IV. The First And The Last

Now

Hermione sank to her knees beside Ron's too-still body, crying. She pulled his head into her lap, ran her fingers desperately through his sweat-slicked hair. "Oh Ron, please be alright, please..."

After much too long, Ron stirred, blinked. Coughed and licked his lips, smearing them bright red. "Not… fun…" he said hoarsely.

Hermione bent over him and wept, in relief or despair, she didn't know which. Both, probably.

Ron's wheezing breaths filled the room; thin, laboured gasping punctuated occasionally by wet, blood-flecked coughs. She cradled his head on her lap and stroked his hair tenderly, the only thing she could do.

After a while he shuddered, sucked in a deep breath. She drew back and tried to fan air towards him with her hand. Grimacing with every movement, Ron sat up, panting with the effort. His fingers trembled, and every now and then his legs jerked and twitched.

Nerve damage, thought Hermione. She helped him slowly, painfully, onto the bed.

Time passed, and Ron's breathing evened. Hermione found her eyes drawn unwillingly to the staring lens of the camera in the corner.

"Forget it," grunted Ron. He sat up, propped himself tiredly against the headboard.

"What?"

"Forget the stupid thing. Hermione," he coughed again, "Hermione, I love you. It's been… you are the most wonderful thing in my life. The very best." Ron smiled, but his eyes were flat and dead. "I wish I'd had more time with you, of course, years and years, but..." He shrugged.

"Ron, what are you saying?"

"We won't give that sick fucking bastard what he wants. It's all a load of codswallop. He'll just kill us afterwards anyway. Probably Crucio us to death, that seems to be his thing."

She'd experienced the Cruciatus at Bellatrix's hands, and it looked like Crabbe was just as skilled at that curse as that mad dead witch. The thought of dying that way sickened Hermione, but… she shoved that thought aside. "Don't give up, Ron," she pleaded. "We can… we can…" Think, Hermione, think!

Ron shook his head. "Can't see any way out. We're done. Sorry… curtains for you too. He can kill us if he likes. But we won't leave him a remembrance to wank over. So let him kill us… be done with it…" He lay back, exhausted… resigned.

Hermione was silent for a while, thinking. Ron – death – Crucio – Crabbe… She looked around the room. A terrible thought crept into her mind. She tried to shake it off, but it stayed. So she steeled herself, and turned it over, took it apart, looked at it from all angles. Shook her head.

"Won't work, Ron," she said. "Think about it logically. Best-case scenario: maybe we can take him at his word. Maybe if we… give him what he wants, he'll do as he says and hand us over to his friends, and they'll ransom us." She tried her best to lay out the scenarios dispassionately, like she was speaking in court. "Alternatively, if we don't do it, he'll kill us. It won't be pretty. He might just send us off with a quick Avada. Or even the Cruciatus. I wouldn't mind. I hope he does. God, I hope he does."

Ron looked at her and said nothing, followed her train of thought intently.

She forced herself to say it. "Because what if he doesn't kill us? Crabbe'll get his friends to come round, eventually. Whatever we do, do what he says or refuse, the end is the same. I don't believe in this ransom nonsense either. They must know they'd never get away with it. You, they'll kill. Sorry. Me? They'll find a use for me all right. The usual." Hermione swallowed. "They'll rape me, even if he can't. After that, then they'll kill me. If I'm lucky. If I'm very lucky. More likely, they'll lock me up, and do me over, and over, and over, for as long as I…"

She couldn't continue.

There is no real choice.

Ron lifted one fist and slammed it into the wall. A terrible keening sound burst from his throat, an animal in misery. In tones of utter despair, he said, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry I can't… damn it!" He swore and cursed until he choked, and pounded his fist helplessly.

Hermione caught his fist, stilled the violence. She laid it gently down on the bed, kept her hand firmly on it. He never fought her.

They sat there in resigned silence for a while.

Then a thought occurred to her.

"Hey." Hermione shifted so she sat in front of Ron, looked him in the eye. She smiled, and traced her finger down the freckles sprayed across his cheek. "Hey. Listen. I've got a… I want you to do something for me, Ron," she said, almost brightly.

"Anything."

"I want you to give me a memory," said Hermione. "A sweet, wonderful memory." Then she couldn't stop the tears. "G-g-give me something to t-t-think about, something real I can remember, w-while they're…" damn it, she was blubbering now, "give me my f-first, make it with you, don't let them have that…"

"Oh Merlin, Hermione, God!"

She leaned in, kissed him on the lips softly, virginally. "It'll be the only time in what's left of my life that I'd… I'd actually have wanted it. That I'll enjoy it. The first, and the last. Please, Ron. Give me that."

How do you… how do you even...?

Ron could barely process it. Most of his mind was screaming static, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. A small voice in the back of his head said, She's right you know. A much louder voice objected: But I just got my arse Crucio'd off me! The bits of his body that were still twitching and jerking and gritting his teeth as parts of him flared up in aftershocks of pain agreed enthusiastically.

Figure out how, damn it. It's practically her last bloody request, can't you even manage that, you stupid ginger pillock?!

He sat back, and thought.

People who don't know Ron, or don't play chess, think he's unimaginative and stupid. They're wrong. You don't get very far in chess without being able to visualise the board, plan a few moves ahead, examine and discard alternatives, and put together complex attacks involving several pieces, all of that in your head and on a time limit. Ron can. This skill is next-door neighbours, mentally, to creative problem solving, what people call "intelligence".

Hermione tried her best to hide it, but her body betrayed her. She was trembling with fear beside him. Every now and then she sniffled, passed the back of her hand over her eyes, and all too pointedly looked away from that fucking camera. He didn't know much about women, but he knew this, and you didn't need twelve bloody fail-safe ways to figure it out: in the mood she was in, there was no way what she suggested was going to turn out anything but a mess.

Still, he had to try.

How do you begin attacking a knotty problem – an enemy who's taken the centre, and dug in with three pawns and all his knights and bishops? You don't meet it head-on, you hit it from the flanks. Stall the advance, manoeuvre around the enemy, chip away at the roots.

Lull and beguile them, then take them by surprise.

He knew what he had to do. Ron took a deep breath, gathered all his strength and willpower – and smiled. "Come here, Hermione, love," he said.

Ron's smile, his expression, every line of his body, was so suddenly carefree it took Hermione off-guard. She hesitated, then leaned into his embrace. "I've a question." He carded his fingers gently through her brown ringlets. It was what he always did when they were cuddling, he always seemed to be enormously fascinated with her hair.

"…go on."

"You remember what we planned for our perfect night? How it would have gone, after dinner?"

The expression on his face was half-smirk, half-embarrassment, and all adoration. He looked exactly as he had when she had been laying out their plans for their big night. "Of course."

"Hermione," he said gently, "I want you to imagine, and believe with all your heart, all your big brain, all your body… that this is exactly what we're doing. We're having the perfect night we planned, and it is perfect. Forget everything else, this is what's really real. I don't care about anything else. This is all I know – that I love you, and I truly want you. Do you love me?"

"I love you."

"Then if you're ready, we're going to enjoy ourselves as lovers do. This is our choice. That's all there is to it. Nothing else." And Ron closed his eyes, and touched his lips gently to hers.