Date revamped: 8/15/15
Sorry if you thought there was a new chapter, but I basically doubled the length of the story so forgive me for misleading you and please read!
A/N: Seven years ago on a summer day like this, I became acquainted with a very talented writer, and an even more magnanimous human being. I feel because of my patterns on this site all I ever do is talk about Hawk. Truthfully though, I kept writing for him, he was always entertained by my work and curiously devoted to my friendship. I don't think I'll ever really have closure over his mysterious disappearance from the site, but with time and reflection I dedicate this and the many more edits to follow to my old friend Blackhawk13. If you don't know who I'm babbling about, what what WHAT are you doing reading this piece of crap and plug his name into the search bar! He had a very admirable style, and uncontainable imagination to rival JK Rowling herself.
Anyhow, this is my favorite story that has grown up a lot since I first wrote and published it, so it's fitting I publish this revamp first.
I'd like to thank everyone that read and reviewed the story originally, and a special shout out to Hollygrint101 For Adding it to the Amazing Ron/Hermione Stories, it remains one of my proudest moments on this site.
I'd also like to thank a writer who inspired me to see more into the mysteries of Ron's scars. I wish I had the foresight to have remembered the story or the writer's name, because it was a brilliant concept that I am humbly quoting in my own story below. Sincerest thanks to you.
Disclaimer: While JKR has all rights to the world of Harry Potter, and I have no intention of hitching a ride on that money train.
Please Enjoy and review!
Night. Darkness. The infirmary was silent other than the small and distant hoot of an owl, and the hollow breathes of its only two occupants. A week after returning from the Department of Mysteries, most everyone had been healed and sent out. Harry was the only one to leave their adventure conscience. Ginny, Luna and Neville needed to be treated for minor spell damage and a few scratches. In the same day Professor Umbridge was found near the forest screaming, brought in, and then was forcibly taken from the hospital wing, and was sent elsewhere. Madame Pomfrey reasoned that the Ministry Under Secretary had problems beyond the scope of her abilities to deal with. Ron noted how pleased the Healer was about supposedly being unable to help a patient; he suspected that even Madame Pomfrey had zero lenience for Umbridge's bigotry, and the "problems" she referred to in her report to St. Mungo's were purely psychological.
Hermione was still recovering from the near fatal spell to the chest. She had woken up few times but she was still in no condition to leave. Ron's welts were proving more troublesome than first expected.
Ron lay still awake, no thought of sleep in him, the covers held up to his chin. A terrifying side-effect to his injuries, were dreadfully real nightmares. Sleeping ceased to be his most enjoyed activity. For a while he was able to get by on the dreamless sleeping potion, but even that had its limits treating the memories. So he had become somewhat nocturnal.
His eyes alternated restlessly from left to right and the ceiling above. If he stared too long at one point, the shadows cast upon the walls would change and morph into the creatures from the maladies of his subconscious. The only place he was at ease letting his gaze linger was to the left. In the darkness, he could make out a nearly motionless plateau under bed covers, and a bush of curls draped over the pillow. Ron turned on his side minding not to roll over his arm, which he slung out uselessly in front of him. He settled into the safety of this sight.
'Wow….this is weird. Hope she doesn't wake up, that would be really weird.' His mind whispered, but still he looked.
He smiled softly against his pillow, thinking about his sleeping roommate. They had had such a good year, compared to their previous ones, anyhow. The year started out a bit rickety, the drama of Ron getting chosen for prefect over Harry proved to be an awkward moment between them. And though initially, everyone was pretty confused as to how Ron had been appointed, himself included, they set aside their doubts and supported him.
Even better, Ron and Hermione had gotten a lot of time alone together as prefects. They patrolled corridors and filled the silences with talk. Not biting passive aggression left over from a fight or banter about the latest happenings in the life of Harry Potter, but real talking. Not that it was anything particularly life altering, or even deep, but Ron could tell a joke and she'd smile. He liked making her smile. Before fifth year, Ron wasn't even sure the two of them could even operate without Harry tethering them together. Not only could they function together, they liked it, Ron began to wonder if he liked it a little too much. All year he really had begun seeing Hermione in new lights. It was these quiet moments in the still of night that he really got to ponder the possibilities….
Suddenly in a gasp of breath she stirred. Ron's eyes shut to feign sleep.
"Ron! Ron, wake up!" her anxious voice cracked in the silence.
As part of his act, his eyes blink slowly open, but the act was wasted. Instead of looking at Hermione's frantic face he seemed to be staring the frantic back of her head.
"Ron, wake up you lazy git!" she continued to the empty bed on her left, growing irritation bubbled to the surface of her tone. "Ron!" she snapped, as she chucked a chocolate frog from her bed side table to the empty cot. Ron could have watched this all night, but he had to stop the madness.
"Hermione what the bloody hell are you doing?" he snapped, pretending to be groggy and cranky.
"Oh," she jumped in her bed, and turned to see him then said sheepishly, "I guess I've been asleep so often I keep forgetting where you are."
"Yeah, you do sleep a lot," He concurred, trying not to grumble with jealousy. He wanted to lighten the mood, "Actually, though, I am also kind of a lazy git." Ron grinned as he admitted, "I moved at lunch and didn't feel like moving back."
Hermione coughed out a laugh and threw another chocolate frog at him, but he caught it; though his arm protested the reflex his sweet tooth won the authority over his body, "Thanks, I'm starved!" he laughed and torn the wrapper off, "what did you wake up for?" he said nonchalantly, squinting in the moonlight to read the card that accompanied his snack: Ignatia Wildsmith, he already had four of her.
"Oh… er well I had a bad dream."
"What about?" He asked, limply tossing the wrapper to join the growing pile on his ow bedside table, "Did McGonagall fail you again?" he said incredulously.
"No, well it was, er," she blushed, as if she forgot what she was going to say or didn't want to say it at all, Ron didn't think much of it, she laughed nervously, "It well, it seemed so real, and you know what's weird now that I'm up I can't remember it all that well."
"Uh-huh," Ron's voice came out a bit disappointed that she wasn't keen on sharing; however neither would he if she had asked about his recent dreams. As if afraid that Hermione had brushed up on legilimency he turned away from her eye contact.
"Ron, could you stay up with me," she asked timidly, "Now that I'm up, all that sleeping has caught up with me now I can't go back to bed."
"Sure," Ron successfully stifled his grin in the dark, "come on," he shifted in the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm making room for you, I can hardly hear you, or did you just want to sit in silence?" he asked sarcastically.
"No, what I meant was why should I have to move?"
"Well, now look who's the lazy git."
"I'm not lazy," she pressed, "I'm weak."
"You've been asleep for two days straight! You should be as fresh as a mandrake!" Ron countered, "Who says I should get up?"
"I do."
"So, what, I'm taller."
"I'm older."
"You're smaller."
"I'm worse off."
"No way," Ron scoffed at the low blow she chose.
"Ron you were incapacitated by a spell then wrestled a brain, which you summoned from its tank," Ron self consciously tugged at his pajama sleeves to hide the welt scars. His mouth twitched in a grimace, knowing Hermione didn't know the extent of his injuries. He didn't speak up, wanting to keep it that way, "I was hit with a supposedly lethal spell."
Ron threw his head back in fake defeat and rolled his eyes as he folded the covers back, and attempted to stand. He pushed himself from the mattress into an awkward stance. His feet were still healing from the accident he had earlier that day. He saw Hermione smile, then suddenly his knees gave way and he toppled over the bedside table, his forearms sending his pile of candy wrappers flying. His scars burned with the pressure of the fall. He bit his cheek and forced his eyes to stay wide open, not trusting what would was hiding behind his eyelids. Hermione's hand reached for him and Ron grabbed for it greedily. Ron thought for a second she shivered as they touched, he turned the thought away making the excuse that it had nothing but a trick of the senses, as he wobbled violently for balance, shaking enough for the both of them.
Hermione helped him stumble across the way, his the raw new skin on his feet made him slip and slid, beneath him, and gangly limbs flailed about. He felt like a scarecrow trying to walk.
He reached the end of the bed, "Speaking of which, you're not allowed to do that anymore," he said quite seriously, "scared me half to death when Harry told me what happened to you. You're supposed to be the smart one of the group; can't have you…you know?" He was rambling a bit, to distract from his present display. Coming a hair away from imagining Hermione's death left a worse taste in his mouth than his own condition.
He paused and looked for a new subject, "What is this? Budge up, would you?" Hermione scuttled to the side until there was enough space permitted for both them to be just slightly slipping off the bed. They had to lean into each other to stay balanced in place, an awkward position, but Ron was far from complaining at the circumstances.
"So, you saw Harry and the others today?"
"Yeah, that's the real reason I moved. He didn't feel like moving the visitor's chair five stinking feet. So I had to go over there."
"Why didn't he just move the chair? From what I saw in your condition-," Ron stopped her; he did appreciate her worrying over him, but…
"It's not that big a deal," Ron said, "It really isn't as bad as it seems. Like you said I've got a few welts and a head full of…bad memories. I still don't know everything that happened without us, but there's something he's not going to tell us about that night, something he can't tell us… I dunno he's just not himself, maybe it will pass."
"What did you talk about?"
"My scars, Umbridge getting sacked, all the free time we're missing out on, you…" he trailed off as his ears glowed, this close to her he could hind nothing.
"Nothing about what happened at the Ministry?" Hermione searched his face, "Or what Dumbledore's been talking to him about?"
"I told you already, it something he's just not going to tell us yet, the Sirius thing has really got him shook up. There's no way I'm going to open this jar of leeches. Not when he's this close to losing it."
"No, he doesn't need that," She nodded.
"Then of course there's also this feeling, that he's too busy telling Dumbledore everything rather than us," Ron theorized glumly, "that's where he is just about the rest of the time." He noticed Hermione wasn't paying much attention; instead she seemed transfixed on Ron's left arm lying uselessly between them.
"The scars, I've never seen them up close before," she lifted the arm gingerly, to look at the puckered welts. As she inspected it, she held up his bruised arm by his hand, and carefully pulled his sleeve up to take a closer look. He took in a sharp breath and winced, "What? Does it hurt?" she asked, quickly lowering the arm in alarm, but subconsciously placing in her lap as if for safe keeping.
"No, just kind of itches, but Madame Pomfrey doesn't let me scratch them, or they'll never heal, and I did try it once they hurt more. That and I had some kind of day dream about one of the memories the brain gave me."
"What are the memories like?" She asked, cocking her head with curiosity.
"Not…fun," Ron decided to leave the description at that, "I don't know what the ministry would want with those brains but they can't be for anything good." The more he thought about the things they saw in the Department of Mysteries the angrier he got, "Argh, bollucks," he hissed, clenching his fists, trying to control the urge to scratch.
That last time he did scratch, the 'daydream' he had was more of a walking, talking terror. Submerged in his delusion, he ran amok all over the infirmary. When he came out of it he had torn apart a cabinet of Madame Pomfrey's potions and remedies, sitting in a pile of broken bottles and flasks. He has stepped in a great deal of broken glass, the pain from which he only registered after Madame Pomfrey had shaken him from the trance of the memory. She had to clean him up, and regrow a lot of skin on the soles of his feet. He could only take solace in the fact that he hadn't hurt anybody else, and the only person to witness this symptom of his condition was the infirmary's Matron, who was especially forgiving that he had destroyed so many valuable products. It was extremely telling of her character that she absolved him of any blame, while simultaneously pawning Professor Umbridge off to St. Mungo's simply for being noisy. Ron liked to think it was because of some kind of rapport he, Harry and Hermione had built with the school healer; regardless of how true that could be, it was probably still safe to assume Pomfrey's distaste for her former colleague was a larger factor.
"Ron? What's happening?" Hermione's voice squeaked in worry, possibly also in pain, since one of his white knuckled fists was wrapped around her hand. She pressed her free hand over their clasps fingers, alerting him that he was cutting off her circulation, "Do you want me to signal Madame Pomfrey?" she said, about to reach of her wand.
"No," Ron said hoarsely, catching her free hand in midair, like a butterfly in a net. He couldn't afford the Healer seeing him deteriorate anymore. After the earlier incident, Madame Pomfrey did in fact suggest the possibility of seeing a specialist at St. Mungo's, for treatments; probably expensive treatments. On top of the money, Ron was not keen on being the reason his family had to make a trip to the hospital twice in one year.
He also wasn't ready to explain all of this to Hermione. It would only upset her, and that was the absolute last thing he ever wished to do; especially since that meant she might take her hands out of his. They were so smooth and warm under his calloused palms. He took control of his fingers, loosening their grip on Hermione's, exceedingly pleased that she did not pull away. Instead she rubbed her thumb over his as if thank him for the correction.
"No, they just act up when I get mad, sometimes," He gulped a labored breath, trying to stay as vague as possible.
"You'll need to start controlling your temper," She sighed diplomatically. In the bluish glow of the dark, Ron could see a lighthearted smirk pulling the corners of her lips.
"Well, with that kind of faith behind me…" He half joked.
"I would beam with pride," Hermione began is an earnest tone, but her smirk blossomed into a Cheshire's grin as she continued, "if you could go one day without finding something to fly off the handle about."
"Whatever that death eater's spell was… it must have knocked a sense of humor into you," Ron shot back, lightly tapping her wrist with his index finger.
She pursed her lips in mock disapproval of this insinuation.
"It's the infirmary," She responded wistfully, "Something about sitting in a Hospital bed, just after a near death experience, makes you laugh."
"Yeah?" Ron agreed, "Explains why we're just a bag of giggles."
"Of course," she replied, nodding with the upmost sincerity, and then breaking into a gasp of laughter, which he joined immediately after. They settled into a comfortable silence, and they looked down to their hands overlapping each other in Hermione's lap. With each light-hearted remark, Ron's earlier frustrations melted away. If looking at her sleeping earlier had brought him peace, then touching her was bliss. His hands had softened their grip on the imaginary reins of his condition and laxly molded to the demur curve of hers. She was still running her thumb slowly up and down the length of his own. He chanced a look at her profile while she contemplated their loose pile of fingers interlocking with each other. With cheeks pink, her eyes flicked towards him, and then away, as if she had been the one who was caught staring.
"What?"
Ron blushed furiously, and turned his head away so fast his neck made an audible crack.
"Nothing—I—I guess I'm a bit tired," He lied.
"Then sleep," she nodded over to his unmade bed.
"Hermione are you serious, it's been five minutes. That would be ridiculous that you made me come over here in the first place…" she looked away from him, made him guilty for choosing this line of defense, until, "… especially," he continued, "if you have another bad dream."
She looked back up at him, the corners of her mouth rose in the slightest, "it really was a silly dream come to think of it."
"So you do remember it?" Ron asked, puzzled.
"Well, more or less." She said timidly, and her cheeks tinted lightly, "Only small bits really."
"Well what kind of bits?" Ron pushed.
"Er, well it… started like… like I was in a flu system, you know, spinning, in the dark. When it stopped, you and Harry were out there in the blackness. Harry began to follow a dog, a big-"
"Sirius?" Ron interjected.
"-Sandy colored dog, Ron, not everything has to do with Sirius." She snapped, "Then you stumbled after a big paper heart in another direction. I guess I was confused which of you to try to catch up to, and then suddenly Dolohov was there, and well you can guess what he was doing there."
"And then you threw a chocolate frog at an empty bed," Ron concluded, again attempting to make light of a rather dense conversation. The water rimming Hermione's eyes told him to stop. He cleared his throat changing tactics. He was a bit out of his element. The last time he had to comfort a girl over a bad dream was Ginny long before Hogwarts; but his own circumstances with dreams and nightmares had redefined the word empathy for him, "It's okay Hermione. I reckon that last bit is still fresh 'cause it was traumatic, but it'll pass," again he desperately hid his jealousy, "as for the beginning, though, that's a load of nonsense I suppose" He snorted.
"Why do you say that?" She shook her head, not understanding.
"Cause it sounds like Harry and I ditched you to bugger around with random things; which would never happen, we need you," Ron wanted to say, 'I need you,' But settled for coupling up with Harry.
Hermione was stilling on the edge of tears, but now a smile over took her face.
"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, almost in disbelief Ron was the boy she had once accused of having the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.
"Just the truth," Ron offered modestly, "We'd have been goners a long time ago without you."
"Same for you," she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. His scars seared under his sleeves, but his heart soared.
"Ha," Ron guffawed, "I'm sure McGonagall's gonna take my prefect badge away, and give to Dean Thomas or something, after she finds out how much I cocked things up back there."
"I don't think she'd do that, even if you had done something wrong," Hermione countered, "Besides there's a very good reason you're prefect."
"Oh and what's that?" Ron rolled his eyes, rehashing this thorn in his side, "Harry's too busy fighting You-Know-Who to bother with trivial things like giving first years detention?"
"No," she chided with good nature, "Harry abhors following the rules."
"So do I." He suddenly whined.
"Yes, but you and Harry don't have the same distaste for authority figures." She said, "Harry avoids that kind of power at all costs. If he had been prefect, he probably would have sat back and let me take the lead in every case."
"I do that," Ron reminded.
"Sometimes, but you mostly balance me out. I tend to go overboard sometimes."
"That's the understatement of the century," Ron laughed, "You're probably the only muggle born in the history of the school to take muggle studies."
"Well, that's my point," She chagrinned at the thought of third year, "We make a good team. I don't think being prefect would really have the same appeal without you."
Ron beamed in spite of his suspicions that she was sugarcoating her opinions. He thought he made a pretty lousy prefect; especially once the initial grandeur of the title wore off he really had not taken pride in the work. Maybe this was Hermione's way of getting him to commit to the job.
Hermione's head bobbed slightly, and softly found rest on his shoulder.
"Are you falling asleep again?" Ron asked.
"No," she said a bit dazed, "Aren't you tired at all?"
"Yah, a bit," He lied again, though this time his eye lids were oddly heavy.
"You can stay," she said softly into his shirt sleeve, "I don't mind the space; you'd probably break something getting back to your bed. The only thing I'm worried about is what Madame Pomfrey will do to you in the morning."
"She can yell at me in the morning…" Ron mumbled, knowing the healer would not be pleased to find students sharing a bed, but Ron had no intention of releasing her hands, "Besides, what if you do have that McGonagall dream and start throwing candy at the bed across from you?" one last ditch effort to use up good material. He felt her smirk trying to maintain an unamused posture against his arm.
"Night, Ron," she broke the tension happily, "And thank you."
"For What?" He asked so perplexed by this girl. When his only answer was a deep exhale of breath, Ron leaned down carefully, and kissed her just above the brow.
Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. Tentatively, she lifted her head toward his.
They looked to each other, with wordless understanding and pleasantly terrifying realization. Ron squeezed her hands gently in trepidation as he noticed their faces closing the distance left between them. Ron's eyes closed, he wasn't afraid of the memories flooding his imagination; his thoughts too busy comprehending the whisper of Hermione's curls as they brushed his cheek, and then his brain all but shut down as they kissed.
Ron woke up the next morning, and wasn't quite sure how he managed to do so. To wake up, one generally needs have been sleeping; an activity Ron had given up all hope of. But he was wincing and blinking in the new day's light, as a brisk whisper called his name.
"Mr. Weasley."
"Wha-?" He murmured, as his vision came into focus. Madame Pomfrey was standing over him, lips pursed, shooting him a disapproving look from behind Hermione's curly hair. Hermione's Hair?! His groggy thoughts were running at full speed once he realized where he still was. Lying on his side behind his friend, his arms splayed out in front of him, on curved around the top of Hermione's head, the other draping her side, the hand still tangled with hers. He had quite a dopey grin plastered to his face, quickly reminiscing about the previous night.
"There are twenty other beds in this wing. Pick one." Madame Pomfrey whispered pointedly, and her tone quickly swapped Ron's grin for an apologetic grimace. He carefully untangled his hand from Hermione's, and rather clumsily rolled off his edge of the bed.
"Bloody fu-," He hissed, hitting the ground with a smack that woke up his scars fury.
Hermione lay still in the bed beside him, as Madame Pomfrey unceremoniously levitated him from the ground to the empty one he had vacated last night. Settling back into his own space, Ron awkwardly eyed the Healer, who was smirking with mirth more than frowning in disapproval. It occurred to Ron that these fleeting moments of student indiscretions were probably the main source of Pomfrey's amusement.
"Nothing happened," He blurted out, and then shot a look over at Hermione, not wanting to wake her with the noise. Sensing his distress, the witch flicked her wand in Hermione's direction. A little purple bubble appeared briefly around her sleeping form and then disappeared.
"We won't disturb her," she said in her full voice, "Now Mr. Weasley, while I don't approve of where I found you I'm pleasantly surprised at how I found you."
"You—you were?" Ron asked.
"Considering you've barely blinked in a week," She said wryly, summoning a tray of potions and remedies she had ready for him, "finding you sound asleep, I would have popped champagne if it didn't wake you."
"So you're not mad?" Ron asked unbuttoning his shirt; it being the umpteenth time she had administered his medications, he had the routine synchronized. He offered a bare arm to the healer as she lifted a fresh glob of Oblivious Unction.
"I'll ask you to please refrain from sharing beds in the future," She said, inspecting the puckered sores that ran up his arms and across the back of his shoulders, "But as I suspected, your condition has improved leaps and bounds overnight." She nodded her head in approval and began liberally applying the unction, the smell of which always made Ron's head foggy, "So I'll leave your methods out of your prognosis when your parents come later."
Ron blinked out of his fog, "M—my parents?"
"Yes," She confirmed, handing him a potion to drink, while circling the bed to lather the other arm. She smiled coyly, noticing Ron pale at the thought of his mother finding out he had been caught in bed with a girl at school, "I owled them yesterday to come in for a chat. Nothing we haven't already discussed, mind you, but after that episode yesterday I felt they need to know options."
"Oh," Ron said glumly, and shot back the cocktail she had handed him. He had been hoping this talk they were having now was Pomfrey informing him St. Mungo's wasn't necessary.
"Buck up, Weasley," She said with stern sympathy, "I think the best thing for you to do right now is to be with loved ones." She took the drained flask from him, and eyed the sleeping girl in the next bed over, "We'll talk more about permanent solutions later. Try and sleep, now."
"Yahhh," Ron said, the fog washing over him again stronger than before, he slid back into the covers, and closed his eyes….hopeful for sleep.
Screams, the clash of metal on flesh and lifeless eyes reflected in a seeping pool of blood woke him a cold sweat…
It was going to be a long road to recovering.