Dream On
By Siriusly Amused
Author's Note: I LIVE! And so does this fic apparently.
Disclaimer: I'm hungry. Someone go fetch me some food.
Chapter Eight:
And you're right…I cannot feel a thing… 'Volumes' by Faker
A warm breeze drifted in through the open window, playing with the wavy locks of Hermione's hair as she sat in an armchair and stared at her still unconscious boyfriend. It was late June – the eve of Harry's death was quickly approaching – and Ron had yet to return to her from his dreams.
When Ron had first fallen victim to his subconscious all those months ago, Hermione had been ecstatic; she was certain that it would take a mere few days for him to remember the entirety of his life seeing as it had taken her only one day to remember seven years; however, the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, and now Hermione found herself facing her first anniversary of Harry's death alone.
'Well, not completely alone,' Hermione thought. She was living at The Burrow with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron was continually sleeping in his old room, and Ginny, Neville, Fred and the others were constantly visiting; however, despite their presence, Hermione could not help but feel alone. Harry and Ron had been her life for so long and now she had lost both.
Sighing dejectedly, Hermione stood and crossed over to Ron's sleeping form. "I'll be right back, Ron," she told him, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead before heading toward his bedroom door and descending the rickety steps of The Burrow.
"Ah, there you are, dear. I was just about to come and get you," Mrs. Weasley greeted as Hermione entered the kitchen. "Would you like juice or tea with your breakfast?"
"Tea, please," Hermione answered, sitting down at the table next to Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley handed Hermione a cup of tea, and Hermione thanked her and brought the rim of the cup to her lips while she reached for the Daily Prophet.
"Gah!" Hermione choked, her tea going down the wrong tube as she caught the front page headline. Mr. Weasley started hitting her on her back to subside her coughing. "What's this?!?" Hermione demanded once she was able to use her voice again. She pointed to the headline and stared at her surrogate parents in shock.
"Why, it looks like the Ministry is having a commemorative celebration for Harry this weekend," Mrs. Weasley answered, tilting her head to the side in order to read the headline. "AT HARRY'S GRAVE?" the older woman exclaimed suddenly.
"That's the last thing that Harry would want!" Hermione announced in outrage. Mr. Weasley had grabbed the paper from her and was now reading it fervently while Mrs. Weasley dashed to the fireplace, calling Ginny to her. A moment later, Ginny Apparated into the kitchen, tying the sash to her house robe as she did so; it looked as though they had gotten her out of bed.
"What's going on?" she asked sleepily.
Mrs. Weasley angrily snatched the offending newspaper away from her husband and brandished it in front of her daughter's face. Ginny glanced at it for a moment before muttering, "Oh."
"Oh?" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Oh? That's all you can say to this?"
"They do it every year, Mum," Ginny explained. "At first we tried to stop them, but it's no use. The closest we've come is getting them to agree to stay a certain distance away from Harry's coffin."
"Coffin?" Hermione asked, confused.
Ginny glanced at her. "Yeah, Harry's not buried. His remains are in a black marble coffin that's on the grounds of Hogwarts."
Hermione nodded and stared blankly at her untouched breakfast, thinking hard.
"Ginny, do you still know that charm for changing hair color?" Hermione asked, glancing back up at her friend.
Ginny's brow knitted in confusion. "Yes. Why?"
"I want you to turn my hair red," Hermione explained. "And I'll need to find some sun glasses."
"Why on Earth…?" Mrs. Weasley asked, bewildered.
"I need to go to Madame Malkin's to find something appropriate to wear and I don't want people to recognize me. If anyone asks, Ginny, tell them I'm your cousin or something."
"But why, dear?" Mrs. Weasley pressed on.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm going to go to this commemorative celebration for Harry. Maybe the Ministry will listen to me."
The three Weasleys exchanged glances. "Are you sure about this, dear?"
Hermione nodded. "It's about time I paid my respects to Harry anyway."
There was silence as the three Weasleys looked at one another.
"Alright," Ginny stated, pulling out her wand.
.X.
Ron Weasley's eyes snapped open, yet even consciousness could not dispel the image of Harry's lifeless eyes from his mind. Panting and sweating profusely, Ron rolled onto his side and attempted to rid himself of the contents of his stomach to no avail. He was trapped; his nightmare became real. He was awake, and Harry was still dead, the very thought of which sent chills down Ron's spine.
Suddenly, Ron heard footsteps approaching. Frantically, he reached out his hand and searched for his wand, but he only received fistfuls of his sheets. A door opened.
"I know Arthur, but I was quite sure I heard something a minute ago."
"GET AWAY!" Ron yelled. He sat up frantically in bed as a dark figure approached him. As the figure inched closer to him, he pushed himself farther away. "I'M WARNING YOU! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!"
"Arthur! Arthur, come quickly! He's awake!"
Suddenly the room was filled with light and Ron saw that the figure was a short, older woman with gray hair. Her smile was discomfortingly familiar.
"Mum?" Ron asked in all but a whisper, furrowing his brow in utter confusion. The woman smiled widely and leaned in closer to Ron just as a man – Arthur Weasley – entered the room. Ron pulled away, got out of bed and backed into the far wall of his bedroom, keeping his back to the wall as he eyed the two suspiciously. "You're dead," he stated simply.
Molly sent Ron a comforting smile and shook her head. "No, love, we're alive."
"You two disappeared in October!"
"Years ago, yes," Molly continued. She fidgeted anxiously; it was obvious that she wanted to hug her son, but felt that he would run away if she took a step toward him.
Ron's eyes suddenly narrowed. "What do you mean, years ago?" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged worried glances; Ron eyed them warily. "How long have I been out?"
"Well, you've been in a coma for six months," Arthur replied.
Ron continued to stare at them for a long while, gathering the saliva in his mouth, willing himself to ask the question he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.
"How many years has it been since Harry died?"
Understanding what was going on, Molly reached out and took a hold of Arthur's sleeve for comfort. Arthur kept his eyes on his youngest son.
"Eight years today," Arthur replied somberly.
Ron felt as though all the strength had been sucked out of him. His stomach calmed, his knees weakened and he slowly slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his knees bent and his head in his hands.
"So I'm twenty six?" he asked his parents.
"Yes," he heard his mother whisper.
"What's the last thing you remember, son?" Arthur asked him.
Suddenly, a flash of blank green eyes appeared in Ron's mind. He rubbed his eyes frantically in an attempt to rub the picture from his vision.
"Son?" Arthur pressed.
Ron sighed, brought his hands down and rested his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "The last thing I remember is Harry dying."
A long moment passed in which no one spoke or moved. Then Mrs. Weasley came forward and placed a hand on her son's shoulder. Ron looked at her sadly, his eyes filled with defeat.
"Where's Mione?"
.X.
Seamus Finnegan was bored. Every year, the Ministry hosted a party on Hogwarts grounds to mourn Harry or to celebrate Harry or to basically use Harry as an excuse to host a formal event. And every year Seamus showed up, not to celebrate, but to keep an eye on everyone and to make sure they were as respectful to Harry's grave as possible.
Glass of scotch in his hand, Seamus weaved his way through the crowd, glaring at everyone as if that would prohibit them from getting too drunk and too loud. He was about ready to head back toward the bar when he caught sight of an old dorm mate.
"Neville!" Seamus greeted loudly, walking over toward the group Neville was with. "Angelina. Fleur," Seamus added once he recognized the two women Neville was with. "What brings you three out here? I thought you guys avoided this thing."
Neville fidgeted nervously and adverted his eyes. "Ginny and her brothers are escorting someone who wants to pay their respects to Harry tonight," he replied softly.
"Really?" Seamus asked, glancing around as if he expected to see the three red heads standing right behind him. "Who's the mystery guest? I heard their parents are back home. Is it one of them?"
But before Neville could answer, a murmur erupted from the crowd and Seamus turned his head toward the stairs that led up to the door of Hogwarts. Standing at the top of the stairs were the three Weasleys with a beautiful young woman, clad in black dress robes, her hair very bushy and curling around her face.
The glass of scotch slipped from Seamus' fingers and fell to the ground, unnoticed.
"Hermione," Seamus whispered as the woman in question descended the stairs and walked into the crowd. He caught her eye when she drew closer, and she smiled and placed her hand on his arm for a brief moment before continuing her trek toward Harry's coffin, the three Weasleys close behind her as if they were her bodyguards.
"I can't believe this!" Seamus whispered to Neville as they – and the rest of the crowd – watched Hermione come closer and closer to Harry's coffin. "When did she…?"
"About six months ago," Neville replied.
"And Ron?"
"Is currently in a coma."
"Bloody hell."
Hermione had finally reached the coffin and was staring somberly down at it. For a long moment, everyone was still; then, Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on the coffin. She sank to her knees and the crowd could see her shoulders heaving with sobs. Suddenly, Seamus felt as though he was intruding upon a private moment, and he apparently wasn't the only one. One by one, people turned and headed toward the gates so that they may leave Hogwarts' grounds and Apparate back to their homes. Seamus took one last look at Hermione before following suit.
.X.
Ron Weasley was utterly confused. First he woke up to find out that he had lost eight years of his life. Then he was told that he could find Hermione at some party on the grounds of Hogwarts, yet here he was and the grounds were disconcertingly empty. He sighed, his shoulders dropping in disappointment. Where the bloody hell was she?
He was just about to head back to the Burrow when he caught site of a coffin lit up by what seemed like hundreds of candles.
'Harry,' he thought, and he began to draw closer to the coffin. He plopped down at the base of it and rapped his knuckles against it.
"Hey, mate," he said softly. "You wouldn't believe the night I just had." He paused briefly, scolding himself for talking to someone who couldn't reply.
"Turns out Hermione and I were put under some charm to forget all about you. And each other," Ron continued, ignoring the absurdity of talking to a coffin. "We spent seven years living as Muggles. Can you imagine that? Me, using a micro-whats-it."
Ron chuckled almost sardonically.
"According Mum and Dad – who are alive and well by the way – Hermione remembers those eight years as a Muggle. She fully comprehends that she's twenty six. We always knew that she'd grow up before us, but not like this."
Ron sighed and leaned his head against the coffin, gazing up at the stars above.
"I have no fucking clue what I'm going to do next, mate."
.X.
Hermione Granger could not breathe.
It had only been a few moments ago that she and the others had returned to the Burrow. They had been ambling around the kitchen and wondering aloud whether Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone to bed already when they heard a familiar crack, signaling that someone had Apparated into the yard. They had paused and Neville had mentioned something about Seamus when the door opened to reveal Ron.
And that's when Hermione forgot how to breathe.
He was standing in the doorway, pajama clad, with his hair falling into his eyes. He looked almost like a scared, lost puppy that had been cornered. He seemed unsure of himself.
For a long moment, there was complete silence in the kitchen, then Ginny issued a squeal of delight and threw herself into her brothers' arms, Fred and Bill following suit. Ron smiled slightly as his siblings hugged him, and then his blue eyes locked onto hers.
And suddenly Hermione was finding it difficult to stand.
Neville cleared his throat and the other Weasleys caught the gaze that Ron was sending Hermione and released their hold on him.
"We'll see you tomorrow morning," Bill said, ruffling Ron's hair as Ginny, Fred and Neville walked out into the yard, grinning happily at Ron as they did so.
And then they were alone and the kitchen seemed suddenly very large; Hermione was very aware of the space between her and Ron.
"Hermione," Ron stated at last, breaking his eyes away from her to stare out of the window.
Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her hands were shaking and for the first time ever, Hermione's mind had gone completely blank. Giving up on speech altogether, Hermione crossed the room and threw herself into his embrace. She buried her face into his shoulder and he ran his hands up and down her back awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how to touch her. She pulled away slightly and stared up at him inquisitively. He was blushing and adverted his eyes from her.
She brought a hand to his cheek and his eyes returned their gaze upon her. He looked incredibly sad and torn as he attempted to smile. She stood on tip toe and tried to kiss him, but he pulled away.
"Ron what's wrong?" she asked, taking a step back and furrowing her brow in confusion. "You're acting as though you're…"
"As though I'm what?"
"As though you're…" Hermione paused again and shook her head. She wasn't sure. There was something different about Ron, almost as if he had lost the confidence that he had gained over the years.
"As though I'm a teenager again?" Ron supplied.
Hermione stared at him quizzically; he was fidgeting and avoiding her eyes yet again.
"Ron? What's the last thing you remember?" she asked him, her mouth suddenly going very dry. Ron winced and Hermione knew that a flash of Harry's lifeless eyes had just appeared in his mind.
"Harry?" she asked in a mere whisper. Ron, who was keeping his eyes on the floor, nodded.
Hermione slowly sank into a chair at the table as the full realization of what was happening dawned on her. Physically, Ron was a fully grown man, but inwardly, he was still coming of age.
"Hermione? What are we going to do?"
Hermione gazed up at him. "We're going to keep going."
End Author's Note: This chapter is poorly written in the sense that if Ron had been in a coma for six months, he would not have been able to get up and move around as freely as he was in this chapter. Also, if the last thing he remembers is Harry's death, he probably wouldn't have been able to vent by Harry's grave. He probably would have either avoided it or choked up and blubbered like a little girl at it, but I wanted to have him have that talk with Harry and I didn't want it to be overly sentimental, so I ended up writing something that really didn't fit, yet I can't bring myself to change it because I like it.
Anyway, I'm sorry it took forever and a day to get this chapter out. For the longest time, I had no clue where to go with this fic, then I spent several months not writing anything at all. Anyway, this fic is not dead; I intend to finish it. As a matter of fact, as long as my muse doesn't throw something new at me for this fic, I say we have only one chapter left! Anyway, I'm off to wrap some presents. Happy Holidays, everyone!