"Are you packed yet? I know I have too much to do, but…"
"You have to write me this summer, okay? Promise? I'll send my owl three times a week. No, four!"
"Want some more trifle?"
Ron sat at the Gryffindor table, the happy sounds of the end-of-term feast echoing in his ears. His heavily bandaged arms rested against the edge of the table, and he almost welcomed the sting every time he bumped one a little too hard. All around him, students laughed and chattered and jockeyed for position, reaching for roast beef and potatoes, trifle and plum pudding. His own plate sat empty. Every once in a while, a student would hesitantly ask if he needed help filling his plate or feeding himself. He would smile wanly and refuse, or their friends would rush them along with an apologetic smile, as if to say "sorry, he didn't know."
At any other end-of-term feast, Ron would have happily joined in the laughter, the pranks, and especially the food. Tonight, however, his mind was foggy and filled with twisted, painful thoughts and the rock in his stomach refused to go away. Ever since he and Hermione had been released from the hospital wing, the heaviness of all that had happened just seemed to hang above his head, ready to crush him. Pain and anger and fear and guilt ate at him, and for once in his life, Ron Weasley had no idea how to make it better. The occasional twinge from his scarred arms—scarred by thoughts alone, he reminded himself—was a tiny matter compared to what was raging in his head and his heart.
Suddenly, Ron felt the tiniest brush along his hunched shoulders, and looking up, he saw Hermione settle down very close in the seat next to him. Her pale face was all it took to make his stomach seize up again. Hermione would be scarred too—the purple flame would forever leave its mark on her chest. He stared at her a moment before she grinned, and suddenly, the rock was replaced by butterflies. It was the old Hermione grin, the one that had lit up a room for him before the Department of Mysteries. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, as though all they had to worry about was classes and assignments and their next inevitable row, and all they had to look forward to was a lazy summer and happy times at the Burrow. For a moment, the darkest wizard in the world hadn't come back, and all that existed for him was Hermione.
Leaning forward, she gently, so gently he could barely feel it, touched just one finger to his bandaged arm. "How are you feeling?" she asked, the grin gone.
The rock was back. Its sudden reappearance inexplicably made him want to cry, and he had to clear his throat to keep back the prickles building there. "I'm fine," he was finally able to growl. "How are you?"
Her eyes were too large now in her pallid face. He knew it still hurt her, and that she probably would always have pain, just as he would. "I'm fine too," she said quickly, and flashed him a smile, but this time it was haunted. She cleared her own throat. "It's funny, you know. Harry's not the only one with a scar now." The smile stayed, tremulous and fake, as though she was trying to turn it into a joke and just couldn't manage it. He smiled anyway. "Yeah."
Neither seemed to know what to say next. Hermione, her smile slipping away, started "Ron, I…" but seemed unable to say anything more. The silence tugged at both of their hearts. There was so much to say and no way to say it. Ron lifted one of his clumsy, heavily bandaged arms and touched one hand resting in her lap. Her hand curled under his and entwined their fingers together. Blood rushed into his face, and he struggled to say what he had been thinking. "Hermione. It's gonna be okay." After that, the words just seemed to get stuck, and he simply squeezed her fingers instead. Mystified, he watched her eyes suddenly fill with tears, and with an "Oh, Ron!" she let go his fingers and buried her face in his shoulder instead. His cheeks burned, but he awkwardly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and patted her back.
After a few sniffles, he heard her voice, low enough so only he could hear, say "I should have been there, you know." She hiccupped. "Should have been where?" he asked, still trying to work out the whole crying thing.
"With Harry, in the Department of Mysteries. I should have been next to him, fighting the Death Eaters at the end, and then when…when…" she sniffled again, unable to go on. He shushed her quickly. "No, I should have been there." He said it quietly, putting voice to the words he'd been thinking since he'd awakened with his arms burning like fire and assorted twisted images wheeling in his brain. "You were hurt, Hermione, and I'm his best mate. He needed me." The guilt threatened to twist his stomach in two.
She sat up at his last comment, and her eyes met his, wet and bright. "That's nonsense, Ron. He needed us both. We weren't there. You aren't to blame, not alone." Staring at her, he felt his stomach begin to untwist slightly. "Hermione…" he started, then stopped. "Hermione, we weren't there for him this time. But we went in with him, and we came out with him. We fought with him. That's gotta count for something, right?" He searched her eyes, and was relieved to see the tears stop their flow. She reached for his hand again, and linked their fingers tightly. "You're right," she said wonderingly. Her face was still pale, still too wan, but now it was resolute. "And we'll be there for him next time. There will be a next time, Ron."
The rock in his stomach seemed to be slowly breaking up into tiny chunks. The twisting sensation was lessening, and his mind felt clearer than it had in days. "I know there will be," he said quietly. "And I'm scared. I know you are too. But we came out this time, and we'll come out the next time, and we'll bring Harry with us. We'll always be there for him, and for each other, right?"
The grin, that old warm grin, was slowly sliding across her face. She leaned in and gently hugged him, mindful of his arms, and that brief hug was all it took to clear the rest of the rocky debris from his stomach. "For each other. Right." She said it cheerfully, even though tearstains still streaked her cheeks and her eyes were still red and puffy. "Shall we go find Harry, then?" she asked, standing up. "I'm not hungry anyway."
Ron glanced at all of the food, not eager to join in the festivities. "Right, yeah. Let's." He stood, and Hermione casually linked her arm through his on their way out of the Great Hall. On their way up the stairs, she stopped him with a tug on his arm. "Ron, wait. One more thing." He raised gingery eyebrows. She leaned in quickly and pecked him on the cheek. "I'm glad I'm not alone," she said, a tad too quickly. "I'm glad you're here with me." Cheeks warm, he nodded. "Me too."
Author's note: Thanks to all of you who review my stuff! I love it. Please review, whether it be criticism or praise!