Most especially, he was adamant that he was NOT having hospital food for dinner.
The medical staff had to admit that there was little they could do for him at the present time. A mandrake solution wouldn't be ready for at least a month, and until then, Ron was stuck with a stone arm. While certainly unpleasant, having an arm made of stone wasn't a condition that required constant care, and if their diagnosis was correct, he was in no further danger from the curse that had bitten him. However, they didn't want him too far from competent medical help, just in case unknown side effects surfaced.
Therefore, it was decided that Ron would spend the night at Hogwarts, with Madam Pomfrey on call if anything went wrong. If nothing unusual had manifested by noon, he would be allowed to return home and attend the wedding the next day. Harry, not wanting to let his friend too far out of his sight, would also be staying over at the school, while Ginny was taking advantage of the two boys being out to steal a night's sleep in her own house, if not her own bed.
For this one night, then, it was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, together again.
Since Ron couldn't manage utensils at the moment, the house elves had been asked to serve up a meal entirely of finger foods. They had apparently decided to make each small offering strange and different from all the others. A platter of baby quiches and crackers with exotic cheeses was followed by small sandwiches and filled teacakes for dessert. No two of anything were alike, and everything was too small to properly have a taste and then offer it to anyone else. Ron said it reminded him of having a whole meal of Every Flavor Beans, except safer, since the elves wouldn't dare serve motor oil flavored quiche. For Hermione, it brought back memories of parties thrown by Muggle adults.
Harry had reclaimed Slytherin's locket from the concerned mediwizards. Held inside the golden leaves had been a small portrait of the young Tom Riddle - no, the young Voldemort, for already this depiction seemed less human than the version Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets - smiling colding and refusing to answer any questions. Harry had focused his rage and called upon the strongest fire spell he could manage, reducing the face to ashes. After that, the attending wizards proclaimed that the locket seemed to be free of the curse. The horcrux was vanquished.
Despite those assurances, nobody but Harry was keen to touch the golden object that now dangled from his grasp. It swayed lazily back and forth, sparkling in the firelight, and Harry stared at it as if mesmerised. "Maybe I should put Ginny's picture in here," he mused.
Ron snorted. "Don't think she'd be best pleased, you sticking her face in that evil mouth!"
"But think how much Voldemort would hate it!" Harry pointed out. "His precious evil heirloom, his Slytherin birthright, turned into nothing but a love token."
"It should probably go to a museum," Hermione suggested. "It is a historical artifact, after all." She brightened. "We can probably fill a whole room with famous artifacts once the war's over. Not just the Horcruxes. Anything you use to defeat Voldemort will become valuable to the ages! They could devote a whole wing to you."
"Just as long as they don't try to put me on exhibit," Harry sighed.
"Nah, you'll be too busy being an Auror," Ron predicted, then thumped his stone arm against the sturdy wooden table. "Me, I'll probably be stuck sweeping the museum floor, if I can figure out how to move a broom with one hand."
"Your arm's going to be fine!" Hermione said. "I had my whole body Petrified, and I'm fine now."
"They called it petrified, but you weren't turned into proper stone, were you?" Ron said gloomily. "I stuck my hand right into a curse from the worst wizard ever! And they never managed to fix Dumbledore's hand, did they?"
Harry frowned. "No. They never did."
Ron shrugged. "There you go, then. I'm doomed."
Hermione threw a bit of leftover cracker at him. "Harry's the only one allowed to go around talking about how doomed he is," she teased. "I can't put up with two of you doing it!" She glanced at Harry, worried for a moment that she might set off another of his rages. To her relief, he just smiled. He must have gotten the anger out of his system for now.
Ron waved his stiff black appendage around for emphasis. "Even if they do fix this, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I can't hold a wand like this!"
"Use your other hand, doofus!"
Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, we should probably all practice casting off-handed. In the heat of battle, if someone damages your good hand, it might be better to switch hands and continue fighting rather than try to fix the injury right away." He eyed the blackened fist. "Also, if you punched somebody in the gut with that, I bet it would hurt. And they wouldn't be expecting it."
"Or I could aim a little bit lower," Ron suggested with a smirk. "Like to see Malfoy's face then! But I bet he'd wear a jeweled codpiece or something."
"Draco's father is in Azkaban," Hermione pointed out.
"Who says I meant his father?"
"Ron!" she scolded. "That's not funny. Anyway, Draco's helping us now, remember?"
"I remember. I'm still not sure I believe it," Harry said. "Besides, you can't deny there were times you would have liked to see Malfoy rolling around on the floor grabbing his crotch and crying."
"I don't like to see anyone crying," Hermione countered.
"Not even Snape?" Harry murmured under his breath, then blinked. "Hermione, you're going all colors. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she insisted.
He stared at her. "Where were you this morning, anyway? Ginny was frantic when she couldn't find you."
Hermione sighed. "I did something stupid. I was mad at you about last night, so I went off on my own to try and prove how clever I was. It was dumb and I won't do it again and I don't really want to talk about it. Okay?"
"I guess we all learned a lesson about doing stupid things," Harry said slowly.
"So now we should do something smart." Hermione stood from the table and grabbed the boys to pull them up. "Come on, let's go to the Charms room. We can start with Windgardium Leviosa."
---
Since it had already been a long and trying day, it was decided that the off-handed casting excercises for the night should stay short and simple. Just to get comfortable with the idea of using the other hand, not to do any complex magic or combat exercises. Hermione also kept a careful eye on Ron to be sure that working magic didn't affect his stoned arm in any way. As far as she could tell, the curse remained inert.
Only after they had called it a night and returned, weary but relieved, to the Gryffindor common room, did the obvious occur to Hermione. They were three teenagers of mixed sex, and they were almost entirely unchaperoned.
Harry seemed to be a step ahead of her on that account. "I'm so tired!" he said, yawning dramatically. "I think I'm going to go up to the boy's dorm early. Ron should be in the infimary by midnight, and I'll see you in the morning!" He scampered up the stairs before Hermione could manage to say a word.
"Um," she managed at last, her cheeks turning red. "You must be tired, too. You're just out of the hospital."
"Yeah," Ron said, taking a seat on a couch. "I'm wounded in battle!" He turned big blue eyes on her with a smile. "Sit with me?"
She slipped onto the couch beside him. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really," he said, holding out his stony arm. "It just feels heavy. You can touch it if you want."
She carefully stroked along the smooth black length with her fingertips. "It's cooler than I thought it would be," she said. "And sort of glassy. Can you feel it when I do this?"
"Nope. I - eeek!" Her hand had just reached his elbow, where the rock gave way to flesh. "That part I can feel! It's all tingly around there, where they stopped the magic. Mostly I can ignore it, but it tickles if you touch!"
She took her hand away. "Sorry. I don't want to hurt you."
"Don't be daft, Hermione," Ron smiled. "You'd never hurt me." His good hand came up to brush the stray hair away from her face before he leaned in for a kiss. It was warm and sweet and wonderful, but as he began to press against her, Hermione felt not the leaping fire of her drunken clinch with Ginny, but a vague tremble of fear. She pulled back, and Ron broke off the kiss. "What's wrong?"
"I just - I just don't feel right," Hermione said, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn't tell him she'd kissed his sister. She certainly couldn't tell him that earlier that same day she'd been half-naked in front of her old Potions teacher.
"It's because of my arm, isn't it?" Ron's voice was sad. "I'm a freak. I can't even hold you. Can't raise a fork, can't dress myself... I'm like some kind of horrible troll."
"No, of course not!" Hermione said, looking up. "Ron - Muggle children break their arms all the time! And they end up with a stiff heavy cast covering the whole arm for months til it heals. It's just the same. You're hurt, but you'll get better."
"Then what is it?" He stroked her cheek with his good hand. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I..." He paused, swallowed hard, then continued. "Hermione Granger, I love you. I just want to be with you."
His eyes, his sweet sad eyes... Ron needed her. He loved her. And time and time again, she'd nearly lost him. There would be more curses, more dangers, and one of these days they might not find a cure in time. This wasn't perfect, but this was what they had.
With three good hands, it was easy enough to remove their clothing.
---
Author's note: Sorry for the long delay! I've been busy with other things and ended up writing this chapter fairly quickly to get back into the swing of it.
Hermione still hasn't had time to really think through what happened at Spinner's End - it's been a rough day!
