm stood out against her pale skin. There was activity throughout the cottage, but his only concern was the bushy haired witch in front of him. Red and blonde hair went back and forth through the hallway, but he barely noticed. He didn't care what happened, at least until Hermione awoke. Grief was tearing apart his teaspoon.

More minutes passed, and Ron felt his eyes getting heavy. He was hungry and he hadn't slept for a day. None of it mattered until she woke. He wanted to close his eyes, but his duty to Hermione wouldn't let him sleep.

Fleur returned, bearing more flannels and vials. "What's wrong?" he asked through his grief stricken fog.

"Dobby's dead. Seems that someone stabbed him." said Fleur harshly. "'arry is still out there with 'im."

"Damn," said Ron quietly. "I'll go out when I can. I can't leave her."

"Take your time. He won't hear you. He's busy digging Dobby's grave."

"Oh."

"The goblin? Dean? Mr. Ollivander?"

"Dean, Luna, and the goblin will live. Ollivander, Je sais pas. I don't know."

Ron felt a warm hug from behind, knowing that his brother wasn't that affectionate. He did feel a strong hand on his shoulder. Ron looked up, and saw the concern on his brother's face. Bill was the one he trusted, the one who stood in for him when his other brothers got too rough with him. He was the one who helped when Mum and Dad couldn't.

Another strong squeeze on his shoulder, and Bill left, leaving the other two in the room.

"What 'appened to her, Ronald?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange. Tortured her. Used the Cruciatus curse on her – repeatedly. Carved her like a steak. They had us in a magic proof dungeon. Couldn't do anything," said Ron angrily. "She was screaming, and I couldn't stop'em hurting her. That bitch tortured her, and I couldn't protect her!"

He put his head in his hands, fighting the maelstrom in his head. He had to be strong, for Hermione. She wasn't awake yet. Later. 'Fleur wouldn't understand,' said the locket voice inside his head. 'Hermione would,' said the little voice alongside the other. He couldn't break, not yet.

He viciously wiped his face with his torn sleeve, willing whatever strength he had left. "We only got out and away because of Dobby. A free elf, who came to rescue us, and how do we repay him? By getting him killed." He looked up at Fleur, and saw that she was struggling too. He had no solace or comfort to offer her, not when Hermione needed him more.

He looked back at Hermione, wishing she would wake. Instead, her hand twitched.

"She moved!" he thought through the grief and fatigue. "'Mione, come on love. Wake up for me."

"Ron," she groaned through the haze.

Fleur turned around, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

"I'm here. Come on and wake up for me, please." Ron was pleading.

"Oh G_d no. Ron!" She wimpered again. "Please!" she begged.

"'Mione, I'm here. No one's hurting you."

"No!" she screamed

Ron grabbed her arms, trying to restrain her wailing. "Oh G_d 'Mione, wake up!" he bellowed.

She let out a throat wrenching scream, enough to bring the house down. Even under the two of them, she writhed like a dragon.

Fleur moved, shoving Ron out of the way. She held onto Hermione's shoulders, while Ron held her legs down, trying to restrain her so he wouldn't be kicked in the face. Hermione screamed again, agony boiling from her lungs.

"You, get out of here."

"I'm not leaving her."

She seized up, almost throwing them off of her, before crashing back to the bed, passed out from the pain again. Ron's own chest hurt from trying to hold down such a tiny woman. He was sure he caught a foot in the shoulder for his trouble.

Fleur let her go, and noticed the blood on the duvet.

"Beel!" she yelled, trying to get her husband's attention. "She's bleeding. We need to help her!"

He was in shock, still remembering her screaming. "I'll do it." He whispered.

"Then help me! I need to check her for any injuries. S'il ti plait? Strip her. I need to make sure she isn't hurt anywhere else."

"Strip her?" he whispered.

"Oui. I need to check her for any other injuries."

"Why not banish her clothes?"

"I can't risk it, not if she was tortured." said Fleur as she was trying to wrestle Hermione out of her jumper. "Dark Magic leaves nasty traces on occasion."

He didn't want to see her like that, his object of his fantasies for years, but he didn't want his brother seeing her like this too. "Sod it. She'll understand," he muttered.

He thought as he gently worked, disrobing her of her shoes and socks. Numb from the trauma and forgetting the need, he quickly yanked off her jeans, barely leaving her in her travel worn pink knickers. He looked and saw Fleur had her down to her stained white bra. Ron was riveted – that any other time, he would have been embarrassed to see that much skin. Instead, all he saw was the blood soaked clothes on the floor, and the blood weeping into the coverlet of the bed.

"Mon Dieu!" muttered Fleur from higher up on the bed. "Merde!"

"What –" before he could even complete the thought. His concern turned to rage in an instant. Bellatrix had hurt her worse than he thought. "What the hell!" was all he could mutter.

Fleur started muttering in French while waving her wand over Hermione's battered body. Ron didn't know how bad she was hurt until he saw her on the bed.

Hermione looked like a battered quilt of bruises and burns and scars. He didn't even count the arm and neck where she had been patched up. From the dried blood on her collar line from the point of the blade held by Bellatrix, to the myriad of punctures on her back from the impaled crystals, to the angry red marks on her ribcage from the stunners, to finally the scorch mark on her chest, overlapping the scar from the Ministry duel. 'That might have been the first scream,' he thought. Her whole back was an abstract of bruises, from almost black, to purple, to caramel pudding light brown, to sickening yellow. The sickening yellow bothered him the most. She never mentioned to him that she had been hurt since he came back. She never complained nor showed weakness.

"Hush. You hold her on her side. I can fix most of it. Just be quiet, and hold her still. If she moves much more, she will hurt worse. " She intoned quietly.

He did as asked and watched as she pulled the crystal shards from her back, watching each one weep further with removal. She followed them with a drop of dittany to seal it from bleeding further. She was like Bill, working methodically over her entire back. So much crystal had embedded, and needed removal. Once that was finished, he gently rolled her back onto the bed. She still didn't stir.

Next was burn on her chest. "I need more dittany, some skele-gro and some of the burn paste in the loo cabinet. You stay and I'll go get it."

"Skele-gro?"

"Oui, ma cher. She has broken ribs and a broken collarbone. I cannot mend her magically, not without possibly hurting her further. She needs potions, and rest, and from the looks of her, plenty to eat."

"Why not with magic?"

"Side effects of the Cruciatus curse are hard to deal with in l'hopital, much less at le maison. She will take longer to heal, but I won't hurt her further this way."

All Ron could do was nod while Fleur left the room. He knelt at the bed, holding her warm hands in his cold clammy ones.

"Come now, Ron. Let's get those bruises and burns healing."

Fleur handed him an open jar of paste "What the bloody hell Fleur? Smells like dragon dung!"

"Just put it on her chest. It's burn paste and will help her heal quicker."

"You're joking. I can't touch her there!"

"Fine then. I'll slather her. I have no problem touching a girl's chest." She muttered. She commenced to slather on the paste. "Drop some of that dittany on those small cuts on her arms. I'll deal with the rest of it."

She thrust the bottle at Ron, who was looking dumbfounded. "Look. Drop it on her arms, then I want you to sleep. You're dead on your feet." She growled.

"I won't go. I need to be here when she wakes up."

"You're no good to anyone if you can't follow directions." Fleur was muttering again, which Ron didn't understand. Most of it was in French, and he certainly didn't understand a word of that. The only thing he understood was something about silly boys.

She stopped, and looked at him. Her temper had settled into resignation. "Fine. Sleep in here with her. Give this to her if she wakes. This one is a blood replenishing potion. This one, it's for pain, and the other is to sleep. She needs to sleep as long as possible so she can get better."

Hermione sat up in the bed suddenly, shocking the two of them. "NO!" she screamed.

Ron reacted first, thrusting his face in front of hers while restraining her with his bulk. "Look at me! It's me, Ron!" he bellowed near panic. He hoped he wasn't bruising her terribly.

She looked, seeing his face. She froze. Her eyes were as wide as an elf. "You're safe," he whispered.

He wanted to jump for joy at seeing her awake. He wanted to cry at her misery. He wanted to hug her for the rest of his life, and yell at her for being so bloody stubborn.

"Water," her eyes belayed her panic.

Ron held a small glass up for her, letting her have small sips. "Shhhh. I got it." She couldn't hold the glass in her hands for shaking terribly. "Take it slow."

"Where?"

"You're safe. We're at Bill and Fleur's."

"What happened?"

"We escaped from Malfoy Manor." She quivered. "You remember, 'Mione?"

Her shaking increased in intensity, and she was curling back into herself. "N'ermind. Here. Drink this. Blood replenishing potion."

She took it, shaking growing worse. He held it steady, letting her swallow it completely.

"Now this. Pain potion." She couldn't hold it for shaking too bad. Even when she tried to swallow it, she nearly choked.

"Last one. You'll need it too."

"What?"

"Sleeping Draught."

He held the last vial to her as well, tipping the glass to her painfully parched lips.

"Ron—"

"You sleep. Harry and I have some things to do around here. I'll be here when you wake."

She nodded, and her eyes started to close. The last two vials of liquid worked together effectively. She fell back onto the pillows, already succumbing to the effects of the potion cocktail.

He sat there on the bed with her, watching her chest raise and fall. She was finally resting comfortably. He wanted to tuck her under all of the covers, but he was afraid to touch her, with all of her scars, burns, breaks, and bruises. Even looking just this side of death, he was enchanted.

"Ron, Harry's still out there digging. Go help him," said Bill from the doorway.

Ron didn't budge from his seat. "I'm not leaving 'til she wakes back up. "

"Mon chere, I shall take care of her. You go, and help 'arry. If she wakes, I'll come get you," said Fleur quietly. "Go, and help him. She doesn't need you right now, but 'arry does. She'll be here when you get done."

Ron still didn't budge. "Not leavin' her 'gain."

A soft hand on his shoulder made him turn around. Luna was standing there, looking serious for once. He hadn't seen the expression on her face since the night at the Ministry. "Ronald, you trust me, right?" he nodded. "I'll stay. I'll keep watch while you're helping Harry."

He looked in her bright blue eyes. They were tired, but strong, determined. "'S'ok. I'll go out and help Harry. You will?"

Bright blue eyes looked up at him, eyes that were haunted now instead of humorous. "On my life, Ron."

He turned to leave, trusting his friends and family.

(Footnote: Quotes from Deathly Hallows, American Edition)