AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, yes, it's true. You can believe it or not, but this is actually part 4 of "Amongst the Dreamers", and I know some of you, if you even remember this story, must be going "No! It couldn't be!", but it is, and yes, I have been working on it almost a year. Well, not constantly, obviously, but every now and then I've sat down and had a go at it, and now finally it's finished. You might wonder why it's taken so long. The thing is, I recently graduated, and my senior year was positively insane, there was so much to do and so little time to do it in (something which I'm sure a lot of people are familiar with). And frankly, there weren't many opportunities for me to go "Ah, I think I'll just sit down and write, for the sheer fun of it", seeing as there were countless assignments and tests and who knows what to finish before I could do something like that. But now I'm done with school, for the time being anyway, and hopefully I'll have some time in the near future to sit down and finish some stories (cause there are quite a few to be finished). Plus, I've now read OotP and new ideas are popping into my head every day, so I hope I'll have some OotP fics up soon. Btw, for those of you who don't know, I started on this fic more than a year ago, so it's not OotP-compatible. Just so you know.
Wow. Long statement. But I felt like I owed you an explanation to the delay. Anyway, I hope there's still someone out there who wants to read the continuation of this story, and who'll enjoy it.
Finally, I should say that there's a fluff warning on this chapter. Quite a big one. But we like fluff, don't we? :)
DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns everything. Well, not everything, but everything HP-related. Oh, you know the deal.
Part 4
~Darkness~
It was a strange, rasping noise that woke Hermione up in the middle of the night. At first she couldn't tell where it came from, but as she strained her ears she heard it was coming from somewhere to her left.
Ron, she thought to herself. Ron's awake.
But as she turned her head to see what he was doing, she found that there was no movement in his bed. In fact, the bed seemed to be empty. Frowning, she decided on investigating the curious noise, as well as Ron's absence, and slowly got out of bed, careful not to make any sound of her own. She shivered slightly, as her feet were bare and there was a slight draught by the floor.
Tip-toeing, she made her way past the folding screen, which shone just as white in the darkness of the night as it had during the day. For a while she stood perfectly still, adjusting her eyes to the dark. When this was done, she surveyed her surroundings. There was no movement of any kind in the room – it was all peace and quiet, except for that soft, rasping sound. She knitted her brows, struggling to make out where it was coming from. The source of the sound seemed to be somewhere over by the windows.
Slowly, slowly, and ever so carefully, she made her way closer to the large windows. The curtains to all of them were drawn together, so it was impossible for her to know behind which set of curtains Ron was sitting.
But when she'd advanced a further ten feet, it was easy to determine that the sound was coming from behind the curtains of the window just on her left, and she quickly tip-toed up to it. She was about to draw the curtains aside, with the intention of giving Ron a good scare, but just as she raised her hand to do so, a sudden thought struck her.
What if it wasn't Ron hiding behind the curtains? What if it was somebody else? Somebody who'd snuck in here, lured Ron out of the room, and now sat waiting for her behind the curtains?
She was aware of how paranoid a thought it was, but these were paranoid times. Anything could happen, at any time, and everyone knew that. Even if the prospect of a midnight intruder in the hospital wing was utterly unlikely, nobody would be very surprised if it happened. They had all learned to expect the unexpected.
So even if there was little possibility that the person behind the curtains was anybody but Ron, Hermione took a few steps back, just to be on the safe side. Then she softly whispered "Ron?" to the closed curtains, and waited for a response.
It came almost immediately, although not in words. Ron's head appeared in the gap between the curtains, and he looked rather furtive.
"Hermione!" he hissed. "What are you doing out of bed?"
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. "I could ask you the same thing."
Ron suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. Glancing first left, then right, he drew his head back behind the curtains again. A shuffling sound was heard before his face reappeared. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "How about you?"
"Something woke me up. Ron, what were you doing?"
"Doing?" Ron asked, trying to appear puzzled, but even in the dark Hermione could make out a flush creeping up his cheeks.
"Yes. I heard a strange, sort of rasping sound, and it came from behind those curtains. It must have been you who caused it."
"I wasn't doing anything," Ron said and shrugged, but he looked increasingly flustered. "Maybe it was just a branch against the window or something."
"No, I don't think so. It didn't sound anything like that. It was rather soft, and flowing. A bit like… No, a lot like…" Hermione trailed off, realisation dawning on her. "Ron, you were writing, weren't you?"
Ron's face flushed even darker in the dusky room. "No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you were! Now I know why the sound was so familiar! It came from your quill against the paper, didn't it?"
Ron looked like he was about to object again, but then decided against it. He sighed and looked away. "Yes."
"What were you writing?"
Ron narrowed his eyes at her. "Why should I have to tell you? Maybe it was something secret."
Hermione snorted. "Oh, please. What would that be? A diary?" She gave a small laugh at the thought of Ron owning a diary, then caught herself. "It wasn't a diary, was it?" she asked cautiously, her stomach turning at the thought of what Ron could be writing in such a book.
"Of course it wasn't a diary," Ron snapped, clearly offended, and Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief. "As if I'd be caught dead owning one of those."
"Then what was it?" Hermione asked, seized again by curiosity.
Ron sighed. There was a pause in which Hermione was positive that she'd irritated him to the point where he'd get out from behind the curtains, then stomp back to bed. But instead he looked down and mumbled something inaudible.
"Pardon?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Ron looked to his side. "I said I was writing a letter," he said irritably.
"A letter? To whom?"
Ron's facial expression showed he was clearly not enjoying having to share this piece of information. "To my parents. Alright? I was writing a letter to my parents."
Hermione was truly puzzled. "In the middle of the night? What for?"
Ron didn't answer. Instead he sighed and held one of the curtains open, revealing the wide window-seat on which he was sitting. "Come on," he said, motioning for her to join him. Hermione was reluctant for a moment, wondering what this was all about, but then decided that she really wanted to hear what he had to say, and made her way over to the window. She climbed in and sat opposite Ron, with her back against the wall. Drawing up her knees, she tucked her feet in under the hem of her nightgown, enjoying the exchange of cold stone-floor under her feet for the soft velvet cover of the window-seat. She glanced at Ron and found he was staring out the window with a distant look in his eyes. Beside him lay a rolled up piece of parchment and a quill.
She took this opportunity to study him for a while. He looked so serious, and she wasn't used to seeing him like this; the darkness making his hair look more auburn than red, and giving his eyes an intensity which for some reason made her stomach flutter. He sat just like her, with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them.
He turned to look at her then, and Hermione's face flushed as their eyes met. He knew she'd been staring at him. She turned her gaze downward, trying to look unaffected, but failing to do so, as she could feel Ron's eyes on her. Turning her head, she looked out the window.
"The view's quite extraordinary up here," she commented, desperate to end her own awkwardness.
Ron didn't answer directly. She heard him take a deep breath in which she pictured him leaning his head back against the wall as he looked out as well. "Yeah, brilliant," he finally said.
They sat in silence, gazing out over the grounds of Hogwart's. The moon was new and provided little light; reducing the trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to dark shapes and menacing shadows, but in the area that was lit by the schoolground lanterns, they could make out both the pumpkin patch by Hagrid's hut and the stands by the Quidditch pitch, as well as scattered shrubberies and flower beds. It all looked so small from this far up, so insignificant, something that made Hermione feel strangely at ease.
"Does the night ever scare you?"
Ron's question startled Hermione, who'd grown rather used to the silence. She turned to look at him, and found he was sitting just as she'd imagined, with his head leaned back and his gaze fixed on something outside the window. She found she didn't know what to say. It was such an unexpected question, especially coming from Ron, and she didn't know how to answer.
"If the night scares me?" she repeated, frowning.
He nodded. "Nowadays. Do you ever get scared at night, considering… well, you know."
Hermione knew. She shivered slightly in her nightgown and hugged her knees even closer to her. "Sometimes," she said, resting her chin on her knees. "When I think about it."
Ron nodded, then turned to look at her, and his eyes were so deep a shade of blue that Hermione's heart twitched. "It seems darker, don't you think? Literally darker. I mean, have the nights always been this dark?"
Hermione looked back at him, giving a small smile. "I think so, Ron. We've just never noticed it before."
He shrugged. "I guess."
"How about you?" Hermione asked. "Does it scare you?"
Ron pursed his lips and for a moment it looked as if he was about to go off on an ego-defending tirade about how men weren't frightened by the dark, but then his features softened and he looked down at his feet. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly, and this -- for Ron -- very private confession made Hermione's stomach go warm.
He sighed deeply, picked up the quill lying by his side and started fidgeting with it. "It's just… I don't like how the night makes me all paranoid. I don't like all this… worrying. About everything and everyone. And I don't like how I can't, you know… keep an eye on everyone all the time. I hate how I don't always know what you're all doing."
This statement sent yet another ball of heat into Hermione's stomach.
He worried about her.
Sure, his words indicated that there were a large number of people he worried about, but the important thing was that she was one of them. Otherwise he wouldn't have put it like that.
"I know what you mean," she said. "I worry too."
He looked up at her. "You do?"
She nodded, confused by the slightly puzzled look on his face. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"
He shrugged. "Well, you seem so… I don't know… collected all the time. I guess I just assumed you wouldn't…"
"Well, I do," Hermione interrupted. "A lot. Especially about…"
She trailed off and turned to gaze out the window. She could feel Ron's eyes on her. "About what?" he asked.
She took a deep breath before speaking.
"I hate how I don't know how my parents are. I hate how something could happen to them, and they wouldn't see it coming, because they don't…" Here she had to stop. She swallowed hard, fighting to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat, and squeezed her eyes shut.
"I know how you feel," she heard Ron say. "I worry about my parents too. I mean, it's not like they're not aware of the way things are, and I could hardly do much to keep them out of harm's way if I was with them, but it still kills me that I can't see how they're doing, if they're alright. That's why I try to write them as often as I can, since I know that mum will answer within a split second, and I just have to make sure…"
He trailed off. Hermione opened her eyes and turned to look at him. His head was tilted sideways and his gaze rested on his knees. On his face was a look of such uncharacteristic resignation that Hermione's heart ached. Ron wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't meant to look unhappy or defeated or even remotely subdued; he was meant for pranks and laughter and mischievous grins, and witty comments and a fiery temper and flushed cheeks caused by frustration or indignation or something that had made him adorably bashful. And now here he sat across from her, looking absolutely helpless and as far from the regular Ron as she'd ever seen him. The sight made Hermione want to forget all about awkwardness and just reach out and touch him. Comfort him. She was sure he needed it.
But conventions and unwritten rules aren't easily discarded, and instead Hermione leaned the side of her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. The glass felt cool and somewhat soothing against her skin.
"Oh, Ron," she said with a sigh. "Is this the future? Is this how it's going to be? Us worrying about everything and everyone, and looking over our shoulders all the time?"
Ron snorted. "Not if I can help it. Even if it doesn't seem like it, I have dreams, and I'll be damned if I'll let him ruin it all for me."
Hermione looked at him, a bit surprised at the fierce tone of his voice.
"Don't look at me like that," Ron said.
"Like what?"
"Like the prospect of me having any sort of hope or dream of the future is a bloody joke."
"I wasn't! I just –"
"Because I do, you know."
"I'm sure you do, I –"
"And I know it must seem like all I ever do is sit back and won't be bothered with anything, but I think about the future, even if I don't make up charts and graphs and organise everything into oblivion."
"Are you saying I do?" Hermione demanded, suddenly annoyed.
"I'm not naming any names," Ron replied in an infuriatingly haughty manner.
"Look," Hermione said heatedly, struggling to keep her voice down. "I don't know what your problem is all of a sudden, but I didn't say a thing about you having dreams or plans for the future, not one thing, so there's no need for you to get all defensive and insult me or make fun of my studying habits."
She expected him to glare back at her, but instead he gave her a slightly sheepish look. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know where it came from. I'm just…" He sighed deeply and leaned his head back, not finishing the sentence. Hermione eyed him for a moment, before speaking.
"So what are they?" she asked quietly.
Ron looked at her, puzzled. "What?"
Hermione cleared her throat, which had suddenly gone tight. "Your… your dreams. What are they?"
"Oh." Ron cleared his throat as well, clearly flustered. "I… well, they're… I'm not sure… I guess… I mean, they're not…" He trailed off, obviously struggling to form a complete sentence. Hermione decided to help him out.
"Do you know what you want to do for a living?" she asked.
It seemed to help him a little, this specified question. He shrugged before speaking. "Well, you know how it is, there's always something you think you'd really fancy doing, but it's so far-fetched and unlikely that you might as well give it up right away." She saw his cheeks flush a little and he looked away.
"But you have an idea? I mean, even if it's farfetched, it isn't impossible. If you put your mind to it and really dedicate yourself…" She trailed off, hoping she'd sounded encouraging.
Ron gave her an amused little smile. "You know, with that attitude, you could be put in charge of Career's Advice. McGonagall wouldn't stand a chance."
Hermione gave him a Look, which efficiently silenced him. "I'm serious," she said. "No dream or plan is stupid. Now tell me what it is." She hoped she succeeded in hiding the curiosity that had bubbled up inside her.
Ron sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "If it'll get you off my case…" He turned his gaze out the window once more and his breath caused a patch of steam to appear on the glass. "I've always thought it'd be kind of cool to…" He paused to clear his throat, then actually managed to meet her eyes with his own, and the look he gave her was equally embarrassed and defiant. "I'd like to be an Auror."
"Oh!" Hermione felt like hugging him. He was adorable! Had he really thought she'd laugh at him for that? "Ron, that sounds… I mean that's…" She felt her face flush. "It's wonderful! It's a wonderful idea!"
But Ron looked mortified. "I knew you'd think it was stupid!" he said, and his face flushed darker. "And it is, it's a stupid idea, and it'll never work, I don't…"
"Of course it'll work!" Hermione said hurriedly, desperate to end his embarrassment. "I think you'd make an excellent Auror!" He didn't look convinced, so she added a forceful, "Honestly, I do!"
Ron visibly relaxed a little, and gave her a slightly pleased grin. "Well," he said. "I might just go for it, then."
There was a small pause, then Ron took a deep breath and asked, "How about you? Do you have any plans?"
Hermione was surprised to find that her mind went completely blank at his question. Whenever somebody had asked her this at previous times, she'd always been able to give a thorough answer, stating the various careers she had taken into consideration. But now, even though these career options were still in her mind, they didn't seem the least bit appealing anymore.
"Well?" Ron demanded when she hadn't yet answered.
She frowned, still baffled by her own sudden change of heart. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "I really don't know."
Ron looked at her, surprised. "You don't know?" he asked, incredulous. "You mean you haven't yet made a detailed plan of the coming five years? Honestly Hermione, isn't time running out?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn't bear to be annoyed, especially not when his eyes glittered the way they did whenever he mocked her.
"Seriously," he said, and all traces of sarcasm were gone from his voice. "How come you don't know? I mean, you could be anything. You've got a world of opportunities ahead of you. You're not like the rest of us, I mean you're not mediocre. You're brilliant, and you could do anything, Hermione."
And he fixed her with such an intense gaze that she truly believed he meant it, which caused her heart to beat twice as fast as it normally did. "I don't know about that," she said, trying hard not to show how his words had affected her. "And you are not mediocre, Ron."
He smiled slightly and shrugged. "Well, maybe I wouldn't be if I really applied myself, eh?"
Her heart broke at his tone. He sounded as if he really didn't think he was the least bit special, and Hermione wanted to tell him how perfectly wrong he was, how much he meant to her, how she couldn't quite fathom that there were people who actually couldn't see his brilliance, how she sometimes had a hard time being around him just because he was so utterly wonderful, how he provoked and agitated her like no other, yet still managed to be the one who, with a simple glance or smile, could restore her inner calm… All this she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't possibly find the words. So she gave another answer, which she hoped expressed at least some of her feelings.
"You do apply yourself, Ron," she said quietly. "Maybe not always when it comes to school, but there are other things… More important things."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "There are things more important than school?" he asked, mock-seriously.
"Of course there are," she replied, and he didn't pursue the matter further.
They sat in silence for a while, gazing out the window. Hermione noted how at ease she was, how completely natural it felt, sitting here with Ron and sharing her thoughts and feelings. She supposed that the dark was a contributing factor to their sudden sincerity – it didn't feel half as scary speaking your mind when you were shielded by the dark of night. Quite interesting, really, considering how they'd not so long ago concluded that the night's darkness could be rather unsettling.
"You know what," Ron said suddenly, and Hermione turned to look at him.
"What?"
"If you want to do something meaningful, you could be an Auror, too! I mean, wouldn't that be cool?" He grinned, answering his own question. "You, me and Harry, we could all be Aurors. Then we'd get to work together!"
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything.
"Seriously," Ron continued, "It's not a bad idea. I mean, we've had quite a lot of practise when it comes to meeting the Dark Arts, and we work really well as a team. Who wouldn't want to hire us?"
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "It's a possibility," she said, not wanting to put him down. And it did sound quite appealing. She didn't know if she'd make a good Auror, though, but as Ron had pointed out, they'd come through a lot together, and their friendship hadn't failed yet.
When Hermione glanced out the window again, she was surprised to see a faint red line along the horizon. It was nearly dawn – how long had they sat here? She looked at Ron and saw that he had noticed, too. "Maybe we should get back to bed," he said. "Before Pomfrey comes out and thinks we've run off or something."
Hermione nodded. "We wouldn't want that to happen." But she felt oddly reluctant to leave her place on the window seat. Soon it would be a new day, and she had a feeling that in the light of day she wouldn't be able to talk like this with Ron. At least not for quite a while. And she hardly thought she'd get to talk to him after dark anytime soon. Her face flushed at the unintended implications of this thought, and before she could hesitate, she swung her legs down from the window seat, pushed the curtains aside and stood up on the floor. She heard a shuffling as Ron did the same. When the curtains swung back, it took some time for her eyes to adjust to the thicker darkness of the hospital wing. She looked over at Ron, who was standing squinting into the dark, clearly trying to make out his surroundings.
"So," she whispered, suddenly at a loss of what to say.
Ron looked at her, his features hard to make out in the dim room. "So," he echoed.
Hermione felt a curious, tugging sensation in her gut. She thought again about how unusual these circumstances were, and how long it could be before she would be alone with Ron again. There was something about this night that made her feel like she ought to seize it, and not let the opportunity – whatever it was – slip away. Overcome by determination, mixed with anticipation and fear, she took one step closer to Ron, looking up at his face. He was no more than a foot away now, and his features were suddenly clearer. He furrowed his brow as he looked down at her.
"You okay?" he asked, and she realised her expression must be rather odd. And she felt odd, too. Like her stomach was full of butterflies and her skin was being tickled by a hundred pixies. She looked into Ron's deep blue eyes, scared to break eye contact as she feared that when she would, she might never be able to look him in the eye again.
"Hermione?" Ron's voice sounded oddly constrained. Maybe he was as acutely aware of their close proximity as she was. Because they were close now. And she could almost feel him, how warm he was.
She didn't know what made her do what she did then. Maybe it was this sudden premonition of what it would feel like to touch him; maybe it was her mixed fear of and fascination with the darkness of these hours; or maybe it was simply this confusing and unidentifiable mass of feelings she'd been harbouring for so long she couldn't even remember when she'd first experienced them. Whatever it was, it was so powerful and frustrating and ready to burst inside her that she had to let a fraction of it out. So she reached out a trembling hand and, ever so lightly, touched her fingertips to Ron's chest. He followed her movement with wide eyes, but didn't say anything. And he remained silent even as she placed her full hand on his chest.
He was indeed warm. More so than she'd expected. And she could feel his heart beat rather rapidly against his ribcage. Swallowing hard, but still not breaking eye contact, she took another tiny step closer to him, and now there were mere inches between them.
He was so tall. The top of her head was just level with his shoulder – she could feel his hot breath against her forehead – and she felt like burrowing her face into his chest and breathing him in. This was definitely the closest they'd ever been and she couldn't for the world understand how she'd been able to go so long without wanting to know what this closeness felt like. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, and feel fearful that she might explode with emotion if she maintained the contact. But at the same time she wouldn't dream of breaking it. She realised now that this was what she'd wanted for so long – this was her, and Ron, and it all made such perfect sense that she could no longer bear even the insignificant distance that was now between them.
With yet another tiny step forward she closed the distance between them and leaned her forehead against him, closing her eyes. Her arms moved around his middle and she drew herself even closer to him, only dimly aware of what a crazy thing this actually was to do.
At first, Ron did nothing, and for a fraction of a second Hermione was terrified that he was disgusted by her behaviour and wanted nothing more than to get away from her. But the thought barely had time to enter her mind before she felt a large, warm hand land between her shoulder blades, gently pressing at her back. Her heart sped up at this touch initiated by Ron himself, and she burrowed her face into his chest, as she'd thought about doing only minutes ago. Although, it felt like ages since she'd stood there with her fingertips against his chest. Because now she was actually being held by him, and no other previous contact she'd had with him could compete with this.
She drew in a sharp breath as she felt him place his other hand on her head, and then clumsily yet brilliantly he began stroking her hair in a way that sent wonderful little tingles down her spine.
It was almost too much, this. Almost too astounding. And he was too warm, too radiant, too important; it almost frightened her that she could feel this much all at once. But she wouldn't have exchanged it for anything. And even if it felt as though she'd burst from all this emotion, it wasn't nearly enough. Thinking this, she ever so slowly leaned her head back and gave him a soft kiss on his chin. It was all she could reach, and this fact almost made her laugh. But any laughter that might have felt like escaping her mouth was efficiently silenced as Ron bowed his head and softly touched his lips to her cheek. She scarcely managed to avoid gasping, but only by grabbing a handful of his nightshirt behind his back. She felt the muscles in his back tense slightly at this, and his lips left her cheek. But his face was still so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her skin. And this notion made her turn her head slightly, draw in a deep breath and then finally press her mouth against his.
It felt as though she wouldn't be able to remain standing, and had Ron not slightly increased the pressure of his hand against her back, she might actually have dropped to the floor. Because this was just too, too much. She was standing here, pressed against Ron, her hands on his back, her lips against his, and she'd never done something like this before, she'd never actually kissed someone before, but she just knew that this was what it was supposed to feel like. She knew it, because every cell in her body was currently buzzing and cheering and assuring her that that was the case.
She pushed herself up on tiptoe to get even closer to him, and as she did so, she felt his arms go around her, drawing her to him. The kiss deepened, and though it was obvious that Ron was as unsure of what to do as she was, it couldn't have been more wonderful. She opened her mouth slightly, and he did the same, allowing her to taste him and breathe him in.
They stood like that, in each other's arms, for quite a long time; gently and carefully exploring each other, and Hermione gradually realised that there were actually ways in which to express oneself better than in writing. She almost blushed at this, but considering the present circumstances, she figured that a thought like that could hardly count as embarrassing anymore.
It was a soft shuffling sound that caused them to let go of each other and jump apart. And that was when they heard Madam Pomfrey talking in a hushed voice with someone outside the door.
"…were quite alright when I left them, I assure you, and a full night's sleep ought to have done the trick, but if you want to see for yourself…"
"I think that might be best," came Professor McGonagall's voice.
Hermione looked at Ron in terror, and he stared back at her, equally alarmed. Professor McGonagall was on her way into this very room, and they were… Oh goodness. Hermione stared frantically around her, looking for an escape route. To her surprise, it was Ron who proved to think rationally by firmly taking her by the arm and leading her over to her bed. She scrambled into it and got under the covers. Ron was already getting into his bed a few feet away. Only then did Hermione remember something she'd forgotten earlier.
"Ron!" she hissed. He looked over at her, questioning.
"What?"
"Your letter! It's still on the window seat!"
Ron reacted immediately, practically diving out of bed. She heard him run over to the window, shuffle around, then run back and dive under the covers, and he was just on time, because seconds later the handle of the door was pushed down and the door glided open.
Hermione let her eyelids drop and tried to get her breathing even, which was hard, considering how she'd, minutes ago, stood in Ron's arms with her lips against his, and now she was lying in bed, hardly aware of how she'd got there, and Professor McGonagall was currently on her way over to check on her, and her heart was hammering wildly against her ribs, and she could hardly get her head around what had happened and what was happening right now.
"Miss Granger seems alright."
It was all Hermione could do not to jump. The Professor's voice was low, and she had been expecting it, but it was still quite a shock to hear it right by her bed. She heard the sound of soft footsteps make their way around her bed to Ron.
"Mr Weasley too. Well, Poppy, it looks as if everything is in order here. Let me know when they're ready to leave."
"Yes, Minerva."
Footsteps headed for the door, which was opened and moments later closed again.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She would've wanted to turn to Ron and see him grin back at her, but she didn't dare. Partly because Madam Pomfrey was still in the room, as it was now a new day and she was on duty, but also because Hermione couldn't yet fathom that she had actually kissed Ron, she had kissed him, and he had kissed her back, and it was too unbelievable for her to actually dare believe it. So she didn't want to face him quite yet. She just wanted to lie here for a while and process it, try to understand it. And as awkward as the coming day was bound to be, she couldn't seem to care right now. She would deal with that when it came.
For the time being, she would just lie here and think.
She heard a shuffling sound from the bed next to her, and couldn't help but smile. She wondered how Ron was feeling right now, what his thoughts were. And desperate as she was to find out, she wouldn't dream of turning around and asking him. No, these few moments were her own. And she would treasure them. Take time to arrange the memories and make sure they wouldn't escape her. And it didn't really matter if she didn't know what Ron was feeling, because she knew what she was feeling, and right now that was enough.
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A/N: Well, how about that? Fluffy sunshine, eh? Hope you enjoyed it.
A couple of quick OotP-related notes: Firstly, I wrote most of this chapter after I'd read the book, so you might've noticed a few things that wouldn't have been there if I hadn't read the book: for example, Ron mentioned Career's Advice, which I wouldn't have known of otherwise. Secondly, in OotP, the students go ice skating on the lake in the winter, which sort of doesn't work with this fic, seeing as I thought of ice skating as something Muggle-related that non-Muggles wouldn't know of. (And I still think that would've been more likely, seeing as Ron was so amused by downhill skiing, which was apparently unknown to the wizarding community.) Anyway, I hope you've been able to enjoy this story even with this in mind. Thanks for reading!
