"Thanks for meeting me here, Ron."
"Oh, sure, sure…"
I remembered thinking her pretty. All that changed… Not that she wasn't pretty anymore, oh no; her bangs still fell just above her sparkling eyes and her skin was still smooth and fair, just as it had been. But, now! Now the sparkling eyes had faded to a shallow glinting, and her face was edged with grief. I even think I saw the beginnings of a wrinkle above her brow.
With nothing more to say, she quietly followed me out of the dank alley and into the lively streets of London-in-the-Evening (that's what I always called it; the city seemed to turn into a completely different place come seven o'clock). She walked close behind with her head down and looked up only when I turned to see if she was still there.
"We're turning."
I took a left and carried on. We'd turned onto a street crammed with close-set apartment buildings that showed a remarkable amount of wearing. The suffocatingly cramped architecture accompanied by the run-down walls made the scenery look rather menacing to Hermione, I could tell, for she picked up her pace and came even closer to me, but never saying a word.
I came to my door and started fumbling with my keys. My partner continued on.
"Hermione? This is it, right here…"
She stopped and turned in her tracks. With wide eyes she traced the huge crack along the edge of the doorframe and stopped at the keys in my hand. She said nothing.
Humiliated, I flung open the door and stomped inside. 'You've got to be kidding me,' I thought. 'Seven years later, and her expectations haven't lowered an inch…'
I heard quick footsteps trying to catch up with me and continued on past the crumbly stairway and towards the back of the building. As I neared the end of the hallway, screaming erupted from my neighbor's apartment.
I heard Hermione gasp. "What's going on?" she whispered.
"It's Macky," I murmured, turning from my own doorway to his. "He's a drunk." I began to search for another key in the dim hall light. "Got badly beaten until his seventeenth; ran away from home and straight into the bar down the block."
"Where does he get money?"
"He hasn't any."
"Well, then, how's he-"
"His rent, along with the other five people in this hallway, is paid by me. He gets his food at the shelter."
My old friend's hand went to her mouth. "Ron, how do you get by?"
I looked up from the doorknob I'd finally managed to stuff my key through and flashed a smile. As if I actually 'got by'. But, I said nothing and pushed open the door. We faced a naked Macky, lashing around in his own vomit, screaming bloody murder. I ran to him and crouched down by his side.
"Macky! Macky, you're OK…" It was hard to sound soothing over his screams. "You're going to be fine!"
Hermione stood in the doorway, shocked, as I took his grimy hand. He stopped moving and panted, looking around the room frantically. I stroked his greasy hair and his breathing became more shallow and even.
"Relax, Mack, you're fine… You're fine…"
I saw Hermione glance at the floor next to us- or, at least, the numerous broken vodka and whiskey bottles that paved the ground. The apartment was disgusting, what with the monstrous cockroaches, broken glass, and several questionable stains on the moldy carpet and walls. There was even a great dead rat sprawled and smelling in the far corner. The only furniture in the room was an understuffed couch and a three-legged table, and a broken refrigerator lay open on the side. I noticed some fresh blood on its corner and lifted Macky's head to reveal a big oozing wound.
"He must've gone for another beer and near fainted. Poor ol' Mack…"
Hermione harrumphed, but stayed quiet while I lifted the man into my arms and placed him on the couch. He was extremely thin and probably weighed no more than 100 pounds, a poor weight for a man of 23 years old at 5'11". I found a blanket among the pile of bottles in his bedroom and tucked it under his shivering, naked body.
"The price you pay for walking around in your nudy-pants, eh, Macky?" I chuckled.
"How can you be taking this so lightly!" whispered Hermione in a harsh tone. "He could be dying!"
"Oh, nonsense. I know an injury when I see one, and this is just a bad bump. Heads bleed badly, anyway, so it's not as awful as it looks… Go into my room and look in my remedy cabinet, I've got enough open wound potions to save an army. Oh, and get some soup, too." I threw my keys to her and she left the apartment.
--
"Where am I to sleep?"
"In my room, of course."
Hermione stared at me blankly.
I smiled. "I'll be on the couch."
She grinned and sighed. "Well, good night, Ron."
"G'Night… Oh, um… Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what, Ron?"
"Going with me tomorrow."
I watched her face as it went from bad to worse. Her fair skin turned gray, her mouth drooped, and her eyes welled up with tears. She turned and fled into my bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Well. Wasn't this a swell night?
--
Mornings always started early for me. It had to when you worked in St. Mungo's, of course, but today wasn't an ordinary trip to the hospital. I propped myself up and stared into the quiet morning darkness, breathing in the air of the new day. The whole 'incident' drove me into intense appreciation for everything I had… And didn't have. I glanced at the door blocking the view into my room. If I had just gone for it back in school…
I shook my head and rolled off the couch onto my feet. Childish fantasies. I realized now that Hermione and I would never work. But at some point I had really cared for her, and a little twang in the back of my mind told me that she had, too.
But that wasn't what was important now. Right now, it was Harry, all alone in the hospital. Well, not really; he probably got about fifty visitors every day: witches and wizards pressing their noses against the one glass wall of his room to catch a glimpse of him- their 'savior', as the Daily Prophet called him. But what I mean by alone is the state of mind he was in. Not a coma, really; he still functioned normally. 'No one knows me,' he says. And he's right. No one knows the pain he's been through, and no one knows the agony his mind relives each day, each moment. Every waking second. Sometimes I like to think that I understand. I've lost everything… At least, the little that I had, I lost. But I know it's only sympathy. Harry had more than I did, and he lost it all, too.
Breakfast was either toast or buttered toast. I looked in my wallet, which held a rusty nail, a very old picture of Mum, Dad, and the rest of my siblings, and a total of exactly $2.43. Not enough for a deformed donut these days. "That's life…" I muttered, and popped two slices of toast into my toaster.
As I waited, I studied my apartment. It was probably the best room on the whole block, but the Muggles around didn't see that. Apparently, they saw a tamer, less drunken version of Macky's room; I saw decent hardwood floors, two upholstered couches, and a polished countertop surface complete with a newish-looking sink. It was how I'd found out my last girlfriend was a witch, actually, and the thought of it made me grin… But not too much.
I set out two plates on the counter and piled a loaf's worth of toast on each of them, then got out a tub of butter from my (working) refrigerator. "Breakfast!" I called when my work was done, and brushed off my hands. Cooking Muggle style had always been a gift of mine, for whatever reason.
Moments later, a very groggy Hermione stumbled out of my room. Her hair was a frizzy mess and dark circles sat heavily under her eyes. I couldn't help but smile.
"Morning, sunshine!"
"Eh."
I thrust the plate of toast under her nose. She looked at me through droopy lids, grabbed a single piece, and flopped down onto the couch. I proceeded to scarf down the other thirteen pieces of bread and toss the plate into the sink, shattering it.
"Repairo!" I chuckled, and the pieces glued themselves back together with a light tinkling sound.
Hermione sighed. "Ron, the last time I saw your repairo charm was… Well, that ugly glass sculpture in the Dursely's living room was never the same again!"
We both laughed. I'd always wondered why I fixed that thing… Well, I guess I didn't really fix it, but the gesture it had formed was enough to give the Durselys a good idea of what I thought about them.
Hermione and I got ready as quickly as possible. We were both excited to see Harry, no matter what state he was in. It must be admitted that I combed my hair just a little bit nicer and I brushed my teeth just a little bit longer than I normally do, whether it was because of Harry or Hermione I didn't know.
"Hermione, really, we've got to leave!" I'd been waiting by the door for a good twenty seconds and I was itching to get to St. Mungo's. It was quite a walk from my house.
"I'm coming, I'm coming…" Hermione muttered. She walked out of my room smearing lipstick across her mouth. It was a nice color on h-
No. No. No, it wasn't.
I felt like my eyes were disobedient puppies, and my mind was their owner, reluctant to scold for the simple fact that they were just so darn cute…
'…Did I just think the word 'cute'? What the bloody hell! One night with a woman and already I'm about to turn cutesy.'
'I just did it again. Great.'
"Ron."
I snapped out of my train of thought and realized that Hermione was waving her hand in front of my face.
"Oh. You're still alive."
I smiled (and probably blushed a bit) and opened the door, awaiting the trip I had anticipated for so long…
--
Kind of a crappy first chapter. I'm really hoping it gets better.
-Starsies Melavowig
