Part Thirteen: Quiet
(((the website's codes are being wonky and I can't use any italics tags for this, but...this is a dream sequence, anyway.)))
"No, Hermione," he said, horrorstruck and pale, shaking his head vehementy. "Don't. Don't say anything. Don't...say....anything."
But she could not listen. "Ron..." she cooed, "don't be silly, I--" And then it hit her. What he had said, he meant it. He meant to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted her, passionately, romantically, totally. That all those times in school when she thought she'd seen that warm flicker in his eyes when he beheld her, she'd been right. She lurched forward, feeling the force of his honesty drawing her to him, pushing her face forward into his lap, where she wept. "Ron I'm sorry, if only I had known..."
"It wouldn't have mattered." His voice was solid, resolute, neither dull nor pained. In his mind, he was merely stating fact. He stroked her head absently and rocked methodically back and forth, his actions comforting while his words ripped once again into her heart. "You'd still be with him. How could you not? Like it was written in the stars, isn't it? You're the...the lovely maiden, and he's your knight in shining armour. It's bloody brilliant. And he knows it." He laughed mirthlessly. "Guess that's why he wasn't so afraid to tell you."
Hermione sat up abruptly, overcome with rage. How could she not have known? And how could he, Harry, have known all along the things Ron felt for her, and pursue her nonetheless? It was a sick game, love, and suddenly all the pieces of Ron's puzzling behavior fit into place. The bumbling and insecurity, his quiet, brooding nature and his attitude and the confidence he possessed in everyone but himself. She felt jilted, scorned; here was a man broken by love and she, though unwillingly, had been the one the break him.
As she looked up at him, Hermione saw that he was weeping. Wet and earnest, the tear fell down his cheeks, dripping into his lap as they rolled off the line of his jaw. The sobs that racked his body were quiet at first and then loud, as they became a series of gutteral screeches, filling the room and vibrating in Hermione's ears. He wailed and wailed, until she decided to stop him. "Shh.." she cooed, curling her arm 'round his neck and drawing him gently toward her. "Shh." she said as their faces met, their lips touched. "Shh.." she lulled as they slipped slowly backwards onto the couch and played her favorite part in that sick game of love. "Shh..." she hushed as he begged between heavy breaths that she not tell Harry, not tell Harry...
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Hermione stirred gently in Ginny's former bedroom, heaving herself onto her other side as another dream began to take shape in her mind.
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"Shh," she purred, bouncing the fussy boy on her lap. "Hush, Albus....hush, my baby, or you'll wake your sister."
But Hermione knew that he would not quiet, not until her nerves were hanging on the barest of threads and the sun was winking at them both between the clouds. She knew that he would wake Lily, and she would wriggle about in her basket, grunting and whining, as though at odds with her urge to cry out.
Still, she persisted. "Shush, darling." she said, holding him closely to her chest. It was amazing, she thought, how much noise could come from such a tiny thing. For unlike his sister, who had been born strong and full and ruddy, baby Albus was and always had been quite gaunt and peaky. He was scarcely childlike at all, more like a tiny wax figurine which could be held securely in just one hand. She sometimes thought that his incessant bawling was merely his attempt to remind the world that he was, in fact, real, and to make up for the times when he would lie inert in his cradle for endless hours that were punctuated only by the occassional jerking spasm and the sound of his shallow breath. There was something, something wrong with him that she simply could not ignore and no doctor could place. As at last she bounced and coddled him into silence, Hermione made up her mind. She would do anything for answers, anything for some peace of mind and some...
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Detatching herself slowly from her dream world, Hermione sat up and looked about the room in which she had been sleeping. It was dark and serene and very, very "Quiet." she breathed as she lowered herself back to the soft down of the pillows.
(((the website's codes are being wonky and I can't use any italics tags for this, but...this is a dream sequence, anyway.)))
"No, Hermione," he said, horrorstruck and pale, shaking his head vehementy. "Don't. Don't say anything. Don't...say....anything."
But she could not listen. "Ron..." she cooed, "don't be silly, I--" And then it hit her. What he had said, he meant it. He meant to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted her, passionately, romantically, totally. That all those times in school when she thought she'd seen that warm flicker in his eyes when he beheld her, she'd been right. She lurched forward, feeling the force of his honesty drawing her to him, pushing her face forward into his lap, where she wept. "Ron I'm sorry, if only I had known..."
"It wouldn't have mattered." His voice was solid, resolute, neither dull nor pained. In his mind, he was merely stating fact. He stroked her head absently and rocked methodically back and forth, his actions comforting while his words ripped once again into her heart. "You'd still be with him. How could you not? Like it was written in the stars, isn't it? You're the...the lovely maiden, and he's your knight in shining armour. It's bloody brilliant. And he knows it." He laughed mirthlessly. "Guess that's why he wasn't so afraid to tell you."
Hermione sat up abruptly, overcome with rage. How could she not have known? And how could he, Harry, have known all along the things Ron felt for her, and pursue her nonetheless? It was a sick game, love, and suddenly all the pieces of Ron's puzzling behavior fit into place. The bumbling and insecurity, his quiet, brooding nature and his attitude and the confidence he possessed in everyone but himself. She felt jilted, scorned; here was a man broken by love and she, though unwillingly, had been the one the break him.
As she looked up at him, Hermione saw that he was weeping. Wet and earnest, the tear fell down his cheeks, dripping into his lap as they rolled off the line of his jaw. The sobs that racked his body were quiet at first and then loud, as they became a series of gutteral screeches, filling the room and vibrating in Hermione's ears. He wailed and wailed, until she decided to stop him. "Shh.." she cooed, curling her arm 'round his neck and drawing him gently toward her. "Shh." she said as their faces met, their lips touched. "Shh.." she lulled as they slipped slowly backwards onto the couch and played her favorite part in that sick game of love. "Shh..." she hushed as he begged between heavy breaths that she not tell Harry, not tell Harry...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione stirred gently in Ginny's former bedroom, heaving herself onto her other side as another dream began to take shape in her mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Shh," she purred, bouncing the fussy boy on her lap. "Hush, Albus....hush, my baby, or you'll wake your sister."
But Hermione knew that he would not quiet, not until her nerves were hanging on the barest of threads and the sun was winking at them both between the clouds. She knew that he would wake Lily, and she would wriggle about in her basket, grunting and whining, as though at odds with her urge to cry out.
Still, she persisted. "Shush, darling." she said, holding him closely to her chest. It was amazing, she thought, how much noise could come from such a tiny thing. For unlike his sister, who had been born strong and full and ruddy, baby Albus was and always had been quite gaunt and peaky. He was scarcely childlike at all, more like a tiny wax figurine which could be held securely in just one hand. She sometimes thought that his incessant bawling was merely his attempt to remind the world that he was, in fact, real, and to make up for the times when he would lie inert in his cradle for endless hours that were punctuated only by the occassional jerking spasm and the sound of his shallow breath. There was something, something wrong with him that she simply could not ignore and no doctor could place. As at last she bounced and coddled him into silence, Hermione made up her mind. She would do anything for answers, anything for some peace of mind and some...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Detatching herself slowly from her dream world, Hermione sat up and looked about the room in which she had been sleeping. It was dark and serene and very, very "Quiet." she breathed as she lowered herself back to the soft down of the pillows.