by She's a Star
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. 79 days 'till book five . . . *gets scary, glazed-over blissful look in her eyes* Oh, it's coming . . . it's coming . . . Er. Sorry.
Author's Note: I haven't written much of anything besides Snape/Sinistra for quite sometime, and have been missing R/Hr, so I wrote this ingenious piece. (Yay.) Ron is a bit mushy and OOC considering he's twelve, but I can't help it! And plus, he'd be thirteen by now, wouldn't he, as his birthday's March 1 and Hermione wasn't Petrified until May 8th! *looks triumphant*
Er. Sorry again. I'm sick and only slightly delirious.
In case you hadn't realized by now, this is set during CoS after Hermione gets Petrified.
She is, he thinks now, kind of pretty, actually.
He's not going to tell anyone that, of course. They'll all be bloody idiots about it. Probably think he's in love with her or something.
But he's not.
She's just. . . Hermione.
But not Hermione.
Not exactly. Not now.
Now she's so still, and her eyes are blank. It's unsettling, seeing her like this. Her eyes always used to sparkle and glow - he'd always thought to himself that the essence of her shone through in her eyes.
. . . Not that he'll tell anyone that, either.
Yeah, right.
He's not completely daft.
He kind of misses her telling him that he is, though. It's not the same without her. He knows that this is completely crazy, that he hadn't even liked her when he'd first met her. She scared the hell out of him, really. Telling him he had dirt on his nose, and all. Who did that?
Well . . . Hermione did.
And now she's so still, and so cold.
It scares him a little.
. . . A lot.
He doesn't want her to die. He doesn't want anything to happen to her. It scares him, thinking about what would happen if she did...die. Would they just be expected to go back to living the way they always had then? Just pretend that she'd never existed? Keep going to classes and doing homework? How the bloody hell was he supposed to do his homework without Hermione scolding him about it?
It just wouldn't work.
He looks down at her, tentatively, feeling almost like he shouldn't be here. He's not sure he would like it to just have her staring down at him when he couldn't do anything about it.
He wonders if she can see him.
Maybe she can.
He smiles, weakly.
He wants to say something, but doesn't want Madame Pomfrey to think he's gone completely mad. A smile's good enough, he decides.
Plus, he doesn't know what to say.
He feels too much to say it all.
To say any of it.
He leans over and touches her hand, a little - barely grazes her soft, cold skin with his own clumsy, ink-stained fingers. She has such tiny hands, Hermione. She's so tiny in general. Without her loud voice, and those sparkling eyes, she just looks so...helpless.
It scares him, really.
He feels guilty. Really guilty. He can't tell anybody this either, of course. Everyone will think he's completely cracked if he does. But he's always kind of mean to her - okay, more than 'kind of' sometimes, but he doesn't mean it. Not really. He's grown used to her nagging and her chiding and her sporadic giggling fits and the way that her eyes go all odd and bright when she has an idea.
He likes her a lot.
. . . 'Cause she's his best friend, of course. She and Harry. But she's kind of different than Harry. Well, obviously. She's a girl. But...not like that, exactly.
He doesn't like her any less.
Just....differently.
But everything seems so much more difficult without her. Sure, she's not nagging him all the time, but that means that he forgets to do his homework. And she's not fawning over Lockhart (smarmy git) during Defense Against the Dark Arts, but....
All right, so there's nothing exactly wrong with that.
He hates the stupid prat anyway.
Why does she think he's so wonderful, anyway? Just because he's handsome and famous doesn't mean that he's any better than. . .
Other...people.
Right.
Well, that doesn't matter anymore. Not really. What matters is that there's something terrible going on, and the brains of the operation is Petrified.
He doesn't know what they're going to do without her.
It's a little scary, really, how much he's come to depend on her.
. . . He and Harry, of course. Not just him. Because . . . well, she's just Hermione, and that's all she'll ever be. He thinks. For now, anyway.
People might think different, sometimes. Because he quarrels with her so much, and he gets fed up with her about Lockhart, and he stands up for her when that bastard Malfoy treats her like scum.
But he doesn't like her.
Really, he doesn't.
Because. . . that would be weird, and it would ruin everything, and really, right now he'd be bloody satisfied if she'd just get better and be Hermione again.
But who knows? Maybe . . . someday.
A long time from now, of course.
And probably not, even.
Stop looking at him like that!
Can't a guy just think once in a bloody while?
. . . That's better.
But he finds himself, as he stares down at her, wishing, almost, that it will happen. So he can keep her close and protect her from danger and make sure that this never happens again.
That's Harry's job, of course. He knows that. Harry's the hero. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out - hell, even Lockhart probably could.
But he still kind of wants to be the one to protect her.
After all, Harry's got the entire wizarding world.
What's one girl?
. . . But that doesn't seem right, really, thinking of Hermione as 'one girl'. Because she's different than other girls. She's not ridiculous and annoying. She doesn't giggle all the time or act stupid and senseless. She's funny and clever and brilliant and . . .
Oh, bugger. Madame Pomfrey is looking at him funny now. Probably wondering why he's been here for so long. He wasn't whispering to himself, was he? Or moving his lips?
Shit.
He looks down at Hermione, one last time, and offers her a weak half-smile. She still stares up at him, lifeless. He wishes her eyes were closed. It would be different then. Less real. Like one of those fairytales that Mum had used to tell Ginny all the time. Like . . . oh, what was that one that was completely rubbish? . . .
Sleeping Beauty.
Yes, right.
And she'd lie there, beautiful even though she was still and cold and trapped in a living death, waiting for her prince.
And then the prince would have to kiss her, of course. She wouldn't wake up otherwise.
Well, normally he'd leave that up to Harry, since Harry was definitely the prince-ish one. He, on the other hand, was the stupid page who carried the armor and got scared at everything.
But maybe he should give Harry a break.
On account of he's really busy already, and all, with everyone thinking he's Slytherin's heir.
Maybe Ron could just, ya know, kiss her for him.
Since Harry doesn't really have the time, or anything.
. . . But this is complete rubbish. Why is he being such a bloody idiot? Sleeping Beauty isn't real! What's real is that now he's going to be late for double Potions because he was sitting down here being a git, and now Snape will go all sinister and throw a couple of detentions his way.
He shrugs apologetically toward Madame Pomfrey, looks at Hermione one last time, and leaves.
The image of her won't leave his head - it'll drive him mad, probably. Only he doesn't see her in the Hospital Wing, all frozen and lifeless. He sees her lecturing him or hunched over textbooks or going all giggly and ridiculous over Lockhart.
She is, he thinks now, kind of pretty, actually.