VI. A Funny Thing
There was at least one distinct advantage to no longer being at Hogwarts – the Healers at St Mungo's were a lot easier to push around than Madam Pomfrey.
Which was why even though Ron and Hermione had been sequestered in the Helen Helbrede High Security Ward for "rest and observation", Harry too was right here in the cosy little two-bed ward, sprawled in an armchair nursing a mug of tea and explaining how the Aurors had tracked them down and found Crabbe's hideaway. As soon as the Healers were done checking them over, Harry had bullied his way into the ward and more or less stayed for good.
Ron lay propped up in bed, the thick blanket pulled up to his chest. On the bedside table sat the remnants of a huge fry-up Harry had smuggled in, and a half-empty bottle of post-Cruciatus healing potion. Hermione had her own bed, separated by a curtain, but she spent nearly all her time perched on the side of Ron's bed, her arm round his neck. He could just turn his head and bury his face in her side, and breathe in the scent of her presence, always clean and freshly-scrubbed and unmistakeably her.
He found himself needing to do that often, to remind himself she was here, and safe.
"...so with that, finally we could narrow down from all the other scumbags and crazies who were going round saying they'd got you two, to this particular chap, a two-bit criminal who called himself 'Victor' and always went around masked, and then it was relatively easy to ask around about 'Victor' and where he stayed, and that was it. I put together a squad and came looking. I didn't even know who the bastard was till we got that mask off him." Harry drained his mug, and went to the sideboard to get himself more tea.
"What's happened to Crabbe?" growled Ron. His voice was still crackly – would be for some time.
Harry's back was to them, but they sensed him pausing for a moment, mid-pour. "Dead," he said shortly.
Ron glanced up at Hermione; he thought he saw a flicker of cold satisfaction deep in her eyes.
Harry seated himself again and stared down at his tea. "He didn't come quietly, and did his usual – shot Fiendfyre at us, Killing Curses. There was a big fight, and he ate a Sectumsempra right in the face." He drank his tea and didn't look them in the eye. "I'm not bloody sorry, are you?"
"Course not," said Ron.
"Right." Harry put the mug down much too loudly. "Need the loo, I've had too much tea."
When the door closed behind him, Ron breathed out. "Well. Other than good old Snake Face, Harry's never killed, did you know?"
"Of course," said Hermione. "Sectumsempra, Merlin. He… he must have been really…"
Ron shifted a little, looked up at Hermione, taking in the tightly-belted hospital dressing gown, severely scraped-back bun of hair, the uncharacteristic lack of life in those eyes. What with the entire clan of Weasleys and Hermione's parents trooping in and out of the ward for the past day or so, and Harry's hovering over them like an anxious governess – last night, he'd left only after the Dreamless Sleep Potion had knocked them out, and had hung around the whole day today – this was the first time they'd had a moment to themselves in the last twenty-four hours.
"Hermione, are… are you alright?"
She met his gaze. "There's this weird… fluttering in my heart," Hermione confessed. "I keep waiting for the nightmares to come, and dreading it. I wish I could drink Dreamless Sleep forever."
That was it, then. Ron knew what he had to do. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm so sorry."
"What are you apologising for?" said Hermione, looking baffled.
Ron flushed. "For what I did. You know. Don't make me say it." He took a deep breath. "I'll get us the very best from the Obliviator Squad. Dad knows Peasegood, he's very good at it. We won't remember a thing. It won't hurt a bit."
"What the hell are you babbling about?!"
"Hermione, it was horrible," said Ron. He forced the words out, as much as he could: "Crabbe trapped us and made us – you know. You don't want to remember that. I don't want to remember that. This way, this way we can just… forget it happened. Not everything, just… just a couple of hours' worth."
Hermione reared back as if he had slapped her. Tears filled her eyes; she wiped them away with an angry cuff with the back of her hand. "Was it that bad for you? Was I really so utterly horrible at sex, that you so desperately want to forget, that you want to Obliviate our first time?"
What on earth is she saying? "It was bloody horrible for you, Hermione!"
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that!"
"Because you're hurting, I can see it! I don't want you to force yourself to remember!" A small part of Ron said not to shout at her, Hermione had been through quite a lot lately, but he couldn't help himself, whenever she raised her voice, he had to as well. "I'm thinking about you, Hermione!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" snarled Hermione, and then she launched herself at him.
Her lips plunged down on his, seeking, demanding, hungry;and after a moment's surprise Ron responded. He deepened the kiss and felt her dive in with a growling "mmm" of pleasure from the back of her throat that thrummed excitingly into his. For one heart-pounding moment he was back there in Crabbe's basement, dreading the future, desperately savouring every taste of Hermione knowing it could well be his last. Ron opened one eye and peeked; Hermione's were squeezed shut in a frown of deep concentration, tears winking out the corners.
Maybe it's the same for her. Maybe that's what she remembers, too. How everything had become so clear when you thought there were only minutes left on the clock, and you reached out frantically for what you had wanted for so long, knowing it was about to be taken away...
When Hermione finally pulled back, she stared back at him almost defiantly, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. "You told me," she said fiercely, "when we were in that – that room, you told me that it was real, really real, that it wasn't because we were forced to, it was our choice – did you mean any of that? Did you really mean any of that?"
Realisation dawned. She really doesn't… she really isn't… "Oh, Hermione," breathed Ron. "Of course I did. Of course I meant it." He gently took her hands, and she let him pull her close to rest her head on his shoulder, lie half on him, half on the hospital bed – exactly as they had, after their first… "I'm…"
"Don't say you're sorry," said Hermione in a kind of whimper. Her arm went round his chest, and held on almost stiflingly tight. "Don't ever say you're sorry. Not for that."
"Alright, I… I guess I'm not sorry, then. Not about everything, just… y'know. Some bits. The other bits I – I wouldn't mind too much."
Hermione made a wet noise that could have been half a sob, half a giggle. "Honest?" she managed.
"As a Jobberknoll," said Ron. "In fact, you were amazing, incredible, beautiful… I can't find the words. I just wish – alright, alright, I won't say it. But you know what I mean."
He could feel her heave a sigh of relief. "Ron, darling?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sorry either. You were the sweetest. It was wonderful. I couldn't have asked for a better… I don't regret anything, okay? Nothing at all. It might sound odd, but… I really mean it."
"…thank you."
Ron guessed that this was how it was going to be, at least for a while. Even though they were safe now, the incident had left emotional wounds that would take some time to heal. Nightmares were guaranteed. They'd both be a big tangled ball of confusion over the whole thing, all pain and terror and anger and regret; mixed up with love, the memory of a tender and beautiful first time experienced amidst the depths of despair, and a glorious victory they had clawed back out of very near-tragedy.
Life's a funny thing. It can never be perfect. You will always have to take the bad with the good. You'll be wounded and scarred, broken. But that's okay, because afterwards? You'll heal. You might not heal all at once, you may seem to take forever, until you think you'll never be whole ever again. And that's perfectly fine. Keep your head high, and each day the hurt will lessen, even if infinitesimally, and know that someday in the future, maybe sooner, maybe later, you'll be able to look back without heartbreak.
And maybe even smile.
Ron squeezed Hermione's hand affectionately, she squeezed back, and he nearly laughed. He could almost pretend they were back in Grimmauld Place, or Heathgate, and they were just cuddling like any other normal young couple left on their own. Almost.
After a moment, Hermione sat up and pulled her hair out of its bun, letting it fall in waves down her shoulders and back, not looking at him. "Alright, so it wasn't quite what we planned our first time to be," she admitted. "Not the exact circumstances."
Ron searched her face carefully, but saw she was smirking slightly. He relaxed. "I'll say."
"So maybe now," and she flushed that charming pink that always made Ron want to kiss the spots of colour blooming on her cheeks, "maybe now we could try, you know, making love in a much nicer place." She waved her hand vaguely around the room. "And absolutely, positively, without a doubt one hundred percent of our own free will, this time."
Ron put one finger on her chin and gently turned her towards him. Hermione's eyes met his; they shone brightly brown and danced with love and desire, closing as she offered up her mouth towards his.
"One hundred percent," he mumbled against her lips, and grinned as he felt her reach for her wand and wave it around behind her back, whispering.
Then he decided to stop thinking for a while.
Harry washed and dried his hands, then made his way back to the Helen Helbrede Ward, walking as quickly as he could without shouldering rudely into people. He wished Ginny was here with him. Crabbe was preying on his mind a lot, and he craved like a drowning man for air the clarity, assurance and love he knew he could always rely on her to provide.
But that could wait. Right now, his best friends needed him.
He reached the ward, tried the door, and frowned as it refused to budge. He did a simple Unlocking Charm, and the lock still balked. Harry fought down a rising urge to panic – his gut was already twisting at the mere thought of his two best friends behind locked doors, given all that had happened, what Hermione had told him in blood-curdling frankness, the grim little bits of circumstantial evidence he'd been collecting from the scene of the crime – and he really really didn't want to have them out of his sight and reach right now.
Harry chose a Revealing Spell from the arsenal of charms up his Auror sleeve. It told him the door was locked with what he recognised as a "Hermione Special", one of those obscure tricks she got out of old spell-books in the Hogwarts library. He could probably figure out how to undo it, the Aurors had trained him brilliantly to deal with all kinds of security magic, but...
He cocked his head, thinking.
Perhaps what his friends really needed right now wasn't him barging in to make sure they were safe, and mother-henning them quite as much as he desperately wanted to. Perhaps what they needed was some alone time, time to refresh themselves in each other, restore and reaffirm whatever needed to. He had an inkling just what was going on behind those doors, and well, people heal in the strangest ways. Or maybe not so strange, considering…
Smiling slightly, Harry turned his back to the door, clasped his hands in front, wand resting reassuringly in the firm grip of his right fist, and stood guard.
END
Author's note: And there you go, possibly the only Fuck Or Die trope I'll ever write. Thank you very much to those who took the time to review - you encourage me to write more! What do you think? Good, bad, boring... tell me about it! Coming up soon – back to my usual Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione slice-of-life. Stay tuned!