'To Sleep No More' Part 7
by Ginny :)
Here is part 7! I think it's part 7, anyway. If I'm wrong, then ignore me. Hah, it's bit late to do anything about the shippiness [hehe] of this fic now. I'm not usually H/ G, but it works in the story best, *I* think. All flames will be donated to the homeless, to keep them nice 'n' toasty warm. :)
I own Jacqueline, and any random dead bodies. And that Jonathan bloke who was at the beginning of the series, who has, mysteriously, disappeared, lol. [*Cough*plot device*cough*]. 'We're looking for a Piano' belongs to the person who wrote 'Salad Days'.
Bunny Chan... Denise Weasley's [^_^] prediction was right! As you can tell by the fact I'm posting this so quickly, lol... see ya soon! :)
Thankyou, hermione potter, for beta-ing. Read & review, please.
Ginny :)
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Ron slouched back to the dugout slowly, mulling over his thoughts.
What to do?
Be killed, or kill and wish you'd been too? Some choice. Some
life.
As Ron re-entered the dugout, and saw Hermione working away, washing
again- this time Harry's patched blanket, which Ginny had delivered
to her with a more then slightly suspicious grin on her face-
and Ron wondered if he could ever find it in his heart to betray
her. He doubted it, just now. All right, so she didn't trust him
anyway, but they could make amends; they could start over; everything
would be all right.
"Oh, hello Ron," Hermione glanced up at him, then went
back to her task, pushing her lank hair back behind her ears.
"Hi," he replied. He stood and watched her.
"Can I help you?" she raised an eyebrow at him sardonically,
noticing he was still there.
"You can try."
"What?"
"Hermione," he looked into her face. It was so much
older then it should have been. Constant war and the fight for
survival had aged her, so she looked nearer 40 then 24. Except
her eyes. Those large, fathomless, child-like eyes...
"Ron? What?" her voice took on a sharper tone, bringing
him to his senses.
"Do you believe me yet? Believe that I'm me, I mean."
She considered this. Ron couldn't tell what the answer was by
her face, until she replied, "I don't know. I... think so..."
"Then," he plunged on, "do you still love me?"
She didn't answer. Not a word.
"Hermione?"
Silence.
"Hermione? Please?" he kissed her. She smelt of earth
and damp, nothing at all like the bath salts she used to have.
She kissed him back sweetly. Ron felt light-headed. The kiss must
have gone to his head, because he put his tongue in her mouth.
Maybe she'd been expecting this, or maybe it took her by surprise,
because she bit it.
"Ow!" He drew back.
"Sorry," she apologised, "but I don't think this
is right."
"What? Hermione, how can this-"
"Ron, I swear, if times weren't like this, I'd love to get
back with you. But times are like this. Don't you see?"
"What is there to see?" he was annoyed now, "Hermione-"
"No. I can't. I remember," she paused, and looked as
if she was about to cry, "I remember what happened last time
I..." she paused "I can't get too close to people now...
There's something you don't know about. And then I found out you
were dead, and it was like... like.." she searched for the
right words "I don't know. It was like nothing was right
in the world any more. You and... and that, were the only things
I had..." she wiped her eyes, furious with herself.
" 'That'? Hermine, what do you mean?"
She gave him a long look, almost calculating, "My baby,"
she said.
"Your baby?!" Ron gaped at her. Hermione nodded, tears
on her cheeks, "But who-?" began Ron.
"Oh, don't be an idiot," she interrupted, frustrated
"You know the facts of life, don't you?"
"Me?!"
Hermione gave him a withering look.
"Oh..." Ron blinked "how come you didn't tell me?"
"You went off, didn't you, before I knew. Bought some Muggle
flat. I didn't want to tell you right off, anyway. I thought I
would later, but then... well. I thought you were dead anyway..."
"Hermione, I'm really, really sorry, If I'd have known...
I wouldn't've..." he took hold of her arm, and though she
recoiled slightly, he didn't let go, "I didn't... I mean..."
"What?"
"Never mind," he shook his head. He couldn't tell her
about faking his death, it'd make everything worse, "why
did it...?"
"Not 'it'. He."
"Well, he, then. What happened?"
"It was the effect of the Nuclear fallout the Muggles caused.
Hiroshima all over again."
"Hiwhatima?"
"Hiroshima," she repeated, "you know what happened
to babies in Hiroshima, don't you? When America dropped a Nuclear
bomb on them?"
"Er... no," he admitted.
"They were..." she paused, wincing, and looked as though
she was trying to block out the memory, "Malformed."
Ron stared, open mouthed "And... your baby-"
"-Our's -"
"-Our baby..?"
She nodded, "That's why I can't... I just can't..."
Ron put his arm round her shoulders. She was shaking, cold, and
her eyes were red. Hermione seemed to pull herself together, "It
doesn't matter now," she said, her voice sounding choked,
like she was forcing herself to say the words, "it's all
past. All gone," she put her hands over her face, "It
doesn't matter... now..." She broke down in tears, Ron cradling
her.
He noticed that she was coughing through her sobs. At first he
thought little of it; she'd been coughing a lot recently. It wasn't
surprising, when you considered that she'd spent a deal of time
recently up to her elbows in freezing cold water. She'd become
obsessive about cleaning. He supposed it was her way of coping.
Then Ron noticed that, every time she coughed, blood came out
of her mouth.
"Hermione!"
"What?" She seemed to pull herself together a little,
wiping the tears off her face, and giving him a weepy grin.
"Are you all right?"
She shrugged, and wiped the blood that had been coughed onto her
hands on her paltry robes, "My chest hurts, and my head aches
somewhat," she admitted, "but I won't be like this for
very long." Another of her empty smiles, with no emotion
behind it.
Ron went cold "What do you mean?"
She shrugged again "I've got what they call Miscreant's Sickness."
"Which is?" Ron stared at her desperately. He'd vaguely
heard of it, but it had never really sunk in. There had been some
victims in the old farm building where he'd used to work, but
they'd been kept in a separate room, where they couldn't spread
the desiese, and where they were out of sight.
Sometimes, he saw their cold bodies being removed, hidden under
sheets. It affected only half- bloods and Muggle- borns, and sometimes
Muggles. Pure- bloods wdere immune.
"You dion't want to know what it does," she informed
him, "half our number died of it last year. Hannah, Seamus,
Angelina, Justin... and others. All gone."
"Died?"
"Yes."
She didn't look sad. Just distant, not quite with it. Her mind was not in the same place as her body. Perhaps it was with her parents, and this... child. Ron couldn't take either idea, the child, or this... this Miscreant's Sickness, in. The mind doesn't believe what it doesn't want to believe.
"Do the others know about you?"
"No."
He tried to put his arm round her again, but she ducked away, "No, Ron, I said I didn't want all that. You know why, now. There's so many reasons, and I don't even know what half of them are. Not that that makes sense."
"I just want to remember what it was like to hug you, before..." he stared at her, still not believing that she might soon be gone, "... before it's too late."
"You've got to have your feet on the ground, not your head in the air," she told him.
"I can do both!"
She looked at him, almost pityingly.
"So can everyone," he added, as an after thought.
Ron knew then that he couldn't betray Hermione. He'd heard of the Miscreant's Sickness. He knew what it did to you. At least this way, Hermione would be dead, and it wouldn't be his fault.
"Oh, hello peoples," Ginny stuck her beaming face around the doorway, "What's doing?"
"Hello, Ginny," Hermione greeted her, turning away from Ron, who had suddenly started looking almost incredibly gormless, "You're cheerful."
"Yes, well, I suppose I'm just in a good mood," Ginny nodded, not feeling like telling Hermione about Harry-- at least, not with Ron there, earwigging, "Oh, Ron, do you want me to fetch the water today? This place is driving me utterly bananas, I could do with a stroll."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~Jacqueline's POV~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There I was. Waiting-- again. Pity that there's no way to tell the time. It would have made my life a lot easier. Maybe, somewhere, there's someone making marks on a wall each day, like they do in prisoner of war films, so they at least know what day it is. Still.
Then I heard singing, a girl's voice, not exactly tuneful, and another voice- Ronald Weasley's- talking along side of it. Complaining, it sounded like, and who can blame him?
"... Any time you're Lambeth way..."
"Ginny, shut up."
"... any evenin' any day, you'll find us all..."
"Ginny! G' sake!"
"... doin' the Lambeth Walk, oi!..."
"Put a sock in it!"
"... Ev'rythin's free an' easy..."
Good grief. It's enough to give a sane man nightmares. Just as well there's not many of them left nowadays.
I smiled to myself, hidden just behind the water drum. That Ginny kid obviously didn't have a clue that I was there. I doubted that she was armed, too. Weasley had even less will- power then I thought.
I pointed the barrel of the gun around the water drum. Slowly, carefully, I aimed it towards the girl, which wasn't easy, because she was dancing about to the tune she was singing. Well, her talent was nothing the Earth would miss.
I pulled the trigger.
*
Something hit the ground hard, not 5 inches away from Ginny's foot. She stopped short, no longer singing, frozen in mid- twirl.
"Get down!" Ron grabbed her, and pulled her to the ground.
"What?!" Ginny gaped at him, not understanding what was happening.
"That was a bullet! Lie low, and she can't hit you! She's behind the water drum!"
Jacqueline's POV
What the Hell did he think he was doing?! This wasn't supposed to happen. No point in staying hidden now, though; they knew where I was.
There's only one way to deal with people like him who go against the word that they have given to me... and this time, I won't run out of bullets.
*
"We've got to get out of here, then!" Ginny jumped to her feet quickly, grabbing Ron by the arm, dragging him along with her.
The woman, whose name Ginny did not know, was hot on their heels.
Run. Run. Horror. Shots. Stumble. Terror. Trip. Shots. Fear. Back on their feet. Run. Scream. Shot. Bang. Hurry... hurry! Run. Run. Running. Dread. Bang. Scream. Yell. Another shot. Scream. Shot. Shock.
Ginny felt the bullet hit her in the back and enter her stomach.
Pain. Pain. Pain...
Dead.
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