Chapter 3

Ron stopped jerking around. Two of the nurses hoisted me back onto the stark white hospital bed; I collapsed onto the pillows, taking deep breaths. By now the box over Ron's head had stopped gushing out the world's supply of water, and was now only dripping a bit.

I looked out of the hospital window, four floors up it looked like. It was dark and gusty out as the wind tore some flyers off the few scattered cars left in the hospital parking lot. Then something struck me-"How did we get here?" I asked the plump nurse who was tucking the sheets under my mattress.

She shrugged. "Ask him," she said, thumbing the doctor over her shoulder.

He looked up from his clipboard. "Huh?"

"How did we get here? Did someone give us a ride?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. By a Mr…..Potter? He left a message at the front desk. Tomorrow morning you can ask Mrs. Perkiss for it, or I could send someone down for you."

I glanced at the clock. It was past three-thirty in the morning. "R-" A gentle snore was coming from inside the box. "We'll stay the night, I think."

"Your husband can stay in here if you want. We'll send for an extra cot." Without waiting for an answer the beer-bellied doctor strode out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. The nurse dragged Ron's dead weight over to one of the blue visiting chairs and left too.

Did Ron even hear what I said? I tried to convince myself otherwise. He was asleep this whole time. Plus he probably couldn't even hear in the first place, what with the box and the rushing water pouring over his ears.

I wasn't fooling myself. He stopped jerking right when I said it. But maybe if neither of us mentions it, we could forget this night ever happened. I was under the influence of morphine, it wasn't my fault. Besides. I don't even feel that way about him anymore-its been five years since I cried on his shoulder, If fact…

I looked over to the chair next to me. On it were my robes, folded neatly on top of my favorite blue-green jeans and shirt. I can see now why they thought we were married-two grown adults of the opposite sex in 'bathrobes' at seven o'clock on a Saturday night? It had 'tragic housewife and overly worked husband' written all over it. Although we don't have wedding bands and…..wait a minute. I looked down at my left hand and saw a ring.

What….Oh.

It was my grandmother's wedding ring. Two years ago she lay on her death bed and said "Here. For that red-haired bloke you've been dating. He's the one. He's going to want to propose soon, so now you'll be armed and ready. Hermione, don't let 'em slip away, cause them men are always slippin' and a slidin' all over the place. Why your Grandpa…"

Following this was a tale I'd like to suppress from ever resurfacing in my memory. But she didn't know that Ron and I were not dating at all, but actually flying all over the world with Harry trying to find and destroy all of the horcruxes. Which we did.

Harry was brilliant dueling Voldemort, and right after the deed was done he swept Ginny off of her feet and said "Marry me." The entire female population of the Wizarding World that turned up to root for Harry swooned. I swooned. Ron fainted and never said a word to me again. Until he owled me last week that is.

"Hermione. Hermiiione…. What, is she still out cold?"

I cracked an eye open. For one wild second I thought it was Ron sitting on the edge of my bed with an orange skirt.

"She's alive!" Ginny said dramatically, grinning at me under her fiery mane of hair. "So-I take it Ron has managed to squash any hope of you two ever getting together," she said casually as she opened a muggle magazine and flicked through the pages. "Again," she added as she threw the issue into the trash bin near the door.

I flopped back onto the pillows and massaged my aching eyes. How did I suddenly pass out again? Must have been the overwhelming nostalgia. "Actually this one is my fault. Or Ron might have poisoned his own food when he saw me like that, covered in soot and potato peels. Death by meatloaf. He would do anything rather than lasting out the evening with a fried out, fanatical failure of a chef with her troupe of houselves, I expect."

"Hermione."

"What?"

"Stop killing yourself over him. Who was the one who told me in my third year 'If he comes round, he comes round, but you bloody well have a good time while he's still being an idiot'"

"I said that?"

"Something to that effect. Anyway, what do you think?"

"Of what?" I said, muffled by the cool pillow I had over my face.

"This dress-the one in the corner, under these hideous shoes."

I lifted the pillow an inch. Through the crack I could see the shoes-they were hideous (fluorescent yellow with the ugliest flowers you ever saw monogrammed on the heel)-but they were like sparkling glass slippers compared to the disaster Ginny was jabbing with her finger. A Lace Nightmare if I ever saw one. It was ironically similar to the little number Ron wore to the Yule Ball-maroon and resembling a doily regurgitated by the sewing machine.

I pressed my face back into the pillow. "You've got to be kidding me."

Ginny laughed and snorted into her coffee. "That's what I'm ordering for the bridesmaids, Hermione. Though since you're the maid of honor, you get to have a matching tiara. You'll look so dashing Ron here will whisk you off your feet and together you'll ride into the sunset!"

I threw the pillow at her.

"Oi!" she spluttered, cackling as some of the coffee sopped onto her skirt and the bed sheets.

"Well," I said, eyeing the brown stain spreading over the orange fabric. "It matches the dress at least." She gave me one of the infamous Ginny Weasley Death Glares as she flicked her wand at the mess-it disappeared instantly.

She opened her mouth to retort when Ron stirred again in the chair. I did a double take-he had gills. They were greyish and shiny on his calves, forearms and neck. His feet were webbed and so were his hands-once in a while the mutations would expand half-heartedly, like a dying fish on a boat deck. Mrs. Pintong's Box For All Occasions let a steady stream of water down his front.

I tried to figure out what the heck happened last night. Which is not very easy with a concussion.

I recapped the evening still by still-there had to be something I did, or he did. Things like this don't just happen-even in the wizarding world.

A droll, bored voice cut through my analysis. "If no-ones going to at least say 'Well Done' for keeping this ungrateful man alive all night, not to mention all the energy it took to magically obtain thousands of gallons of water out of thin air for the last ten hours then I might as well shut myself off."

And right as the answer dropped sickeningly into my head Mrs. Pintong's Box For All Occasions turned itself off, and with it went the small trickle of water Ron was breathing. Oh god.

How many times did I kill this person?

(A/n: Alright. It's been almost a month. And this chapter sucks. The reason? Homework. Lots of it. And laziness too. But here it is, if any of you are still willing to read it. Please Review or else I won't think anyone's reading, and what's the point of updating if no one reads it? So REVIEW. (One extremely large thank you to everyone who is still out there-I love you all.)

PS I promise it will get better. Think of this as an interchapter, or whatever your English teacher tells you the boring filler pages are officially called.