Counting Stars and Passing Cars 04/14
Hermione/Ron
Inspiration: Borrowed Time
At 0530, she tears open the pink and white box she bought from the Muggle chemist because it can be used the first day of a late period while the Conceptus charm won't be effective for another week. Ron turns the test over in his hands, mocking "Muggle pee technology" as she reads the directions, and he laughs as she holds it between her legs, trying to aim for the skinny white stick.
Three minutes later, there are two blue lines, and they are laughing and crying and dancing in their small bathroom. He sinks to his knees before her, arms around her hips, and she closes her eyes to better remember the moment when he kisses her still-flat belly and whispers Hello, I already love you against her skin.
~:~
At 0615, they have gone back to bed even though she has an early meeting with the Minister, and the Aurors have a morning training session scheduled. They are flushed and smiling as he bears her back against their dark blue sheets.
Outside, the pale fingers of dawn open the climbing roses that surround their window, and their heady fragrance creeps over the sill. She breathes deep, trembling as Ron touches her, loving the way the morning light sets his hair ablaze, and hoping she'll see the same fire in their baby.
"It'll be a girl, I just know it," he whispers into her ear, his breath shuddering as she traces a heart on the damp skin of his throat with her tongue. "One as beautiful and brilliant as you."
She blames hormones for the rush of tears to her eyes, and reaches down to guide him to her. They come together in the golden light with the scent of roses everywhere, and it's all heat and motion and gasping breath.
She vows never to forget how lucky they are.
~:~
At 0802, they are running late.
Harry's going to be angry that he's setting a bad example for the new trainees, and Hermione mustn't forget that she's keeping the Minister himself waiting.
They just can't seem to stop kissing long enough to go through the Floo.
~:~
At 1130, she sits at her desk for the first time that morning. She sips decaffeinated tea that's mostly milk and congratulates herself on another biased, pro-pureblood law struck from the books. She is proud of the work she and Ron do at the Ministry, proud to be creating a safer world for their child than the one they grew up in.
Her hand settles in her lap, covering a secret only she and Ron know. She is so happy it feels as though she should be glowing with an incendiary light, one that beams out of her every pore. It seems almost impossible that no one is noticing. She had half expected Audrey, who rode the lift with her that morning, to grab her by the shoulders and exclaim You're pregnant, aren't you!, but her sister-in-law had just greeted her as she normally did and inquired as to whether she and Ron would be at the Burrow for dinner on Sunday.
She smiles as she sorts through her mail, stopping when she spots Ron's familiar scrawl on a blue Auror envelope. Her assistant has time stamped it: 0827. She breaks the seal and opens it to find one of Ron's pathetic animated doodles dancing before her eyes. A rabbit—or possibly a crup—with what is probably supposed to be a bouquet of flowers held in its teeth, jumps through a heart-shaped hoop before transforming into:
Is it quitting time yet?
I miss you already.
-R
P.S. These trainees are a bunch of losers.
She kisses his initial like a lovesick teenager and tucks the note into her bag, already determined to hold on to it forever as a keepsake of the day.
~:~
At 1239, she is buying a sandwich on the ground floor when she is accosted by a gaggle of reporters, Rita Skeeter at their head.
Does the Ministry have a statement about the friendly-fire incident at the Auror training grounds near Dover?
Was there any previous sign that Trainee Osburn was unstable?
What was her reaction to the news?
Has she heard from her husband or Harry Potter, both reported as involved in the incident in question?
She issues her "No comment" like an automaton, leaves her lunch on the counter, pushes past the crowd, and walks swiftly to the lift. Her knees are shaking, so she wedges herself against the corner, bracing her hands against the walls. The lift fills with stricken Ministry employees. They whisper amongst themselves—she distinctly hears the word "casualties"—and throw little looks at her to catch her expression before looking away just as fast.
She keeps her eyes on the memos flapping overhead and concentrates on her breathing. You have every reason to be calm, she tells herself. Remember, Ron and Harry are experienced Aurors. They've faced Dark Lords and Death Eaters. You won't lose them (him!) to this.
In control of herself, she steps out of the lift and walks (calm, calm, calm) toward her office at a sedate pace. Her assistant stands outside (calm) her door, wringing his hands, and when he spots her, he visibly starts before turning and speaking (calm stay calm) to someone waiting within. The Minister steps out, a look of deep concern on his dark, wide face, and reaches toward her with both hands.
She blames hormones for the fact that she starts sobbing before he even opens his mouth to speak.
~:~
She doesn't remember leaving the Ministry, couldn't say if she traveled by Floo or Apparated, but she is at St. Mungo's, running in slow motion through the halls. Can you help me find my husband? she asks one person then another and they are wide-eyed and useless and if they don't take her to Ron right now she willtearthesewallsdown and—
"Hermione!"
Harry is there. A wicked slash defaces his cheek, and his eyebrows and fringe have been burnt away. He brushes off the healers that surround him like gnats, and she runs into his open arms. Someone is saying her husband's name over and over, a desperate ululation: ronronronronronronronronron—and it isn't until Harry grasps her face in his hands and gives her a small shake that she realizes the sound is coming from her.
"He's alive, Hermione. He's alive. They're working on him now."
She hides her face against his neck and cries.
Harry reeks of scorched flesh and grief. "We were practicing standard evasive maneuvers, and Osburn just…cracked. He started screaming, started firing curses at the other trainees." Harry swallows hard, his voice crackling with stress. "He killed Gentry right off, and Beauchamp died en route here. Kuzminski's leg was severed above the knee; I—I need to check on her."
She squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to imagine the horror of the scene. Oh, Ron.
"Ron saved us. Put himself between Osburn and the rest of us, took him out before he could hurt anyone else, but his last curse…it hit Ron dead on." He pulls her back to look into her eyes. "He's a hero, Hermione. He'll get the Order of Merlin for this, for sure."
A hero. She hides her face against Harry again. As if she cares about heroes and medals.
She'd give anything to be back in their golden room between rose-scented sheets again. Already it feels so far away, it hurts to remember it.
~:~
They wait, hour after hour, outside his room.
She sits beside Ginny, her head on her shoulder. Ginny's Quidditch-roughened hand strokes her hair again and again. She concentrates on her breathing and tries not to be afraid.
Harry cradles his son in his arms and walks up and down the hall, swaying slightly to keep him happy. Ginny's eyes follow them with obsessive intensity.
She knows how her sister-in-law—with a babe-in-arms and another on the way—feels. She watched Ginny race to Harry's side and weep over his injuries. She listened as Harry made empty promises that such a thing would never happen again.
He can't guarantee that. She remembers her arrogance from the morning and is ashamed; the world is no safer than it has ever been. She is proud of her husband, but she now hates his job. Better he work with George full time or…or sweep streets than be an Auror. Could she be so selfish, to ever ask Ron to give up his dream so she won't have to be this afraid?
Harry shifts James in his arms, a grimace of pain twisting his features, and she feels Ginny freeze. Her hand stops its soothing, petting motion, clenching a fistful of hair instead, and she doesn't let go until Harry relaxes and starts walking again.
Oh, yes, she tells herself. She could ask that of Ron.
But she knows she shouldn't.
~:~
At 2241, Ron opens his eyes.
She is by his side, speaking to him softly, noting every twitch, every grimace, every sign of life. New skin, almost plastic-looking in its featureless paleness, covers his arms and chest. She mourns the loss of every freckle, wondering how many of them she failed to kiss.
His gaze wanders around the room in confusion before it lands on her. "Hey."
There are a thousand things she wants to say to him from the obvious I love you to the impossible Promise me you'll never leave us! but all she says in return is "Hey, yourself."
He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales loudly through his nose. "Harry?"
"He's fine," she says, understanding his unspoken question. "You stopped Osburn. You're a hero."
He grunts. An abortive movement follows, where he tries to reach for her or turn on his side, but his face twists in a rictus of agony. "Merlin, that hurts!"
She hovers over him, unsure how to help. "I'll get someone to give you something."
"No." His voice stops her as she turns toward the door. "Just come closer so I can touch you."
She sits on the edge of the bed and carefully takes his hand in hers. The backs of their entwined fingers brush against her belly, and she feels like crying again.
"Better." He smiles a little and closes his eyes again. "Don't be scared. I always come back to you, don't I?"
Her heart breaks a little. "I know you do." She watches him fall back into a troubled half-sleep. Holding her body on the edge of the bed, she eases down until she is lying beside him, not touching, but sharing his pillow and so close that the rise and fall of his chest fills her sight.
"'My-nee?" he mutters, and she whispers, "I'm here."
"You smell like roses. S'nice."
She counts his breaths and vows never to forget this moment.
Step, step right over the line
And onto borrowed time
When it's life, not waiting to die
Waiting to divide to divide
Borrowed Time
A Fine Frenzy