Reparo part 4

The following day was very busy.

With Ron now conscious and talking, understandably, everybody wanted to see him. That was a real problem. Ron was giving everybody who walked into his room an excellent rendition of the Ron he thought they'd like to see. Then he'd falter, repeat himself or become confused, or most often, take the conversation around in circles and he was very tired.

I'd left him momentarily and when I returned I was horrified to find him on his knees, his hands cupped around the back of his head, his face buried into the pillow and rocking back and forth.

"Your head?" I asked him as I ran to his side. "Painful?"

"Yes!" he half whimpered and half screamed into his pillow. "Please help me."

I ran out of his room and straight to the Matron's station. The woman in her dark blue robes, was already moving around her desk to see why I was so distressed and snapped her fingers for another medi-witch to follow her.

"He's in pain, really bad pain," I told them.

The two women ran back to the room with me. It was dreadful. He was in such agony that his face was unrecognisable. I stood back, hands over my face and eyes peering through my fingers, and watched the matron as the medi-witch moistened some Sleeping Nightshade leaves in wine vinegar before laying them on Ron's forehead. The medi-witch held Ron's arms tightly to his sides and the matron watched as Ron began to succumb to the concoction's purpose of inducing sleep.

His breathing became less erratic as he slumped against the medi-witch's body. The matron removed the leaves from his forehead and threw them into a bin with a banishment charm placed upon it. She called to one of her colleagues to bring her a strong dose of pain potion and a jot of sleeping draught.

"Could I hold him while you...?" I offered as I took a step forward.

The medi-witch gave me a smile and a nod as she shifted out from behind Ron's body. I slipped into her place and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close against me, resting my cheek against the top of his head. I was close enough to hear his low moans of discomfort and whispered to him that his head would stop hurting soon.

The matron took the pain potion from the tray one of her staff presented to her and pulled out the stopper with a neat 'pop'. She asked me to tip Ron's head back and I did so as gently as I could.

"I want you to drink and swallow for me, Ron," the matron said, with her no-nonsense tone of voice.

Ron rolled his head to one side and winced. I whispered into the side of his face that I was there and he would feel much better if he just drank the potion. He groaned a little and then let me turn his face back towards the matron. She poured the contents of the small bottle into his mouth and Ron swallowed, coughed a little and then swallowed more comfortably.

I wiped the trickle coming from the corner of his mouth with my sleeve and felt him release a full body sigh as the pain potion begin to take effect.

"Now for some peaceful sleep," Matron said as she nodded to me to support Ron's sagging head while she tipped the small cupful of sleeping draught past his lips.

I felt Ron swallowing and stroked his hair until he was asleep, then the matron helped me lay him down again. I sat down heavily in the chair next to him, watching as his expression slowly changed, and the pain and tension gradually dropped away.

It's strange how exhausting it is to watch somebody you love in such misery. You go through every second with them and you despise every uncomfortable moment, just willing it to be over. When the matron and medi-witch left, I really thought I was going to be sick.

The matron called the Healers to let them know what had happened and they soon confirmed that Ron's condition had deteriorated yet again. They put a silencing charm around his room and ordered peace and quiet for the foreseeable future. From then on, visitors would be strictly monitored. It was suggested that I continue to be with Ron but that only very close family be allowed to continue to visit, and then only for fifteen minute periods.

Ron's determination to give everyone who visited him an enjoyable time had really taken its toll.

While Ron was sleeping, I took a walk to stretch my legs. I went to fetch myself a cup of tea, took my time in drinking it, and then popped to the loo before heading back to my place at Ron's side.

Oh yes, I was playing the dutiful wife role to a tee. The funny thing was that I wasn't doing anything I thought 'the wife' was supposed to do; I was simply doing what we both needed.

Ron needed me to be there for him and I needed to witness every event, every incident, and every fight. It wasn't so much me fulfilling my wifely obligation, it was more that I had always had, and always will have, a need to control Ron.

I am fully aware that this isn't a trait to boast about but it is the honest truth about me and about our relationship. I always want to steer him onto a path I approve. At school, I tried to get him to feel more pride in his work, take his being a prefect more seriously, believe in himself and his vast number of abilities in the same way I did, and he did every one of those things for me. He just didn't do them to the level I expected of him.

I didn't realise until much later how failing to meet my expectations had affected Ron. As I realised how many of my failings he didn't just forgive but also adored, I found it easier to relax about myself and my need to push him on to better things.

I had such ambition for Ron, as much as I had for myself, but things always change with time. All it takes really is time, marriage and babies before you understand that you don't need to be perfect. You don't even need to try to be perfect.

Have you ever heard yourself talking to somebody else and suddenly 'heard yourself'?

I used to go on at Ginny about how fast she settled down and gave up on her dream career. I told her she was the incredible, talented, unique Ginny Weasley and not 'Mrs Harry Potter.' She had so much potential and what came of it all? A couple of Quidditch trophies and then marriage and children.

I told her she was much more than a baby-making machine and she told me she agreed. She told me she was a mother.

I couldn't believe that I had been so determined to prove myself to be more than your typical witch that I'd actually been calling some of the most admirable and remarkable women I know unimpressive. I had fallen into a trap, a way of thinking, that most men do.

But my Ron has a remarkable mother and an equally remarkable sister and all he ever did was be impressed by strong and powerful women. He liked me when I wasn't any fun and I never relaxed; he liked me when I was bossy and condescending and when I put him down without realising it.

He would bicker with me, have verbal duels, it was like a sparring match of two incredible wills, and yet he loved to be challenged. One thing we would always agree on was that his mother was a force to be reckoned with and that his sister wasn't to be underestimated. He loves strong women and can't even converse with those who have no independent spirit or individual aspirations.

We once met a couple at Neville and Hannah's big opening in Hogsmede, a husband and wife who looked pristinely glamorous and made every other couple look like drab wallflowers in comparison, and Ron couldn't believe they were for real. Not because of how perfect they appeared, but because whenever he asked the wife a question about herself, whether it was about what she liked, what she thought, what her opinion was on the topics of discussion we covered in the few minutes we talked, she would turn to her husband and wait for him to answer for her.

Ron kept looking from the woman to me in a state of utter confusion. When the couple moved on he pulled me into a corner and whispered a devastated diatribe at me for not telling him there was something wrong with the woman before he started talking to her like a normal person.

"She is a normal person, Ron. There's nothing wrong with her."

"Were you not standing next to me just then? I asked her if she was enjoying herself and she had to look to her husband to find out if she was or not!"

I looked at him fondly and pulled his face down to meet mine.

"That is what some people think a perfect wife is, darling."

Ron looked stunned.

"You're joking, right?"

I shook my head.

"But she's like...She doesn't even...There are House-elves who have better relationships with their masters than that!"

And there it was. I was trying to show the world what a witch should be and I thought Ginny was letting the side down by settling down. I loved my job and I did a great job and as soon as the children both go to school, I will go back to work. I miss it so very much and I love how what I do there makes a difference but I now understand that what I do at home makes a difference, too.

What Molly Weasley did with her life made a difference because she raised six boys who can't understand the concept of a trophy wife, of any woman being seen but not heard, and one daughter who could make me see that a woman didn't have to choose between being a remarkable woman and being a mother.

I didn't just give up on my own life to have Ron Weasley's babies.

But right now, I would give up everything so my babies could have their daddy back the way he was. Just as Ron had never wanted a silent agreeable partner on his arm, I never wanted him to stop fighting with me.

To this day, I thank God that I chose a man with fight in him, a fighter right down to his very core, because as much as it infuriated me when we were teenagers, it gave me hope now we were adults that he wouldn't be leaving me. He wouldn't be on my arm and looking at me to speak for him. He wouldn't be one of those people who suffer such an injury and leave their family. He wouldn't be anything but my Ron, who showed me that I could be so much more than just a wife, just a mother, just a shining example to career-minded witches everywhere.

I could be all those things.

If Ron could convince me there was nothing I couldn't do then I knew the same applied to him. I also knew that if I wanted Rosie to grow up to be a well-rounded woman with as many options open to her as possible, then she would need the open mind of her daddy as well as the cluttered mind of her overcompensating mother.

I like to tell women I speak to that I'm not much of a feminist...but my husband is teaching me how to be a great one.

One of my loveliest memories of my time alone with Ron was the overwhelming feeling of happiness that he'd come back. He was child-like and forgetful and difficult, but he was undeniably Ron, and I think I probably loved him more then than I'd ever imagined possible.

A part of me knew he could have been lost forever, yet he'd returned. The pain in his head was still very intense and he was taking pain potions regularly. As Ron was so very exhausted and in so much pain the medi-witches were quick to tell me he'd be asleep all night. They were desperate for me to get some proper rest and, to be honest, I was really starting to feel awful.

So, at about half-past nine in the evening I left Ron and Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron to find a room. The whole family was staying there and Harry had mentioned he'd paid for a bed to be kept free for me.

I slept, briefly and erratically, and by half-past six the following morning, I was dressed and ready to go. I was about to step into the Floo when the head of one of Ron's Healer's appeared there.

"Oh good, it's you," the man sighed with relief. "Ron woke up a short while ago and became very distressed because he didn't know where you were."

"I'm on my way," I said, almost kicking the man's face back into the flames so I could use the fireplace.

Molly had been about to try to persuade me to sit down with her and eat before going to St Mungo's but as I turned to say goodbye to her, I saw the look in her eyes that said she understood I had to go and that she wanted me to do anything I could to make her poor boy feel better.

We shared a smile and a nod and I went on my way.

I know, as a mother, that one day Hugo won't be calling out for me when he's upset. I can't imagine the wrench that must be. I'm so lucky to have a mother-in-law who doesn't try to remain the first name called out in a crisis, who doesn't elbow me out of the way and take over, and I can only hope to be half the person she is as time goes on.

I was now Ron's constant, his anchor, and I would never sleep at the Leaky Cauldron again. I would never leave him alone again. To make him suffer any more than he was already suffering was unforgivable. How could I put him through that?

When I opened the door to his room, he beamed at me.

"Oh, hello," he said, almost timidly, afraid he was going to scare me away. "I'm so glad you're back."

We shared an enormous hug. It lasted longer than any other embrace I've ever known. I wondered, with everything being so mixed up and confusing for him, whether Ron really believed I'd return. Post-traumatic amnesia is an alarming condition. The majority of the time, he had a five second memory. He could remember scraps of past history but just very little since the crash, and what he couldn't be sure of was whether I really existed or was simply a figment of his imagination.

It's difficult to explain how our relationship emerged and how frightening the process was. It felt as though we were piecing together bits of confused emotional memories. Ron was stumbling through feelings and emotions and all the while trying to understand how they related to us.

He'd accepted that I was his wife, I think, and I regularly held his face in my hands and told him, 'If you have any questions, any worries, ask me. I'll tell you the truth.'

I'd asked Ginny to bring the children to St Mungo's.

I gave them huge cuddles and then sat them down on chairs facing me and crouched down before them, taking one of their tiny hands in each of mine.

"Now, you know where you are don't you?"

Rosie took her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to say, "Yes, we're in a hospital."

Hugo just nodded, looking unusually serious for such a chirpy little boy.

"Remember when I had to rush off because I needed to bring Daddy some new clothes?"

"Yes, because he broke his ones and they were all dirty," Hugo replied, very seriously.

"That's right, love." I smiled. "Well, when he tore his clothes, he also banged his head a bit."

Rosie pulled a face.

"Was there blood?" she asked.

"Just a little bit, just where he banged his eye."

"Ooh, has he got a plaster?" Hugo asked, excitedly.

He had grazed his knee while at my parents' house one afternoon and they did what all Muggle grandparents do and cleaned it up and put a sticking plaster over it. My mum had ones with pictures of Mr Bump from the Mr Men on them and Hugo now insisted on having a plaster even if he'd been magically healed.

"Sort of," I shrugged. "It's more like a bandage."

"Wow, that's really good!" He was impressed, like all three-year-old boys, I suppose.

I looked again at Rosie. Her thumb was planted firmly in her mouth and her face was as serious as she could muster.

"Here's the thing," I said as I squeezed her hand, "because Daddy doesn't really feel very well, he's really tired and really...well...a bit, not like Daddy, but he'll get better. He just needs to get lots and lots of sleep and then he'll be fine."

"He probably needs a nap. He can have my dummy if he wants." Dear Hugo was so like Ron, so like the little boy Molly told me about. "I'll give him a big cuddle!"

"You do that. That'll make him feel much better."

We'd explained to Ron that he should keep a bandage over his eye, as it looked quite gory and might scare the children, and he was overjoyed when he saw them. He forgot completely why he was wearing the bandage and tore it off. Thank heavens I'd prepared the children!

"Ooh, Daddy, that looks sore," Hugo commented.

Rosie was very quiet. She spoke very intensely with Ron about the card she'd made him but he was over-excited. He got up from the bed and I dashed to grab him so he didn't fall. He pulled away from me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

He was going to the loo. He hadn't managed to go unaided before this but I understood that, in front of the children, he'd hate me to go with him. My mouth became dry as he shuffled into the bathroom. Before he was halfway through, he fell forward and saved himself by grabbing the chain hanging from the cistern with one hand and the toilet roll holder with the other. There were special spells set up to detect if a patient fell or lost their balance and the high-pitched chirruping sound alerted the medi-wizard on duty and the two of us ran to the toilet to help him.

We helped him back to the bed where he sat, grinning sheepishly. Rosie tried to talk to him about home and the game she'd been playing but he wasn't able to concentrate. He was nodding but his eyes were heavy. The fall had exhausted him.

"Time to say goodbye," I whispered to them.

Hugo gave Ron a kiss.

"Bye, bye Daddy."

Rosie's eyes started to fill. I looked at her with an encouraging smile and mouthed, 'Say goodbye.'

"Bye, Daddy," her voice was breaking but Ron was half-asleep and didn't notice.

"Bye bye, Rosie-posey," Ron said, groggily.

His eyes shut and I took Hugo's hand and lifted Rosie onto my hip. We walked out as quickly as we could to a waiting Ginny. She picked up Hugo as Rosie exploded into uncontrollable sobs and I hugged her to me, heading for the exit.

"What are we having for lunch?"

I'd grown used to Ron's strange questions so I simply told him we'd had lunch and dinner and now it was bedtime.

"Really? Oh, okay."

He was very sleepy and by the time I'd returned to the room, after I'd finished brushing my teeth, he was fast asleep. It was about nine o'clock in the evening and after Nox-ing off the light, I climbed onto my mattress bed on the floor and was soon asleep.

Whenever Ron woke, he would ask the same questions every five minutes.

"Where are the children?"

He had no memory of them leaving.

"Where do we go tomorrow?"

He was convinced we were at the Leaky Cauldron or in a room at the Three Broomsticks.

"When are we meeting up with the others?"

He thought there was some kind of party going on, which was understandable as it was pretty unusual for his entire family to be present at the same time unless it was a special occasion.

Other questions which quickly followed, "Where are my clothes? I've got to get dressed. What time do we need to get to the restaurant?" and I'd explained several times that this wasn't a hotel, there was no party, he couldn't get dressed because he only had pyjamas to wear, and no one was meeting us at a restaurant.

Eventually, he would accept what I'd told him, only to become animated again a few moments later.

"Where's George? Where's Charlie? Where's Mum and Dad? Where's Harry and Ginny? Where's Womble? I need to speak to him about work! Kingsley, my boss, when am I due in? When's my post getting here? How did you get here?"

The problem was, no sooner had you answered one question, you would find it followed by another, then seconds later the first question would be asked again. It was quite tiring and sometimes very difficult.

I spoke with him about why he was there.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No, not really."

"You had a crash, darling."

"You keep saying that."

"You still don't believe me, do you?"

"No, not really."

"Do you remember the Rocket Broom?"

"Shit! I didn't crash that did I? Oh Merlin, I bet they're cross. Did I break it?"

He was half-joking but there was also a faint tone of belief in his voice that I'd never heard before. I knew I had to fish a little more out of him but it was a scary moment. Should I tell him, yet again, my version of what happened?

No, he'd heard it before so why should it work now?

Then it came to me, the Prophet, more specifically Harry's statement in the previous day's edition. Ron would believe that; it was written by Dennis Creevey and there was a picture of the Rocket Broom and him, taken with one of those cameras the children were all using that day.

I retrieved the newspaper and he sat, propped up in bed with one knee bent under the covers, and our eyes met.

"Now, are you sure you're ready for this?"

Why was I asking him? He had no idea whether he was ready or not, he had absolutely no idea what had happened, and there he sat, blissfully unaware...maybe this was cruel. Was it better that he didn't know?

No, he trusted me, I promised him I'd only tell him the truth and this was the truth. I knew my eyes were filling with tears as he took the paper from me, his expression had changed, he was taken aback by the front page headline.

'I Saw Weasley Walk Says Potter'

"Fuck me, I'm the front page!"

I wasn't sure whether he was trying to make light of it, make me smile, or simply not digesting what he read. When he opened the paper to the centre page spread, his eyebrows lifted. There was a picture of the shattered broom and a huge picture of him weeks before walking the dog. Before he read any further, he looked up at me, panic stricken.

"Jeremy Beagle, shit, where's Jeremy Beagle?"

"It's okay, he's at home. You sat on the doorstep with him the night before."

"Oh, thank God. So he's okay?" Ron sighed deeply.

"Yeah, he's fine."

"Who's looking after him and Crookshanks, the Puff and the owls?"

"Mum. My Mum's at the house with the children."

"Oh yeah, with the kids," he smiled. "I love my kids. When can we go home? Can't we just go?"

His attention had been broken.

"No darling, you're in hospital and you have to stay here for a bit."

"No, I can't," he shook his head adamantly. "We've got to get ready. What time do we need to be at the restaurant?"

"We're not going to a restaurant, we're eating here," I said wearily.

"But the others'll be waiting." He was getting out of bed.

I jumped up and tried to grab for his arm but he was reaching for his bag, becoming quite determined.

"Where's my wand? I really fancy a Chocolate Frog and a Butterbeer. Let's just go to the Leaky and have a Butterbeer and eat chocolate. Someone must have chocolate, c'mon, let's go to the bar."

Oh bugger, he was heading unsteadily for the door.

"Ron, it's just a hospital corridor out there." I spoke as gently and calmly as I could.

"No, there isn't. This is a hotel. Let's nip out and ask George for a drink, or Harry. Who's next door?"

He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks, his conviction of what lay beyond it lost in an instant. He looked, recoiled, and retreated back in an instant. A glimpse through the door had revealed instantly the bustle of the ward. I caught him, steadied him, and helped him to sit awkwardly back on the side of the bed.

It was so cruel.

I knelt in front of him as he sat and stared at the door. Quietly, he spoke.

"Shit."

I held his hands and kissed them.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling choked. "I'm so sorry. It really is a hospital, you see?"

He nodded, but looked so very upset. I stood and hugged him, not the way you'd normally hug your husband, not a romantic embrace. I held his head to my heart and kissed it through his copper hair, wiping the tears so he wouldn't feel them drop, feeling so hopelessly, desperately sorry for him and so very sad. He was lost and I didn't know how to help him find his way back.

We had some wonderful chats that night. Several times, Ron asked me where Jeremy Beagle was, which I found really encouraging, clearly somewhere in his mind he'd connected with a piece of new memory.

He didn't want me to sleep on the floor anymore. He wanted me to lie with him. It was so wonderful to be us. I'd been so frightened. There have been so many people who have been through a similar experience, who sat by and watched as the person they love clawed their way back from a life teetering on the brink of extinction. You watch and hope for the sparks of recognition, a flash of memory to bring the pieces back together, so that what used to be can be rekindled.

There's no guarantee, no recipe for success, just a passionate hope.

We were lucky. We were strong before the accident, and in that amazing place in London, that tiny room with boxes of cards and gifts strewn all around us, pictures of brooms drawn by children wishing 'Mr Wheezes' better, we fell in love all over again.

My Ron remembered me, remembered our love, and came back running.

We held each other all night, like our first time together; it was the start of the rest of our lives. He loved me without explanation, without doubt. Thankfully, and I am forever grateful, he'd fallen in love with me again – stronger, deeper, fuller. I knew then, whatever the future held, it embraced us together.

We were one again.