A/N: What better reason to come out of semi-retirement than the Birthday of our lovely ginger knight, our passionate sassy king, Ron Weasley! This little plot bunny came to me earlier in the week and (apparently there are miracles in this world), I was able to finish it in time!
Thanks to the fantabulous trademarkblue for helping me polish this little nugget! As I told you earlier, the only thing I value more than your fic expertise is your friendship! Thanks as always to callieskye for cheering me on and always being willing to read my ramblings! Love you both!
If there is real magic out there, this may actually motivate me to finish my other WIPs! (Not sure if anyone is "ready to believe" that!)
March 1, 1995
Even as the sentence was forming in his mind, before he opened his mouth to give it breath, he told himself to stop, to change the subject, to stuff his face with cake and move on. But it was his birthday, and if you can't have a little fun on your birthday, then what's the point?
"For someone so smart you sure can be thick sometimes, you know that?"
And just like that, they were in the middle of a row. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't exactly sure how it had started. Ok, maybe he had an idea; it had been only a matter of time. Since their big blow up at Christmas, they had settled into an uncharacteristic period of peace. One that couldn't hold forever.
"Thick? Because I don't believe in some silly, childish…" she was waving her hands in that way that meant she was just warming up.
" 'snot silly or childish- it happens to be very real magic."
"It happens to be absurd."
Ron knew he should probably just let it go. There wasn't any real chance that he would change her mind, or even if he did, she certainly would never admit it.
"You are the only person I know, the only person I could ever think of, that could attend an actual SCHOOL OF MAGIC and not believe in magic."
"Of course I believe in REAL magic: spells and potions and charms, but wishes, birthday or otherwise, are not real- they don't work!"
"They are and they do."
As he leaned back on the opposite end of the sofa from her, hands behind his head, he wondered if there was any way that she could be enjoying this as much as he was. Maybe it was weird. It's not like he enjoyed real fighting: not like the mess with the rat last year or how he was such an ass to Harry over the bleeding Goblet of Fuckedupedness. But this? This was like chess. Anticipating her moves, countering with his own.
"Well if that's the case," the twinkle in her eye made it obvious that she thought she had the winning move, " why doesn't everyone just wish for a fortune on their birthday?"
Well played, but not quite good enough.
"Doesn't work like that."
"Because it doesn't work at all."
"Does too, but there's rules." Hermione was smart, probably the smartest person he knew when it came to books, but she didn't now loads of things about the Magical world because, well some things just aren't written down. He knew it irritated her, and he had learned to not call her out on it, especially in front of other people. That was another thing about Hermione, she seemed real cocky about her abilities, but she was always secretly worried that she was an outsider.
"Such as?"
"First off, it can't be a "thing" - like no brooms or galleons or toys. And no wishing for more wishes," he ignored her exaggerated eye roll, "or combining a bunch of stuff into one. You get one a year and only on your birthday."
"And let me guess: you can't tell anyone what your wish is or it won't come true?"
" 'Course you can't tell, that would ruin it."
"Anything else? Or have you thoroughly enlightened me?"
"Just that you really have to want it," he turned toward her then to add emphasis to his point, "like REALLY want it."
"Obviously. And so there's no way for you to really prove it to me because you, very conveniently," she turned to face him challengingly, "can't tell me about what your wish is."
So there it was. She needed proof, but the only proof he could give her would negate the very thing he was trying to prove. It was rare, but in rows, just like in chess, when you aren't checked, and you have no more legal moves, you end up with a draw. It wasn't quite as satisfying as a straight-out win, but he suddenly knew how to make it even better.
"No one can prove to you what you're not ready to believe."
March 1, 1997
"Can anyone tell me what this is?"
Slughorn made a flourish and the slightly petulant students crowded forward. Ron stared into the cauldron- its surface was shiny and swirly like one the giant lollies at Honeydukes. It looked so similar in fact, that he was surprised that its fragrance was anything but sugary. To be honest, the scent was hard to describe , but more than familiar. There was a woodish smell like the worn lines of a broomstick after a fly, or the tickle of dusty shavings in his Dad's shed. And that? That was a warm, wool smell-like a Christmas jumper-one that's been worn- with a hint of almond shampoo and a bit of ink stain on the sleeve…
Bloody hell! He knew that smell! It was the old jumper that he'd let Hermione use last year! She'd argued with him at first, but he knew she was just as cold as she was stubborn, so he made her take it. When she'd returned it the next day, he'd lied to himself about being too lazy to clean it - lied to himself about the sudden broom-drop feeling in his gut when he imagined it wrapped around her, covering her; it was almost like he was wrapped around her. He'd lied to himself about how much he loved keeping it in his trunk, relishing how its smell seeped into the rest of his clothes. He'd lied to himself about so many things. Why had it taken him so long to see the truth?
"Oh Ron, no one can prove to you what you aren't ready to believe," Hermione touched his shoulder gently, offering him a sad little smile before walking past him out of the classroom.
He turned to follow her, but the whole scene disappeared. There was nothing but darkness. He tried to call for her through the blue-black void, but for some reason he couldn't make a sound. Suddenly he felt like he was choking; he couldn't catch his breath. Panic. Heart. Pounding. Panic. Flailing. Falling. Panic. He had to get to her, had to tell her, before it was too late
His back hit the ground, hard, dislodging what felt like a bludger from his throat. It was still dark and he had no idea where he might be, yet all he could think of was how to find her.
Whispers. Faint. Far away. Harry? Slughorn? Had he fainted in the middle of the lesson? Had the cauldron been poisonous?
Hermione had been close to it-was she safe? Where was she? Why had she walked away?
Wait...it wasn't like that. The swirly potion was...months ago. She had...he had...cocked it all up. If he found her, would she listen to him? Would she even look at him?
Too late. Too late. Too late.
Whispers. Again. Louder. Closer. Harry? Was that...it couldn't be... Hermione? He had to get to her somehow. It just couldn't be too late, he wouldn't let it be.
He tried again to call to her, and this time his desperate plea found a way, crawling through his throat on rusty spurs.
"Er-my-nee"
The light was so dim, that for a few confused minutes he wasn't entirely sure that he had woken up. As his eyes adjusted a bit, he was able to put together the fact that he was lying, more like sitting to be honest, in a hospital wing bed. His head hurt too much to try and piece together the series of events that had ended with him in such a position, but he was curious as to how hurt he actually was.
Afraid to move too much, Ron risked turning his sore neck gingerly to the right ok, my head's still attached and to the left what is that? Better yet, who is that? Someone was currently resting their head on the side of his bed. Someone's curls were in such a state that they were practically spilling into his lap. He didn't need an OWL in Divination to figure out who it was, but he just couldn't believe what he saw. Maybe I'm still out.
Truth be told, ever since Christmas he'd been having increasingly vivid dreams about Hermione. It was not unusual for him to wake up in his four-poster sweaty, confused, and disappointed. He reached his hand out and gently brushed his fingers through her disheveled mane. She sure felt real. He inhaled deeply: almonds, wool, ink. He was so relieved he could've cried!
Quite suddenly she jerked her head up from the mattress and he took his hand away like a toddler caught with his hand in the biscuits. He was sure he must look a fright, but, despite the fact that her eyes were as wild as her curls and her face was blotchy with tears, she was the most beautiful sight he could imagine.
"Hey," he cringed at his voice, apparently I've been gargling with nails.
"You're...you're awake." A brilliant smile danced across her face, but quickly disappeared, leaving her expression apprehensive.
"Think so."
"Oh..sorry. Did I wake you? I shouldn't...I should go...sorry," she scrambled to her feet.
Sorry?! No! He couldn't, wouldn't let her go, not now!
"Wait!" He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Please, don't go...I...I want you to stay."
"You do?"
" 'Course I do."
How could she doubt that? Oh, yeah...why shouldn't she doubt it...doubt me?
"Alright, I'll stay...for a bit. I just don't want to keep you from resting. Are you sure you're ok? Do you need anything?"
Just you...probably too soon to say that, right?
"Some water would be great."
She immediately began to fill a glass from the pitcher on his bedside table.
"And." he added, noticing the flush that began to show in her cheeks as she turned back to him, "maybe you could tell me…"
"Tell you what?"
If you're as nervous as I am.
"What happened?" As he took the glass of water from her, their fingers brushed together. He held his breath, urging the moment to linger.
"You were...poisoned; Harry saved you," her voice broke and she pulled her hand away to wipe at her eyes. "Do you remember anything?"
"Not much...I think it's my birthday...or was...not sure how long I was out."
"I think it still is, technically."
"Ok...well, that's good"
"Sorry."
"For?"
"I didn't get you anything," she sat down again, looking very tired and very sad.
"Didn't really expect you to," he swallowed the last of the water and tried to steady his resolve, "I know I've been a real prat...and I want you to know that I...well..I shouldn't have been."
"No...it was me...I've been horrid to you and I...well I...and then you almost," she was crying in earnest now and it didn't make him feel vindicated like he had imagined it might, it just made him want to comfort her.
"We were both not so great...but that doesn't mean we can't fix it, yeah?"
She smiled a tentative little smile that made his heart clinch in a way that was probably not entirely good for his current medical condition.
"Yeah...that sounds good."
He knew that he owed her more, owed himself more, but it wasn't time yet. Maybe he was a coward; he didn't want to push his luck, not when he had her here, actually looking at him and talking to him and seemingly glad to do so. For now he would have to be satisfied with old patterns: smooth it over with a little humor.
"Brilliant! Now if you tell me you have some biscuits on ya, it will be a perfect birthday after all!"
She laughed and shook her head God I've missed that sound!
"If only I had a cake, you would still have," she glanced at the clock, "three minutes to make your birthday wish."
"Cake would be nice, but I already made my wish this morning."
"Really?"
"Yup." Before I even opened my gifts...been planning it for weeks.
"I know it's crazy of me to ask, but what did you wish for?" As she leaned closer, he was intoxicated by her: the way the dim light twinkled in her eyes, the way her hair looked like a frizzy halo.
"Hermione! You know that is entirely against the rules!"
"Of course, how silly of me!" And that eye roll...how have I lived without that? "Can I at least ask if it came true?"
"Yes." Definitely got my wish.
"Yes, I can ask, or yes, it came true?"
She had to know, didn't she? It always seemed to him that he had been beyond obvious, but the last few months had made him think otherwise. There was only one thing he had wanted, and he had gotten it. Not quite how he had pictured it this morning, but wishes could be funny like that.
"It so came true," he tried to communicate every bit of what he could not say in the look they shared. "I know I may not be able to prove it to you...yet, but I will."
"If I'm ready to believe?"
"It's alright...I can believe enough for both of us until then."