Sitting on the edge of the narrow hospital bed, holding one of Hermione's cold, lifeless hands in both of his, Ron remembered.
In a disused corridor deep in the bowels of the school, he, Harry and Hermione walked three abreast. Harry was studying the Marauder's Map intently, Hermione was- what else- complaining vocally, and Ron was seething.
God, he was so SICK of her holier-than-thou attitude all the time! Here it was, a glorious Friday evening, classes done for the week, the weekend stretching out ahead of them like a shimmering oasis, and Hermione had done nothing but bitch since they left the common room. About how they were missing out on valuable study time. On a bloody FRIDAY NIGHT! Harry was the one who, bent on using the map to sneak out to Hogsmeade and grab a butter beer, had pulled her along despite her protests. Ron would have been more than happy to leave her to her precious books. Why did they need her here raining on their parade anyway?
Several paces from a turn in the corridor, Harry stopped abruptly, looking puzzled. "I just don't get it," he muttered, "the rumor all over the school is that the passageway opens right about here, but the map's not showing it. There's never been a passage in Hogwarts that the map hasn't shown….. but if there's nothing here, then where are all the rumors coming from?"
"The map is more reliable than some silly rumors, Harry," Hermione replied archly. "Talk is cheap, but the map's never steered you wrong before. Which is not to say, of course, that I feel you ought to be using it- you've known how I've felt on that subject for years. So can we all just agree that there's nothing here? I really need to get back and start on my essay for-"
"Hold on a sec," Harry said, head still bent over the map. "Just one sec, Hermione, let me think."
Harry had been close- so close- to averting the catastrophe that followed. It was just beginning to dawn on him, with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, that maybe the rumors had been false- and not just false, in fact, but PLANTED- that maybe the three of them should turn around posthaste and make, not for Gryffindor Tower but for Dumbledore's office, when Ron erupted.
He just hadn't been able to take it anymore- the sight of Hermione standing there, leaning against the wall in her uniform, which she still wore even though classes had ended hours ago and he and Harry had long since changed into more comfortable weekend clothing, her arms crossed primly over her chest, one loafer-clad foot tapping impatiently. And the look on her face- eyes rolled and staring at the ceiling, lower lip jutted out, as much as to say, how much longer do I have to wait before these dimwits figure out what I knew from the outset?
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron shouted, "Will you wipe that damned righteous look off your face!" Her eyes flew to him, startled, as did Harry's, whose train of thought, the precious train of thought that could have changed the outcome of the day if given just a few more seconds to come to fruition, was abruptly dispelled by this unexpected turn of events.
"I didn't want you here in the first place," Ron continued furiously. "I can't imagine why he (jutting his head toward Harry) brought you at all! All you ever do is bitch and moan and slow us down! You want your damn books and homework so much, then GO! I'M sure as hell not stopping you! And don't bother coming with us again, either- you have no sense of adventure at all- I don't know how you ever got INTO Gryffindor House! I think the sorting hat must have fucked up royally, because from where I'm standing, YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US!"
He stood there, hands clenched, as Harry and Hermione continued to stare at him, the former in unmitigated shock, the latter with a deeply wounded expression spreading slowly over her face. For his part, Ron could hardly believe the venomous words that had just come pouring out of his mouth... but he wasn't willing to back down either. So he just watched as Hermione struggled to compose herself in the wake of his unprecedented attack.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and for a moment it looked as though her face would crumble, but even as he watched she took a deep, steadying breath and her face and eyes hardened. "That's the worst thing you've ever said to me, Ron Weasley," she said in a small, tight voice, "and it will be the last! I'm NEVER talking to you again, EVER!"
She turned away from him quickly, then, shrugging off the hand Harry laid on her shoulder, stalked briskly off down the corridor and around the corner.
Ron turned now to stare at Harry, mouth slightly open, still unable to quite believe what he had just said. Harry, staring back at him, still in shock at having heard one of his best friends speak to his other best friend in such a manner, slowly shook his head.
"A bit rough on her, Ron," he said quietly, "especially that part about Gryffindor House. Let's go after her. Maybe you can still-"
Harry never finished his sentence because it was at that moment that they heard the screams from up ahead, around the corner in the corridor. A scream of alarm followed by a muted thud- the sound of a body hitting the wall or floor hard, followed again by a scream of pain. And then, as they were still paralyzed, rooted to the spot, staring at each other, a panicked cry; "Harry, Ron, get out of here! Go- RUN!"
Shock gave way to comprehension, comprehension gave way to horror. Ron and Harry both swiveled their heads toward the screams, and both at once gave voice to a single cry of their own- "HERMIONE!" Then they were running, rounding the corner at breakneck speed…
In the hospital room, Ron raised Hermione's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but a single tear escaped and slid slowly down his cheek. A moan was wrenched from somewhere deep in his gut. The really painful memories were about to begin.
They rounded the corner at breakneck speed, just as a green flash rent the air in front of them. A curtain of shimmering green fire hung in the air several feet from them for a period of a few seconds; it extended from floor to ceiling, from one wall of the corridor to the other. Then it faded and the air was clear again, except for the faintest bit of shimmer like heat haze. But as Harry and Ron, barely slowing, reached the place where the green curtain had been, they slammed into an invisible barrier with the force of running dead on into a brick wall. Dazed and winded, they slumped momentarily against the barrier as a horrible scene unfolded before them.
A tall figure in black robes was standing on the other side of the barrier, facing them. A voluminous hood cast the figure's face in deep shadow. One hand held a wand that pointed at Harry and Ron and still glowed faintly green, presumably from the aftereffects of the spell that had just created the barrier. The other hand pinned a struggling Hermione to the corridor wall by her throat.
The hooded figure had yet to look in her direction at all. It still faced Harry and Ron, and now a low, vicious laugh emanated from deep within the hood. "Well, isn't this delightful," the figure hissed. "Harry Potter- we meet again."
Ron was dimly aware of pummeling the barrier in desperation, of screaming Hermione's name, of seeing her struggles weaken, of thinking that he was watching her die. He was dimly aware that Harry, beside him, was frantic, screaming at the hooded figure- the Dark Lord, obviously, Ron thought with detachment- to let Hermione go and face him like a man. "She means nothing to you!" Harry cried, "I'm the one you want, come and get me! Just PUT-HER-DOWN!"
The figure laughed again and then replied, "She means something to you, though, doesn't she, boy? Indeed, I should think she means a great deal to you- and to your little friend there- the way you both are carrying on. And I think I know just the way to exploit this happy little scenario. Oh, yes."
Beside him, Ron heard Harry breathe the words, "Oh no. No, he can't do that- no, this isn't happening- no, he CAN'T do THAT!" Ron's mind raced, trying to grasp the meaning of Harry's words, but the only answer that came to him couldn't be true- was too horrible to contemplate. "Harry," he gasped, "Harry, you don't think- you don't think he means to-" Harry turned slowly to face him, panting. The look on his face was that of someone who has just been kicked in the stomach- several times. That look was all it took to convince Ron that was EXACTLY what Harry thought.
"No," Ron whispered, "he can't. "I can't watch that, Harry- I'll go bonkers. I'll go stark raving mad!"
Suddenly, Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and started hauling him backward away from the barrier. "No- NO!" Ron shouted, struggling. "We can't just leave her there, that's not what I meant at all- Harry, we can't just go and LEAVE-"
"Ron," Harry said in a voice that sounded brittle, as though it might crack at any second, and his sanity with it, "We're not leaving. Just backing up a little. Come on, we have to try to magic this barrier away. Beating on it with our fists isn't doing any good. Get your wand out and HELP me!"
"It didn't do any good," Ron whispered, his lips moving against Hermione's icy hand. "Nothing we tried did any good. Oh God, Hermione! I'm so sorry I let you down."
He raised his head as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. Harry was beside him. "I told her she didn't belong in Gryffindor," Ron choked. "I told her she wasn't brave enough- and she, she spit right in the Dark Lord's face! And after what he had-just-done to her…it was the bravest act I ever saw." They were silent for a moment.
"Harry," Ron asked brokenly, "what if she never wakes up? What if she dies and the last thing I ever said to her…" He broke off.
"That's not going to happen," Harry said with quiet conviction. "She isn't going to die- we won't let her. We're going to stay right here, you and I; as long as we're here with her, she'll be okay. We'll lend her our strength and she'll make it, I promise you, Ron. She will."
Silently he added, she will because she has to. She has to because if she dies, then I will too. Watching her die… knowing it's my fault…it would kill me.
00000
Several days passed, during which Harry and Ron kept a constant vigil at Hermione's side. They ate and slept in the small hospital room, leaving for only half an hour each day to shower and change. This they did in turns, never together; so that at least one of them always remained beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hand, stroking her hair, reading aloud to her from one of her books. Fortunately, as they were already stressed practically beyond endurance, they remained unaware of how close her parents came to having her removed to a Muggle hospital before Dumbledore convinced them that the best place for their daughter was among friends.
Others came and went from the room; Dumbledore himself spent several hours each day there and of course Madam Pomfrey was always bustling in and out. Professor McGonagall came often between classes and during her lunch hour to sit with her brightest student, and even surly Snape seemed to have taken a personal interest in her case and stopped by several times. Hagrid would come whenever he could find an hour out of his busy dual schedule as school gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher. He would sit in a chair beside her bed, holding her small hand in his massive one, while tears slid constantly down his weathered face and lost themselves in his bushy beard.
One day as Harry was in his dormitory changing hurriedly, he was accosted by the other 6th year Gryffindors- all of them; Seamus, Dean, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati. They, like the rest of the student body, were aware that Hermione had been attacked by Voldemort and that her life hung by a thread- they were not aware, however, that the nature of the attack had been sexual. Only Harry, Ron, Draco and the faculty knew that. They all clamored to be taken to see Hermione; apparently they had been trying to gain entrance to her room but were repeatedly thwarted by Madame Pomfrey, acting on Dumbledore's instructions. Harry, with dark smudges under his eyes, was far too exhausted to make a stand against his five determined classmates, and figured they had a right to visit Hermione anyway, so after clearing it with Dumbledore, he let them accompany him back to the hospital room.
They all crowded in together, shuffling their feet and looking in dismay at Hermione's pale, still form until Neville abruptly burst into tears and the others led him away. All except Lavender, who approached the bed and did something Harry and Ron (being guys) would never have expected; reaching into a fold of her robe, she pulled out a hairbrush. She sat down at the head of the bed and spent the next half hour gently brushing and braiding Hermione's long hair. Once done she stood up, slipped the brush back into her robe, touched first Harry and then Ron very lightly on the shoulder, and left without a word.
And then there was Draco. He would come striding into the room several times a day, looking, if possible, both casual and purposeful at the same time. Only the color high in his cheeks gave any indication that he had often approached the room at a run- and of course Harry and Ron did not know this. He never said a word to either of them. Sometimes, if he was between classes, he would stay for only ten minutes; other times he would stay for hours. One night he attempted to sleep in the room, curled up with his silvery head on his cloak in the corner opposite Harry and Ron, but Snape came to collect him around midnight, apparently having been informed by the other Slytherins that he was not in his dormitory.
Upon entering the room, his routine was always the same; without so much as a glance at Ron or Harry he would cross quickly to the bed and, placing a hand on either side of Hermione's pillow, would lean close over her face, his pale eyes searching intently for any sign of improvement. Never finding any, he would retire to the foot of the bed and seat himself on the floor, back leaning against the footboard, knees drawn up to his chest. He usually continued to ignore Harry completely, but often engaged in hostile glaring bouts with Ron. Whenever he would leave again Ron and Harry would exchange puzzled glances and shrugs, still being completely unaware of the friendship that had existed between Hermione and their old enemy for the past year.