BLUES
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did.
Author's Note: Anybody want to play a drinking game? One drink for every time the (very tired, very insomnia-stricken) author makes a reference to sleeping in this chapter. *sigh* I'm sorry. Thank you for reading! And really, truly, I LOVE you people who are reviewing! [Michael Jackson] You rocked my world, you know you did, and everything I own I give... [/MJ] And now that I've thoroughly scared all of you...
* * * * *
Hermione had long ago informed Ron that if he embodied any of the seven deadly sins, it was wrath. He responded with an assertion that she must be vanity, thus causing her to slap him and have "Express Disapproval Of Everything Ron Does Without Actually Talking To Him" Week.
What he should have done was laugh, because she had been right and he knew it. He still knew it, but for all his experiences with rage, he had never been this angry. The forsaken potential of the future spurred him to molten fury; he thought that maybe if he could manage to capture and strangle at least ten Death Eaters, he could regain his sanity. That particular avenue of revenge wasn't exactly free at the moment, though.
Besides, there were other aspects of his life that presently deserved and required his undivided attention. One of these slumbered angelically beside him.
Her breathing was shallow but regulated; her hair cascaded past her shoulders in enchanting small ringlets. He knew her better than to visualize a halo, but ultimately, perhaps it was knowing her so well that made him think she might just be sanctified.
Either way, he had to divert his eyes. He had started to think that she was his strongest tie to emotion, and that had to end; he was becoming a basket-case, and all he wanted was to drown in a lack of sensation. He could never do that if Hermione was there. Even if he didn't experience microscopic jolts to the interior of his body every time she walked into a room – even if arguing with her didn't feel, sometimes, like flying – she would never allow him to stop believing. Her loyalty to his idealism was her greatest gift.
It would not do to ruminate on romantic possibilities and sentimental fantasylands; that would not be his expression of gratitude.
They would survive this, he vowed. He wasn't going to collapse at her feet, nor anyone else's; their seventh year was NOT going to be overshadowed by death and destruction. Maybe for once, he could be the stalwart champion, the binding force of collective dreams. He looked at Harry and thought, the championship has its side effects, doesn't it?
There was a fragment of history when Harry was a Boy – barely – and he had Lived. That painful rebirth existed still, not only in society's subconscious, but in Harry's as well – so powerless was the hero to banish his own ghosts.
There was a fragment of history – more recent than Harry's – when Ron was a boy and heard his parents arguing themselves hoarse. Dimly, he realized that they had been fighting about expenses; this was the first time he knew what Poor really was. His mother began crying, and then Percy discovered Ron eavesdropping and drew him into another room.
Somewhere between time and endless might-have-beens, the two boys found each other and were enemies by circumstance. Ron had always feared that he and Harry would be possessed by those demons; he wondered how the struggles of the past affected the identities of the future.
There was also a fragment of history when Hermione was just a little girl; how often did he forget that, blinded as he was by her projected maturity? He had been the catalyst that sent her sobbing to a toilet with homesickness and regret; trolls and obnoxious boys sought her, and all she wanted was to go HOME.
He believed that in an unexpressed alternate universe, the little boy who had been Ron tried to lead her someplace safe; he couldn't, because he was unable to find that someplace. The present, nearly adult Ron was haunted by the failure that never had been.
* * * * *
"Mmphugh."
He shifted and surveyed the maker of this unearthly sound with amusement.
"Mmm...Ron."
"That's my name."
"Ron!" She clearly hadn't meant to speak the first time.
"Hermione!"
"What time is it?"
"You really need to get your own watch," he replied, glancing at his own. "It is now half past eight."
"Mmphugh."
"We've established that already."
"Huh?"
"Boy, you can be fun when you wake up."
"I want to... ugh. Need to go downstairs. Help your mum with dinner."
"Shh, no you don't. I'll go."
"No, I need to –"
"Stay here. I'll go fix you something."
"I don't want anything, but she needs –"
"I'll fix her something too. Okay?"
"I'm coming with you."
"Then I'm not going."
She produced a tiny, exasperated sound in the back of her throat. "Ron..."
"Oh, go on, let me take care of something by myself for once."
"While I just sit here? No, I don't think so."
"Go back to sleep." He made a move to rise.
"I can't now. I am done sleeping. All the sleep that is in my body has been slept."
"You have a very odd pattern of speech when you're tired. I know you well. I recognize it."
"I do not. Stop being stupid and let me go."
"If Harry – who is a pretty heavy sleeper, but we still should keep our voices down – if Harry woke up right now and wanted to go cook for my mum, do you think I would let him?"
"Probably not."
"Do you think I'm going to let you?"
"Yes."
"Your logic, though flawed, is fun to watch. You didn't get any sleep at all last night, correct?"
"Well, no, but –"
"And you haven't eaten anything for twenty-four hours, yes?"
"Um... yes."
"Hmm. Okay." He deftly flicked his wrist in Hermione's direction; with a few well-chosen words, she fell back into the siesta from which she had arisen. Satisfied, he replaced his wand, and the pseudo-cheerfulness underlying his features abruptly dropped.
He stood in the center of the room and watched his best friends sleep. He felt a strong urge to make a very loud noise, because the Burrow without them seemed so extremely wrong on so many levels.
Instead, he walked as quietly as possible to the door.
* * * * *
Molly was practically catatonic when her youngest son found her.
"Mum?"
"Mm."
"Mum?"
"Mmm. Hi, honey."
"Wanna stop looking at the wall now?"
"Sorry, honey. How are you doing? Are Harry and Hermione comfortable?"
"Yeah, they're okay. How about you?"
"Oh, you know, I'm just so busy! There's your cousins to inform, and Alicia and Angelina and Bruce and Valeria and –"
"Mum," he interrupted.
"– and Lee and, oh, Oliver Wood will want to hear, he was always so –"
"Mum," Ron tried again.
She stopped again and sighed. "Sorry, honey. Anyway, I must get back to –"
"Have you eaten anything? Have you even slept since... then?"
"Well, no, of course not, I haven't had time!"
"Where's Dad?"
"He went out to check the spot where we're going to bury – he went out to check the cemetery, you know, we have one just off the –"
"I know. When did he leave?"
"Oh, about half an hour ago."
"He took his wand, right?"
"I should imagine so."
Good. Omnipresence might be the one thing Ron couldn't acquire to protect his family.
"All right, good. Now, what would you like to eat?"
"I couldn't possibly eat right –"
"You wouldn't want to pass out during the funeral tomorrow, would you?"
Mrs. Weasley appeared vaguely horrified at the thought. "Well, uh... no, I suppose not..."
"How about some soup? I know you like soup."
"Soup would be fine, dear. Thank you."
"No problem." Luckily, soup was one of the few meals Ron knew he could actually prepare with a decent success rate.
He searched the cabinets and eventually located a massive pot, which he filled with water and set to boiling on the stove. Meanwhile, he continued gently prodding his mother to conversation.
"Do you think that possibly there could be some other way to notify all these people that won't require a legion of owls?"
"I... well, we could get a few of them through the fireplace..."
"Maybe when Bill and Charlie get here, they could help you with that."
"Oh no, I couldn't ask them to –"
"You don't have to, because I will."
"Ron!"
"Shh, Mum. Everything is going to be just fine. Okay?"
"Okay." Through a veil of remorse, Molly Weasley saw her brave youngest son and realized for the first time how very much he resembled his father. Not like Fred and George; they had always looked more like her...
Everything was going to be just fine. Of course, of course it would.
* * * * *
Ron's soup did not turn out badly. First, he ladled some into a caramel-colored bowl for his mother; he sat it in front of her with a cup of chamomile tea and a piece of toast. He then proceeded to hover inconspicuously around her for several minutes, ensuring that she at least tried to absorb some nutrition.
He secured a tray with four more of the exact same meal and levitated it ahead of him.
"Percy?" he called through the door. Percy did not react. Ron knocked with considerable force and yet heard no movement. "Perce, if you don't answer, I'm going in regardless of whatever charms you have on the lock."
"What do you want?"
"I have some soup."
"I'm not hungry, thank you."
"I have toast, too. And tea."
"Again, I'm not hungry, thank you."
"It's chamomile tea."
"Let me reiterate: I am not –"
"Open the damn door. You're going to eat this if I have to Stun you and –"
"Fine, hold on."
Ron could hear Percy's raspy grumbling as he scuffled with the lock and emerged.
"Thanks," he said for the third time. Ron nodded and continued his ascent to Ginny's room.
* * * * *
...warm balmy humid sunbeams glaring flaring flames...
Hermione was floating breathlessly in a dreamlike crystallization of beauty. Everything... so gorgeous... and not real. Where was Real? She wanted Real.
...violets roses daisies marigolds sunflowers lilacs camellias...
The world blossomed in front of her –
...shines shimmers sparkles...
– and it was so pretty –
...soft smooth velvet silk satin chenille...
– and so very like a drug –
...twirling whirling turning spinning spirals...
– and yet she didn't want to be there. Why not?
...voices she could hear them voices so familiar ringing singing choking...
Somewhere above her was a beating, tingling rhapsody of black. Pain waited to thrash her and make her alive; there was also a red-haired boy, but all she remembered were his freckles. They seemed to be dotting the plains around her – or maybe those were dancing house elves. Oh, well.
...i should have known...
What was that? Who was that?
...i had a bad feeling that day, remember?...
Someone close, someone memorable, someone guilt-ridden.
...you couldn't have known you couldn't have changed anything...
And there was a female voice, more delicate and sad.
...but i did know ginny i did know and i am not weak...
Hermione felt instinctually the need to rise up and speak to the boy. She tried. She couldn't. And as a third voice merged with the enveloping susurrus of running water and rushing breezes, she collapsed.
* * * * *
Ron had seen no one in Ginny's room. He shrugged and continued to his and Harry's quarters, where he discovered her sitting on the bed with a quite awake, distraught-looking Harry.
"Hey, guys, I brought you some food."
"Oh, Ron." Her eyes were swollen and encircled with a fierce pink, but other than that, she looked normal and tiny. "Thank you."
"Right. How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, fine." She took the soup he offered her. Harry did likewise but with no apparent intention of actually eating it. Finally, though, he spoke.
"Hermione's sleeping awfully heavily over there. I, uh, Ginny was in the hallway and overheard me having a nightmare, but she –" he indicated Hermione "– didn't even stir."
"That's because I charmed her," said Ron, resting the tray on a nearby table.
"You what?" snapped Ginny.
"Isn't that illegal?" Harry wondered.
"Well, erm, technically it is."
"Ron!"
"Where did you learn that, anyway?"
"Ah... George taught me. It was the spell he and Fred used on the Catnap Crystals, remember those?"
"The ones they left on Flitwick's desk?" asked Ginny.
"And then he slept for half a class period," recalled Harry.
"Yeah, those are the ones," Ron confirmed. "Anyway... I hope I said the spell correctly."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Will she wake up on her own?"
"I don't know. I kinda wanted her to sleep for longer than this, but she needs to eat. She hasn't had anything all day."
"Neither has anyone else in this house," Ginny reminded him. "Well, except for me, because they wouldn't let me leave the hospital wing until I did..."
Ron shot her a look that clearly declared, But Hermione is my charge and I'm going to take care of her. Ginny accepted this and shook Hermione's shoulder, quietly calling her name.
* * * * *
Five minutes later, they determined that Hermione would have to wake up independently.
"Nice going, Ron."
"Shut up, Ginny. She needed her sleep, as do you."
She regarded him warily. "You're not going to curse me too, right?"
"No, I'm not."
"Good."
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later, Charlie arrived. Bill followed shortly thereafter. Mrs. Weasley offered them the stew Ron had made, and the three of them set about notifying the twins' friends as quickly as possible.
Mr. Weasley wandered in after an hour. He was pale. Charlie gave him a bowl of soup and sent him to bed.
Meanwhile, Ron had tried shaking, screaming, and even singing to Hermione's limp body. She didn't move.
"At least she's breathing," said Harry.
"Gee, I don't know, it would've been pretty convenient for me to kill her so we could bury three people tomorrow, don't you think?" barked Ron.
This caused Ginny to cry. She ran to her room. Harry glared at Ron.
Wake up, Hermione, please...?
* * * * *
