Disclaimer: JKR wrote Harry Potter—I just mutilated it!

"Ron...Ron!"

Ron struggled to open an eye, then jumped out of bed as he realized that the person shaking his shoulder wasn't Harry. He recognized the face of a seventh-year prefect. He glanced around the dormitory, noticing that everyone else was asleep.

"You're wanted in Dumbledore's office," said the prefect quietly, motioning for Ron to follow him.

Half-asleep but alert and concerned, he scrambled after the prefect. By the time they reached the Headmaster's office, Ron had woken up enough to dread the reason that he would be called to Dumbledore's office in the middle of the night. He saw the ornate gargoyles at the doorway by the prefect's wand light as he muttered a password.

Ron cringed, shocked by the lighted office. Slowly opening his eyes, he was somewhat unsurprised to see Dumbledore pacing. After all, that was how he always found him when he was called to his office.

"Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore urgently, not in his usual please-sit-down voice.

"I've been informed that Miss Granger has been tortured using the Cruciatus curse by one of Voldemort's supporters."

He then gave Ron about half of a second to take this in. In Dumbledore's typical manner, he did not attempt to lighten the bad news.

"Rest assured that the suspect is in Azkaban awaiting his trial. In the meantime, Miss Granger is in St. Mungo's. If you will, I will take you to see her." Ron nodded quickly.

"She has reportedly been saying your name." Here he put his hand on Ron's shoulder. "You mustn't be alarmed. She may or may not know who you are."

Ron said nothing except to the fire as the Floo powder left his hands.

.............................

"'Mione?" he said as he entered the room tentatively. "It's me, Ron."

As he got to the foot of her bed, he said, anxiously, "Can you hear me? It's Ron."

She was asleep.

That beautiful hair was sprawled out over the pillow. Her hands rested on the bed as if she had fallen asleep mid-twitch, but she breathed peacefully.

"Finally, the loon's asleep," grumbled an old man two beds over.

Ron was shocked. Was it that bad? What had they done to her? Would she ever be the same? It didn't matter, he decided. She could speak pig latin and knit with ear wax her whole life, but still she would be Hermione. Still he would love her.

"Hermione," he whispered to her sleeping ear. "Even if you don't know who I am, remember—I'd still fall off of a giant chess piece for you, any day." He stood up and walked toward the door. She'd never woken up. Maybe that was for the best, though.

"Ron," said a voice behind him. A sweet, intelligent voice that couldn't be anyone else. He took a step back toward the bed.

"I never gave in," she told him with a slow smile. Ron thought about how to reply.

"'Course you didn't. Because if you were that kind of person, I'd have a good ten inches more on my Potions essay."