Hermione was dying.
She hadn't believed it, not from the mouth of the Healer, nor from the words of the doctor. She had done her research. She felt too healthy to be as ill as they had described. She had been determined to move on with her life as if nothing had happened, and Ron was right beside her, in perfect denial.
And then it hit her. One day she woke up feeling perfectly fine, but several hours later she was unconscious in her office. Every day since then she woke up with a headache, and sometimes she was overcome with such waves of nausea that she would sit on the cold, tiled floor of the loo for hours, her head hanging over the toilet. It was as if the beast that was her illness was suddenly awakened, and its sudden ferocity terrified Hermione. Her boss had insisted that she leave her job until and unless by some miracle she had recovered. That left a miserable Hermione sitting at home all day, alone.
It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.
***
"Hermione? Are you home?"
"Of course I'm home, Gin, where else would I be? I haven't left this house in days, and quite frankly I am losing my mind."
Ginny Potter sighed as she took a seat on the sofa next to her sister-in-law.
"I brought you some soup." She placed a covered bowl on the coffee table.
"Thanks," said Hermione without a smile.
"Anything I can do?" asked Ginny, slipping off her shoes and pulling her feet beneath her. She had been coming to visit Hermione every afternoon, and every afternoon she asked the same question. She wanted to help, really, but Hermione was in a persistent bad mood. Well, Ginny couldn't really blame her.
"Not really, Ginny, but thanks." This time she smiled meekly. "I mean it. Thank you. You're the only person who still talks to me."
"What are you talking about?" questioned Ginny. "Rose, and Harry, and Ron - they don't talk to you?"
"Not like they used to," sighed Hermione, putting her feet up on the table. "Sure, people drop by to see me, but everyone whispers when they talk to me, like I'm already on my death bed." She saw Ginny flinch at her choice of words, but she continued. "They won't talk to me like they did before, just as a friend. It's like they're afraid somehow."
Ginny paused and contemplated for a moment before speaking. "I suppose they don't really know what to do. I don't want to minimize your situation, Hermione, but it's hard for them, too. They don't know what to say."
"I know," said Hermione, "I'm not really angry with them. It's the whole situation I'm frustrated with. I am forty six years old and already I'm dying. It's not really fair, is it?"
"No," agreed Ginny with a shake of her head, "it's not."
"Well," Hermione sat up straighter, "enough about this topic. I feel like it's all I ever talk about anymore. Let's talk about something different. What's going on with you, Ginny?"
"Not much. James and Al are off living their own lives and Lily is back at school. I feel like such an empty-nester at times. I can't imagine how Mum felt when she went from seven children at home to none."
"How are the wedding plans going?"
Ginny bit her lip, as though she hadn't wanted to mention the wedding, but since Hermione asked, she obliged her.
"They have a date set, but it's rather far off. They want to wait until James finishes his Auror training and Abigail starts her job at Saint Mungo's."
"Oh," Hermione sighed. "I really hope I can go..." She trailed off, the unspeakable left unspoken.
Ginny didn't say anything, but she felt salty tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away. This was not what Hermione needed right now.
"Why me?" whispered Hermione, as tears began to gather in her own eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"
"Nothing," sniffed Ginny. "You didn't do anything to deserve this." There was no way she was going to be able to hold her tears back now.
"It's not fair!" exclaimed Hermione.
"You're right," cried Ginny, and she pulled Hermione into a hug. The two sat together for several moments, sobbing. So much for a change in topic.
"Thanks," said Hermione when she finally pulled back.
"Anytime," Ginny said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
There was a faint pop and suddenly Ron was there.
"Oh, hey, Gin," he said when he noticed his sister.
"Hi, Ron," said Ginny, rising from the sofa. "I think I'm going to go now," she told Hermione. "You just let me know if you need me, yeah?"
"I will," smiled Hermione. "Thanks again, Gin. And thanks for the soup."
"No problem." Ginny turned to leave the room, and Ron began to leave as well.
"Wait, Ron, how was your day?" asked Hermione, motioning for him to come back and join her.
"I'm very tired," said Ron, rubbing his eyes. "I don't really feel like talking right now."
"Oh, come on," entreated Hermione, "talk to me. Let me live vicariously. I haven't left the house in ages and I'm bored stiff. Tell me about your day."
"Really, Hermione, not right now. I'm not in the mood." He walked away.
Ginny stared after him with an appalled look on her face and then turned to Hermione.
"What is with my prat of a brother?"
Hermione sighed. "I have no idea. He's been like this since he found me passed out at work. He barely says two words to me."
***
"Harry! What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?"
Harry grinned and pulled off his cloak as he stepped through the door. "Ginny told me you were bored so I figured I'd come keep you company."
"You don't have to work today?" asked Hermione as she took Harry's cloak from him and hung it up in the closet.
"I know you might not agree with me, Hermione, but some things are more important than work." Harry had a smile on his face, but his eyes were earnest.
"Thanks, Harry. That means a lot. Want to sit down?"
"Sure, but first I'm going to go grab a drink." He headed toward the kitchen. "Want something?"
"No, thanks, but help yourself!" she called after him.
Moments later he returned with a butterbeer in his hand. They sat across from each other at the table. Hermione put her feet up on the chair beside Harry's.
"So, what's going on?" Hermione asked.
Harry took a swig of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not very much, to tell you the truth," he said. "The entire Ministry's been very quiet lately."
"Oh, yeah?" asked Hermione. "How come?"
"Dunno," shrugged Harry. "Ran into McKinley today. He asked how you were doing."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him what you told me. Your situation. It's not exactly heartening, is it?" He glanced at Hermione over the top of his bottle and saw that she was frowning. "What? What should I have said?"
"Not that I'm about to drop any minute. The last thing I need is another person coming around to pity me."
"Sorry, Hermione," Harry apologized quickly. "I didn't know you were so touchy about it."
"Touchy? You think I'm touchy? Well, you would be, too, if you were about to die."
"I thought you said-"
"Never mind what I said, Potter," interrupted Hermione. "I'm just sick and tired of people treating me different. Or tiptoeing around me. Or acting like I can't do a bloody thing for myself!" She rose from her seat.
"Easy, Hermione," Harry also rose and stretched his arm out toward her.
"I am not incapacitated!"
"What? Yeah, I know, Hermione..."
"No, you don't know!" shouted Hermione. "Nobody seems to know! I'm dying, Harry! I'm dying, but I'm not dead yet. I need people to treat me like I'm still a person. I'm still me."
"Look, I'm really sorry, Hermione. Really, I am. I never meant to treat you badly."
Hermione's expression softened. "I know you didn't, Harry. No one does. It's just so unfair! I survived a bloody war and now I'm dying of some damned disease!"
Harry quickly made his way around the table and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so, so sorry."
Hermione tensed against him and kept her arms at her sides. "It's not fair," she mumbled into his chest. "It's not bloody fair."
Harry reached up and stroked her hair, and Hermione felt herself sink into his embrace. It wasn't Harry's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. It just wasn't fair.
***
Later that night, Hermione found herself curled up on the sofa reading a novel. Ron was sitting in an arm chair across the room, polishing his broomstick. They had been sitting like that in the same room for over an hour, and a single word had not been exchanged between them. Hermione sighed and looked back down at her book.
Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried despairingly; for she had kept up bravely till now, and never shed a tear. Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat, and steadied his lips. It might be unmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of it. Presently, as Jo's sobs quieted, he said, hopefully, "I don't think she will die; she's so good, and we all love her so much, I don't believe God will take her away yet."
"The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words cheered her up, in spite of her own doubts and fears.
Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes. Little Women was an old favorite of hers, but perhaps now was not the best time to be reading it.
She felt a small sob rise up in her throat, but she stifled it. How could she be dying? She wasn't done with life yet! But the hardest part was that she felt like she was going through it alone. She glanced up at Ron, who was still absorbed in his broomstick. Hermione whimpered.
At least Jo had someone to comfort her, thought Hermione. She pictured Ron wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her tight. This thought, rather than comforting her, made her begin to cry in earnest.
At the sound of her soft sobs, Ron looked up. Hermione, her face buried in her hands, did not notice. She continued to cry until she felt a large hand on her shoulder. She looked up straight into Ron's blue eyes.
"You should go to bed, Hermione," he said softly.
She nodded and stood up, leaving her book on the sofa. Ron began to pull her toward the bedroom but Hermione didn't move. He looked back at her inquisitively and she took a step closer to him.
"Hermione..." he breathed, his face inches from hers.
She closed her eyes, imagining Ron's lips on hers. She leaned in closer, but instead of Ron's lips, she felt his fingers touch her mouth.
"You really should go to bed."
That was it. His face was set and she could tell he meant it. Hermione nodded meekly and shrugged her arm out of his grasp. Fine. She would just go to bed.
As she crawled under the covers, Hermione realized she had never felt lonelier in her entire life.
***
Hermione woke up and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was three in the morning, and Ron's side of the bed was still untouched. She quickly got out of bed and pulled her dressing gown around her.
She found him hunched over the kitchen table, an empty butterbeer bottle in his hand. There was an unfamiliar look on his face as he stared fiercely at the table.
Hermione walked behind his chair and put her arms around his shoulders. She placed a quick peck on his cheek and then moved her mouth to his ear, where she whispered, "Come to bed, Ron."
Ron looked up at her, though his eyes appeared glassed over and his face still sported the same unrecognizable expression.
"I don't think so, Hermione," he sighed, getting up from his seat and tossing his empty bottle in the bin.
"But, Ron..." urged Hermione.
"Not tonight, Hermione," said Ron emphatically. He headed out of the room, Hermione following after him.
"Ron!"
"What?" Ron's head snapped back to look at her and the look in his eyes seemed so cold, so unfeeling that she shuddered.
"I haven't died yet, Ron," Hermione whispered, taking a step closer to him.
"I know that, Hermione," said Ron quietly, turning again to leave the room.
"I'm still here, Ron, I'm still here!" Hermione's voice raised as she said this, emotion bubbling up in her throat. "I may not have long to live but I'm still living. All I want to do is be with my husband. But he won't touch me, or kiss me, or even look at me anymore!"
Ron was staring hard at Hermione, his chest heaving.
"You won't talk to me, Ron! You want to bury me in the ground before I'm even dead. I need you, Ron, but you act as if you don't even care that I'm dying!"
Suddenly Ron was inches from her, a thunderous look in his eyes. Hermione had never seen such a murderous expression in his bright blue eyes, and for the first time she found herself afraid of him. She thought he was going to yell, but when he spoke, it was in a deathly whisper.
"How can you say that, Hermione? How can you say I don't care that you're dying? I care so much it feels like I'm dying, a slow, painful death. The day you die, I die, too."
And then it was gone. That ferocious look in his eyes had turned to one of immense pain, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to remove it.
"But - I'm still here, Ron," she repeated. It was all she could think of to say under his intense gaze. "I need you and you need me, so why can't we just be together? Why are you ignoring me?"
"I have always tried to take care of you, Hermione," said Ron in a strong voice. "Always. I would give my life for you. But here you are, dying, and I'm helpless to stop it. I can't do anything for you." At this point Ron's voice broke, and water began to pool in his eyes. Hermione felt salty tears roll down her cheeks.
"They said you were going to die," he choked, "and I didn't believe it. But then you passed out at work, and I didn't know where you were, and I thought I was going to die. You could have been anywhere, Hermione! And I couldn't help you. You're sick, and you're dying, and I don't want to make it worse."
"I'm not going to break if you touch me, Ron," wept Hermione.
"But maybe you will!" Ron shouted. "I don't know! All I know is that you're dying, and if I touch you, if I look at you, I'm reminded of that fact, and I can't breathe. Maybe if I don't touch you, if no one touches you, if you just stay in bed then you won't die."
He looked fiercely at Hermione, even as tears were pouring down his face.
"I can't live without you. I won't survive. I can't breathe without you. I can't think without you. I love you too much. I won't live without you!"
Here Ron completely broke down, sobbing madly. Hermione gathered him into her arms, and the two of them wept together. They wept for their future, for the dreams that could never come true. They would never grow old together. So they wept.
They stood that way for several minutes, until Hermione felt Ron's body stop shaking in her arms, though she could still hear him whimpering softly. She pulled back to look at him. His face was tearstained and his eyes were red. Hermione knew she looked the same.
Hermione lifted her small hands and put them on either side of his face, staring deeply into his eyes.
"I'm still here," she said, softly and intensely at the same time. "I know you don't want to live without me, but I don't want to live without you. When you ignore me, I feel like I'm already dead. I'm still living, Ron, and I want to live with you."
She reached her hands up into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. They had been together for 27 years, but never had she kissed him as she was kissing him now. She tried to put all of her emotions, every single unspoken word into that kiss. She wanted to pour her soul into his mouth so that she would continue to live through him, with him. Ron kissed her back, fiercely, passionately. He kissed her as if he was the one dying, and she was the oxygen he needed to survive. They were both crying again, and their tears mixed together on their faces.
Hermione felt weak with emotion and her knees started to buckle beneath her. Normally Ron would have lifted her up, but he too seemed to be overcome with emotion, and the two of them fell to the floor, never breaking their kiss.
They laid there for what seemed like hours, kissing and loving each other. Hermione kept whispering "I love you, I love you," while Ron said nothing at all. They just needed to hold each other, for how ever much longer they had.
Hermione wanted to show Ron how much she loved him, how much she needed him, and that she would always be there with him. Always.
