AN: The last little bit has text included in CH 19 of HBP. Those aren't my words. Don't hurt me.

Falling Dreams

Hermione laid awake in her four poster bed in early hours of 1 March 1997.

She had been lying awake for a few hours now.

She had given up on sleep. She knew what she needed to do, but didn't know exactly how to do it.

It wasn't quite sun up. She could hear every crack in the tower, every breath of wind from the grounds below. It was like a steady lullaby, trying to lure her back to rest that she knew would never come. Lavender and Paravati's distant snores weren't keeping her up, they were as familiar as the wind.

It was the date. The calendar was doing this to her.

Last time, she had slept without a problem, rolling out of bed as her wrist watch vibrated against her arm. It was a Saturday, but she had a timetable to keep. They had cancelled the Hogsmeade weekend and she had already made plans to study the entire day; the morning dedicated to the Horcrux search while the afternoon was to be set aside for classes. No one would be in the library in the early morning hours and she wondered if she could dive into a catacomb of books without the bird eye glare of the Librarian coming to ask her if she had any questions.

She had crept down to the Great Hall and started picking at the elves' rushed breakfast offerings when she had opened her planner, identical to the one she had bought the boys for Christmas the year before. That's when she saw it. In her cramped, slanted hand writing, written in purple ink the words and scribbled out school girl heart Ron's Seventeenth.

It was Ron's birthday. If he hadn't been acting like a glorified ass for six months, she might have a moment of panic and converted the early hours of studying to making an effort to surprise him with something—and then she had remember there was a nicely wrapped package at the bottom of her trunk, his Cannon's Keeper Jersey she had bought over the summer holidays. She hadn't completely forgotten him, and that was perhaps the worst part.

But he had acted like a glorify ass—and she had no intention to give it to him. Not today. There'd be no special effort to make his day. There'd be no olive branch. There'd be no truce. There'd be no handing off of a gift and making up with a hug where all her hate towards him seemed to melt away.

Instead, she wondered if she could exchange it at the Quidditch shop, maybe put it towards Harry's Birthday.

Hermione had gotten pretty good at ignoring Ron the last time. She had spoken to him more this second time around, the occasional banter, the verbal jabs—but that hadn't been the case before. The first time this had happened she hadn't spoken to him any more than necessity called for. She had learned to skip meals, adjust paths to class. She sacrificed time when she could be with Harry because seeking Harry out would have meant seeking out Ron as well. He had made his choices with Lavender Brown and however bitter she was about it, she had made her own. Ones with out him.

After breakfast she nicked a fruit from the table and disappeared up the stairs to the library, finding her cubicle in the library and dropping off her contents before she dug through the stacks in hopes for some clue, any clue that would explain what exactly they were up against.

When Ginny had found her in the morning she was pulling eighteenth centuries anthologies of Dark Curses and their Development. Hermione noticed almost immediately that something was wrong. Her first thought was Harry, that something had happened to Harry and that's why Ginny was running down the aisles of bookshelves towards her. As soon as she had said "Ron's been poisoned" Hermione remembered the book she was pulling from the shelf dropped to the floor, a clanking sound and the moan of the book causing Madam Price to glare and rise from her desk to seek restitution.

Hermione's face had fallen. Everything was falling. Her limbs were weightless as Ginny guided her out of the library and the two girls raced up the stairs. By the time they got to the Hospital, Madam Pomfrey and Slughorn had drawn the drapes around Ron's bed and they were left to join Harry on the chairs outside of the Infirmary.

She had bereted Harry with questions, wanting to know what happened. Down to the last detail, Hermione wanted the scene so she could imagine it. As he told her, his eyes darting from the door to her face every so often, all Hermione could think was the last time the two of them had talked, he had said I love you and she said something along the lines of not letting Lavender hear that. It was stupid, she had helped him fix a paper and he when had expressed gratitude she threw it back at him and continued her silent protest.

One of your best friends could have died—hell, he could still be dying—and you haven't said a nice word to him since October, seemed to be the thoughts echoing in her head as she sat at the Hospital Wings Door. If Harry hadn't saved Ron, if he had gotten rid of the Prince's book and not read the note about the Beezor, if Ron had died, she would have to have lived with that.

That he had died without her saying a nice word to him in months.

It was in that instant she wished she could take it all back. That she could take the first few hours of the day back. That rather than sit and scowl at the date, she wished she could go back in time and rush to the boys dormitory and give Ron her gift. She wished she could throw her arms around his neck, and let that be his shock, not the poison. She wished she could do it all over again, and maybe then, that would be enough to snap him out of his ass.

She never knew what it was that turned Ron against her and towards Lavender. It had been the thing that had kept her up at nights the first time around. The previous summer things had begun to be different. She could tell he was interested in her. He was more polite. Their banter wasn't even true banter but them playing off each others words, bringing out the best in one another. Normalcy was giving way to prolonged glances and brushed touches.

And then one morning after a Quidditch Practice, he couldn't more look at her any more than he could ask her to pass the marmalade.

She had figured then that perhaps he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. That he was grumpy. The Weasleys were all irritable when they hadn't slept, Ron was perhaps just the highest offender.

But it never went away. He wouldn't make eye contact. He had made a few jabs at Victor that day—that was unusual, it had been well over a year since that saga. Qudditch season had a tendency to bring out Ron's worst qualities, she thought that perhaps practice and the first game of the season had something to do with his sudden transformation into the dark, unpleasant brute he seemed to be promoting.

But that brute continued on. And the first game had its fateful aftermath from the party seemed to completely replace her best friend with the brute. Ron was gone. That's what she had told herself when the nightmare continued on. Ron was gone and she wouldn't let herself believe that he would ever come back again, no matter how much she had wished it.

She used to dream of it. Dream that she hadn't given him a hard time before the first game. Dreamt that she had been the supportive fan he had always wanted her to be. She even had the occasional dream where it was her he was snogging after the game. That when her heart was racing it was because she could still taste the pitch on his lips and smell the cinnamon and pine that was fixed in his clothes. She could feel his heart in the dream too. And it wasn't racing because she had sent birds at him—it was racing because she was kissing him back. Whatever doubts he may have had, whatever self confidence he lacked, it had been made right because Hermione Granger was kissing him.

But then, she would always up. And the only reason either of their hearts would race towards each other is if their tempers were raging as well.

That had never changed.

Even when the war ended and the peace came, their tempers would still rise towards each other. They had argued about Lavender's Funeral. They had argued when she told him she was going back to Hogwarts. They had argued about her friendships with Victor and Justin Fletch-Fletchy. It was something they told each other they were working on. But even then it seemed to be something she was putting an effort towards, not Ron.

She could remember all these emotions. The regret. The desire. The worry. The anger. Was it love then? Could she honestly have said she knew she was in love with Ron Weasley then? Could she honestly say that him saying her name while highly medicated was enough to cause her to forgive him for a semester of wrongs?

Could she honestly let herself get up out of bed, knock on the boy's door and give him his birthday present and hug like she had wished she had before? Could she derail what was meant to happen? What would the consequence be? Someone else get poisoned because Harry would be there to shove a beezor down their throat?

Hagrid's roosters were crowing, their cries of the sunrise sneaking to the castle. Paravati rolled over, crawling deeper into her blankets to mask their cry. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to follow her example.

Maybe she could have one last dream. Where she could make another choice. Where she ran to the arms of another red head. Where it wasn't cinnamon and pine but mahogany masking the smell of explosions that seemed to pull her in. Where the teased, but rarely argued. Where different, but familiar arms holding her still racing heart, a heart that was racing towards him.

((*))

She had slept in.

She rushed out of the dormitory as quick as she could, determined to keep today right. What thoughts she had earlier in the morning had just been thoughts. For better or for worst, she owed Ron that, didn't she? She had already jeopardized her parents timelines she couldn't jeopardize his as well.

The castle was quite and calm, just as she had remembered it. If they hadn't cancelled the Hogsmeade weekend, it was likely the halls would have a buzz about them, more students coming into the Great Hall for a light brunch before making their way down to the village. But as it was there was only a small cluster of O. students at the Ravenclaw table. Eating while arguing over Runes translations.

Hermione poured a cup of tea and held it against her lips, letting the steam tickle her nose and clear her mind.

What are you going to do when he says your name? She couldn't remember what she said last time. Had she said anything? Was she supposed to hold his hand? She couldn't remember. He's unconscious, it really doesn't matter how you react—

"Thank God," a voice caused her to open her eyes. Ginny was standing at the foot of the table, her eyes wide and panicked. It was the look Molly had, when she sensed one of her children were in danger. Hermione was only noticing this second time around just how much Ginny mirrored her mother.

She was dressed in what Hermione assumed were the clothes she wore yesterday, muggle jeans and a t-shirt that had been put on with such haste it was inside out. She had bed hair that would have rivaled Hermione's if it wasn't for the fact she had pushed it back into a pony tale that swayed as she came towards her.

How did Ginny find out? She had always wondered, Dean must have said that something was wrong and the Harry and Ron had gone to Slughorn but how—

"I was halfway to the Library when the Fat Friar said you had gone to breakfast—" her friend panted, rushing towards her side, seizing her arm. "Hermione, I need you to come with me."

Hermione seemed to freeze up, preparing to take on her role. "Ginny—what's going on, you're acting—"

You can do this. Just think of the war. Think of the worst memories. Think of when you had lost—

"It's Ron, He's been poisoned," Ginny's words cemented the events. He was just poisoned. He wasn't dead. Harry was able to save him, just like last time. You haven't killed Ron.

But once the relief flooded over her that she hadn't sabotaged Ron, a chill lingered over her. Her insides seemed to come to a stand still. She was in the Forest of Dean. Ron's warm, flowing blood covered her hands as it gushed out of his splinted arm. He was so white against the red of her hands, her shaking hands-Harry needed to help her with the Dittany-She couldn't do anything to prevent this. She had done everything to plan and Ron was still in dangers door.

She didn't know what was going on. All she knew that everything began to fall around her.

((*))

It had become quite clear that the Hogsmeade Weekend had been cancelled.

Fred and George were the only ones even remotely close to the age of students in the Three Broomsticks. They had dropped a few carefully put together pamphlets at the Hogs Head but once old Alberforth seemed to pick up what they were doing he told them to leave or he'd see to it that the goats got to them.

Now, the two brothers were spread lankly against the bar at the Three Broomsticks. Their wooden sales cases slouched against the base as the two's backs were turned against the door at long last. They had been in the pub since five and as Fred looked down at his watch he could see the rotating stars signal it was nearly ten.

So much for surprising Hermione, he thought bitterly to himself. He hadn't written her to tell of his coming. He had wanted it to be a surprise, like it was before. That she would get off the carriage and see his flaming red hair and know that he had come. She was smart enough, she could assume he had come back for her. And he wouldn't argue that. He had. Well, for her and also to warn of terroristic werewolves bent on the dismantlement of their government.

He and George had poked around Zonko's, still boarded up. Ziblimi Zonko's weather worn notice of closure now tattered and blowing in the window. There was a new notice, stating the premesis was for sale. That had grabbed Fred's attention, but George simply shook his head and drew his brother towards the Three Broomsticks

"There aren't kids on the street. School's about to go in a lock down for tests and their aren't any student's filling their stocks with jokes. Look around Freddie," George had said again as they slouched into the Three Broomsticks, "No use buying a building students aren't going to be able to run off to."

Neither of them wanting to believe that it was true, that the students weren't coming. Aside from the people from the village, the tavern was empty. Rosemerta came around the corner two mugs of Butterbeer, froth spilling over their rims.

"It's getting late, you lot want food yet?" She asked setting the two drinks down in front of them, "I remember the funny one fancies the chips and the good looking one prefers the shepherd's pie."

"Told you I was the looker George," Fred nudge, watching his brother scowl as he dug through his pockets for some sickles.

"We might as well head back," George shrugged. "Lee's closed the shop for us and gets irritable if he's not fed."

Rosemerta nodded and then looked at the door, "School's going to put me out, I'd already made the orders for extra Butterbeer Barrels when they cancelled the weekend."

"Why did they cancel it?" Fred asked. He couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable Rosemerta's face seemed to fall.

"After that Gryffindor girl got attacked last go around," she started, as though she was ashamed she brought it up, lose of sales compared to the near loss of a student. "They haven't found out who did it yet, so they figure students may not be safe." Rosemerta turned away, putting more glasses in the sink, "Kids can't catch a break. Dementors one year, Ministry Hag another—"

The door opened and a fresh gust of wind came with it. Hagrid was standing at the enterance. He tipped his shaggy head to Rosemerta and then locked his eyes on the two brothers.

"Fred, George, what'er you to do'ng 'ere?" he asked. Hagrid's look mirrored that of the village. Of feigned rest. When he smiled it no longer reached up to his eyes. "You stop fer a pint before you check in on your brother?"

Fred looked at George and noticed how his chin locked in place. "What are you talking about Hagrid—"

"Ron, he's been poisoned he has—this morning," The three heard a crash and turned around to see Rosemerta had dropped the empty glasses in her hands, shards falling to the ground.

Ron had been poisoned.

It was as though someone had taken his warm Butterbeer and replaced it with a ice cold water that now clenched his insides.

Fred would be the first to admit they gave Ron more hell than he deserved. That he was one of the favorite targets of their jokes. But he was still Ron. It wasn't as if he was Percy. He was Ron. The one who learned their tricks before the others. The one they had practiced punch lines. Who would be the first they charged with idocracy, but he was their idiot brother.

And he was poisoned.

"You alright there Rosie?" Hagrid asked, calling Fred out of his thoughts. She waved him off, her wand sending the shards back together before she asked, "Poisoned, how do you get a poisoning at the school?"

"Not sure yet," Hagrid started, "Just hear'd it from your parents, I ran into them as I came out of the forest. Apparently Horace had a bottle that was temp'red with, shared a glass with Harry and Ron for Ron's birthday an—"

"Is Harry ok?" George asked, "Slughorn didn't have two poisoned kids?"

"Oh Harry's fine. Imagine he's camped out at the Hospital Wing with Hermione and Ginny now," the Giant sighed, looking now at Rosemerta "You have a bottle of Ogden's? Need it for medical—"

"Don't go tampering with Poppy Pomfrey's patients," Rosemerta answered, "I'm not having that woman come after me if you've tried to mess..."

"S'not for Ron, for an animal—" Hagrid started, taking the conversation off the poisoning of the youngest Weasley son and instead discussing a spider.

George hit Fred's shoulder, nudging it to the door, "They wouldn't call Mum and Dad if it wasn't bad, you remember last time they got called in."

"You think Ron was the target?" Fred asked in a hollow whisper. "Harry I can see but Ron—"

"Maybe Hermione had enough of him and that cow?" George said with a mischievous smirk, "Best think twice before spurning that woman Freddie."

Fred rolled his eyes, "Come on, she'd come up with some cleaner way to off him if she really wanted too." Although seriously doubting if Hermione had enough in her to off Ron, even if she really wanted to.

"Come on," George got off his stool and headed towards the door, "Let's go see our brother."

((*))

George was annoyed when they didn't head over to the Stationhouse to take the Floo straight to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore had once told him not to abuse the fireplace connection. How if he came when he wasn't welcome, it was possible he'd get splinched or disappear into a vanishing cabinet. So rather than gamble the risk, they summoned one of the carriages that took them on a very bumpy ride back to the castle.

"The rain's picking up," George sighed, looking through the curtains, "Would it kill Ron not to get hospitalized?"

"'Suppose they wouldn't hospitalizing him if he was dead, so—" Fred answered.

George tossed one of their last pamphlets at his brother's head, "Wise arse."

Fred watched as his brother looked up the castle. "You know, in full honesty, we aren't supposed to come back to the school until Ron graduates next term. If we were a normal family-"

"If we were a normal family we wouldn't have been able to open a joke shop. Or dungbomb Umbridge as we escape into the night," Fred countered, still looking at his brother. George looked fine but there was something about his voice that sounded worn. He was reminded of the summer when they fled the shop the night Florean was taken. His Brother was a survivor, he was a fighter. And part of that thought made him wonder how the next encounter with danger would leave them.

They met Flitwick in the Great Hall who seeing the red, rain matted hair sent the two up to the hospital without need of an explanation. He knew, he had to know that there was a Weasley lying in hospital.

When they got the corridor outside of the hospital, the three chairs that must have been occupied for most of the day were now knocked vacant. George nodded towards the open door and in the lamp lit room Fred could make out his brother, red hair standing out like a dull flame against the pale, crisp sheets. Ginny and Harry were flanked him on either side while Hermione sat nearest Ron, opposite of Ginny.

The moment Fred saw Hermione, he could feel how wrong today had been. She met his eyes and hers were soft and vulnerable. He wondered on the carriage ride over if he should give into that urge to take her in his arms. What would she do if he did that? The hell with his brother in a hospital bed, Harry and Ginny gawking. The hell with his twin who would most certainly say something— about having to wait till they were getting together over Ron's dead body, but the hell with George. Fred wanted to know what would she do?

But looking at her now, he knew he couldn't. All he could do was walk to Ron's bed and take the spot next to Harry, across from Hermione. With Ron, as always, separating the two of them.

((*))

Fred hadn't said anything to her.

He was talking to Ginny now, asking if their parents had seen him yet, saying they had run into Hagrid in the Three Broomsticks after Hagrid had bumped into the Weasley parents as he emerged from the Forest.

"They've already seen him, they arrived an hour ago—they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon…" Ginny trailed off tapering her words as Ron mumbled, "He's been doing that since we've come in."

"So the poison was in the drink?" said Fred quietly, his eyes flickering between Ron's face, and then his sister. He wouldn't look at her. She wished he would. She needed that steady gaze. The one from her nightmare so long ago on the chess set. Telling her keep her eyes on him and everything would be alright.

"Yes," said Harry at once, he'd told this story so many time he could focus on the tinest detail it had become so refined in retelling. "Slughorn poured it out—"

Fred interrupted again, "Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"

"Probably," said Harry, " but why would Slughorn want to posion Ron?"

"No idea," Fred frowned, looking at George, and then Harry again, "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?"

Ginny's gaze turned from Ron to her alert brother, "Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?" she asked, "He's one of Slughorn's favourites—'

"I dunno," said Fred, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to line up for a chance to posion Harry, mustn't there? The "Chosen One" and all that?"

Ginny scoffed, "So Slughorn's a Death Eater now?"

Hermione watched as Fred's face twist, like he had just smelt something unpleasant. The way the lamp cast light on his face the expression seemed more defined, his voice darkly saying "Anything's possible."

"He could be under the Imperious Curse Gin, he might not be acting as himself," George said sympathetically. "He's—"

"He's innocent till he's proven guilty," Ginny said finally, " And frankly I think its ridiculous. The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself and not Ron—"

Hermione closed her eyes, she was trying to close everything out. She was trying to remember what came next. It was as though she was waiting, ill prepared for her turn to say a line in a play. Trying to recall what she said anything that triggered him to say her name. Could she say that—did she want to say anything—

"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny reminded Harry, pulling at one of their hour long conversations from their vigil early in the day. " So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore."

"They didn't know Slughorn well enough then," Hermione said finally. Her voice sounded tight, and dry from lack of speaking. "Anyone who knows Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something tasty for himself. Not share it as a gift."

Ron's head stirred ever so slightly. And she wasn't prepared, not even in the slightest, for his voice to croak out, "Lav—derr"

They all fell silent, and as Ron continued to mutter undistinguishable words, Fred finally looked at her. In the moment when she couldn't mask herself, when she couldn't be composed or keep an emotion in check. He looked at her. They were all looking at her. Why was it when she wanted to smother the unconscious Ron with his pillow, why was it then they all looked to her?

Lav—derr

The doors flew open and Hermione found her savior in Hagrid, making giant strides to the bed. Before he could saything, before any of them could, Hermione got up.

"Here Hagrid, take my spot—I need—" she gestured, pointing to the small little chair too close to be undisturbed by Hagrid.

I need to run. I need to get out of here—I need to sort out how this happened—I need to know what this means—what all of this means

Her voice was still tight. Her smile still anything but genuine. Her smile couldn't reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.

"—Prefect duty—I need to make sure someone's covering."

She didn't know if Fred watched her as she walked out of the Hospital Wing into the corridor. She didn't know if any of them did, but she could feel their eyes on her as she walked away. She tried her best to walk as normal as possible down the corridor, just in case they were listening, or heaven forbid one of them were following her.

The moment she turned out of the adjourning corridor, Hermione ran.

She never stopped running.

AN: Look! I updated in a week!

It came together as best as I had originally hoped. I feel like there's going to be a few people asking "Wait, does Hermione love Ron now?" And to address that, no...I hope that this chapter captured just how torn Hermione is. Her pervious self, the first go around, i think she still had hope for her and Ron. Now, she knows what the next few months will hold and she's not sure. She doesn't want to see her friend die, but she doesn't want to see herself trapped in a relationship with him either. And especially in the wake of the last few chapters where she wiped her parents memories, Hermione's once bitten and twice shy with those she love and time streams.

Hope that makes sense...

So, Chapter 21, we're over 100K words, 325 followers and 147 favorites. We're knocking on 200 reviews. You are all beautiful people and I appreciate your friendship and love. Chapter 22 will bring our favorite two together and some questions are finally going to be addressed.

Until next time~KH