This was one of those moments in which history splits and we define the world as 'before' and 'after'. It's one of those instances in time where you never forget where you were or what you were doing when you heard.
I was there. In the thick of it. Devastation abound. Bodies littering the hallways; unmoving, bent, broken. It was hard to see. Thick smoke hung throughout the building, stagnant and pungent. Every so often, a ray of blue, green, or red could be seen maneuvering its way through the grey haze, sometimes making contact with windows, doors, people. Everyone had gotten split up in the thick of it all. Harry running one way. Hermione running another way. Ginny was somewhere. Aurors were everywhere. It was utter mayhem. But no one expected it not to be. This was what we'd been working towards. Since that day that Harry Potter reentered the wizarding world, vowing to avenge the deaths of those he held dearest to him. Those that he hadn't gotten the proper time to know.
I would have been there, even if I hadn't shared that compartment on the train with him that first day. I would have been there for Dad and Bill and Charlie and everything that was good in the wizarding world. But it held so much more for me because of Harry and Hermione. My best friends. My family. That's what I was thinking about as everyone raced around us. And then something happened. A silent, invisible wave of something spread quickly through the air. Something inconceivably big had happened. Everyone realized this, but no one knew what had actually occurred. Until Bellatrix Lestrange ran out of a room a couple of doors down from where I was standing, dueling with a random Death Eater. Someone who had recently joined the ranks of Voldemort followers. Someone who thought he would be safer under Voldemort. Bellatrix was screaming about something. All I could make out was 'dead' and 'have to go' before she and the few Death Eaters in the vicinity ran down the hallway. As they scurried away, I ran to check on Tonks, who was lying in a ball against the wall, barely breathing. "Hang on, Tonks. You're going to be fine. I'll get you out of here." Turning around, looking for someone to help me, I noticed Bellatrix stop before she turned the corner. She muttered something I couldn't hear and something silver shot out of her wand. The last thing I remember is being thrown against the wall, unable to move, staring up at that stagnant, pungent smoke that hung in the hallway.
They tell me that I was gone, asleep, in a coma, something for the past two months. It doesn't feel like it. I vividly remember being their. In that dark hallway. In battle. In the midst of death. It feels as though it was yesterday. 'What's the last thing you remember?', they ask. Bellatrix smiling. That's what I remember. Those thin, evil lips curling into a smile as something shot out of her wand, hitting me full in the chest. And me hitting the wall. I remember hitting the wall.
And now they're telling me that this all happened over two months ago. That the wizarding and Muggle worlds, alike, are slowly picking up the remnants of what was. Gradually piecing everything back together. Going back to what can only be considered as normal as humanly possible. And I've been lying here, motionless, as the world bustled around me. So many people not realizing the degree of what has happened. So many people not realizing the number dead, injured, lost. But maybe it's better if they don't know. Maybe it's better if they live inside of the bubble they've formed for themselves. My bubble was burst when I was 11. I have no qualms about it, but I haven't lived inside of a protective bubble in ages. And for some people, like myself, that's better. I don't like to pretend. Not anymore, at least.
The parade of people who come to visit is endless. Aurors, professors, people in the Ministry, schoolmates. A nonstop stream of well wishers. But, to be honest, it's not the people I want to see. They're all so guarded, anyways. I can tell there's something they don't want to tell me. That something has happened that they think I would be better off not knowing in 'my current state', as some put it. It's their eyes that give them away. You can't hide emotions in your eyes. There's just no way to mask it. I can see it behind the plastered smiles. Behind every hug and behind every weak handshake. And I hate that. I'm not five anymore. I don't need to be lied to. I don't need to have things kept from me. I was just a part of the biggest battle in current wizarding history, for Merlin's sake. When Neville has finally left, I wipe my face of the smiling façade that I've worn all day. I turn to Ginny, who is sitting in a chair beside my bed, arm in a sling, only a little worse for the wear.
"Mum and Dad will be back soon," she says, looking at me.
"Tell me. Now, Gin. Please."
Her facial expression falters for a quick second. It's always the eyes. "Ron, what are you talking about?"
"Everyone who has walked through that door has had the same fake smile on their face. I don't suppose it's something new that Fred and George are selling, so tell me why everyone is handling me the same way they would treat a five year old whose cat died. Ginny, please tell me what happened," I plead with her. "Where are Harry and Hermione?"
I never take my eyes off of her face as she looks down at her hands for a minute. "Harry's back at the Burrow. He was here for awhile, but left about a month ago. The Healers told us that he could go home, but that he was going to be stuck in bed for awhile. He's been bloody horrific since you've woken up. Keeps trying to sneak out to come see you. Mum, Dad, and Remus have been throwing fits about it." A small, sad smile plays across her face for a moment. It's almost as if I imagined it, but something tells me that it was there, if only for a second.
"And Hermione? What happened to Hermione, Gin?"
It's the eyes again. But this time they pool with tears. One falls out, slowly gliding down her cheek before she wipes at them. "She's here, Ron. But no one knows what she was hit with. Or if she's going to wake up. She hasn't gotten any worse. But she hasn't gotten any better, Ron. She's stuck. Somewhere, she's stuck, Ron." Her voice hitches as she talks.
I don't even know how to react. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to run. I want to hit someone. Hell, I want to kill someone. I want out of this bleeding bed.
Ginny gets up and pushes me over. She can read what I'm feeling. She's always been able to do that. And most of the time I want to hit her because of it. Not now, though. Climbing into bed, she grabs my hand and leans against me. Carefully, so as not to hurt her arm, I shift and kiss the top of her head as I feel my shirt becoming wet. A few of my own tears hit the top of her head, but crying isn't going to help anything. If anything, being emotional is only going to make things appear worse than they are. And things are already as bad as they can get. Crying isn't going to make Hermione wake up.
A while after Ginny had fallen asleep, Mum and Dad show up. At Mum's questioning glance, I tell her that I know. That Ginny had told me about Hermione. Which only causes her to burst into tears. Beckoning her over, I give her a hug and tell her that if anyone could get herself out of whatever it was she was in, it was Hermione. That she need not worry. I don't know if I tell her this to reassure her, or myself. Either way, it seems to do a bit of good, as Mum wipes furiously at her face, telling me that she's glad that I'm awake. Glad that I'll be ok.
"You guys need to go back home. You all look like you could use a sleeping draught that would knock you out for a good two days," I say. I can feel the protests start, so I continue. "I'm fine here by myself. I'm almost nineteen. I think I can handle a night in St. Mungo's by myself. Plus, I'm not really by myself. With the legions of Healers that keep coming through," I say, rolling my eyes. "Dad, go home."
After a good 20 minutes of arguing, I finally get them to agree to go home for the night. As the door shuts behind them, I sigh, slumping down into the bed, under the covers, still warm from where Ginny had been laying. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep for awhile, only to be woken up by the nightly rotation of Healers.
Getting out of bed, I walk to the bathroom. Turning on the light, I lean against the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. I am thinner, ganglier, more gaunt, but I think that is to be expected when I haven't eaten anything solid for two months. Turning on the water, I smile. A small smile, but a smile, all the same. Thank Merlin I don't have to wear one of those hideous Muggle hospital gowns. My t-shirt and pajama pants are perfectly suitable. The cool water feels heavenly against my face. A wave of realization courses through my body as I turn off the water.
What if she never knew how I truly felt about her? What if the hug I gave her before entering that building on that fateful night was the last time I got any sort of response from her at my touch? What if her eyes never again burned the way they did when she had figured something important out? What if my last memory of a conscious Hermione was one in which we entered battle?
Instead of returning to my bed as I leave the bathroom, I walk down the corridor in hopes of finding her room. In hopes of looking at her face. In hopes of something. She has to be on the same floor as me, right? We were both in some sort of coma. So we have to be in the same place, I tell myself.
I stop, suddenly, at the second to last door on the left. Without looking in, I know it's the room that houses Hermione Granger. I quietly open the door, peering inside, noting how fragile, yet angelic she looks laying there, motionless. Her hair surrounds her head in a brown, bushy halo. Magical machines and medicines float over her bed, keeping her alive, no doubt. I walk up to the bed, putting her hand in mine. I briefly remember a time in our second year when she had been petrified. But we had been sure she would wake up then. Once the mandrakes had matured, she would wake. Nothing would so surely wake her up now. There was no certainty that she would ever rouse. There was no certainty that she would ever shoot evil glares at me. There was no certainty that there would ever be anymore innocent touches between us. There was no certainty that she would ever love me the way that I loved her. The way that I have always loved her.
And that though makes me want to be back in my coma. Unaware of what was going on. I wanted to be the last one to wake up. The one to know that everyone that mattered was still alive, if not well. I want to be selfish. Why couldn't I have had that?
"Why couldn't you have woken up first, Hermione?" I whisper into her hand, before kissing it and setting it gently back on the bed, never letting