Trust Me
Moonlight. An ill-timed snore. Nightmares drifting away under the weight of the arm across her ribcage.
She looked at the clock on the wall. She had been asleep all of an hour. An hour – and it felt like a whole night – and yet not a minute.
Hermione focused on the ginger that was her lifeline. She had another nightmare this morning, waking most of the people in the house. Only her knight in tattered cannon's clothes could make her nightmares go away. Only he could drive away the screams inside her head.
This morning would be different. She had an idea, and was going to follow through with it. The rest of them needed sleep. Even sleep deprived, it was an excellent plan.
She slipped from the bedroom – Ginny's bedroom, with her bed that was barely slept in – and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. A cup of tea before she made her plan would settle her stomach enough to make it work.
Every morning, she received the same recriminations – from Ginny, whom had taken to the couch in the parlor to try to get some sleep – from Arthur, who regarded her with grief stricken eyes – to finally Molly, whom would not relent, paving the way to the same nightmare every night. For the first time in her life, she was going to crumble in glorious fashion, and damn the consequences.
Even her brother, in everything but blood, looked at her with haunted eyes. She knew that her terrors were affecting him. Everyone who was staying at the Burrow heard her, sometimes more than once.
A light was on in the kitchen, probably left on by Ron on his nightly biscuit raid. Hermione knew his penchant for biscuits, and since they had returned home thirteen days ago, he craved them like a dying man. She didn't have the heart to tell him that his mum made that stash just for him. He thought he was being clever, sneaky, but in reality, she was helping him cope when she could do nothing else.
She stood in the doorway, watching Molly work around in the kitchen, throwing flour into a mixing bowl with the creamed butter. Even after losing a son, she was still up with baker's hours to provide for her family. Everyone in the house knew how Molly was coping. It was obvious.
"I know you're standing there, Hermione. Come on in and help me made the daily biscuit ration."
She stepped into the kitchen, enveloped in the warmth. The smell of vanilla and chocolate was inviting, along with the company. She was glad to be of help, feeling helpless and lost the last few days.
She walked into the kitchen, finding a cup of tea at her elbow while she worked the flour and salt into the batter for the biscuits. Molly was beating the eggs and the butter, ready to mix them together. She smiled, realizing that Molly was making the delectable biscuits by hand.
Next up were the chocolate chips, along with the chopped black walnuts.
They worked in tandem, relishing the silence if not the solitude. Before she could take a second sip of the now tepid tea, three pans of biscuit dough was ready for the oven.
"I know you can't sleep, Hermione. I know that you try to, but something in your sleep wakes you. I know that the only way that you can sleep, as little as it is, is while you're being held by Ron. What happened that was so bad that you need him there with you at night? What was so bad that you are haunted worse than Harry?"
Hermione looked up from her tea, trying to decide how much she could confide in Molly. She saw the pain in her eyes, the retort waiting to be thrown back at her. Was fighting with her worth it, or should she walk away? Bitterness burned in her.
"Don't concern yourself about it, Molly. I'll go into London today and get some sleeping draughts. After this morning, no one else will have to tolerate my nightmares."
"Do you think so little of me, that you won't tell me what happened?"
"You don't trust me, even after I brought your son home alive. I begged you for him to stay with me, but you said that under your roof, it's your rules. I accept that, and I will deal with it. I won't beg again."
Hermione stood up from the bench, intending to try and change her clothes. It was still too early to head out for the day, but a walk in the orchard might suffice for the time being. She was a basket case, but she refused to crumble in front of Ron's mother. No one in the house needed to see her weakness, her fallibility.
"Wait."
Hermione stopped, too exhausted to even consider the possibilities or ramifications. She was still a guest under this roof.
"What happened, child? When you were dueling Bellatrix, before I barreled in, there was a fury there that I never saw from you. The power behind your magic, your spell casting, your focus – I had not seen since ages past. She taunted you with crude comments. What did she do that nearly broke your soul? Please. Tell me, trust me to help you."
Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand, bent like the former owner. Even now, she was hesitant to use it except in battle. It was like trying to hold a deadly snake in her hand. She couldn't trust the blasted thing until she mastered it. She had no confidence in the blasted thing, at least until she conferred yet again with Olivander.
The question was painfully obvious, yet needed to be asked. "What do you know?"
"Easter Sunday, Bill came over and evacuated us all to Aunt Muriel's residence. Arthur and I – the twins – Ginny – we all went there to escape. He said that the Ministry knew that Ron wasn't with us – and that we had minutes to escape. So we ran. Ginny was furious: the only time I ever slapped my daughter – for cursing me. You'd think she was channeling her brother with her language. Within minutes of getting to Aunt Muriel's manor, I had taken her wand, and hid it from her, to keep her from running back to either the Burrow or school.
"After Bill got us settled into Muriel's, I cornered him and asked again. He said that Ron showed up with you and Harry and a few other people. He didn't know what had happened, except that you were badly hurt.
"When Bill went back to Shell cottage, all he said was that Ron showed up with you and Harry and a few other people. He didn't tell us anything else, 'cept that you were alive at his place. Why?"
Hermione looked up from her striped socks and saw Ginny standing in the doorway. She had been pestering for the better part of a week, ever since the first night home, and had been awoken to that first night terror. The look between them was simple – trust and revelation. A quick nod is all the acknowledgement needed.
"I can't really tell you much the first couple of days. That would be up to Ron, maybe Harry, or even Bill and Fleur. They were taking care of me while I was unconscious."
"Unconscious? Oh dear lord!"
"Come, take a seat, both of you. This is going to take a while."
Molly looked up, and went red in an instant. She hadn't heard her youngest sneak into the kitchen. But before she could do anything else, Ginny had procured three cups for tea, along with milk and sugar. Each witch preferred it different – from Molly who took it plain, to Ginny who added way too much sugar – to Hermione, who preferred milk. Even tea could be complicated.
"The last thing I distinctly remember was being hit with the first curse. But I get ahead of myself.
"We were on the run, and I accidently said Riddle's title. We knew there was a taboo trace on the name, and I let it slip. The next thing, we are being chased by snatchers. Three of us being chased by ten of them. We almost made it, outrunning them. We didn't see that another group had us blocked off and there was no real escape. The only thing I could think to do was hide Harry – and pray that we could fool them. It didn't work. Greyback knew immediately that Ron was a Weasley – even with my pathetic attempts to say I was Penelope Clearwater. They couldn't fathom that it was Harry, but they suspected once they realized who Ron was.
"They took us to Malfoy Manor, and that is when things begin to get a bit foggy. I remember images, almost like looking at snapshots."
She returned her focus back at the table, seeing the two witches waiting for the story to continue. Even with such a short telling, she was parched. The tepid tea in her hands was soothing, if not comforting.
"Greyback took Ron and Harry away, after binding them. They left me in the drawing room with Bellatrix, and she was terrible. She cursed me, and I fell. She demanded to know how we got the Sword of Gryffindor. I told her we found it. She unleashed torture. She refused to believe me."
She looked up, and saw that George and Arthur had joined them at the table, nursing their own cups of tea. She never heard him come in. She took another sip – surprised that it was warm, and just how she liked it. Ginny must have made it for her, since no one else at the table knew how she took it. She smiled at her best friend sitting next to her before continuing.
"I don't remember much from then on, except pain. She would scream at me, demanding to know how we broke into her vault at Gringotts. I couldn't tell you what my replies were. All I could focus on was hearing Ronald screaming for me from the dungeons below. Even then, she continued, cursing me, demanding answers to questions I couldn't answer. All I knew at that point was pain.
"I passed out at some point, and I think I only came to when I heard my name again. About the only thing that I know for certain was that I wasn't on the marble floor of the drawing room. Everything else is fuzzy.
"My life didn't matter. The only thing that did was protecting them. I was completely prepared to die at that point, to protect them, to protect Harry. I knew that possibility the day I decided to go with Harry."
She looked up again, and saw that the rest of the house had joined them at the table. Molly was crying on Arthur's shoulder – Ginny was sobbing on George's – and Percy was wiping his eyes also. The only ones who were stoic were Harry and Ron.
She looked at her other best friends, watching the grief flicker on their faces. She never told them at any point on the journey what she was prepared to do for them.
"Yes, Harry, I knew what I was risking when I agreed to help you. You can get all noble on me, but you're my brother, and worth fighting for. You aren't responsible for what happened. I chose to come with you, and I accept responsibility for what we did."
She scratched at her neck, not realizing what she was doing. Ron's eyes went wide before she realized what she was doing. She put her hand back on the warm tea cup, now empty.
"The next thing I knew, I quit hurting. It's strange, having gone through it. I read about it once, in my parent's medical texts. I realized what it was: Sensory overload. The brain shut down to the pain. I don't even recall anything past then. Everything went blank. Death was welcome at that point."
"What she isn't telling you is that bitch Bellatrix – "
"Ronald! I will not have that language in this house, no matter how loathesome!"
"Mum, just quit. Do you see that angry scar on Hermione's neck, the one she was just scratching?"
"Of course."
"That was made with a goblin forged knife, courtesy of Bellatrix. What Hermione doesn't remember is getting that, or having a chandelier dropped on her from twenty five feet.
"Harry and I watched as that monster threatened to slit her throat if we didn't surrender again. Even such, she still left her that nasty scar there. It was no decision. We wouldn't have lasted another minute without her – so we dropped our wands."
"Dobby." Harry whispered, barely able to stifle his grief. All eyes turned up from their cups to hear what he had to say. Even Hermione, who was still numb, listened yet again.
"Dobby helped us escape. First, he took Luna, Dean, and Mr. Olivander out of that dungeon. They were in no shape to help us.
"Dobby then dropped the chandelier, trying to help us escape. Unfortunately, Bellatrix jumped out of the way before it hit her. It hit Hermione – and Griphook, the goblin who helped us – instead."
"I ran to the chandelier, grabbing it and throwing it off of her. Harry tossed me a wand, and I grabbed her. We left. I knew that Harry would get Griphook and follow – and he did. Unfortunately, Bellatrix threw that dagger she threatened Hermione with, and it hit Dobby."
"When I hit the sand at Shell Cottage, I dropped Hermione in the sand. I'm sure that is why it took a few extra days for her to heal up. Anyway, I picked her back up, and ran for the cottage. Bill accosted me, to make sure I was who I was, and we ran into the house. Fleur came back in after she saw to Griphook. I didn't care about anyone else 'cept Hermione.
"I wasn't sure that she was alive at that point. There was so much blood."
They stood there, lost in memories and nightmares.
"When I came in, 'ermione was on the bed, bleeding like a feastday pig. Pauvre Ronald was crying so hard, barely 'olding on. Guillome et moi worked fast, since she was bleeding so badly. Beel took care of her neck while I worked on the rest of her. Poor Ron, seeing 'er in such terrible condition. Et, to make matters worse, I had to strip her magically. He turned as red as Bordeaux, seeing her disrobed yet only out of necessity."
"We had to work fast. It literally would have been death by a thousand cuts. The broken ribs on her back, broken arm and collarbone, the skull fracture – she was a mess, Mum.
"Fleur got her back healed up, along with the cuts on her face. If she had been awake, I'm sure that she would have been screaming in pain from removing all of the chandelier shards. But I was too focused on her neck, staunching the bleeding, to do much else to help. Magic didn't help when I tried to seal it. I knew then that someone had used Goblin forged steel on her. All I could do was keep a flannel on it until it stopped."
"They used the Cruciatus curse on her." Harry said in a whisper. The room went deathly silent. "I quit counting after the first seven times she was screaming. Ron was losing his mind, until Pettigrew came into the room. Once he had a wand and a plan, he was fine. Hermione on the other hand – well, I hope I never again see what we saw when we first went up the stairs.
"She was pinned on the ground, between the Lestranges' and Greyback. They held her down, whispering in her ears while Bellatrix was carving into her skin with that damn blade. She barely said a word, just weeping really, and I watched as she quit weeping. She was dying, at least on the inside."
Hermione's hand started trembling. She did that, every now and then for no discernible reason. Ron knew though that it was the start of another panic attack. He was by her side in an instant, cradling her in his arms while falling on his arse on the floor. All eyes followed them, watching him rock her while the tears started to flow. Her silence screamed worse than any wailing she could have done.
"Once we got the bleeding stopped, and could heal as much as possible, we let her sleep. She was in no condition for a potion, so we bandaged her neck up, her arms, and let her sleep.
"Ron barely left her side those first three days. When he had to leave, Luna stayed and kept a vigil. Heck, even Dean stood watch one night when he couldn't sleep."
"I went in to check on her the evening of the second day. Ron was asleep next to the bed, holding her hand, and she was awake. I know she was awake because she watched me change her dressings, even if she didn't move another muscle. We let him sleep, while I changed the bandages on her arm and her neck.
"It was probably the strangest conversation I ever had – I think Hermione said all of 5 words the whole time. Between changing the dressings, and giving potions, she was like a church mouse being watched by a kneazle. Once we got her dosed again, she went back to sleep.
"That lasted for an hour, before she woke screaming."
A muffled sob broke the conversation. A myriad of eyes turned to the couple on the floor. She was still cradled in his arms, her face buried in the crux of her neck, tears still falling down her face. She was shaking like an epileptic. She wasn't the only one.
"Bloody hell. That's enough. She doesn't need to relive it. She's about to break and I won't stand for it. Mum, I'm taking her back up to my room, and we're going to try and sleep."
"You will do no such thing, Ron."
"I am and will. Can't you see how fragile she is? Can't you see that she is going barmy and we can't do anything about it? The only way she's going to get better is sleep, lots of it, and the only way she gets that is with me. Got it?"
"I will not allow – "
"Damn it Mum! I won't let you send her around the twist when even monsters couldn't break her."
"That is enough, Ronald. I will not be – "
"Molly!"
All eyes in the room turned to Arthur. He had been silent the entire time, taking in everything before him. His interruption was a necessary lightning crack.
He looked down at his youngest son, and presumably his girlfriend. Cobalt eyes looked at one another. "I'll follow you up, and we're going to talk, man to man."
"Yes Dad."
Arthur got up from the head of the table, assisting Ron with moving Hermione up from his lap. "When I get back down here, we will finish this discussion. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm peckish for some bacon and eggs and toast."
The three of them left, ascending the stairs to Ron's attic room. Within seconds, pans were rattling and pots were whistling. He could only chuckle at how fast his own wicked witch would move mountains for him.
He looked up, and watched in admiration how gentle his youngest son was with – how would you define their relationship? No matter, because he would soon find out. Even carrying her up four flights of steps was part of the answer.
They came to his room, and watched as he laid her down on his bed, wielding his wand to make it wider, and longer to accommodate his newly grown frame. He tucked her into his bed while whispering in her ear. A few shaky head nods, and he came back to the doorway where his father was standing.
"Yes, Dad?"
"Time to talk, man to man. I'll make it quick, for her benefit. I want answers. No dancing around the hard questions. Got it?"
Ron nodded, watching Hermione curl up even further in the bed. He looked back at his Dad, ready for his questions.
"What is she to you, son?"
"My best friend, my girlfriend, my reason for being. She's my everything, Dad. Has been for years."
"When did you start sleeping with her?"
Ron's face went magenta, followed by his ears. He looked his father right in his eyes, showing his hard-earned fortitude. "If you mean just sleeping, to keep away the nightmares, the third night at Shell cottage. If you mean shagging, then just ten days ago."
"You mean to tell me that the three of you were on the run for almost a year, hiding from the world, and you didn't do anything until almost two weeks ago?"
Ron hung his head in shame, muttering about promises. A hand on his neck in addition to his own made the decision for him. He looked up, cerulean eyes looking into his own.
"I abandonded them, right around Halloween. I didn't return until after Christmas. I couldn't find them when I left in a fury. It's not something I am proud of, and it'll haunt me the rest of my days. We didn't do anything because Hermione was furious at me – and she had every right to be. Nothing happened until we escaped Malfoy Manor.
"I honestly thought I had thrown away the best thing in my life."
He turned his back in shame, until he saw his reason for being still quivering in bed. He had to be the knight she needed.
He turned back around, finding his father still standing in front of him. He didn't want to step up and admit how bad he hurt her, at least to his father. He knew that he needed to. His hero was standing in front of him, waiting for an explanation. He looked down, since he stood taller than him. When did that happen?
"It was only then, when she needed me, was I able to be there for her. She forgave me, Dad. I walked out on her, and she forgave me.
"So now, I am going to be there for her, as long as she will have me. If that means incurring Mum's wrath – or having to move out – so be it. Hermione is not leaving my side again, if I can help it. If that means we have to move out today, so be it. But she is not leaving my side for any reason."
He stood in front of his father, fighting the scrutiny that his dad was giving him. His everything would make it worth it. If she could endure and survive torment from a foul loathsome monster – he could stand up to his dad, and even his mum. Hermione was worth it.
"The door stays cracked, and someone better have clothes on. I can't guarantee that your mother won't have kittens over this, but if you love her like I think you do, you'll protect her from Molly's wrath and accusations. No one will impugn her, but there will be talk about you."
"I can live with that. She's worth it, in every way."
"Good morning, Son. Try to get some sleep."
"We'll try."
Arthur left, intentionally leaving the door cracked open. Ron listened, waiting for the explosion from below from his mother before he could rest easy with his girlfriend at his side. With none coming, he crawled into bed, still dressed in his too short pajama bottoms and threadbare t-shirt.
"I missed you." She whimpered. "So cold."
"I'm here now. You sleep. I'll keep watch over you. I'll keep you warm."
"Promise?"
"I'm not leaving your side. Not even Mum can drag me away."
Within minutes, she fell asleep, with her knight keeping watch. Minutes later, he followed her into slumber.
Molly looked in the cracked door, seeing her youngest son curled up behind his girlfriend, still clothed like she was. For once in her life, she was complete torn, and at a loss. Their rule under the roof was no cohabitation under any circumstances, yet here was her youngest son, canoodling with his girlfriend in his bed. Arthur told her, after breakfast, what he had said. Her son, the one that she could always cajole and castigate into anything, stood up to her in front of the whole family.
"When did he turn into such a man?" she thought wistfully. "Where did my boy go?"
She felt her husband's arms surround her, making her feel safe and secure.
"They still asleep?"
"Sure are. It's half eleven. Six hours, and have barely moved."
"Did Bill tell you the rest of the story after breakfast?"
"He did. So dreadful, hearing what that poor girl went through. No wonder why she was at her wit's end."
"It's a miracle she's not dead, or in St. Mungo's like Frank and Alice."
"No, not really. She had her knight fighting tooth and nail for her. He was the reason she continued to fight, to live. She had something to live for, something worth dying for.
"It's funny, but it seems that it took them saving the world and watching their world fall apart to get them to see one another."
"I still don't like it, them sleeping together, under our roof."
"You heard him, and what he told me. They will leave if we don't agree. Are you ready to lose him again, over something we can't control?"
"But he's just a child – "
"No, that one is a man, in more ways than one. Face it, your boy is gone, and the man he was meant to be is asleep in that bed, protecting the one person that he is willing to fight for."
She looked up from his arms, realizing what her husband had said.
"No!"
"Yes, dear.
"Impetuous!"
"Not really. They just survived a war, going through G_d knows what. That son of ours stood up to me, and told me what he has done, and would do to protect her. Our prodigal son came home the man he is meant to be. We might not like it, but we also need to protect them as best as possible. If that means breaking our own rules to shield them from the nightmares they have, so be it. They need us, and not chasing them away."
"But they are just kids!"
"A kid doesn't beat a werewolf almost to death with his bare hands. He is a man, blooded in battle. I won't stand in his way, and neither should you. "
He looked in on the couple, recognizing that they were awake, and listening to what was being said. He could only smile. Such wily adults. He looked down on his bride, his wife, his everything, and saw the fear in her eyes. He knew all too well.
"You saw what happened, in the Great Hall, and afterwards. Don't think for a minute that they can't just get up and walk out of our lives, and disappear again. He fell in love with the Brightest Witch of her age – and she kept them safe for a year on the run. What can't she do if she puts a mind to it?"
"I'm not ready to be a grandmother, Arthur , at least from them."
"We'll talk with the four of them tonight. Between Hermione and Ginny, I think we can scare them enough to take things slow."
"Will it work? Getting them to take things slow?"
"We can only try, and hope. But I give it a year before those two are married, bickering the whole time. He'll make her an honest woman. She'll make him a better man.
"It's the other two that have me worried. Our daughter has some dreams she wants to chase, and he has to earn her trust again. Our daughter is going to make him earn her love yet again. I hope that Harry can understand."
They stood there a minute, considering the consequences of their decision. Arthur waited, expecting to fight his wife further.
"Well, we'll do the best we can, and accept the consequences. It's the least we can do, since they saved our way of life. I owe her more than she will ever know. She brought home two of my sons. She's earned my trust."
They walked out of the doorway, not hearing the two in the bed.
They shifted in the bed, and fell back asleep, comforted for the time being.