Ron did not consider himself religious. Mostly, he had always had other things on his mind other than God and the afterlife, and had never given it much thought. Now though, after hearing one of the most important people in his life be tortured, and seen her nearly have her throat slit open, he wished he had.
He had kept his arms clutched around her as they Disapparated, but he had let go of her involuntarily during the landing; she lay several feet away from him on the beach, unmoving, her body limp. Ron felt as though his heart could rip from his chest, seeing her there: he had no idea if she was dead or alive, and, even worse; he had no idea what to do to help her other than get her to safety.
Getting up as quickly as he could, Ron went to her side and knelt down next to her. It was too dark to look at her properly, but he could see that her eyes were closed, and that her face and arms were covered in blood – bit of glass from the chandelier had embedded themselves in her skin, dotting her with dozens of tiny – but deep – cuts.
Never before had he been in this kind of pain. Ron had thought he was familiar with pain, but he realized now how foolish he was to think that: no amount of physical pain could compare to this, feeling as though his heart was being twisted around inside of him, and a knife being sharpened against it. He would have given anything to break down and cry, but he couldn't – not when Hermione needed him so badly.
Looking around, Ron realized that he had no idea where he had Disapparated them to. After a moment of panic, thinking that he had taken them to the wrong place, Ron spotted Shell Cottage in the distance; he felt as though massive stones had been taken off of his shoulders – they were about a hundred yards away, and as long as he had managed to get them close, he didn't care where they ended up.
Carefully, not wanting to disturb her, Ron gathered Hermione in his arms. As he lifted her, she remained limp and lifeless; he was struck by how light she was – he had expected her to weigh a fair bit… but, maybe, it was the fact that he had never had so much adrenaline flooding through his body. Hermione's head fell back, fully exposing the cut on her neck; looking at it, Ron's stomach churned painfully. He suppressed the urge to groan, and began to walk toward Shell Cottage, trying to get there as quickly as he could.
"Ron!" A familiar voice called: Bill had come to meet them. "Thank God you got here – shit, what happened to her?" He asked when he noticed Hermione. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed; his hair was chaotic, and a shadow had formed around his jaw.
"It's a long story," Ron told him, not sure of how much he could tell his brother. "I just… I just need to know where I can take her."
Sensing the anxiety in his brother's voice, Bill said, "here, give her to me. I'll take her up to my and Fleur's room."
"No!" Ron said, louder than he had meant to. His face went red, and he went on, "I mean… I've got her. I can take her." He refused to let Hermione out of his arms: he had abandoned her once tonight, and he would set himself on fire before he abandoned her again. Surely Bill could understand that….
Bill nodded, and said, "okay. Where's Harry?" He seemed to have just noticed that Harry wasn't with them; and seemed very startled with himself for letting such an important aspect slip his mind.
"He should be coming." Ron answered, cradling Hermione closer to him – so close, in fact, that he could feel her heart beating against his arm: it was pumping extremely hard, and far faster than he thought was safe… for right now, though, she was alive. As long as she was alive, Ron wouldn't give up hope.
"I'll go check on him – I'll send Fleur up in a minute to check on Hermione." Ron nodded, and he and Bill parted ways: Ron walking up the front porch with Hermione, and Bill heading down toward the beach to find Harry.
Shell Cottage looked exactly as it had the last time he was here, without the Christmas decorations and snowy windows. Painfully, Ron was reminded of the horrible weeks he spent here, holed up, wishing he had a way to find his friends, and hating himself for leaving them in the first place….
Luna and Dean sat in the living room, where a fire crackled in the fire place. When Ron walked by, Luna stood up, looking more terrified than Ron had ever seen her. He wondered why… she was, after all, completely safe now; there was no reason for her to be afraid. And yet, here she was, one step away from trembling as she walked toward Ron.
"Is Hermione okay?" She asked, her voice high-pitched and soft.
To Ron, this was an incredibly stupid question – Hermione was unconscious, bleeding, and pale as a ghost… did she look okay? Still, Luna was the sort of person you just didn't tell bad news to, especially when she looked and sounded like a little girl who had just had a bad dream. Maybe that's what this entire situation was to her – a bad dream that had come true.
"Yeah, she'll be fine," Ron answered, trying to sound hopeful.
Luna nodded, as if she knew that he was lying to her, and gave Hermione a very sad, lingering look before going back to sit next to Dean. Ron waited a moment before climbing the stairs, walking passed the smiling pictures of Bill, Fleur, and the rest of the family, some of which he recognized from the wedding. He had the strange urge to smash every happy picture, that no one – not even someone in a picture – had the right to smile when the girl he loved could die at any moment.
The change in Ron and Hermione's relationship had been so gradual, he had not even noticed it – if you asked him when she had gone from being a bossy girl who got on his nerves, to a girl who was his friend, to a girl he had a crush on, to a girl he would die for, he would have no idea how to answer. He was pretty sure Hermione would be the same way – although, now, he may never know for sure.
'Stop thinking that way!' He yelled at himself as he got to the top of the stairs. 'She'll be okay. She has to be okay.'
Ron kicked open the door to Bill and Fleur's room, not wanting to risk dropping Hermione. The room was immaculate, with a window that gave a brilliant view of the pre-dawn stars that littered the sky like diamonds. Ron ignored it, however, and set Hermione on the bed as gently as he could.
The moment she was out of his arms, he felt the urge to lay down next to her, to bury his face in his hair, and to make sure that anyone who wanted to hurt her would have to go through him first…. All he wanted was to be near her, and to let her know, even if she was unconscious, that he would never let anything bad happen to her again.
Glumly, Ron sat down in the chair next to the bed, and sighed deeply. It was still, after all this time, hard to believe that something so horrible had happened to Hermione. He was amazed at how brave she had been through the entire thing… would he have been able to gather the same amount of courage she had?
Slowly, Ron took one of Hermione's hands and clasped it in both of his. It held only traces of warmth, and Ron squeezed it, trying to bring some heat back into her – he wanted so badly for her to be as comfortable as possible, even if he had no idea if she could tell the difference or not.
It was amazing – so much was going on in the house, and yet, it was as silent as a tomb. You would never think that a group of teenagers had just come here, seeking refuge from a battle, bringing along with them several people who had not been seen or heard from for months. You could have heard a cat jumping off a table, or a bird flapping its wings. Vaguely, Ron wondered where the hell everyone was.
Now that they were in the light, Ron could more clearly make out Hermione's features; the moment he saw her, he wished that he hadn't looked. Her lips were a mixture of white, pink, and purple, and her face was pure white, save for the spots of blood here and there. A trail of blood went from her mouth, winding its way down her chin, all the way down to her neck. The hand he held was wet with blood, and he could see bits of glass sparkling in the dim light of the room – bits of glass that were gleaming from within her skin.
Looking at her… it made him want to be sick. He couldn't believe someone had actually done this to her, and clenched his fists – he couldn't wait until they next encountered Bellatrix, for Ron would make damn sure she didn't live to see the next morning.
"'as she woken up at all?" Fleur asked; Ron jumped, having not realized that she had entered the room. She looked frazzled, and, for the first time Ron had seen, her hair was disheveled and her skin complexion was blotchy. Ron suddenly felt guilty for landing her and Bill with this mess – until he remembered that if they had not come here, they would be on their own.
"Not yet," Ron muttered, letting go of her hand and backing away, as to let Fleur get a closer look at her.
Fleur sighed when she saw the extent of Hermione's injuries, and mumbled something in French. "I need to know what exactly 'appened to 'er," she said – Ron was sure she meant to be asking a question, but the way she said it, it sounded like an order.
"She… er… had the Cruciatus curse used on her. And a chandelier fell on her." Ron said softly, as if saying the words aloud made it more of a reality. Fleur gasped, took out her wand, and began to usher Ron out of the room, which he resisted – he had no intention of leaving Hermione's side, not when he had already deserted her so drastically.
"Ronald, you must leave, you can come back in soon, but for now, eet ees not for boys." She said when he began to object; Ron's face instantly went red, not knowing exactly what to say – he still didn't want to leave Hermione, and not because he was a pervert.
So, he did what he did best – he stammered like an idiot.
Fleur rolled her eyes very slightly, giving him a tiny shove on the arm. "Eet ees okay, Ron, I just need for you to leave. Maybe you could go see 'ow ze ozzers are?"
Ron nodded, and walked slowly out of the room, closing the door behind him. Once it was closed, he leaned his head against the wood; eyes closed, and took several breaths in a feeble attempt to calm himself down. He could hear her screams echoing in his head, along with Bellatrix's voice, yelling at her to tell the truth.
He wanted to kill Bellatrix; someday, he swore to himself, he would. No, she wasn't going to get away with torturing Hermione so brutally, so mercifully… she would die as horrible a death as she had planned for Hermione.
Honestly, it scared him, thinking this way… there had been plenty of people he would have liked to kill – Draco Malfoy, for one – but he had never felt this desire to do it before… it was hard to describe how horribly he wanted Bellatrix dead. It was like allowing Bellatrix to stay alive would have been an injustice to all of humanity, and that it was his responsibility to make her pay for the things he had done.
And here he was, thinking like a mad-man.
Trying to take his mind off murder, Ron wondered if he should take Fleur's suggestion and go see Luna and Dean were alright…. No, he decided, if he could be in the same room as Hermione, he would at least be as close as possible. Luna and Dean were fine; they didn't need him. Ron, on the other hand, needed Hermione.
Ron had never needed someone the way he needed Hermione before – it terrified him.
It seemed like an eternity before Fleur opened the door to her and Bill's room, beckoning him inside. He didn't have to be told twice, and gladly followed her: he saw that Fleur had cleaned the blood off of Hermione, and replaced her bloody jeans and shirt with one of her own nightgowns. To his surprise, he saw the beaded bag on the nightstand. Leave it to Hermione to figure out a way to keep it hidden.
"If you will be staying with 'er, could you come get me when she wakes up?" Fleur asked as Ron moved closer to the bed, biting her lip before she added, "I zink she will be fine."
Ron nodded, noting how Fleur said she thought Hermione would be fine. If she only thought so… then there was a chance she could still… Ron didn't even want to think about the possibility, to consider that it was possible. Fleur gave Ron a small smile, which he tried to return.
"Thank you, Fleur," Ron said, "for helping Hermione."
To his utter amazement, Fleur rushed toward Ron and engulfed him in a hug. "Eet is going to be okay, Ronald. All of you are safe 'ere."
Awkwardly, Ron gave her a small hug back, wondering how he could ever have wanted to waste his time fantasizing about taking her to the Yule ball when he could have asked Hermione…. "Thanks, Fleur," Ron repeated as they broke away.
She nodded, and said, "I must go check on ze ozzer man, call for me if either of you need anyzing." Without waiting for Ron to answer, she left, closing the door behind her.
This left Ron alone with Hermione, who was as unresponsive as she was at Malfoy Manor. Ron sighed, going to sit by her side again, smoothing down her hair, which had gotten tangled and matted during their ordeal.
Ron wished he knew a prayer he could say for her. He had no idea what good it could do, but he knew that Hermione would have liked it; right now, Ron was willing to take any kind of help he could get. His parents had never taught him about God, and had never shown him to pray…. He couldn't remember the topic of Jesus come up at all in his house. He and Hermione had gotten into a discussion about it, once, during one of Harry's detentions with Umbridge…. When he had asked her why she thought God would let Voldemort come back to life, she had answered, "sometimes, you have to admit that Satan is more powerful than Jesus."
Was God looking down on them? Was He crying for what Hermione had gone through? Did He even regret letting it happen, or did He have more pressing subjects on His mind – so many so that He didn't even notice Hermione being tortured?
Ron was reminded of a book he had seen Hermione reading once – he remembered the title because he had nearly scoffed at it, asking why she had such a silly thing out. It was just after war had been declared, and she said that praying felt like the only right thing to do at the moment.
He had no idea if she brought it or not, but he reached for her beaded bag, and cast a Summoning spell into it – sure enough, a small book with a pink cover came flying out at him, the words, Prayers for Young Girls written on the front in gold. Thumbing through the pages, Ron was struck by how thin the pages were – he had to handle them with care as not to rip them. The font was in pink, which seemed like a cutesy detail to Ron, but as long as the words weren't written in blood, he could have cared less….
Finding the table of contents, Ron looked up prayers for healing. It gave a page number, and Ron found seven prayers listed one after another.
It felt silly to say the words aloud, but Ron supposed it worked just as well to think the words….
'Lord Jesus Christ,
most Holy Redeemer,
you make all things new.
Your word promises:
Whoever is in Christ has become a new creation.
The old has passed away;
behold the new has come.
Renew us, and heal us with your love.
Make new my mind:
let me see life and death,
time and eternity,
this world and beyond,
with the eyes of faith.
Make new my will:
let me walk more loyally
in the way of your commandments.
Renew us, and heal us with your love.
Make new my heart:
let me love your truly
and love others for your sake.
Make new, Lord Jesus, my whole life:
let there be no more sin,
no more compromise,
but only devotion to you.
Renew us, and heal us with your love.
I bring to you, dearest Lord,
my life and it is, my hopes and dreams,
my struggles and pains,
my fears, anxieties and addictions,
my hurts, my talents,
my achievements, my disappointments
and my sickness.
I bring to you all whom I love.
I entrust all to you
and with confident faith I take heart;
for you make all things new.
Renew us, and heal us with your love.
Amen.'
The prayer seemed to have no effect; Hermione remained unmoving, and her skin just as pale. Ron didn't know what he expected – for her to suddenly wake up?
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Ron took hold of Hermione's hand again. It seemed warmer than it had last time, and he took that as a good sign; if she wasn't getting worse, he would let himself assume that she was no longer at risk of dying. Maybe Jesus hadn't abandoned them after all.
Tenderly, Ron put his hand against her check, caressing it gently. He wondered if she could feel it at all – could know that Ron would wait with her until she woke up, and for however long she wanted him to stay with her afterwards….
Ron wanted to cry. He wanted to let out everything that had been inside of him since they had been captured by the Snatchers – or, really, since they had left the wedding, and the war for them had truly began. However, when he tried to force tears to come out, they wouldn't. Ron balled up a handful of the comforter in his fist, clenching in tightly and squeezing his eyes shut. Why couldn't he cry the one time he wanted to? Why was it that he could only cry when it would embarrass him – not when it was actually appropriate to cry?
Tracing Hermione's face with two of his fingers, Ron wondered how it was possible to love someone so much. True love – he was sure – was when you would rather die yourself then have to live without that person; Ron had long since felt that way about her, although his mother would have said he was too young to know what love was….
Turning his attention back to the prayer book, Ron found what had to be the perfect one; it was as if this prayer was the story of their life, and that Jesus – or whoever was up there, watching down on them – had been waiting for Ron to stumble upon it….
'Lord God,
Your own Son was delivered into the hands of the wicked,
yet he prayed for his persecutors
and overcame hatred with the blood of the Cross.
Relive the sufferings of the innocent victims of war;
grant them peace of mind, healing of body,
and a renewed faith in your protection and care.
Grant this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.'
That was what they were – innocent victims of war. Thousands were killed when they did nothing wrong… eleven year olds were thrown in prisons for who their parents were… and Hermione had been tortured when she didn't deserve it. The world was so full of injustices, which made Ron wonder how Hermione remained faithful – surely, she should have abandoned hope in any God by now.
Ron was even tempted to say that it was God's fault any of this had happened – for, supposedly, He had the power to stop it. And yet, He did nothing.
It dawned on Ron just how tired he was – it was hard for him to keep his eyes open, as if he had been running on pure adrenaline, the supply of which had just run out. Uncomfortably, Ron leaned forward, so that his head rested next to Hermione's, and put his hand on her stomach as he began to drift off….
The sun was just beginning to come up by the time Ron woke up, the light outside turning from blue to purple. In an hour or two, this window would give a spectacular view of the sunrise…. He started to sit up, stretching out his back, which ached from the position he had put it in.
Breaking him out of his thoughts was the sound of Hermione groaning – him moving seemed to have disrupted her. Startled, Ron looked down at her, hoping that he would not be let down, that she would be waking up….
"Hermione?" He said, softly. Ron put his hand on her shoulder, trying to make sure she knew that she was safe when she woke up. "Hermione, can you wake up?"
She mumbled something as she brought her legs up to her chest, making Ron's heart soar higher than it ever had before – and, for the first time in his life, he believed without a shadow of a doubt that there was a God.
Ron ignored his better judgment – which told him that it would be better if he let Hermione sleep longer – he gave her shoulder then tiniest of shakes, saying her name again, and hoping… praying… that she would respond. He couldn't have his hopes let up like this, only to have her slip back into unconsciousness….
Forcing herself, Ron could tell, Hermione let out a soft, "hmm?" Her eyes remaining closed.
Ron let out a sigh, letting a small smile grow on his face. There was a God, and He was watching down on them. He had not forgotten; they had not slipped His mind.
"Oh… Hermione…" Ron said, unsure of what exactly to say. For once, it didn't matter what he said to her, how much of an idiot he made himself look like. She didn't care, and neither did he.
"It's okay, Hermione," Ron settled for, trying to make his voice sound as soothing as possible. "We're safe. We're all safe." As he spoke, Ron smoothed back her hair, pulling several stray strands out of her face.
Again, forcing herself, Hermione opened her eyes halfway, looking at Ron's face and giving a small grin of disbelief. "How the hell…" Her voice faded off, but her smile remained in place. Ron could feel his heart hammering, seeing her smile… it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.
"It's a long story; don't worry about it right now." Ron told her, giving her hand a squeeze. She let her eyes close, and burrowed her body deeper into the bed as she took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
"I don't believe it. I thought we were going to die." Hermione's words were spoken quietly, slurred, and her voice sounded as though it was about to go out, but to Ron, it was sweeter than music. What he would have given to listen to it all day… to spend the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her….
Knowing this, Ron couldn't imagine how afraid she had been…. He never wanted her to have to feel that way again. He would make sure she never had to feel that way again.
Ron put his fingertips on her forehead as he answered her, "it's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Hermione opened her eyes, easier this time, and looked Ron right in the eyes. "I would have been so mad at you." She told him, her voice still no louder than a whisper.
Ron had no idea what she was talking about – or if she even knew what she was talking about. Was she mad at him for letting that happen to her? He wouldn't have blamed her if she was….
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, worried of what her answer would be. She had been mad at him so many times before, and now, after coming so close to losing her, he would rather go face-to-face with Voldemort than have her angry with him.
If only she could understand that.
"If you had let them take you." Hermione said, as though it were painfully obvious. "I would have never forgiven you."
The words broke Ron's heart. He would have given anything to be able to trade places with Hermione… he hadn't considered that the exact same thoughts were going through her head.
"Hermione, let's not talk about this right now. Everything's fine, we shouldn't bring this up right now…."
"What time is it?" Hermione asked, suddenly, asking the question as though it would come up on her N.E.W.T.s.
"What?" Ron asked, completely unsure of where the question had come from. Why the bloody hell was it so important for her to know what time it was?
Hermione re-opened her eyes, looking incredibly annoyed, "what do you mean? It's a simple question."
Deciding to humor her, Ron checked his watch, "it's… er… almost five – in the morning. Do you feel alright?"
"I hate the morning," Hermione groaned, ignoring Ron's question.
"Hermione – do you feel alright?" Ron asked, gripping her hand tightly. His worry for her had only just begun to fade; he had to know if she was really, truly okay or not….
"I've been… Ron? Were you… reading my prayer book?" She asked, spotting the book in Ron's hand.
Ron could feel his face redden, right up to his ears. "Er… a bit… you don't mind, do you?"
Looking at him as though he had lost his mind, Hermione took the book from his hand, keeping it open to the page Ron had been marking with his thumb.
"Which were you saying?" She asked, scanning the pages to see what prayers were on the two pages.
Never before had Ron been so mortified. He wondered if Hermione noticed how red his face was as he pointed to it, and watched as she read the title of it.
"Lord God,
your own Son was delivered into the hands of the wicked,
yet he prayed for his persecutors
and overcame hatred with the blood of the Cross.
Relive the sufferings of the innocent victims of war;
grant them peace of mind, healing of body,
and a renewed faith in your protection and care.
Grant this through Christ our Lord."
She read it out loud, her voice beginning to return to normal, although still sounding as though she were about to lose it. "I like this one. You were saying it for us?"
"Well… yeah…. For you, really. Hermione, you were the last person who deserved to have that happen to you." Ron said, hoping to change the subject.
"Ron…." Hermione said, sounding more touched than Ron had ever heard. "That is so sweet. Thank you."
As she began to turn the pages of the book, Ron had no idea what to say. There were so many things he wished he could say to her, but yet… he couldn't. Thankfully, she began to speak not long after, saving him from making himself into even more of an idiot.
"Oh Christ Jesus,
when all is darkness
and we feel our weakness and helplessness,
give us the sense of Your presence,
Your love, and Your strength.
Help us to have perfect trust
in Your protecting love
and strengthening power,
so that nothing may frighten or worry us,
for, living close to You,
we shall see Your hand,
Your purpose, Your will through all things.
Amen."
"He never really leaves us." Hermione said when she finished.
Ron couldn't believe what she was saying. "If He never leaves us, then where was He when you were being tortured?" He asked, louder than he had meant to. She looked up at him with a look of surprise, and, as if it were possible, he felt his face go even redder.
"He was making me a stronger person – He showed me I had strength I never knew I had. He was bringing us closer together…." After she said this, a hint of pink rose into her cheeks – it was her turn to blush.
Leaning down, Ron brushed a lock of hair away from Hermione's face. Without thinking of what he was doing, he lightly kissed her cheek; for one moment, he felt the amazing softness of her skin, the traces of heat that rose to it when his lips touched it…. It was a moment of bliss, which he wished he could stop, and live in this moment forever.
"I wish He had done it in a different way." Ron whispered when he pulled away.
Just as Hermione opened her mouth to answer, Fleur burst through the door, a look of mild shock crossing her face when she saw Hermione awake.
""ow do you feel, 'ermione?" She asked, taking her wand out and using it to draw the curtains.
"Fine," Hermione answered, sounding very confused; Ron realized that she had no idea where she was. The detail had slipped Ron's mind, as had a dozen other things.
But that was okay. They had years to fill each other in.
Thanks for the support, guys!
I think I'm going to turn this story into a collection of one-shots – Plot bunnies simply will not leave me alone!
I hope you enjoyed reading it!