Disclaimer: I still don't own HP:)

A/N: Hey guys! Another Friday, another chapter. I actually just wrote this last night, so forgive me please if you find something wrong with punctuation. Anyway, I feel like this story is really going to start picking up from here, like a mini-catalyst, you know? I really hope you enjoy reading and THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews - I love reading them!!


Weasley,

Heather McDowell just reviewed Gin's report on your patient. She specializes in things like Hermione's condition. Anyway, she sends her regards and congratulations. We're all impressed by the way you've obviously handled the situation. McDowell wants you to drop the sleeping draughts – says from where Granger stands now, the best move would be to start waking her up a few times a day. She needs the "physical stimuli." Also, I'm guessing the psychological stuff needs to be dealt with some time or other. I'll send over her report tomorrow.

I understand if you don't want to progress with a new treatment right away. However, McDowell wants it to happen within the next week… and a report on her desk with your signature on the bottom by Friday. You might want to consider the paperwork – she can be a mighty wench about it.

Sorry this is so short, but you understand - security and all that.

Best Wishes,

Seamus

---

Ron awoke the next afternoon in a haze, tinges of pain on the edges of his consciousness. He tried to collect himself, feeling the hard floor beneath him with numb fingers and seeing with eyes that were half-closed and severely blurred, but found he could not. He had no idea where he was or why he was there – nothing was familiar and it scared him.

He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and it burned to release the guttural moan that replaced it. Grasping for anything to hold onto and finding nothing but the stale around surrounding him, Ron fell backwards and his head brutally struck the floor again. Tears leaked out from his eyes, stinging all the way down his cheeks. The last thought that passed through his mind before the blackout set it was the he was utterly helpless.

---

Gus found Ron asleep behind the sofa. He was sprawled the way a man who had been shot would be – arms and legs stretched out to their limits while his head lolled to the side, his tears mixing with his drool. Luckily it was the dog who discovered Ron's body and not someone of the human persuasion, for they would find him entirely disgusting. Luckily Ron habituated his own living room and not the alley behind a bar, for the owner would find him just another drunk and call the local police to escort him away.

Gus whined and pawed at his master, simply trying to communicate his need for food and water. He licked Ron's face and eventually grew tired of being ignored. He sauntered away to resume watching the birds. He waited patiently for another hour before he heard groaning coming from the next room.

Ron sat up fully, his eyes blinking rapidly. He wiped off his face with the back of his throbbing hand. Every ounce of him seemed to be filled with dull hurt and dread. It took him a few minutes, but he soon recalled what had proceeded after he had opened that damned letter from Seamus.

As he tottered to his feet, gripping the back of the sofa for support, Ron remembered he had thrown the letter in the fireplace. He spotted the ash from where he stood and quickly turned away. It took some time, but he found his way to the kitchen. Opening cupboard doors in search of a soothing draught for his head, Ron recalled that he had flown up the stairs and made sure that he had served Hermione her sleeping potion for the night. He then drank the rest of her supply, gone downstairs, and downed as much ale as he could before the concoctions took their toll.

With slow fingers, Ron popped the top off of his stash of the draughts – conveniently placed next to his booze cabinet – and felt relief flow through him. His headache subsided and the aches in his knees disappeared. He eased himself into a chair and cradled his head in his hands.

How could this be happening? It was all too soon – he expected Hermione to stay asleep… forever. Yes, he had tried to make his peace with her, but to actually have her respond? He imagined only rejection.

Anger replaced the twinge of hurt in his guts. Once Hermione awoke it would be just like old times. Her voice would be curt and scathing, asking him why the fuck she was with him again. She didn't need him before, she would probably be appalled at the fact he was trying to break into her life once more. Her yelling would fill the room and make it impossible for him to tell her this wasn't the way he wanted it, either. Her voice would pervade all the little crevices in his mind he tried to keep away from her. It would be a disaster.

For a brief moment, Ron considered smothering Hermione with his own pillow.

He threw up. His stomach heaved with anguish and his thoughts were replaced and never brought to surface again. Ron stayed bent over in his chair, trying not to inhale the fumes of his own vomit, and groaned.

Gus trotted into the room and stopped before Ron, his eyes darting and searching. Ron patted his soft head and magicked the vile away. He went through the perfunctory tasks of feeding the dog and cleaning the dishes, managing to stomach some cornmeal with another soothing draught, and took to the stairs like a prisoner facing the noose.

Hermione's room was warmed by the sunset streaming through the curtains and it comforted him slightly. Everything was bathed in reds and yellows and slowly sharpening shadows, shading her face from sight. Calling for Gus on the basis of support, Ron took the seat next to Hermione's bed. He kicked the empty bottles away, their scattering disrupting the stale quiet that engulfed him.

"Damnit," Ron muttered to himself. He didn't have any more sleeping potions to feed Hermione. He would just have to hope her clock still retained the memory of day and night; that she might still sleep through the darkness.

Still on the precautionary side, Ron drew up a cot and pillow across the room. Gus lay beside him on the floor as he settled in for the night. They both remained awake to watch the colors drain from the room, Ron's eyes glittering through the moonlight and betraying his fear of the inevitable. For hours he sat upright, rigidity freezing his spine, watching her.

Hermione began making noises in the early morning, before the moon even had the chance to fall from grace. She barely moved, but the rustling was enough to disturb Ron from his precarious slumber. He darted from bed and tripped over his sheets, landing hard on the rug. Fear tightened its grip on him. Gus woke and climbed to his feet dizzily. The duo made their way guardedly over to where Hermione lay moaning.

Her mouth was a tiny, perfect oval. The diminutive little croaks coming out of it kept Ron in absolute rapture – he could do nothing but stare unblinkingly. Suddenly, Hermione's head jerked to the side, a curl landing on her forehead. Her hair had finally grown long enough to curl again and they were beautiful. He grew distracted by the way it was highlighted by errant moonbeams, his hand betraying his heart and reaching out to touch her smooth skin.

"No," a slight voice coughed.

Snapping out of his reverie, Ron stumbled backwards. He knew that voice. No matter how long it had been and no matter what the condition, Ron would always know that voice.

"No," she repeated, her head thrashing to the other side. Her arm shot out, grasping at nothing but air. "No!" she pleaded to her dream in a raspy voice. "No!"

"Hermione…" her name caught in his throat. He stopped, unable to breath, and watched her move.

Hermione writhed and twisted until her feet got wrapped up in her sheets. "No!" she gasped in terror. Her eyes shut tightly and a sheen of sweat broke out against her forehead. "No, please." Her back arched quickly and her neck followed until she bent herself to face the ceiling. "Don't!" she cried, her voice still a whisper but the terror inside it growing. "Please, don't! No!"

"Hermione, stop," Ron asked her absently in a pleading voice of his own. "You've got to."

She did not listen and continued to silently scream, wriggling tirelessly in her own blankets. Her muscles tensed and bulged, the veins in her neck and forehead popping out a bright blue. She looked like the nightmare she had been before – a simple monster. Even her fingers curled and dug into the sheets like miniature claws, ripping them thoroughly.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, alarming Gus. "Stop it this instant!" He grabbed her arm and then quickly drew away his grasp, realizing her skin was hot to the touch. To a doctor's mind, something was wrong. Ron panicked, unsure of what to do.

Hermione bared her teeth, her breath hissing in and out from between them. "Stop," she seethed. Tears dripped down the side of her face.

Ron grabbed her arm again, pressing it forcefully against the mattress. Her hand gradually relaxed and lay complacently in his grip. The rest of her body, however, still raged against her nightmare. She was still very hot so Ron took hold on the bed sheets and tore them off of her and the mattress. He threw them in a pile next to Gus, who was upset and pacing. Frantic noises – like Hermione's desperate gasping – made Gus breathe heavy and become jittery.

"Get off!" Hermione hissed, her arms digging and latching and scraping anything they could. She beat them against the wall and left tiny dents with her knuckles. Her skin began to bruise instantly, which made her shriek. "Stop it, please, stop!"

Frenetic, Ron grabbed her shoulders. She shook underneath his clasp and managed to throw him off. Coming back at her with no thought to it, Ron straddled her, effectively pinning her arms against her hips. His hands grasped her shoulders and forced them to quiet. Her toes curled dangerously and she bucked beneath him for a while, her head thrashing and tossing until her voice was gone.

"Stop it!" Ron commanded in a voice he hadn't used in years. It was authoritative and deeply stern. "Hermione, knock it off.You're going to hurt yourself." He dug his fingers into her skin not to be rough, but to emphasize his point.

And then, Hermione calmed. It was as if her nightmare dissipated, her life breath breathed and gone. Her nostrils still flared and her arms were tight against his thighs, but she was resting still once again.

Ron wiped his forehead and sat on his haunches, breathing heavily. Gus was beside him, his muzzle on the bed nudging the side of his leg. Ron patted his head until Gus' eyes stopped darting about nervously.

"It's okay now, boy," he sighed, "everything is going to be okay."

The fear that had gripped his chest was fading, but at an alarmingly slow rate. Ron still felt phantom pangs of horror. He could still hear her ghastly whisper crying from between cracking lips. Hermione had chewed on the inside of her mouth so hard it bled and turned her lips rose red.

And just for an instant, Ron swore he saw Hermione's lashes shudder. Her mouth drew open unhurriedly. He could hear her steady breath. The color lingered on her cheeks, but thankfully drained from her neck and arms. She was cooling beneath him.

Ron dismounted the bed and replaced the sheets deliberately one by one, tucking her beneath them tightly – a binding trap if she were to have another nightmare. Finally, he collapsed in a pile next to Gus, his back relaxing against the edge of Hermione's mattress.

"What a night," he sighed to the dog. "Right, buddy?"

"Ron?"

Ron's back froze painfully. It was the wind, a breath from Gus, his own heartbeat in his head. It was anything but that, anything but her. He listened, holding his breath.

"…Anyone?" her soft sigh cried, anxious and fearful. "Please?"

Ron stayed absolutely still. His eyes remained unfocused on Gus, who had risen to his paws and was eyeing the bed warily. His lungs began to burn and his mind was sending the sensations throughout his body. He could feel it pounding in his fingertips.

Hermione whimpered a foot away, her voice high and childlike. A dog's whimper. She was completely unaware of his presence. Ron was tempted to keep it that way.

"Please," she pleaded. "Anyone?"

Slowly, Ron stood.


A/N: Tadaaa! She's awake. :) Thanks for all of you guys who waded through all of that set-up. Now things will get really interesting. Have a great weekend!

Also, leave me a review! I love them. :)

-Kate