BLUES

Rating: PG-13 (People DO sleep together in this chapter...)

Disclaimer: Nope, still aren't mine, as much as I wish Ron and Percy were.

Author's Note: Wow! You actually came to the second chapter! Thanks! A LOT! :)

* * * * *

It is very difficult to love someone who is in pain.

It is impossible to see that person wounded and not receive the sting twofold. The only cure needed is one not available, and it is impossible to verbalize what longs to be said.

This was, Hermione decided, the most essentially truthful lesson she would ever learn.

Of course, she was sitting on Ron's bed in Ron's dormitory beside Ron, with Ron's kiss still pretty much engraved on her lips; so many thoughts were revolving madly around in her head that it was difficult to really catch one.

She snagged a dim reminder of Harry and held it, chastising herself bitterly. Kissing Ron, and Harry didn't even KNOW that these boys who had almost been his brothers were dead? Unforgivable.

That was when she looked over and discovered that Ron had fallen asleep next to her, and she forgot everyone else again, because he looked almost more troubled now than he had awake. His skin was gauze-like in color; his eyebrows were furrowed together in his customary expression of bemusement, and he was sweating fiercely. She considered rousing him, but decided that he was probably going to need all the rest he could get in the weeks and months to come.

She bowed her head briefly, the sole gesture of mourning for which there was time. Then she squared her shoulders, rolled away from Ron, and went in search of Harry.

The Quidditch crowd had gathered as Ron had predicted, with the happy, victorious cacophony that had become so familiar to the Gryffindors over the years. On her way down the stairs, Seamus knocked haphazardly into her shoulder.

"Sorree, Herm-oh-nee," he slurred. Obviously he'd had a LOT of something strongly alcoholic.

"Right, it's okay," she murmured, and continued on her trek to Harry. He was looking for her as well, and they met before she had gone too far.

He asked her where Ron was. And – had she been crying? What was wrong? What had happened?

Her peripheral vision caught Lavender and Parvati giggling furiously in the corner. Her head hurt, and Gryffindors' livid scarlet somehow irritated the ache. Damn Dumbledore, damn everyone for leaving her to be the bearer of catastrophic news.

"Hermione?"

For a second, she thought she might slide into a black faint. She seized Harry's shoulder, and he immediately adjusted himself in support of her weight.

"Hermione?!"

Now there were faint traces of panic evident in his tone. She steadied herself, realizing that Harry deserved to hear before it was common knowledge.

"Come with me," she said, and tried to lead him back up the stairs to the less chaotic dormitory. He didn't budge.

"Hermione, what's happened?"

"Come on, Harry." The tears began to tug at her voice again, and so Harry followed her.

Inside the dorms, Ron was still asleep. It was then that Harry took her hand in urgency and asked her who it had been; he had pieced the puzzle together, as she had before the Quidditch match.

"It was – God, Harry, it was Fred and George."

She swore to herself then, and later, that she would never forget Harry's reaction. He merely bowed his head and studied the carpet without quite seeing it for exactly ten seconds. When he looked up, she would have assumed he was twice his age if she hadn't known better. There were pools in his eyes behind the glasses, making them shine with twice the brilliance, but she knew he wouldn't allow himself to break composure. He didn't look grief-stricken or shocked; he just looked beaten.

"Where's Ginny?"

Hermione swallowed a substantial bulge in her throat. "The hospital wing. She fainted."

Harry nodded curtly. "How's Ron taking it?"

"He was – not good. White and shaking and..."

"God, I should have been here." Harry was scratching the back of his neck and seemed to have forgotten Hermione completely.

"Harry, you can't possibly find a way to blame this on yourself, too." He glowered, and she immediately regretted her words. "I mean, it wasn't – you were on the Quidditch field. You couldn't have known."

"I shouldn't have been on the Quidditch field – God, Dumbledore should've told me..."

"Harry –"

"Forget it." He appeared to have remembered that Ron wasn't awake, and lowered his voice again. "Have you gotten anything from Mrs. Weasley yet?"

"No, nothing yet." Hermione's breath caught as she imagined Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and how they must have felt then.

"There'll probably be something soon, then."

"Yeah."

"So I guess... there's nothing left to do but wait."

"Harry..."

"I'm okay."

"You're not."

He ignored her and fell down on his bed. Because she didn't know how to deal with all of this at once, she leaned back against the pillows by Ron's side and wished she could sleep.

* * * * *

Hours faded away in time with his breathing. She wondered about the substance of his dreams; she very much hoped he was in a place free from these shackles of agony and anguish and anxiety, if only for a few hours. But just in case, she didn't want to leave him.

Hermione opted to draw the curtains around the four-poster before any of the other boys entered the dormitory, so that she could stay there. She knew it was awfully indecent, that Parvati and Lavender would have a field day with this, but she couldn't make herself care. If Harry thought she was crazy, if he even noticed at all, he didn't say anything.

As it turned out, her decision was rather a wise one. At about two in the morning, Ron began to thrash and swing his arms wildly, fairly beating the mattress. Hermione and Harry were instantly there to wake him.

"Ron... Ron, wake UP, Ron..."

"Hey. Hey, wake up. Ron, it's a dream. Ron?" Harry began to shake his friend, who put up a hand and knocked off Harry's glasses.

"Auuugh, Ron... I can't see!"

"Wha... huh?"

Harry began to feel around on the ground with his hands, making him look rather like a particularly gawky space alien sending out probes, while Hermione blearily explained the situation as best she could to a groggy Ron.

"You were having a nightmare and hitting things. You knocked Harry's glasses off his face just now."

"Oh. Did I hit you?"

For a single passing minute, she didn't quite trust her voice. "No."

"What are you doing here now, anyway? These are the boy's dorms, Hermione, and there are boys up here now!"

"Well, I, uh..."

"She wanted to make sure you didn't do what you just did, and hurt yourself, or wake everybody up," clarified Harry from the floor.

"Oh." Ron looked as though he wanted to go right back to sleep, nightmares or no. "Thanks."

She nodded, quite relieved, and scanned the carpet for Harry's glasses.

"Harry, they're over there to your left," she hissed.

"Over where?"

She quickly hopped off the mattress and picked up the glasses. Thankfully, they hadn't been scratched, and she handed them to a grateful Harry. Two beds over, Seamus Finnigan began to mumble about the Fighting Irish. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks.

"I'm going downstairs," said Harry.

"Yeah, me too," agreed Ron. "I couldn't get back to sleep even if I tried, anyhow."

Hermione silently consented and followed her boys down to the common room, where they collapsed on couches. Harry, for reasons she didn't comprehend, made certain Hermione was sandwiched between Ron and himself.

They didn't talk. Towards dawn, Harry and Ron played a very listless game of chess. Harry won, for once, but he didn't count it as a true conquest. Hermione just sat, and watched, and saw them both struggling not to cry, and said nothing.

* * * * *

The morning saw Ginny's release from the hospital wing and subsequent return to the common room. Despite the fact that it was Saturday and two-thirds of the Gryffindor students were scattered about the area, Ron gave his sister a long hug as soon as she entered through the portrait hole. She sniffled modestly into his shoulder but otherwise refused to cry, and sat pale and motionless on the couch for most of the day. Hermione took to patting her shoulder in (what she hoped was) a comforting way, whereas Harry frequently asked if she was all right. Ginny thought this an extraordinarily stupid question, but didn't say so.

Around eight o'clock, Hermes appeared at the window bearing a letter from Mrs. Weasley, as Harry had predicted. It read as follows:

Dear Ron and Ginny,

I assume, by now, that Dumbledore has already spoken with you and delivered the news of your brothers. Your father and I are so terribly sorry not to have been there, and told you ourselves, but it truly couldn't be helped. We trusted Dumbledore to give you the message as well or better than we could have.

The funeral will be tomorrow evening. Obviously, you'll have to come home for that; Dumbledore says you can stay here for as long as you like, and your homework will be owled. We consider Harry and Hermione to be members of the family and so naturally, if they wish to come as well, they're more than welcome here. We're coming to pick you up at five o'clock today, so please be ready.

Love,

Mum and Dad

* * * * *

The sight of the normally upbeat Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looking so forlorn, nearly sent Hermione over the edge. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were rimmed with red, in stark contrast to her alabaster features. Although she was trying valiantly to project something like self-possession, her hands were constantly quivering. Mr. Weasley stared off in the distance, stumbled over words, and generally looked the picture of a grief-stricken father.

Mrs. Weasley hugged her children, Harry and Hermione each in turn, before following her husband to have a short but excruciating conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Sympathies were offered, details were ironed, and through the fireplace they went.

* * * * *

Since the Weasleys had seven children, it was difficult for anyone to remember a time when the Burrow had been quiet, cold, or unpleasant. The death of Fred and George, however, seemed to have brought out the worst in everything. Ron thought wryly that it was only in their absence that things could ever be calm, and they probably wouldn't have had it any other way.

Percy had barricaded himself in his room, where nobody thought to bother him; Bill and Charlie hadn't yet arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley promptly excused themselves to the kitchen, to write letters to people who needed to be informed. Mr. Weasley had gotten five days off from the Ministry in order to make arrangements and get himself in order.

Hermione was quick to stash her things in Ginny's room and leave, since it was painfully apparent that Ginny wanted and needed solitude. Truth be told, Hermione thought she could probably use some of the same. This was tense and stifling and more than she could handle.

She grabbed a sweater and left through the back door to walk around the garden. The air was crisp, but not nearly as chilly as the house had been. It didn't really matter.

She thought to herself that the Burrow in autumn was breathtaking; the trees were painted in strawberry and ginger and apricot for miles. It seemed wrong though, to see such beauty under such circumstances. It seemed unjust that anything should be beautiful anymore.

With some effort, Hermione managed to redirect her line of thought to Ron. He was worrying her more than anything now, after all – as if there was ever a time when he didn't.

But this was suddenly too serious, the stakes far higher than they had ever been when it was just him and her and a lot of emotion. Because she'd always had these feelings for him, and sometimes they were powerful enough to frighten her despite the fact that she had seen far more frightening things in her seventeen years; still, she could never have told him then. She was too afraid of his reaction and the consequences of trying to drag him into something he probably didn't want.

And now his brothers were dead, and he needed some comfort, and she was the closest thing within reach. It made her feel cheap and used, but she thought that maybe she loved him and that all he had to do, really, was ask her. It scared her that she didn't have the self-will to keep herself from being a diversion.

So he had kissed her, and she had kissed him back, and then she had, amazingly, stopped him. And Fred and George were dead, and the leaves were falling, and the world might as well have been shot all to hell.

She didn't know that Harry had finally fallen asleep, or that Ron was watching from her an above window. And because, although she didn't know it, she was mistaken in her perceptions of his motives, he ran down to catch her.

* * * * *

"Hey, Hermione, wait up!" he called. She half turned and waited, surprised. He got to her quickly.

"Hey," he panted.

"Hey."

"What're you doing?"

"Walking. No offense, but your house is a little eerie right now."

"None taken." She resumed her course and he followed, both of them directionless.

"Where's Harry?"

"He's practically passed out on the bed in there."

"I don't blame him."

He looked at her with concern. "And you, Hermione, you must be exhausted..."

"No, I'm fine," she said, although the dark circles under her eyes belied her words.

"I don't think so," he said, characteristically stubborn. "You haven't slept since –"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Oh, yes, perfectly fine." His tone was dangerously caustic, and pretty much anyone but her would've discontinued the conversation.

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm?"

He absently ran a hand through his hair. "What do you think?"

"I think... I don't know what I think, anymore." She sighed.

"Me neither." They stopped walking on a small hill, not too far from the house. The sun was barely beginning to set, streaking the pale sky with pink crystal and amethyst. It was a picturesque scene belonging to another time entirely, a time when "romance" could actually have meant something for the two of them.

"Look," he said, turning to her, "please just come inside, okay? Get some sleep, and it'll make me happy."

"Well of course that would be nice, except that Ginny's in our room, probably bawling her eyes out, and I'm going to leave her be."

Ron didn't miss a beat. "Then you can come and sleep with Harry and me."

She arched an eyebrow. "You know how incredibly bad that sounded...?"

"Yes, but you know what I mean. C'mon Hermione."

"Only if you promise to get some rest too. Okay?"

"Okay."

She'd always known when he was being sincere, because his eyes revealed him. She'd always been a sucker for him like that.

* * * * *

"Ron," she said, noting Harry's position, "I am not sleeping in your bed with you."

"Really, Hermione? 'Cause, you know, I thought maybe I could get some action. No time like the present, hey sweetheart?" She flinched; his tone was laced with annoyance, and he was right. Why was she jumping to sexually-charged conclusions and reading all his comments as innuendo? Just because he'd kissed her didn't mean his brothers weren't dead and he wasn't still Ron, after all.

"Ron –"

"Right, so I'll sleep on the floor then."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Hermione, get in the bed."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fine, then what do you suggest? Because you need to sleep, I need to sleep, Harry needs to sleep, Ginny needs to cry and there are only so many available rooms in this house!"

This was not the time to pull out the defense mechanisms and worry about how not to fall in love with him. She was so concerned about what would happen if she gave herself free reign, that she was exerting far too much control. She blinked.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Ron's ears began to blaze. "....Okay."

He flopped on his back, and carefully, Hermione adjusted to be beside him. They were only inches apart. Ron took a deep, shaky breath. Hermione closed her eyes and lapsed into a rich, dreamless sleep in seconds.

* * * * *