"'And I think,' said Bellatrix's voice, 'we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.'" (DH, pg 382, UK edition)
With a dull thud, Ron's knees slammed onto the cold, soft sand. The familiar claustrophobic feeling of apparition had turned his insides more than ever. He took just a moment to close his eyes and pray that he hadn't been splinched, or…her. Especially her. He was afraid to look at her, to see what state she was in. Anxiety roared about him, carrying the horrors and chaos from the previous setting to the peaceful, sandy beach.
The sky was cloudless – a dull, misty white that sharply contrasted the dark green dunes. The realization that he'd somehow landed them in the right place was enough to release a loud breath of relief, but the lump his in throat grew as he feared whatever revelations might come. Did they all make it? Would she open her eyes? Did Greyback possibly get to her before they were able to? With that thought, he let out a low cry, roaring with red-hot anger at what could have been had they been a millisecond too late.
Was Bill even home? God, but that didn't matter. Nothing did but her. He choked back a sob as he crawled closer to the body a few feet in front of him.
Trying not to work himself into a panic, he wiped his snotty mess of a face with the back of his ragged shirt, eyes almost teary as he squinted through the natural light and strong, salty breeze. Little torrents of wind made hissing noises that blew about Ron's ears, combined with the roaring tide – the sound instantly reminding him of the horrible guilt he felt while staying with Bill and Fleur not too long ago. The tangible grief of loneliness and isolation from being apart from his truest friends hit him in the chest.
Hermione. Oh, gods. She looked like a ragdoll, her body splayed before him like one of Ginny's old playthings he used to step over at the Burrow as a child. Her hair was wildly strewn about, and her pretty face – gods, the face he adored so much it hurt – was deathly pale. Her neck was still bleeding, but the cut wasn't deep. Was she also wet? Ron couldn't imagine how she could have gotten misted from the sea when they were still quite far from the shore, till he realized it was a sheen of sweat that covered her face. He leaned his head down close to her chest, desperate to hear her breathing. Her lips were parted, and Ron nearly punched the ground with frustration as he realized how insanely unqualified he was to offer any sort of help to her, should her petite body require resuscitation.
His shaking arms rushed out, scooping her up under the armpits and carrying her like one would a sleeping toddler. How light she was! Ron's arms circled her back as he held her to him, his large left hand resting just below her hip as his forearm supported her weight and his other arm clasped tightly around her upper back. Hermione's head flopped to his neck, her hair blowing up in the breeze to swirl around Ron's jaw. Her arms didn't go around his neck like he'd hoped but instead hung against his chest, and he stood so fast from his position in the sand he nearly toppled over. His trainers dragged heavier through the sand than he'd expected, but he tensed and focused harder on walking straight towards the house.
"Be careful, you idiot. You'll hurt her more!" He murmured under his breath as he narrowly avoided tripping again. Even as he was walking as fast as his legs could carry him, he listened for her breathing. While he didn't hear anything, he felt the flight rise and fall of her chest.
Why does she feel so light? Had she lost that much weight this past year? He decided to speak softly in her ear as he continued walking briskly towards Shell Cottage.
"'Mione? Can you wake for me…please? I've got you, I've got you, love. Can I hear your pretty voice, Hermione?" he croaked, hoping beyond reason that she would stir in his arms and wrap her legs tight around his waist. He felt like he was going to break her, she was so light. Her head, however, felt heavy against his neck, which made him begin to feel nauseous.
She didn't lift her head, but he swore he heard a light whimper. His heart did a summersault.
"Almost there, I've got you. Can you talk, please? Can you tell me how you feel, 'Mione?" He whispered, quickening his pace but also glancing down to make sure he was talking right at her ear. Immediately, he heard that same whimper as before, but she held it out a second longer. It turned to a groan as Ron shifted her slightly in his arms, reaching to knock loudly on the sturdy front door.
While he was trying to pull his head back enough to get a glimpse of her face, Fleur's ghastly pale face suddenly appeared as she wrenched open the door. The next few moments felt like a blur to Ron. He pushed past her, demanding Bill come at once. It was shocking to walk into the rustic old cottage, with its worn wood and cozy furniture in comparison to where he'd stood moments before. If being held captive and tortured wasn't enough, even the horrific, suffocating, damp atmosphere of Malfoy Manor was enough to flip Ron's stomach. With a shudder, the memory of that goddamn chandelier crashing filled his mind.
"Bill! I need you!" his voice broke, a sob choking him as he squeezed Hermione a bit tighter to him. Fleur remained speechless, but came closer to examine Hermione's face from behind Ron's back. "Bill!" he roared, growing more desperate. Fleur began muttering in French and her eyes widened as she took in the others still on the beach behind Ron.
Sick of waiting, Ron charged up the steps and fumbled with the familiar doorknob to the first room on the left. He kicked open the door, bile rising in his throat as he considered what to do next. This was where he'd stayed last time. It was a dark blue wallpapered guest room with a steep slanting wall on the right side, simply decorated unlike the other girly one down the hall that Fleur had clearly designed, which reminded him too much of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
Ron gingerly laid Hermione down on the bed, trepidation clouding his mind as he realized he hadn't a clue what to do next. He sunk to his knees, eyes frantically scanning her body for anything, anything he could fix. He settled on untying her trainers, slipping them off her feet and letting them clamor to the floor.
"'Mione, please, I need you to wake up. You hear me? I need you, please, to wake up," he choked, his hands desperately tugging his hair. Again, there was that awful whimper – so unlike any noise Hermione ever made. Ron's hand reflexively went to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft space under her right eye.
She remained flat on her back, unmoving, eyes still shut but her mouth closed. Her fingers were curled, and absolutely filthy. Blood was smattered on her face and clothes, but he hadn't a clue whose it might be – perhaps a mixture of hers and Griphook's, and anyone in the general vicinity when the chandelier had fallen. Ron's eyes stung as they filled with tears to see her so…vulnerable.
There were sharp cuts and scrapes all over her face and hands – anywhere her adorable sweatshirt and jean jacket wasn't covering. He used his hands to wipe some of the miniscule pieces of broken glass from her jacket, fearing there may be more glass embedded in her skin. Ron secretly loved her style – while probably most would have dismissed Hermione as completely uninterested in what she wore, Ron knew she dressed classically…and loved her for it. She was good at enhancing the beauty of her face and hair. Gods, her hair.
"Still beautiful, eh?" he chuckled, smoothing some stray hairs that had stuck to her sweaty forehead. Suddenly, Ron realized there was definitely something he could do! Very carefully, he reached for the precious beaded bag (incredibly impressed that she managed to keep it on her during the entire ordeal) and carried it over to the dresser, which held a porcelain basin. He muttered a quick aguamenti and warmed it with Wormtail's wand. Could he trust this bloody thing and his shaken hand to perform a few spells on Hermione?
"Accio dittany! Accio flannel!" When both items easily soared onto the table with the basin, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Surely it would be fine, right? He carried the items carefully across the room and laid them on the floor next to the bed.
"Don't bugger this up," Ron murmured as he gripped the wand, glancing down at Hermione's lovely face. Another thirty seconds passed when he realized he couldn't do it…he wasn't prepared to have magic harm her anymore today, even if it was accidental.
"Fleur?" He yelled from the doorway, grateful to hear her footsteps quickly getting louder as soon as she'd heard him. She didn't hesitate to walk right up to Hermione, peering down at her as Ron wrung his hands, willing her to help.
"Eez it alright if I just, er…?" Fleur meant it less as a question and more as a warning. His ears turned bright red and he turned around, busying himself with the beaded bag once more and pulling out a change of clothes for himself. He wanted to make sure no glass was stuck to him while he was so close to Hermione.
"Diffindo! Scourgify! Episkey!" Ron could hear Fleur casting each spell quietly, taking in the injuries that remained when Hermione's clothes, dirt, and minor cuts were no longer obstructing her view. He was itching to turn around but wasn't sure how exposed Hermione might be. He knew she'd be mortified to wake up nearly starkers in front of people, so he did his best to try and think of what might be in the bag for him to change into and not Hermione in her current state.
"Ron? Don't look yet. Go into my room and get ze dressing gown from –"
"Right!" Ron sprinted down the hall, peering into Bill and Fleur's master bedroom and thanking his lucky stars that a pale pink dressing gown was hanging from a hook on the back of the door and that he wasn't going to have to rifle through his sister-in-law's drawer of – unmentionables. He was glad the dressing gown was soft and clean, wishing he knew an incantation to make it even more comfortable. He locked eyes while handing it to Fleur, careful to look at the floor after she took it from his hands. Hermione's tattered clothes lay on the ground, everything besides her socks. He quickly scooped them up and moved to place them in the corner of the room.
He could hear Fleur grunt as she tried to lift Hermione to a setting position, and realized rather quickly that any fantasy he ever had of a seventeen-year-old naked Hermione in the same room as him was ridiculously irrelevant right now. This was a bloody war, and she was still frustratingly unconscious.
"Here, let me hold her up while you do it…" he coaxed gently, motioning for Fleur to move over while he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard and gently supported her head, his hands looking comically large against Hermione's tiny neck and back. Fleur quickly dressed her while Ron worked to secure her hair back with a ribbon he'd accio'd from her bag.
"I'll just go get 'er some water," Fleur's heavy French accent sounded higher than usual, and Ron's eyes darted up to meet hers. She was on the verge of tears, he could tell. "Lay 'Ermione back down and stay with 'er here. Normally, erm, your mère wouldn't want boys and girls to share rooms, but zis is a spécial case." With that, she walked right out of the room and straight into Bill – Ron could hear his brother's worried questions.
He delicately lowered Hermione onto the thin pillow on the other side of him, moving slowly to keep from jostling her. He reached for the flannel, dittany, and water to begin his own regimen, wiping tenderly every injury that he found exposed on her face, neck, arms, and legs. He was so focused on his work that he didn't hear Bill and Fleur enter, carrying water and a bit of food onto a tray. Bill's arms were full of extra blankets, and it wasn't until he dropped one onto the foot of the bed that Ron even noticed them standing so close. For several tense minutes, he knew Bill and Fleur were trying to piece together what may have happened.
"I still can't believe they let students at Hogwarts practice this on one another now," Bill murmured quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping girl. "It won't cause any damage to her physical body, but Ron…we need to know how her mind is," Bill added sternly, his hand briefly resting on Ron's shoulder.
Ron gulped. He couldn't, wouldn't consider that she'd end up like the Longbottoms. Not Hermione's gorgeous, brilliant mind. For some reason, he vividly thought of the first time she brought up S.P.E.W. back in fourth year." I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now." His fists clenched as tears once again sprang to his eyes, remembering those silly little badges. She has always been so fierce. His heart burned just thinking about it.
"How many times, Ron?" Bill insisted. Their gazes met, and Ron ran his hands over his face, elbows resting heavily on his knees from his perch on the corner of the bed.
"Eleven," he barely uttered while reaching for Hermione's hand, flinching when Bill swore loudly. Her little hand was so soft, and he focused on rubbing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles as Bill and Fleur spoke quickly to one another about which spell they should use to revive the witch.
Ron turned his hips so that he was facing her fully, and trying anything – anything – to block out the screaming that had echoed down to him not so long ago, ringing through his head as the single worst imaginable sound on the face of the earth.
"I thought two Sickles to join – that buys a badge – and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron – I've got you a collecting tin upstairs…" Oh, her wild and kind ideas, her bossiness, her resolve once her mind was put to something. Ron smiled sweetly down at her, affectionately running his index finder over her face gently and tracing her jaw, nose, perfect lips, and eyelids. He avoided her neck, noticing with deep sadness again the angry red line cut across her light skin.
"Your kindness was paid back today, 'Mione…the creatures you care so much about rescued you, you know…" Ron whispered hoarsely, guilt flooding him that he wasn't the rescuer himself but thanking heaven that she was here. How proud she'd be…she will be…when she finds out that Dobby – oh, gods. Dobby. Ron knew he needed to go check on the others, but couldn't bear to remove himself from Hermione's side.
"You're so brave, you know that?" he whispered right into her ear, "Whether or not I was I lousy git or took you seriously, you've always been brave, sweet girl. You need to come back to me now, alright?" he continued stroking her face, not giving a damn if Bill and Fleur probably thought he looked mental.
"Ron – " Bill began, eager to begin rousing Hermione.
"Please, Bill, just be gentle. She's so bloody fragile… I mean, if you had seen…" Ron choked on a sob, all the feelings he'd kept down now bubbling up as he tried to convey how terribly hurt her was.
"Rennervate!" The red light that burst from his wand seemed to crash into Hermione, and a loud, horrid gasp suddenly escaped from her. Ron backed up off the bed, giving her space but keeping his hand intertwined with hers.
She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, her forehead wrinkling deeply and legs coming up to her chest as she turned sharply on her side. Deep, whimpering breaths shook her tiny frame. She broke out in sweat again quickly.
"Her-Hermione, it's me, Ron…you're safe here. We are at Shell Cottage, you remember me telling you about Bill's place? By the sea? You're safe, 'Mione…" Ron repeated several times, trying to reassure her panicked mind that no one could touch her.
"Darling, get whatever dreamless sleep potion we still have in the cupboard quickly," Ron heard Bill say to Fleur, grateful to hear the steadiness in his voice. "Hermione, can you open your eyes and look at me? Do you remember me?"
Ron silently begged her to relax – she was so tense. He was afraid to reach out and touch her, but he could just tell that every muscle was being clenched. The worst part was that he couldn't tell if it was from pain or fear.
Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open and she seemed to soften slightly, her hand linked with Ron's moving. Without warning, she winced loudly, grimacing as she clutched her stomach.
Ron's heart tore in two. "Shhh, I'm so sorry, the pain will go away. Squeeze my hand Hermione, tell me what hurts," Ron asked urgently, wanting more than anything to just trade for her pain.
"W-w-water," she stammered, closing her eyes shut again. Ron jerked towards the glass sitting on the tray beside him, spilling some over the edge in his haste.
"Water, you said? I've got some right here. Can I help you sit up, please?" Ron spoke so quickly he worried she wouldn't understand him. Instead, she warily raised her head, twisting her body so she was leaning towards Ron. One shaky arm grasped his thigh as she pulled herself up partially. He steadied the glass for her, unlacing his fingers from her hand and supporting her head as she drank deeply from the glass in his other hand. His thumb buried in her hair gently rubbed her scalp.
"That's it, love. Great job. Nice and slow, darling, don't drink too fast," Ron murmured as she finished, sighing deeply and laying heavily back down onto the mattress. Ron couldn't resist himself – he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Before he could whisper anything else into her ear, Bill squatted down to speak to her. Ron reached for her hand again, hoping her limp fingers would tighten around his.
"Hermione, can you tell me your full name? And who I am?" Bill's face pinched with concern as she breathed quietly, her eyes closed once again and breathing shallow. A few seconds passed, with both Ron and Bill staring intensely at her. As Ron raised his eyes to try and meet Bill's, he heard her weak reply.
"H-H-Hermione Jean Granger," she said rather quietly, her eyes suddenly snapping open. "You're William Arthur Weasley. Ron's eldest brother," she said with determination. Ron snickered and looked to Bill's reaction at hearing his full name.
"How'd she know that?" Bill asked sheepishly, feigning embarrassment as his face eventually broke into a slight smile.
"She bloody knows everything, I swear it. Maddeningly perfect, she is" Ron gushed, so happy to hear her voice.
"Ron…don't swear…" she muttered weakly.