Author's Notes: Here was my shining moment the last time I wrote this:

It has recently come to my attention that, well, I have no notes. I just use this section to say random and sometimes strangely hilarious things. Well, in my opinion anyway.

Yep. Let's hear it for random, nonsensical, pointless Author's Notes. ^_^

***

"You can still hear me, can't you?"

If Albus Dumbledore could, he certainly showed no sign of it. The colourless face of the old Headmaster showed no signs of life; if one were to quickly glance at him, they would assume he had passed away. This time, no amount of shaking or calling his name would wake the feeble wizard. With Dumbledore's heavy lids closed, concealing his sometimes sparkling, usually jovial, and occasionally fierce eyes, it seemed that all of the life had gone from the aged wizard. His skin was ashen and paper-thin. The white pallour of his face strangely paralleled his snowy beard. It flowed over his cream-coloured hospital robes, which clung loosely to the headmaster's frail form. The white sheets of his hospital bed completed the bittersweet illusion of white peacefulness.

Ron Weasley smiled sadly, hands in his robe pockets, staring down at the man who was his former Headmaster, his new boss, and as always, his idol. The ever-growing pile of 'Get Well' cards behind Ron proved that Dumbledore obviously had several hundred other fans as well. One, bewitched to play the headmaster's favourite classical music pieces, provided a calming background as Ron spoke to the inanimate man. He felt no shame in speaking to a person who obviously could not speak back; however, he had chosen to visit the Headmaster at midnight without Madam Pomfrey's knowledge. He felt no shame in talking to an unconscious person - but talking to an unconscious person in front of a crowd of visiting students was crossing the line.

"They'll be fine, you know," Ron said presently. "The students. The teachers. You don't have to worry. McGonagall…she's taken charge for the moment. And me…and I," he corrected himself, briefly noting that he'd been spending a little too much time with Hermione and grinning slightly at the thought, "I won't let anything happen to them. I've even called for reinforcements," the Auror said, smiling wryly.

"Hermione's been in the library every night for the past few weeks," Ron continued, a note of admiration and obvious fondness in his voice as he spoke of his co-worker. "She's sworn not to leave that place until she finds what's wrong with you. Weird symptoms you have, Dumbledore. No fever, but you sweat like crazy. Your heartbeat's regular, but you gasp for breath. I've never seen anything like it before. It's dark magic, or I'll be damned," Ron stated grimly. "Pomfrey still insists you're just sick, and everyone's just accepted that explanation. I know you're not. You've been cursed. But I rarely let you out of my sight all year, and the castle is so well protected…how did it happen?"

Ron sighed heavily and summoned a chair to him, falling into it. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Professor," Ron muttered in a low voice. He removed his wand from his robes and started absently twirling it around in his fingers, a bad habit he'd developed over the years when he was worried or troubled. "But I swear we'll find out what's wrong with you. And when we do, there'll be hell to pay."

"Expelliarmus!" a voice suddenly screamed shrilly, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the hospital wing. Ron yelped loudly, jumping out of his chair and falling to the floor with a loud crash as his wand went flying out of his grasp. Reflexes kicking in, Ron agilely rolled along the floor then flung himself into the air, stretching out his fingers to grab the airborne wand. It barely grazed his fingers before another hand stretched out and neatly snatched the wand out of the air. Ron crashed to the floor again, smashing his chin on the hard, tiled floor of the hospital wing.

Chin throbbing - most likely broken - and eyes burning with anger, Ron slowly stood to face his attacker.

"Pomfrey?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"You?!" the hospital matron hollered in surprise. They both stared at each other, blinking; then Madam Pomfrey brought back her open palm and abruptly slapped Ron across the face.

"Ow!" Ron whined as she also grabbed hold of the grown man's ear. Though Ron towered over her, Madam Pomfrey managed to drag him out of the hospital wing by the ear, displaying astonishing strength for someone her age and scolding him shrilly the entire time.

"What d'you think you're doing sneaking into my hospital wing in the middle of the night with your wand out and pointed at the Headmaster?!" she reprimanded the young professor loudly. "I have half a mind to report you to Professor McGonagall and get you fired, you selfish, half-witted, senseless, unthoughtful - "

"Unthoughtful isn't a word," Ron cut in, again noting that this was a very Hermione-like thing to say. He winced, as his interruption had only made Pomfrey pinch his ear harder.

" - careless, inconsiderate, smart-mouthed little idiot!" They were now outside the door to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey released Ron's ear and the tall wizard stumbled away from her, rubbing his stinging ear vigorously. "Now shoo!" the hospital matron commanded, flinging Ron's wand at him then spinning on her heel and re-entering the hospital wing. She slammed the door with an earsplitting crash. Peeves snickered as he floated by, and opened his translucent mouth to make a comment.

"Shut it, Peeves!" Ron warned. Peeves cackled and flipped upside down, staring at him from between his legs. "Don't you dare say a word," Ron hissed dangerously, turning around and stomping away. The poltergeist's boisterous cackles and sniggers followed him all the way to the library.

***

Professor Granger slammed shut yet another magic medical dictionary. She had found nothing on Dumbledore's current condition. Hermione pushed a strand of frizzy hair out of her eyes; lately, Hermione had been wearing her hair down for some mystifying, probably nostalgic reason, taking the time and patience in the morning to add liberal amounts of magical hair products in a feeble attempt to control it. But after spending a stressful day teaching, and then her entire night in the library looking up every magical ailment known to wizardkind, the potion had definitely worn off. Her hair had once again become bushy and frizzy. With an exasperated sigh, the fatigued professor started to pull her hair into a loose ponytail to get it out of her face.

"No, don't," Ron's voice came from the entrance of the library, cutting through the stifling quiet of the large room. "It looks better down." His words sounded strangely slurred. Hermione let go of her hair, glancing up as it fell to her shoulders again. She squinted; there was something wrong with Ron's face…

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, leaping out of her seat and crossing over to her fellow professor in record time. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, the places you could've gone with that," Ron said wistfully. "The potential insults…ow!" He winced as Hermione gingerly touched his chin.

"Your jaw's broken!" she exclaimed, suddenly feeling panicked. "How - ?"

"Don't worry," Ron interrupted. "I…slipped and hit my chin on the floor," he said hastily.

"Liar," Hermione retorted, examining his jaw. She suddenly glanced up at him, looking frightened. "It wasn't…"

"Don't worry," Ron repeated. He made a face, which only caused another burst of pain to shoot through his jaw. "I only lie because the truth hurts," he said solemnly.

"Explain," Hermione demanded, hands on her hips.

Ron sighed. "Pomfrey jumped me in the hospital wing; my wand went flying, I took a dive to grab it, missed, and smashed my chin on the floor. Happy?"

Hermione blinked, and then returned to inspecting Ron's chin. "Sorry I asked."

"Ow!" Ron flinched as Hermione peered closer at his jaw, cautiously touching it again. He grabbed her wrist. "Stop doing that. You'll only make it worse," he commanded. It struck both of them at the same time that they were in very close proximity to each other. Hermione automatically took a step backwards. Ron's eyes dropped to the ground, and he rubbed his jaw distractedly.

"At least let me heal it," Hermione insisted bossily after an awkward silence.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and then decided against it. "Better you than Pomfrey," he shrugged, bravely jutting out his chin, faithful that Hermione would know how to fix it.

"Corpus reparus," Hermione said clearly, tapping Ron's chin with her wand. Ron made a gruesome face, squeezing his eyes shut as bones in his face shifted and repaired themselves efficiently. After a few moments he ventured to open one eye and stare at his reflection in one of the tall, library windows.

"Bloody hell," Ron commented in amazement, stroking his healed chin. "Would you look at that…"

"Perhaps if you had paid attention in school, you would remember that we learned that one in sixth year," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she started walking back to her table. The table was sagging under the weight of about a dozen heavy books and several rolls of parchment.

Ron admired his reflection for a moment longer before joining her. "Find anything?" he asked hopefully.

"Nothing," Hermione responded dejectedly. "And yet…there's something nagging at the back of my mind," she confessed, "like I've seen Dumbledore's symptoms somewhere before…"

"You probably read it somewhere!" Ron said eagerly. "Think, Hermione…what books have you read in the past seven years?"

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Actually," she said, more to herself than Ron, "I think I heard it somewhere…" she gave a flustered sigh and sat back in her chair, throwing up her hands in near-defeat.

"Perhaps some of the other teachers would know about this sort of thing," Ron suggested, sitting down next to his weary co-worker.

"I've asked Professor Flitwick, but he says he's never heard of a Charm which causes strange symptoms as well as unconsciousness," Hermione replied, massaging her temples. "And it's not exactly her subject, but Professor McGonagall is very knowledgeable you know, and she couldn't think of anything…even she keeps saying it must be old age…" she drifted off, deep in thought.

"Wait!" Hermione suddenly shouted excitedly. "Yes…yes…it's a possibility…oh Ron, don't you see?" she exclaimed, clutching Ron's arm, her eyes shining in triumph. "We were thinking he'd been cursed all along, but what if it was a potion? What if he was…what if he was poisoned?" she asked shakily.

Ron blinked, processing this information and slowly pulling his arm out of Hermione's grasp. He examined the deep fingernail marks on it and raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's definitely possible…" he said slowly, then a strange look lit up his eyes. "Hermione - "

"Potions was never my strongest subject, but…" Hermione continued enthusiastically, convinced she was on to something.

"Hermione - " Ron tried again.

"…Diana would know, or I'm sure she has contacts…other Potions Masters, you know, that may have an idea what - "

"Hermione!" Ron finally interrupted. "You're a brilliant witch, and a damn good Arithmancy teacher, but honestly…are you blind?!"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's eagerness disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced instead with a look of annoyance at Ron's tone.

Ron sighed in exasperation and started speaking in a slow, long-suffering voice. "You're right, it could be poison…"

"Yes…"

"And then you said it yourself…Drago would know…"

"Yes…" Hermione was beginning to feel impatient; her sympathy about Ron's injury was the only thing preventing her from snapping at him.

"And who's suspect number one, Hermione?" Ron asked slowly, giving her a conclusive look. She finally caught on, realization dawning on her face.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. "But you don't think…" she trailed off, sounding bewildered.

"Yes," Ron answered grimly, "I do."

A sudden, clear mental image of Diana slipping into Dumbledore's office and pouring a vial of red, smoldering potion into the headmaster's goblet at meals popped into Hermione's mind, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But Ron, we have no proof!" she burst out in distress. "I mean, we can't jolly well go around accusing our co-workers of attempted murder, can we?"

"Don't worry," Ron said soothingly as his friend made a frustrated noise and dejectedly put her bushy head down on the table with an exhausted groan. "Help's on the way," he assured her.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Hermione asked thickly, her voice muffled by the table.

"Well, when something's amiss at Hogwarts…who you gonna call?" Ron grinned.

"Ghostbusters," Hermione mumbled into the table.

"Eh?" Ron said, wrinkling his forehead and knitting his eyebrows together. "What's that?"

"Nothing..."

Ron stared at her queerly. "I think you should get some sleep," he decided firmly, leaving the subject for the moment. Hermione suddenly felt strong hands pulling her upwards. Hermione considered telling Ron off, but was really too tired to care. She allowed him to pull her out of her chair and then faced her old friend, bleary-eyed and exhausted.

"Don't worry, I'll get the dirt on Drago," Ron promised vehemently. "S'what I do for a living, after all," he said proudly, helping Hermione up. As she followed the Auror out of the library and dragged herself to the staff common room, Hermione was vaguely aware of Ron muttering to himself beside her, occasionally catching tidbits of his conversation with himself. "But when…the opportunity…his food?…when he was sleeping…?"

Murmuring the password absently, Ron eased into the staff room, followed by Hermione, who was made clumsy by fatigue. She practically fell into her colleague as she clambered into the entrance, a small opening behind a suit of armour on the fourth floor.

"Thanks Ron," Hermione mumbled in a sleepy sort of way as they stopped in front of the fireplace, "for everything."

Ron looked quite puzzled at what she was thanking him for. In fact, Hermione herself wasn't quite sure what she was specifically thanking for either. But she knew that she meant it, and obviously Ron did too, because he gave her a deep, genuine smile.

"I'm your friend, Hermione," he said, and Hermione noted that his voice had suddenly dropped about an octave and sounded a bit husky. "I'd do anything for Dumbledore, and for…for you." His eyes dropped to the ground again, and the tips of his ears glowed red in the firelight.

Hermione watched him closely. It was amazing how Ron could waltz around the castle all day, seeming to be cocky and self-assured, yet in the most serious and sincere situations he was transformed back into the gangly, awkward teenager she had known at Hogwarts. Somewhere in the back of Hermione's debilitated mind she registered the word 'friend', and she marveled at how close she and the man she had sworn to avoid this year had become. It had been bound to happen, really; she and Ron had always been closest in times of crisis, and so far this turbulent year had been no exception.

Hermione made a sudden movement forward, possessed by an impulsive urge to hug him, but then thought better of it. She stepped backwards and whispered a quick "Good night", then hauled herself up the stairs, down the long corridor of teachers' chambers, and finally entered her bedroom. Through her door, she heard the muffled sounds of a door opening and closing, and assumed that Ron had followed and entered his own bedroom down the hall. Hermione quickly changed into a nightgown, still wondering when exactly she had let her guard down and allowed Ron to get close to her again. Her mind suddenly active and awake, Hermione climbed into bed, still contemplating her relationship with Ron, her relationship with Charles, and how her well-thought out plan to live a safe, quiet little life at Hogwarts had gone down the drain…

Honestly, Hermione, a little voice in her head said crossly, you always make things so complicated.

"You're right," Hermione said out loud, stifling a yawn. And with that, she drifted off to sleep, feeling surprisingly satisfied with herself.

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I can't get no…sat-is-faction…

Ahem. Review!