BLUES
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and I'm poor.
Author's Note: I have absolutely no medical knowledge and everything that sounds remotely factual in this story is probably something I concocted at three in the morning during a bout of insomnia. Just so you know.
* * * * *
Perplexity shaded the shrewd, rapidly moving orbs that were Madame Pomfrey's eyes. Truthfully, she hadn't the dimmest wisp of a proper idea as to what might be wrong with the poor Weasley child.
Ron had taken to observing the world as though he had never seen it before. Hogwarts seemed so incredibly vacant, hollow, devoid of life or character or optimism. Before it had been his second home, and now it was only his fortress; he didn't feel as if he really had a home any longer, absurd though he knew it was.
There was no warmth here, despite the myriad students who stopped him on the way to the hospital wing. Hermione, Ginny and Harry stood beside him; they were the only people he wanted, but he didn't need them. He didn't need anyone. Look at all those people who had made Fred and George necessary in their daily lives; those people were now shattered. He wasn't going to be one of them.
"I've absolutely no clue," Madame Pomfrey was saying. "But anyway, Professor Dumbledore would like very much to see you four. He left word to send you straight to his office as soon as you were done here... perhaps he'll know. Surely, he will."
Ron heard the conviction ringing in her voice and pitied her for her foolish trust in something so finite as the existence of a hero.
* * * * *
Dumbledore seated his guests opposite his piercing blue eyes, like two azure stilettos whose effect was nullified for Ron. They were an ugly gray for him; without them, Dumbledore merely looked like a powerless old man.
The stillness crackled as Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The first thing I must express to you, again, is how deeply sorry I am for your loss."
"Thank you, Professor," Ginny said softly.
"Well, it doesn't much help, does it? But, no matter. How are all of you holding up?"
"Fine," the four said in unison. Dumbledore smiled kindly – or perhaps nostalgically.
"Fine? Well, Mr. Weasley, I see that, fortunately, you do appear well. However, I heard that last night..."
"He was having some sort of a seizure," Hermione said. "And now he can't see blue."
"Ah. The color, blue?"
"Yes, sir," Ron answered. "I see gray instead."
"This happened immediately after the... attack?"
"Yes, sir. Madame Pomfrey doesn't understand what might've caused it."
"So when you look at my eyes, you see...?"
"They appear gray, sir."
"I see."
"Yeah, I don't."
Dumbledore suppressed a chuckle at the rapid humor which was so reminiscent of the twins. "Indeed."
There was a pause. "So... do you know what may have happened?" Ginny asked.
"I don't." Hermione felt anticipations drop, then rise again as he continued. "But... I do have a somewhat unlikely opinion. I think you'll agree that an unlikely opinion is most befitting an unlikely circumstance."
Ron nodded. "So, what is it you think, then?"
Without answering, Dumbledore turned his gaze to Ginny. "Miss Weasley," he said, "when you're feeling very angry, what color do you most resemble?"
Ginny looked uncertain for a moment, and then comprehension emerged tangibly on her face. "Oh... red!"
"Yes. And Mr. Potter, when you think of evil, you are reminded of what color?"
"Green," Harry responded dismally. He was thinking of Slytherin.
"Er..." Dumbledore may have been smirking. "...no, that wasn't quite what I was going for. Evil. Death. Darkness."
"Black, then."
"Good. But when you think of envy, what color?"
"Green."
"There you go. Now, Miss Granger, when you are feeling very sad, you are said to have a case of the...?"
Hermione's voice was confused but certain of her answer. "Blues."
"Indeed. However, when you think of serenity, happiness, love – what color comes to mind?"
"Er... blue."
"Why is that?"
"I don't know. It just always has."
Ron didn't yet grasp what relevance this had to his situation.
"Something about the way the human brain works," Dumbledore continued. "So very curious – colors make such vivid imprints on our minds. Hospitals are always adorned with subdued pastels in trivial designs like flowers and butterflies; it's a method of calming patients. But if you've ever noticed, advertisements are always in intense, dazzling neon. Why, do you suppose, Miss Weasley?"
"To catch the attention of the consumers, I suppose."
"Quite right you are. But also to subtly excite the senses. The blood rushes just a instant quicker when the vision is assaulted by brightness. When you read the name on the advertisement, you associate it with the very, very, very slight jolt of your nerves."
"Wow," said Harry.
"Indeed. A tricky business, is the world. But... I've strayed quite off-subject, which is unforgivable, because you must be exhausted."
"Yes, we are, but we can't sleep until some answers make themselves clear," Hermione told him. Ron glanced at her, startled. Her loyalty had always taken him by surprise, though he had long known that she was truly a devotee to everything she though right and good with the world. He was only astounded that she believed him to be one of those things, one of the worthy.
In any case, Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes. Ron?"
Ron started. Dumbledore didn't often address students by their first names. "Yes, sir?"
"I can't offer you any full explanation yet; I'll need to do quite a bit of research and observation."
"But you think that...?"
"You're experiencing a particularly traumatic event in your life at this time. My hypothesis is that this loss of color is completely psychological. The things you identify as peaceful or happy are replaced with gray... apathy."
"But then why isn't Ginny experiencing this? Why doesn't this happen to everyone who's suffered a loss?" Hermione wondered.
"That, I don't know yet. As I said, it's only a theory, and an improbable one at that. But... I thought... even a doubtful supposition might provide some comfort in such an abyss of uncertainty."
"Thank you, sir," Ron said.
"You're quite welcome. Now, all of you – you have strict instructions to report to me immediately if you experience any symptoms similar to Ron's. Ron, if anything further happens, I mean it, I want to hear from you right then. I don't care if it's three in the morning; I'm quite an insomniac as it is."
"Yes, sir," the students chimed.
"Very good. You may adjourn to the common rooms. I would quite encourage that you rest."
Dumbledore saw them to the door with a benevolent expression, and Ron's affection for the man surged against his will.
* * * * *
They said nothing as they plodded wearily back to the common room. The Fat Lady tried to express her sympathy, but Ron merely nodded and told her the password.
Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Ginny raise her eyebrows and flick her head in a very strange way. Immediately after, she and Harry were miraculously overcome with fatigue and retired to their respective dormitories.
Ron had flopped on a couch in front of the fire. His shoulders had gone flaccid; his head had folded itself so that his chin was resting on his chest.
"Ron?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Tired."
"Did you sleep at all last night?" She shifted to observe him. He certainly hadn't; the sacks under his eyes were puffy and alarming in a way they hadn't been before.
"A little."
She didn't want to argue, and so she forced herself to accept that. "All right." She moved slowly to sit beside him. She felt as though he were a wild animal, spurred to viciousness by sudden movements and the least sign of a threat.
When he felt her weight sink into the cushion, he said, "Go get some rest, Hermione. Unpack or... go see Crookshanks. What did you do with Crookshanks, anyway?"
"I left him with Parvati."
Ron snorted humorlessly. "I'm sure he's got a tiny pink bow in his hair, and probably some little kitty earrings."
"I very much doubt that."
"I just want to sit here. You don't have to keep watching me like this."
"But I want to."
"But I don't need you."
She felt herself stung. She'd never thought he'd needed her; she just... sometimes... wished that he would. Nevertheless...
"I don't care whether you do or not."
He elevated his head fully, but still didn't look at her. "Why? Don't I matter?"
She hesitated only long enough to swallow her inhibitions. "You matter just a little bit too much."
Now he looked at her. She really wished he wouldn't. He was shocked, and for her life, she wasn't sure if it was in a good or bad way.
"Hermione..."
"Yeah?"
"What's that mean?"
"It means exactly what I said."
"That doesn't really clarify a whole lot, and I don't want to... I don't want to play games today."
"It means that I couldn't let you sit here like this even if I wanted to do it, which I don't. Actually, I'm not sure where Harry and Ginny went, because it doesn't seem very characteristic of them to want to leave you, either."
He was silent for a few minutes, and despite the fact that she felt like white-hot pinpricks were striking all over her forearms, she complied with this decision for as long as she could.
"And also, Ron," she continued, "I can't stand to see you in the sort of pain you felt last night. I can't – I couldn't STAND it. You know what I mean, I'm sure you do. When you see Harry gripping his scar, doesn't it just sort of boil through you and make you so angry that you just want to scream but you can't because you've lost your breath?"
"You're telling me you feel this way about Harry, too? Because Hermione, he really needs someone more than I do right now."
"He wasn't having seizures last night."
"Which means nothing, as I'm not having them now."
"I love Harry and he knows it. But I..."
"But you what?"
She said nothing. She was puzzled at herself; she could admit to what she felt for Harry without batting an eyelash. Why was her relationship with Ron so much more complex?
She knew the answer. She just wasn't sure she was ready for it.
"Hermione?"
"Mmm-hmm?"
"You've gone and piqued my curiosity. You know I hate that."
Deep, cold breath. "I don't think I can get up and go to Harry."
"Why not?"
"...I...." She searched his eyes, but she didn't know what she wanted to find, since he was more confused than she. "I don't know. I just don't think I can."
With a deftness that would have impressed the most lithe of dancers, Ron was on his feet instantly. He grabbed the first thing that he saw – which happened to be a first year's textbook – and flung it across the room. "Damnit, Hermione!"
The book somersaulted several times; they watched as the pages flapped and flailed and fluttered through the air with a kind of ridiculous prettiness, before the spine connected with the wall in a terrible THWACK.
"Ron!"
"Oh, don't say my name like that. You know you're only making this more complicated!"
"I don't know what –"
"Yes, you do, you have to know it. You can't tell me that you don't feel this, can you?"
She stood, mainly because she didn't like it when he could look down on her. "Feel... what? What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about!"
"No, tell me what you mean!"
He was nearly inclined to chuck something again when he realized that maybe she just wanted a confirmation of her own emotions; maybe she just wanted him to jump first.
Maybe, if he jumped first, he could catch her when she fell. So he resolved to be as honest as he could.
"You can't tell me," he started, "that you don't feel something for me. We've been friends for years, for seven years. I can tell you that I grew to love you like a brother, to admire you as the most bloody brilliant person I've ever known, and to tolerate your neurotic need to be right about every single thing. I've never told you because that just isn't the way I am, which you know."
Hermione, for her part, was not in a position to speak very well, and he took this as a good sign.
"But you must know, you have to have realized, that somewhere along the line you went and did some stupid female thing with your hair or something and it made me acknowledge that you are, in fact, a girl. Or more accurately, were a girl. You're a woman now. You just don't know it." Despite the fact that his voice crackled like a bad radio, he continued. "And I could tell you that I looked at your smile one day and saw stars, or that I was struck by the way the moonlight played in your eyes, or something idiotic like that – you would love to hear it but you might know that it was never true. It's just that you – your presence and your friendship and pretty much everything about you, it's all a sustaining thing for me. I don't need you, I won't need you, and you don't and won't need me. But you make me feel things, crazy things that make me think I know the meaning of life, if only for this tiny little fraction of a moment. And... I don't know, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I have a really, really, huge, horrendous crush on you, and it's about damn time I let it go and said so."
Of course, by the time he finished this, she was crying. Of course, by the time he noticed her tears, he felt awful. The lubricant of necessity that had helped him to slide all those words out – that was gone, and he was frozen. Did he really just say all that? Oh, God. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
"Ron," she wailed, and snuffled awkwardly for several minutes in the quiet room.
"Um," he stammered, "um, accio, handkerchief."
Something white soared into his hand, from a direction he didn't see. He handed it to her and she took it gratefully, sobbing all the harder. When finally she seemed to have calmed, he said, "Look, I didn't mean to upset you –"
"You didn't!" she exclaimed. "I'm just horribly emotional right now, you know, and... yes, well, you know." He gathered from her embarrassment that certain hormones were playing a very unwelcome role in this production, and he nodded while blushing himself.
"Anyway, Ron, I... look, I just want to be here for you. The only thing I want in this world right now, the only thing, is to be able to say something to help you – and Harry, and Ginny, and everybody else, of course, but mainly you. And it scares me, but I want so very violently to make you happy. I would sacrifice myself if I had to, and I would bleed o I think I would do anything, and I can do nothing, and I just..."
"Oh, Hermione... Didn't you hear a damn word I just said? C'mere."
She obeyed and he enfolded her in his long, freckled arms. "All you ever had to do," he said in her ear, "is be you. And believe."
"Believe in...what?"
In God, in life, in love, in the future and the possibility that one day we'll be happy. In me, that I might be whole again someday, that I might be able to feel more than just sorrow and extreme euphoria (or whatever I should call the thing that you bring me). And always, always, Hermione, in yourself.
He didn't say any of this, at least not out loud, because he was kissing her as he thought it.
* * * * *
Author's Note: Oh my God, I cannot believe I just wrote that. What's up with Ron's psychological lack of blue? Is it really psychological? Does it even make sense? Where the hell did Harry and Ginny go? And HELLO, what's up with the kissing? What does this mean?
Yay, I get to go write another chapter, and answer all of these questions!
