Hermione's cries tore him from sleep.
Ron woke violently; the transition from slumber to being totally alert was nearly seamless. Before he was even fully aware that he was awake, he was pulling at her shoulders, yanking her up to him.
Hermione's arms slid around his neck reflexively and she clung to him, practically crawling into his lap in her desperate need to escape the nightmare. Over his shoulder her eyes remained squeezed shut. She trembled in his arms, breathing heavily. It had all happened in just seconds. One moment each was trapped in their own, individual subconscious, and the next they were huddling together on the bed.
Like that first night, after a few minutes he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Also like that first night, he felt her shake her head and was struck again with disappointment that she wouldn't open up to him. That she wouldn't let him help her. And she was already physically distancing herself from him once more, disentangling herself from his embrace.
He felt like a git for wanting her to hold onto him for a few minutes longer; he knew she only did so when she was emotionally distressed. He should be glad that she'd regained enough self-balance to not need him for support. But all he could feel was the loss of her warmth against him.
She'd drawn back enough to look up at him, and Ron swam in the coffee-coloured depths of her eyes. He reached up a hand to wipe a silvery tear from her cheek with his thumb, and she shuddered. He swallowed as she gazed at him searchingly, as if looking for the answer to some monumental question within his own eyes. She was still so close…and the way she was looking at him…
Suddenly something was different. Somehow the moment had changed, like it had the past two nights. Like it had before they'd gone to sleep. Ron could feel it in the space between them; it felt charged with electricity. He knew his breathing had picked up, and he felt his heart trip when she leaned in uncertainly. Her face was tilted up toward his, like a flower to the sun. He dipped his own head instinctively, like a bee wanting to taste that flower.
Hermione's arms were still slung loosely around his shoulders, and he felt them tighten imperceptibly as she brought her lips to his. He tightened his own arms around her in response, and then suddenly the roof was blown off.
That was what it felt like, anyway…like the roof had been blown off of everything. Hermione was warm and soft, and still mostly in his lap. They were holding each other and she was kissing him, and nothing had ever felt so amazing.
Ron's senses were on overdrive; every inch of him was aware of every inch of her, from her hand on the nape of his neck, to the feel of her torso flush against his, to the softness of her lips. He concentrated on the lattermost, delirious with the kind of joy that can only be experienced by a person receiving their heart's desire.
Hermione had kissed him! Was kissing him even now! He could scarcely believe this was real; he'd fantasized about it so many times. What convinced him was the fact that this was infinitely better than anything he'd imagined. He'd only been able to guess, before, how amazing it would be. Now he knew, and he was overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through him. Wanting to share them somehow, needing to know that she felt the same, he murmured her name against her lips. He wanted to tell her everything. All the years he'd spent denying to himself how he felt about her. All the time he'd spent secretly yearning for her. How many times he'd thought about just this moment. He wanted more than anything to tell her that he wanted her with him, always, but he couldn't tear himself away long enough to say the words. He never wanted her to stop.
But then she did. She drew back at the sound of her name, and looked at him in wide-eyed shock. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Ron fought to hold on to the euphoria he'd been experiencing just a moment earlier, but felt his heart begin to sink despite his best efforts. Her expression could in no way be construed as a happy-face.
Hermione was gaping at him. She'd just made him the happiest person on the planet, and now she was looking at him as if she were horrified by what she'd done. Euphoria plummeted, crashing into despair.
Don't say it, he thought. Please don't take it back.
"Hermione," Ron started desperately, not wanting to hear her do just that.
"Oh!" Hermione interrupted. Her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry!"
Ron couldn't breathe. "You're sorry?"
"I didn't…I mean I shouldn't have…that was wrong of me, I'm so sorry!" she stammered.
She suddenly seemed to realize that she was still in his arms, and jerked away as if his touch scorched her. Ron was left feeling abruptly alone, even though she was sitting there right next to him. But he could barely even feel it; he was painfully numb from her words. She hadn't meant to kiss him? She was sorry it happened? Had a couple of sentences from anyone else ever devastated him the way hers had? He thought not.
Ron took an agonized breath, holding it in for a moment before he could meet her eyes again. He mustn't let her see how crushed he was. Obviously, she didn't feel the same way he did. There was no point in exposing his feelings now.
He struggled for self-control, battling his own emotions. It was all the harder because for one brief, shining moment, he'd believed that it was all within his grasp. For a handful of heartbeats he'd caught a glimpse of everything he wanted, like snatching a peek of brilliant blue sky in between clouds on a grey, overcast day. The colour was always the more beautiful because of the drabness that surrounded it, and being with Hermione was like that. She was the bright spot in a world painted with ash.
But now the clouds had shifted again, casting everything into shadow. He didn't have her. That spot of blue sky was unattainable. Not meant for him. The way she wasn't for him. But he still loved her.
And because he still loved her, he was able to force his own considerable disappointment back down into concealment. He looked up at her with clear eyes and tried to reassure her. "It's all right," he said.
Hermione shook her head, denying his words as she was denying him. "No, it isn't. I just…it's this place," she said, tears spilling over as she grew more distraught. "It's Harry, and it's these bloody nightmares, and this whole war, and…and it was wrong of me to use you for comfort."
She scrambled away from him when he reached out for her. "Hermione," he said, stumbling over momentary shock at her uncharacteristic curse and trying to focus on what was important. "You didn't use me."
"Yes I did! I've been doing it since we got here, using you to keep the nightmares away. And…and now, with…"
She gestured vaguely in his direction, and he took it to mean she was talking about the kiss. He was dismayed to realize she couldn't even speak the word. Still, she was operating under some pretty serious misconceptions, so he tried to dispel his own pain in order to help her deal with hers. "Hermione," he said again, "It's all right."
Hermione shook her head again. "No, it's not, Ron. It's unconscionable. You, of all people. When you mean more to me than -"
She stopped, swallowed. She shoved at the mattress beneath her, sliding across it until she was standing on the floor. She swayed a little, appearing indecisive now that she'd attained her short-term goal of removing herself from the bed, and from him.
Alarmed, Ron shifted to follow her. "Where are you going?"
Hermione stretched out a hand, her palm facing him in an unmistakable entreaty to stop. "I'm going to go for a walk, or something. I just need to be alone for awhile."
Ron's heart struck bottom. Not only did she not return his feelings, but now she couldn't get away from him fast enough. He was too hurt to press the issue, and didn't move when she turned and walked away from him.
VV
Long hours passed as Ron waited, wide awake, for Hermione to return.
For the first hour or so he'd gone over everything again in his mind, replaying the entire event. The nightmare, again. Waking her up, holding her as the terror and adrenaline slowly released her. Hating himself for not being able to help her, and for wanting her to need him. Then that moment of tenderness and uncertainty before she kissed him, and the bruising pain when she ripped herself away. He could still feel that; it was an ache in his heart.
When he couldn't stand reliving it anymore, he started trying to figure out what to say to her, when she got back. Yeah, it hurt like hell that she didn't feel for him what he felt for her, but that didn't mean he wanted her to hurt, too. He had to convince her that there was a difference between using someone, and needing support from a friend. As far as he was concerned, that's what all of this had been about. That's why he was sharing a bed with her, so he could be there for her when she couldn't handle the nightmares alone. She hadn't forced him into that. That's why he held her when she woke crying and thrashing in the sheets, because he was her friend, and he couldn't bear to see her in pain if he could help ease it.
The problem was that he'd taken her kiss to mean more than it had. But then again, he reminded himself, she didn't know that. As far as she knew, he felt nothing for her but friendship. And he could force himself back into that role. Be just her friend, if he had to. He'd had seven years' worth of experience there, after all, and only thirty seconds or so of anything more. So it shouldn't be that hard. Should it?
It didn't matter. He'd do whatever it took. Just as soon as she came back.
Only, she wasn't coming back.
He waited forever, it seemed. He watched the colours of the sky bleed into one another as dawn approached. Black changed into navy blue, and then the hue brightened slowly, shade by shade, until it was nearly full daylight. As the first rays of the sun stole into the room, Ron rose. He dressed quickly and went to look for Hermione. After searching for nearly a quarter of an hour, he found her in the ballroom.
Though the fireplace in the main parlor downstairs was the most commonly used, the grand mantle in the mansion's ballroom was certainly the largest. It was used by the Order when there were large groups and / or strike teams that needed to floo together. Its formidable presence took up a large chunk of the far wall; winding sculptures of human and animal forms graced the pillars on either side, matching similar motifs on the walls and up near the ceiling.
It was seldom needed, however, and the ballroom had taken on other purposes. The room was so spacious that several partitions had been placed, sectioning spaces off for specific functions. One corner was a training area, where some sort of schooling still went on for those who were too young to fight on their own, yet. Another was devoted to strategy and planning. And so on, and so on.
One section dealt primarily with briefing field operatives who were about to go out on assignment, and this is where Ron found his friend.
When she'd left him hours before, she'd been wearing her usual sleepwear: a too-large t-shirt and thin cotton pajama pants. Since then she must have outfitted herself from one of the supply rooms, because now she was dressed for an outing. She wore brown corduroy pants that emphasized the length of her legs, and a fuzzy, striped sweater of the type she seemed most fond. A light jacket fell to her upper thighs, and her hair was pulled back into an absent bun. Ron stopped dead in his tracks as he watched her stuff supplies into a knapsack before yanking the drawstring shut and swinging it up onto her shoulder.
"What are you doing?" he asked, once he could find his voice.
Hermione looked up at him, startled. She recovered quickly, though, and started past him. "I'm going on a mission," she said.
"The hell you are," Ron replied, grabbing hold of her free arm. "You're not ready."
Hermione faced him down, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare try to tell me what to do, Ron Weasley. And who do you think you are, judging whether or not I'm capable of carrying out a mission?"
"I'm your best friend," he shot back, feeling a sense of déjà vu. It was just like their conversation in the Dining Hall before he'd gone back to the house to look for clues. "And I'm also the bloke who's been waking you up from nightmares all week. You're not ready."
She jerked out of his grip, but didn't meet his gaze. "I'll be fine."
"Hermione," Ron started.
"I've got to go, Ron," she interrupted. "I'm scheduled to leave by port key in just a few minutes. I don't have time to sit here and have a row with you about it."
"Fine," he said. "I'll go with you."
"No, you won't."
"You can't stop me," he said confrontationally.
Hermione changed tactics. She knew very well how argumentative he could be, and she didn't have the time it would take to hash it out that way, right now. So she tried simple honesty. "Look, Ron," she said. "This is something I need to do…alone. I need to prove to myself that I'm not useless, because that's the way I've been feeling ever since the Stockwell house. Like I can't make a difference. And I…I need the time to think."
Ron closed his mouth, his temper draining away. Trepidation replaced it. "Is this…is this about last night? Because listen, Hermione -"
"It's not," Hermione said quickly. Too quickly.
Fresh hurt lanced through him. She was leaving, at least partly, to get away from him.
Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because Hermione's careful expression transformed into a more compassionate one. "Ron," she said, stepping closer to him. "I swear that it's not because I don't want you with me. I do, and that's the problem. I've been leaning too heavily on you, ever since…ever since the house, and Harry. Longer. Maybe even since my parents died."
"But you haven't!" Ron protested. "I mean, that's what friends are for, Hermione. They're supposed to be there for each other! It's okay to lean on me."
"Maybe," Hermione said darkly, "but not to use you."
Ron wanted to growl with frustration. "You didn't use me. Where are you even getting this from?" Remembering his thought process that morning, while waiting for her in bed, he brightened. "Look, there's a difference between using someone, and letting them help you. Letting them care about you."
"And there's a difference between letting yourself be comforted, and abusing your friend's compassion," Hermione retorted. When Ron opened his mouth again Hermione held up her hand. "Ron, stop. We're not going to agree on this. And I don't have time to argue about it. I've got to go."
She turned to leave, and appeared disgruntled when he followed her. Two of his strides equaled about four of hers, so it didn't take very long for him to catch up to her. She sighed in exasperation, but said nothing as he accompanied her to the port key room. They must have made a spectacle of themselves, marching off while obviously irritated with each other, because they received several curious looks in the corridors.
When they arrived, Hermione stopped in the hallway with her hand on the knob to the door. "You stay here," she commanded. Then she relented and her expression softened a little. "I'll see you when I get back."
"You're mad if you think I'm letting you go alone," he replied almost conversationally. The whole way down here, all he'd been able to think about was their bed, empty and alone without her, forever. He refused to let that happen, he just refused.
Hermione sighed again, opening the door. "Ron," she said, trying to sound reasonable, "you don't have a choice. I can't stay. Dumbledore thinks they've gotten the device to work, and needs me to verify the coordinates of several of Voldemort's bases."
Ron crossed his arms, hoping that the confident body language would mask the tendrils of fear that were snaking up around his heart at the thought of Hermione anywhere near Voldemort. "I'm coming with you," he said again.
"No, Ron, you're not!" Hermione cried, losing the fine sheen of control she'd worked so hard to keep up in front of him.
The bespeckled port key operator stood at the center of the room guarding a rather ratty-looking quill, and he looked from Ron to Hermione and back again nervously. "Um, Miss?" he asked.
"I know you want to go to protect me," Hermione continued, ignoring the operator. "I know you want to keep me safe, but you can't always be there, Ron."
"But I…" Ron stopped. He couldn't say what he really wanted to. I want to always be there.
Hermione went on, "I've got to do this for myself, and I need you to be here, where you're safe. I can't lose you too, Ron. Not after Harry. Not at all. Don't you see?" she asked, stepping closer to him. "I figured my dream out. It's because of you, Ron. I keep seeing those children as your family. I keep seeing your face on that little boy… Don't you see that I could never live with myself if anything happened to you because you were protecting me?"
"Miss?" the port key operator tried again, sounding aggrieved.
"And do you think I could stand it if anything happened to you?" Ron shot back heatedly. "You think I could live with myself if I let you go alone now, and something happened because I wasn't there, where I should've been? Because I couldn't."
"This is what we do, Ron," Hermione exclaimed, a bit hypocritically. "We're all in danger all the time. Why is my mission any more important than anyone else's? Why worry any more about me than any other operative?
"Because I'm not in love with any other operative, I'm in love with you!" Ron shouted.
The moment he said the words, he wished he could call them back again. This was not how he'd wanted to say it. Not here, not now. Not as part of an argument.
And after last night, he'd been resolved to never say them at all. Hermione was his friend, and that was the only way she saw him. She was too important a piece of his life to risk because his feelings ran deeper than hers.
But now they'd slipped out despite himself. Slipped out? Hell, they'd been forced out. Shot out as if from a canon. Out into the room where they were irretrievable.
Ron had clenched his eyes shut the moment the last word left his mouth. Now he opened them again, to see what kind of havoc he'd just wreaked upon his life. Hermione was still standing before him, bag slung over her shoulder. She was staring at him with huge, round eyes, and her mouth had dropped open again. "You…what?" she managed. Her words were incredulous, but breathy, and something in the sound of them snagged his attention.
He opened his mouth. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he sure had to say something. What came out was, "Don't go."
"Miss!" the port key operator said for the third time, urgency thick in his voice. "You've only got ten seconds left!"
Hermione jerked around and looked at the quill, then back at Ron with grief in her eyes. Grief and panic and…something else. "Ron," she said helplessly, and he could tell that she at least wished she could stay and finish the conversation, but there was no choice.
He knew there was no choice but for her to turn around and grab the quill. As he watched her disappear, he knew there'd been no choice but for her to leave him standing there alone without any kind of answer to his declaration.
He knew that. But oh, it hurt.