There were many good things that could be said about Ron's broom. Sturdy, reliable, built-to-last, were all adjectives that applied. After all, it had already patiently borne the use of many Weasleys. Swift, however, it was not- even under the best of circumstances. And now, laden down with the weight of two passengers, the going was painfully slow.
Ron, exhausted, numb with cold, and thoroughly miserable, was doing his valiant best to get them back to school in the least amount of time possible, but he was beginning to realize that the odds were against their seeing Hogwarts before dawn. It was like a bad dream- they seemed to be flying and flying, but getting nowhere. Ron blinked hard- his eyes were heavy and it was becoming a battle merely to stay awake, let alone guide the broomstick.
As for Hermione, he was pretty sure that she was actually asleep. At first she had held him tightly from behind and as she pressed against him, he could feel her uneven, hitching breaths. He had realized after a moment, with a stab of remorse so sharp it was nearly physical, that she was crying again. But eventually, her breathing had slowed and lost its ragged catch, her grip had loosened somewhat, and her head had become a constant warm, heavy weight on his shoulder. Yes, he thought now, she was almost certainly asleep.
With a defeated sigh, he pointed the broom toward the ground, finally giving up hope of flying straight through to Hogwarts. They would have to make camp for a few hours; he was in no condition to keep going- fatigue was blurring his vision and slowing his reflexes- he should not be flying. And then there was Hermione to think about. It had just occurred to him that, fast asleep, she was in very real danger of losing her grip altogether and slipping off, when-
She slipped off.
It was the single most horrifying instant of Ron's life.
With an inarticulate cry of despair, he jerked back hard on the broom, coming to a sudden, jolting halt in midair, then pointed it nearly straight down, diving after her. Knowing, even as he did so, that it was hopeless; he had no chance of catching her, not on this broom. And he knew with bitter certainty that Harry could have done it; Harry could have caught her- but he wasn't a natural born flier like Harry, his broom was no Firebolt, and he was helpless to save the girl he loved.
What took place next, happened in a matter of seconds, yet to Ron, who would always remember every detail in startling crystal clarity, it seemed as though the world had become a huge pair of omnioculars set to slow-motion.
Below him he could just make out Hermione falling silently toward the earth. He gave his all, speeding after her, but on his aged, secondhand broom, his all just wasn't enough. It never was. And that was when he decided to let go.
I can't take this, he thought, as an eerie calm descended on him. This is more than anyone should have to bear. I love her more than anything else on earth, and there have been a dozen times this past week I've thought I've lost her- but now- to watch her die like this- so senselessly after everything she's been through- I can't. I won't. I'm going with her. Harry will manage- Harry always does.
He took a deep breath in preparation for throwing himself from the broom.
He would have done it, too- he was absolutely certain of that. Except that at that precise moment, something went hurtling past him, from just below and slightly to his right; a blur of speed streaking toward Hermione so quickly that his mind just barely registered what it was; a person, bent flat over his broomstick, in the midst of a spectacular dive.
Ron was so shocked that his grip on the broom tightened instead of loosening, and he pulled up hard, out of his dive, to sit in midair and watch, in a daze, the miraculous rescue that was playing out below him. For as he looked on, the speeding figure on the broomstick did indeed manage to catch Hermione, though he almost lost control of his broom in the process. Shooting directly beneath her and snatching her out of the air, he immediately went into a barrel roll, the broomstick rolling its two occupants over and over as it spiraled toward the ground. Somehow, though, Hermione's savior managed to keep a firm grip on her while wrestling his broom back under control; barely twenty feet from the ground he came out his spiral and glided to a gentle halt in the air. Then he allowed his broomstick to begin sinking slowly straight down to earth.
Ron, who had watched all this as though transfixed, suddenly gave a hoarse cry and plunged once again toward the ground. An immense, staggering wave of relief swept over him, leaving him dizzy, weak and nauseous in its aftermath, and one word pounded in his brain; HARRY!
It had to be him. Never mind that rationally, Ron knew that Harry must be miles away; that in all likelihood he and Malfoy were back at school by now and had been for some time. His mind insisted that it MUST be Harry, for the simple reason that no one else flew like that. With the possible exception of Krum, who was, to the best of Ron's knowledge, thousands of miles away in Bulgaria, no one else COULD fly like that. Harry must have dropped Malfoy off and immediately turned around and come back to meet them. And that thought filled him with dread because, knowing Harry like he did, he was positive that Harry would not have left Malfoy's side as he was fighting for life; Harry would only have left Malfoy if he were beyond all help; beyond all hope. Harry would only have left Malfoy if he were dead.
Ron felt tears stinging his eyes as he landed hard, skidding painfully on his knees and elbows. The tears were openly running down his face as he staggered to his feet and half ran, half stumbled, toward the two figures huddled on the ground several yards away. Torn between his relief over Hermione's safety and his unexpectedly strong grief for Malfoy, he choked back a sob, never noticing that two more people on broomsticks were gliding in to land behind him.
A few feet from Hermione and her rescuer, (who was holding the terrified girl in a tight embrace and whose hood was thrown back, revealing a shock of dark hair that confirmed, in Ron's mind, the fact that this was indeed Harry,) Ron tripped over a tree root and went sprawling to the ground. Scrambling onto his knees, he crawled the remaining distance, now shaking too badly to even attempt regaining his feet. He was babbling by the time he reached them.
"Hermione- my God- I'm sorry- so sorry- all my fault…should have stopped for the night- hours ago…oh God- you almost- because of me! And Harry- thank God you were- but where's Malfoy?- and where did you- HOW did you-"
And then he stopped short, because the figure kneeling before him, with Hermione clasped to his chest, raised his head at that moment, and of course it wasn't Harry at all. It was-
"P-Professor SNAPE?"
It was, undeniably, Snape, looking weary and haggard and suddenly ten years older. "Calm yourself, Weasley," he snarled.
Ron simply stared at him, agape with amazement, for a long, long time; then, abruptly raising a hand to his mouth, he whispered "excuse me, professor; I think I'm gonna be sick." Lurching to his feet, he somehow made it a short distance away and, leaning against the trunk of a young tree for support, was violently ill into some bushes.
He retched until there was nothing left to come up, and still the dry heaves went on and on. Several minutes later, he was still there, now with one arm wrapped completely around the slender tree trunk, clinging desperately because it was all that was holding him up. His legs had no strength left and if he lost his grasp on the tree, he was sure that he would pitch forward right into his own vomit. Barely half-conscious, he raised his other hand to his face and pushed his hair, damp with cold sweat, out of his eyes. Physically as well as emotionally, he felt worse than he could ever remember feeling in his life. He closed his eyes and began to slide down the tree trunk. He couldn't hold himself up any longer. He suddenly and desperately wanted any one of his big brothers. Even Percy would do.
That was when strong hands caught him under the arms from behind, and a gentle voice, weighted with concern, murmured softly, "steady there, Ron." That voice was familiar, he thought hazily- but he couldn't place it. His mind was not being very cooperative at the moment. He felt himself pulled backward several feet from the tree, then lowered slowly to a sitting position on the ground. A dark shape came around from behind him and hunkered down, reaching out to clasp his shoulder.
"Ron?" The figure pushed back its hood.
"Sirius," Ron whispered, his cobalt eyes widening.
Sirius smiled, albeit wanly. "Ron, are you all right?"
"I've been better," Ron said, and grimaced, remembering that Malfoy had given him that same answer to a similar question back at the ruins. Malfoy…thinking that Snape was Harry, Ron had been so sure that Malfoy must be dead, and it had been a horrible feeling. Even after all the years of hostility, even after discovering that he had in all likelihood lost Hermione forever to Malfoy, Ron did not want him to die. Part of it was Harry- Ron knew that if Malfoy died the guilt would tear Harry apart. But there was more to it than that- it just- it just didn't seem fair! That Malfoy should die now, after finally proving himself to be a person of courage, determination and integrity, seemed monstrously unjust.
"Sirius," he said hesitantly, "did you- have you seen Harry and Malfoy? They went ahead of us. Malfoy was hurt. Do you know if they got back to school? Do you know if Malfoy-" he felt a sick sense of foreboding deep in his gut- "if he's okay?"
"They made it back to Hogwarts," Sirius replied. "Harry is getting some well-earned rest and Draco- well, I can't honestly say that he's okay, Ron, but he is alive- or was when we left." He shook his head, looking grim. "It didn't look good, though. I wish I could say otherwise, but- it just didn't look good."
Ron nodded mutely, not quite trusting himself to speak as he fought back tears. A few moments later, when he felt himself mostly in control again, he asked, "where did you come from, Sirius? Where did Professor Snape come from?"
"After Harry arrived at Hogwarts with Draco, we were sent by Professor Dumbledore to trace the path he had taken on his flight back to school. It was intended that we should meet you along the way- Professor McGonagall is here to accompany you and Hermione safely back- and Snape and I are to continue on and recover the bodies." He allowed his face to crease into another tired smile. "I head about Wormtail, Ron- how you saved Harry. It was a very brave thing you did. And once we get the body back to Hogwarts, my name will finally be cleared. So I have two reasons to thank you- on my godson's behalf and my own. I'm in your debt."
Ron's only response was a sort of choked grunt as he dropped his head forward between his knees.
"Ron," Sirius said worriedly, "you seem really- REALLY unhappy. I know how worried you must be about Draco, but- it seems like there's more to it than that. I don't like seeing you like this. Just tell me- is there anything I can do to help?"
There was a long silence. Then, "it's Hermione," Ron said finally in an anguished voice, not looking up. She almost died- I let her fall. No, screw that, I practically MADE her fall! I KNEW she was exhausted- I should have seated her in front of me so that I could hold onto her. I should have landed hours ago and made camp for the night. I should have- Goddamn it! If not for a lucky chance- a one-in-a-million chance- she'd be dead right now. After coming through that battle intact she'd still be dead right now, for no other reason than my own fucking stupidity! Sirius-" He raised his head at last, and Sirius saw that his eyes were haunted. "-I was gonna let go."
Sirius recoiled as though he'd been slapped. "You were WHAT!"
Ron dropped his head again. "I dove after her, but I saw right away it was no use. I couldn't catch her and when I realized that, I- I was gonna let go. If I couldn't save her I was gonna fall with her."
"Ron, no! Oh dear God, NO! What were you THINKING?" The horrified voice was not Sirius's. Jerking his head back up, Ron saw Hermione standing just behind Sirius, Snape beside her with an arm draped protectively about her shoulder. She was ghostly white, her dark eyes huge in her pale face. Stepping around Sirius, she dropped to her knees, reaching out to press her palm against Ron's clammy cheek.
"Ron," she breathed, and her eyes were pleading, "tell me it's not true. You weren't really going to-" She trailed off when she saw the truth written all over his face. "Oh God," she whispered, "you were." Ron's face crumpled completely then, and as it did, Hermione drew him forward into her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder as he began to sob in earnest.
"C'mon, Black," Snape said, "give them some room." Sirius got up, still wearing an expression of shock from what Ron had revealed to him, and the two men walked a short distance away to where Minerva McGonagall stood looking on, one hand pressed to her heart.
Hermione, meanwhile, continued to hold Ron as he wept, stroking his hair and shushing him. Tears leaked from her eyes and fell into Ron's coppery hair. At long last his sobs subsided and he raised his head, his tired, sad eyes- eyes so blue they were nearly black in the faint moonlight- meeting hers. He drew in breath to speak, but before he could do so, she pressed her hand gently over his lips.
"Before you say anything else," she said urgently, "promise me- promise me you'll never even think of doing such a thing ever, ever again! No matter what. PROMISE me!"
"I promise," Ron replied in a choked whisper, his eyes still steady on hers.
"Oh Ron," she murmured, shaking her head, "how could you have thought that would help anything? You always WERE so bloody impulsive!"
Ron cracked a tiny smile. It made her heart ache. Raising her hand to his face once more, she wiped his tears away with her thumb. "I wish we were eleven again," she said suddenly, wistfully. "Things were so much simpler then."
Ron raised his eyes to the night sky. "I loved you then too," he said softly; "I just didn't know it yet."
She dropped her hand from his face suddenly, as though she'd been stung. "Ron, let's not-"
"No." He cut her off, gently but firmly. "No, wait. I have to say this. I have to get it out. I'm only going to say it once, but I need you to know. I-" he swallowed hard, still with his eyes on the heavens, avoiding her gaze. "I love you so much its like- like breathing. You gotta breathe to live- I gotta breathe, and I gotta love you. I always have, and I always will. But I realized something when I saw you fall- I realized that I love you SO much, the most important thing to me isn't that you love me back- not anymore- it's just that you're safe, and happy. I want you to be happy. And if you can be happier with Malfoy than with me, I want to you to be with Malfoy. Just promise me one thing- that I'll never lose your friendship. Because if I did, I wouldn't have to throw myself from a broomstick in mid-air…I'd just- give up. I would lie down and die. So you have to swear- we will be friends always, right?" He lowered his gaze to stare back into her wide, luminous eyes.
"Always," she whispered solemnly. "You, me and Harry. Always and forever, Ron."
"Good," he said. He nodded once in satisfaction, and his tiny smile reappeared. "There's just one more thing I need you to know, then. I'm gonna wait for you, Hermione. I'm gonna wait for you forever. If I live to be a hundred, I will still be waiting. And if I die waiting, then so be it, because there will never be anyone else for me. No, don't say anything-" it was his turn now to raise a hand to her lips, stopping her words before they began- "I'm not trying to sway your decision. I want you to do what will make you happiest. I just needed for you to know where I stand. And don't ever forget, because I won't say it again- but it will hold true for the rest of my life."
He leaned forward, placed a kiss on her forehead, stood, and walked away, leaving her kneeling, stunned, on the ground.
00000
As Hermione tried to collect her thoughts, Ron walked slowly toward the three people standing some distance away, steeling himself for what he had to do next. He dreaded it, yet he knew it was the only right thing to do. The only honorable thing. And let it never be said that Ron Weasley lacked honor. He may not have wealth, he may not have fame, he may not have the heart of the girl he loved, but by God, he had his honor. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he walked straight up to Snape. He cleared his throat awkwardly as Snape stared hard at him.
Sensing what was on Ron's mind, Professor McGonagall shot a meaningful look at Sirius and turned to walk away, back toward where the broomsticks lay. Sirius followed her, leaving Ron and Snape alone in uncomfortable silence.
"Um," Ron said, and swallowed hard. "Professor, I just wanted to, ah, thank you…for- for catching Hermione. When I couldn't. I, uh, just wanted you to know that I…well…thanks, that's all. Thanks."
Snape's dark eyes seemed to be boring right through him. Ron found that he couldn't hold his professor's intense gaze any longer. He dropped his eyes unhappily as he waited for Snape to say something, anything. The silence was becoming unbearable.
At long last, Snape spoke. "I don't want your thanks, Weasley," he growled. "I just did what I had to do, what anyone would have done." He started to turn away.
"No!" Ron said, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice.
Snape turned back to face him again, startled. "Mister Weasley?" he asked coldly, raising an eyebrow.
"What I mean to say is," Ron stammered, now painfully embarrassed but determined just the same, "when you saved Hermione you saved me too, whether intentionally or not. So I- I need- for you accept my thanks, professor. Please." And he extended his right hand toward Snape.
Now Snape's other eyebrow shot up and he stared at Ron in barely concealed amazement. Ron stared back, determined to hold his gaze this time, though inwardly he was wincing, already sure of rejection.
When Snape actually took his hand and shook it he was as astonished as Snape had been when he had first offered it.
The brief handshake accomplished, Snape again turned to leave, but once more Ron stopped him. "Professor," he said, and when Snape turned back toward him again, Ron could see that his patience was wearing dangerously thin, but he rushed on; "I just wanted to tell you that- the way you flew- it was amazing. I had no idea- you were- were- you could have played quidditch for England. I was just wondering- where- how- you learned to fly like that?"
"I used to play on the Slytherin team," Snape said shortly. "Seeker. When I attended Hogwarts as a student."
"Wow," Ron said, unable to dampen the sudden enthusiasm in his voice despite the increasingly dark look on the older man's face. "You must have been the best player in the school!"
"No," Snape replied, and his dark eyes were suddenly far off, as though he were looking into another place and time. When he next spoke, he voice was the bitterest Ron had ever heard it. "Second best. Always bloody second best."
And he stalked away, toward Sirius, McGonagall and the broomsticks, leaving Ron standing utterly still, dumbfounded.
00000
After Snape and Sirius departed to continue following Harry's flight path back to its point of origin at the ruined manor house (Snape kicking off savagely and shooting into the now lightening sky like a rocket, Sirius following with a shrug and a wave), Ron walked back over to where Hermione still knelt on the ground. As he had at the ruins, he offered her a hand up, and this time she accepted it.
The two of them went together over to where Professor McGonagall stood with the remaining two broomsticks. She was rummaging through a deep pocket of her robe, and came up a moment later with two small vials. Handing them to Ron and Hermione, she said, "this is just a simple wakefulness potion. It should keep you both alert until we reach the school. It's not very far; really, you two had made it most of the way back. Another half an hour, perhaps." Studying the brooms as Ron and Hermione downed the potion, she asked, "May I assume, Mister Weasley, that your broom can travel faster with one passenger than with two?"
Ron nodded his assent.
"Then I will take your broom, and the two of you take mine." The professor glanced skyward. "We should arrive back before the sun is even truly up- if we leave right now. So, shall we?"
00000
True to McGonagall's prediction, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, touching the tops of the castle's tallest towers with gold, when they arrived back at Hogwarts. They landed the brooms in front of the school's wide stone front steps, and parted ways in the entrance hall; McGonagall heading toward Dumbledore's office and Ron and Hermione making straight for the hospital wing.
It was as though the potion running through their veins somehow understood that they were safely back and its job was done, because as they headed up the stairs and down the corridors that led them toward the infirmary, they both experienced increasingly strong waves of exhaustion. By the time they walked through the door of Draco's private room, having been directed to it by Madam Pomfrey upon entering the main ward, they were leaning heavily on each other- literally holding one another up.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said. "Oh, DRACO."
Harry was still sitting on the edge of Draco's bed, now slumped back against the headboard, eyes heavy lidded with fatigue. His hand was still clasped in Draco's and Draco was still lying rigid with pain, his head now tossing slightly from side to side as if in a desperate, silent plea for the hurt to end.
"Hey," Harry said in a cracked voice, his eyes widening marginally and the faintest hint of a smile showing on his face. "am I glad to see you two. You both all right?"
Ron and Hermione shared a quick, meaningful look. Though they would never ordinarily withhold information from their best friend, they reached an unspoken agreement that this was neither the time nor the place to tell Harry of the harrowing ordeal of Hermione's fall. It could wait till later- till they were rested and in better spirits, till they knew whether Draco would- would…
"We're fine, Harry," Ron said; "a little tired, but intact. Professor McGonagall met us some way back and accompanied us for the final stretch. She's gone to report to Dumbledore now. But- but what about- him?"
Harry's eyes flicked down to Draco, then back up to Ron. "Blood replacement serum," he said, then added as Hermione gasped and paled, grasping the implications immediately, "It's said to be very painful. I think it's working, though."
Hermione crossed the room to sit on the other side of Draco's bed. Leaning close over him, she began to gently caress his face and sweat-drenched hair. Her touch seemed to soothe him; he stopped tossing his head and a tiny groan, just a miserable little "owww", escaped his lips; the first sound Harry had heard him make since he had awakened to find him in this state.
Raising her eyes to Harry, Hermione whispered, "do you really think it's working? Do you think he'll live?" In her eyes, Harry could see hope doing battle with her practical nature, which was, he thought, in all likelihood telling her to suppress all hope lest it be dashed in the end.
"Hermione," he said gently, "he's strong. Trust me-" he glanced ruefully down at his hand, which had long since lost all feeling in Draco's crushing grip- "I know."
"He can be strong when he wants to be," Hermione said tearfully, "but back at the ruins he said- he said he wanted to die-"
Harry shook his head. "Anyone who had been hurt this badly and truly wanted to die would already be dead. But Malfoy- he's fighting. I think somewhere along the way he changed his mind. He may not even have realized it, but that doesn't make it any less true. He's fighting for his life, and he IS strong. He'll win the fight, Hermione. I just- have a feeling. He'll get through this."
Hermione nodded mutely, passing the back of her hand across her puffy eyes. Harry's heart went out to her because she still looked so terribly unsure. To tell the truth he wasn't completely sure himself- he had tried to put more confidence in his voice than he actually felt. Because Hermione needed rest right now; he could tell that she was way beyond tired. And her mind needed to be calmed as much as possible before her body could finally surrender to the sleep it so desperately craved.
"Harry?" she asked a moment later, "Do you want me to take over for you? I- I could hold his hand for a while."
"No, love," Harry replied. "I need to do this- I'm the one who put him in this state; I need to be the one to see him through it." He looked from Hermione over to Ron, who was still standing just inside the door, leaning against the wall in a patch of gray dawn light from the room's one small window, looking thoroughly miserable. "Anyway, I was dozing on and off until you got here- so really I'm not that tired anymore," he said (lied). "But you guys- you look bloody awful. You need to get some sleep, both of you, in the worst way. Please-" he added, forestalling Hermione's protests, "don't make me yell for Madam Pomfrey to give you both a sleeping draught. I'll do it if you make me!" He shot her a tired, but winning, grin. "I want to see you in the other bed, young lady, by the count of three. One…Two…"
With a sigh and a glare that didn't quite suppress a tiny answering smile, Hermione complied. Crossing to the empty bed, she sat on the edge of it, laid her wand on the nightstand beside Harry's and Draco's, and, with a hint of her old bossiness showing through, instructed Ron to do the same. She then began undoing the braids that had she had worn since Lavender's visit to her own hospital room days ago. Shaking out her hair, she glanced over to see that Ron was now making himself comfortable on his cloak spread out on the floor; then she sank down into the blissful softness of the bed. The dark warmth of much-needed sleep encompassed her immediately, just as the sun finally reached the window, bathing the room in golden morning light.