Salt Water Stains on Sterilised Sheets

The succeeding days dragged by as if lumbered with a fear of crawling any faster than snails pace. For Ron this was extremely exasperating. As of yet no news had come from Dumbledore about when he would be able to take the trip to St Mungo's in order to see Ginny even though the Professor was now seated back in his proper position at the Head Table. Lessons ticked by slowly, security became stricter and all too quickly there were only three days left until it would be time for him to return to his own world.

Ron's agitation and nervousness had been slowly building up since the meeting in the Room of Requirement; this was quite obvious to Harry and Hermione as he took out his frustrations on them.

"Damn it!" he yelled, throwing down the glass of pumpkin juice he'd been drinking from until it had slipped and the liquid drenched his robes.

"Well it's your own fault," chided Hermione, "if you just concentrated on one thing at a time instead of stuffing your face with food and drink then maybe you wouldn't have poured it all over yourself."

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't multi-task like you, little miss perfect."

"Rob, it's not about multi tasking, it's about multi-thinking, and that's where you fail." She didn't mean the words but that didn't stop her anger from releasing them.

"Well I don't see you multi-thinking when writing those bloody letters!"

Hermione's anger melted into confusion and silence sank around the three; it was then broken by a guffaw from Harry.

"Do you realise how stupid that sounded?" he laughed.

Ron blushed and Hermione bit back her own laughter.

"Wrong world," they heard Ron mutter under his breath.

"What was that about?" questioned Hermione.

Ron shifted on his seat and reached for a pasty in a weak attempt to create a diversion. "You know maybe they're trying to weaken our resistance through the lack of food," he started lamely, "I haven't seen any chocolate cake for ages."

"Rob that was pathetic. Now I was going to reprimand you for turning Harry and I into human punch bags for your personal emotional duping, which you really need to stop doing by the way, but this has just peeked my interest. Why would me writing letters be cause for offence? I don't even write that many."

Ron shuffled again and Harry could just about make out the words "Krum", "letters" and "git".

"What? I didn't quite catch that," Hermione teased.

"Something about crummy letters being gits I think," Harry smiled.

"Fine! Fine. You can both stop being annoying now I'll tell you. It isn't that interesting."

Hermione glanced over Ron's shoulder and shared a good humoured look with Harry, "Maybe not, but it has got you blushing so I think it's worth it."

Ron slumped and spoke very quietly, "Okay, so maybe in my- at home," he stumbled over his clumsy slip, "y- I mean a friend I have, that just happens to be a girl- well you see she has this Bulgarian boyfriend who she writes long letters to even though he's years older and only after one thing." His voice had speeded up as his irritation at her behaviour flowed.

Hermione thought back to the conversation they'd had at the beginning of the month about their relationship, or lack of, in his world and came to one conclusion- he was mistaken.

He had to be. She knew this boy inside out after dating him for so long and she knew herself. Hermione tried to remember the exact words they'd shared when he'd accusingly pushed that photo of his twin and her together at the beginning of the month. The exchange had been a difficult maelstrom of emotions, so the facts gleamed were difficult to call back. However she could clearly remember her friend's angry tone at the quidditch superstar and though she could barely recall the Bulgarian's presence Hermione was pretty sure that she wouldn't fancy him whilst Ron was around.

"Are you absolutely sure that he's her boyfriend?" she asked slowly.

"Yes of course."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"Okay so maybe she say's he's just a friend," Ron quickly carried on after Hermione smirked, "but she's obviously lying. Why else would she keep talking to him? The international relations excuse left when he did."

Hermione smiled to herself whilst Harry shook his head in mirth.

"Maybe," she said, taking Ron's hand, "she really is just friends with him because if it was me in that situation and I knew that it bothered you then I'd partly be doing it deliberately to get a rise."

Ron sat in confusion, "Really?"

"Well, if not deliberately then certainly unconsciously." Still battling against his deep-rooted denial she continued, "Believe me when I tell you that she isn't going to choose a guy she sees once in a blue moon over you. Okay?"

Ron nodded his head slightly but still didn't really trust her words.

"Just give up," Harry chuckled, "he'll work it out in the end."

Ron shot him a weak death glare before returning to his lunch. The fork, however, was prevented from ever reaching his mouth by a dry voice twinged with a disposition of sarcasm.

"Mr Millings if you will please follow me I wish to discuss your last… attempt at writing a coherent potions essay."

Ron paled slightly at Professor Snape's voice and was slow to react.

"Any time today would be just fine," the teacher snarled. Ron jumped out of his seat and, after receiving some commiserating and curious looks from his friends, he followed the sweeping robes of the pale man whom had already reached the hall exit.

The brief moment of silence filled with echoing footsteps as they walked towards the dungeons was broken by Snape's cool voice, "It is odd is it not Mr Millings how Hogwarts can alter to suit its children's needs?"

"Sir?" Ron was wondering what on earth this had to do with potions, in fact he couldn't remember what he could have possibly done wrong in his last essay that was worse than anybody else's.

Snape smarted at his pupil's lack of intelligence, "Passageways Millings. Helpful corridors that can be created in times of need."

Ron had by now got the idea that maybe the professor wasn't talking about school work, though that didn't make the true nature of their conversation any clearer.

Snape's indecipherable face became twinged with exasperation, "Helpful tunnels that, for a purely hypothetical situation, may begin say… at the at the bottom corner of the Griffindor table in the Great Hall."

Ron's brain finally overcame it's stagnancy caused by shock and realised what Snape was saying, "You mean the corner that's hidden from the top table and anyone standing along the outside of the hall."

"Purely hypothetically of course."

Ron could have sworn he saw a slight smile on his potions teacher's face but quickly dismissed the thought, "Of course. So if this tunnel existed then it would lead to…"

"Into a certain disused corridor." There was another silence as Snape allowed the information to stabilise in Ron's brain- he meant, of course, the corridor that lead to the Doorway of Many Worlds. "To enter such a passage way," he continued, "a certain code would be needed would it not?"

"Yes certainly sir, couldn't have it so anyone could use it." Ron glanced nervously around the empty corridor, "So how would a person enter a non-existent tunnel in the Great Hall?"

"I am not certain," Snape began, "for when I asked the same question of Dumbledore he merely said that 'only those who solemnly swear that they are up to no good' would know what to do if such occasion was to arise."

They stopped outside Snape's office door, "Do you understand Mr Millings?"

Ron thought for a moment. To be perfectly honest no he didn't entirely understand but seeing the impatient look on Snape's face he decided he understood enough- if the worse happened while he was trapped in the Great Hall then there was a way of escaping and the code had something to do with the Marauder's map. Resolving himself to ask Hermione about the rest later on Ron gave a brief nod to the professor and followed him into his office.

After Ron had entered Snape shut the door soundly and muttered some strong silencing and locking charms. "You have half an hour Mr Weasley. Thirty minutes." He pointed towards a broken glass beaker on his desk. "The portkey will take you directly to her bed. The ward should be clear."

Ron's face crinkled in confusion but at the moment he realised that this was the chance he'd been waiting for for the past week he felt his body empty of frustrations and annoyances only to find the new space filled with fear and dread. The wave of terror prevented him from being surprised that Snape knew who he really was.

Seeing his hesitation Severus debated with himself and spoke the only compassionate words he would ever say to a Griffindor- and a Weasley none the less, "Just try to remember what the reality is Ron. Learn from this and do not ever let it happen when you return home."

Ron turned in surprise to face the teacher, who was now pretending that the last words he had spoken had come from some invisible stranger and not an indifferent potions master. Trembling slightly he returned his gaze to the beaker and slowly stepped forward, reaching out a sweaty hand till it touched the cool glass.

He felt a familiar jerking sensation and around him the dark, shadow cast office drained away to be replaced by a blinding whiteness. Ron blinked and looked around the new room, a familiar hospital smell clogging his nostrils. There were four beds, one of which was hidden by drawn curtains, and the sun glared through the window on the wall behind him. A quick glance revealed that he recognised none of the three prone bodies he could see, which could mean only one thing- that Ginny was behind the curtains of the far bed. Warily he edged forward, one foot shakily stepping in front of the other. Did he really want to be here? Did he really want to know?

Time was being wasted as he stilled in indecision till a sharp shout came from outside the ward door and grabbed his attention. Ron held his breath at the sound of hurried footsteps and let out a sigh of relief as they passed by. The shock spurned his lagging limbs into movement until, without realising it, he was stood in front of the hanging curtains. Tremulously his fingers reached to draw the opaque barrier back. The drape rustled in his hand and the metal rings holding it to the guiding iron bar on the low ceiling screeched, but the harsh sound was muffled by the heavy stillness.

The sight of the body laid out on the hospital bed caused him to jump backwards in surprise. That couldn't really be his sister. Could it?

Taking a gulp of air, for his mouth was too dry for saliva, Ron looked back at the ghost sleeping in the sheets. On the one hand she was beautiful, a fine porcelain doll kept in pristine condition and brought out only for show. But that wasn't real. Her ceramic skin was dry, her fiery red hair was dull and he silently gave thanks that her eyes were closed as he was certain that he didn't have the strength to see those sparkling windows to the soul all boarded up and derelict.

"Ginny what have they done to you?" Ron whispered.

He stiffly sat down on a well-used visitor's seat and gently took her hand in his, feeling surprise when he felt warmth emanating from the flesh. He was half-expecting ice. Staring at her he searched for another sign of life. Anything at all that would prove that this doll was his sister.

Ron edged closer and ran his free hand through her long, wispy hair. "Come on Ginny wake up," he implored, "it's me. It's Ron, you know your annoying prat of a brother."

There was no response.

After quickly wiping away a stray tear he clutched her fingers with both of his hands. "Come on Ginikins. I know you hate that name, yell at me. Please." His voice was desperate and his grip tightened as she continued to ignore him. "I'm back from the bloody dead here the least you could do is acknowledge me!" His chewed nails dug into her soft flesh as he released his pain onto her, "Wake up!"

"Wake up!" he shouted again.

Standing up sharply he knocked over the chair he was sitting on but took no notice of the empty clatter as he stood over her and glared into her insolent face. His arms reached to her shoulders and he jerked her limp body once, twice, three times in a fit of rage. "Damn it Ginny you selfish twit! Can't you see that this is killing me?"

Abruptly he stopped, pulled away in horror and retreated as quickly as possible. He stared at his hands as if they were covered in blood and collapsed to the cold floor.

"I'm sorry Ginny," he muttered over and over, "So sorry. So sorry."

Over time the repenting receded and he could look again at the figure wrapped up in the now dishevelled bedclothes. Unsteady on his feet Ron stood and cautiously walked towards Ginevra's wilted body. Her arms lay at uncomfortable angles and her head lolled to one side yet there was no sign of discomfort on her face. He wanted to hide his face in shame but forced himself to put her right. Lovingly he turned her head and, after resetting the sheets, placed one hand on top of the other resting on her stomach. He stared again drinking in her serenity but was prevented by a disquiet thought at the back of his mind. After a few moments he started suddenly as he realised that he had unconsciously formed her body into the traditional funeral pose. Quickly he moved her hands and set them either side, parallel to the edge of the mattress; there was no need for safety bars, she wasn't going anywhere.

Red marks bled from his earlier rough treatment of her hand and the guilt returned. Softly he rubbed his callused fingers over the blemishes, a feeling of inadequacy adding to the despair. He lifted the hand to his lips and gave an inane attempt at kissing it better, tasting a bitter cocktail of a twinge of iron from the dried droplets of blood and salt water from tears he didn't know he was weeping.

"I love you Ginny," he whispered barley audibly, "I know I've never really said it but I do. And I know that you can hear me- I'm sure you can. So I'm going to make you a promise." His voice gained confidence, "Don't smirk at me I am actually going to keep this promise. No, it isn't that I'll back off over your boyfriend choices when I get home," he chocked on the word and cleared his throat, "and it isn't that we'll never fight again because we both know that nifflers will fly before that happens." He smiled weakly. "No I don't promise that. But I do promise that I won't let this happen. Do you hear me? I won't."

A bleeping sound interrupted him and Ron turned to see the broken glass beaker beginning to glow. He glanced at a clock on the wall and saw in surprise that indeed a half an hour had passed.

"Okay Gin I gotta go now but I'll see you soon okay? Well, a kind of you anyway." The beeping became more incessant and he speeded up his goodbye, kissing her lightly on the forehead, "See you in the other world Ginny."

He dashed to the portkey and looked at her lonely figure longingly as the white washed walls became replaced with dark, dank dungeons.

"Bye Ginbug." His whisper echoed around the empty office and Ron had to check twice thoroughly to believe that he was really alone.

Confused and worried he pushed open the now unbarred door and treaded the outside corridor softly searching for any sign of human habitation. In fact, house elf, ghost or even boggart life would do right now as the unhealthy silence grated on his brain. Instead of making his way to the Common room, as he would usually do in search of Harry or Hermione, he was drawn to the Great Hall. His intuition proved to be correct as he noticed the wide open doors showing that the tables were full of students.

Inconspicuously he threaded his way to the Griffindor table and sat next to Harry.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered following his friends shocked stare aimed at the head table.

"Dumbledore," he barely heard Harry mutter.

"Dumbledore what?" Ron asked realising the Headmasters absence and Smith's new prominence as she stood at the front of them all flaunting her authority with demanded attention.

"He's gone."

Ron tore his gaze away and gawked at Harry. Horror filled his gut at hearing the words.

"What do you mean?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"I mean," said Harry turning to face Ron and failing to notice his friends chaotic, drawn appearance, "that Dumbledore was just taken to St Mungo's and there is serious doubt about whether he will come back."


AN: Thank you to Nattieb for making the beginning of this chapter even more fun to write and to all of my faithfull reviewers- can you feel the love? You should need it after that chapter. Depressed yet?