Disclaimer: I forgot to put in the first chapter that I DO NOT own any of the characters or the setting. They all belong to J.K. Rowling. The only thing I came up with is the plot.

AN: I just wanted to point out that this story is and always will be in favor of Ron and Hermione. I will never put in anything that is being beyond platonic between Harry and Hermione. There will also be some Ginny + Harry, Luna + Neville, and Angelina + George moments though. Also, this is my first story on this website and I would absolutely love comments (good or bad). Thank you for reading my writing.

Chapter 2: Half Asleep

(Hermione's POV)

Hermione was dreaming but it all seemed so real and oddly familiar, like it was a dream that she continually had. It was so clear though, unlike all her other dreams, that never quite made sense. In this dream, she was sitting and reading a novel that she had purchased early in the day from a muggle shop. She could feel the lumpy couch- she had wanted something classic and leather but Ron insisted on having something "comfy"-beneath her and the handmade quilt on her lap, covering her legs and bare feet. She could also smell the furniture polish that she had sprayed only a half hour ago. For a moment, she stopped reading and fell into the calming and natural scent of lemon. Glancing up from her new novel, she admired the brass lamp that was providing dim light for her reading. Her mother had given it to her when Hermione moved out of her parents' house.

A knock startled her and drew her eyes to the brown door on the other side of the living room. She slowly got up and quickly made her way across the carpet to the doorknob, her slippers making muffled steps as she went. Her hand was on the knob but she couldn't turn it for some reason. She had a strange feeling that she would be better to just go back to her muggle book. She wasn't expecting anybody to visit and it was 11:30 at night, not a decent time for people to drop by unannounced. Hermione didn't understand the feeling in the pit of her stomach; she shouldn't be so afraid.

Her new home was in a muggle neighborhood many miles away from any wizarding location- the closest being The Burrow- so she shouldn't be too worried about a dark wizard popping in. Nobody besides the Weasleys, Harry, and her parents knew where she was staying anyways. More importantly, Voldemort had been defeated many months ago and the death eaters hadn't made an attack yet. Just thinking of those terrible murderers made her knees go weak and her eyes get a bit larger. She silently scolded herself for being so easily shaken and resolved to open the door on the count of 5.

"One, two, three…" she whispered in front of the door. She would've continued had she not been interrupted before she could make it to 4. The door burst off its hinges and sent Hermione flying. The visitors obviously had gotten impatient and decided to let themselves in by using magic.

Hermione's head hit the coffee table and her vision blurred for a moment. Once she stopped focusing on the bump forming on the back of her head, she saw that the intruders were indeed death eaters. On instinct, she reached for her wand in her pocket but her head hurt so much from the sudden movement that she had to close her eyes to at least slightly stop the dizziness.

That one moment of weakness is what ruined everything. When her eyes were closed she saw the dark red of her inner eyelids and a brighter red beam heading toward her. She had no time to cast a shield charm and she doubted if she would've been able to focus enough to perform it with all the pain she was feeling.

Blackness. It was all she felt and all she saw when the beam reached her. Hermione knew that she should fight the blackness and try to stay awake but it seemed so calm and inviting. Once she had given in, Hermione felt an odd sensation that she couldn't put into words. She wondered if dying would feel like this and it crossed her mind that maybe she had died.

"No," she said to herself, "I'm not dead. That beam was red, not green. So it was a curse, but not a killing curse." She laughed to herself and thought about what Ron would say if he had heard her.

"'Mione," he would say, "How can you be unconscious and still be thinking things through logically?!" A smile spread broke her serious expression until she began to wonder who Ron was.

His name had come up more than once in her dream and she could only vaguely remember the man. Was he her brother? Maybe he was a friend or a cousin? All she knew was that a bright blend of orange and red came to her mind when she spoke the name. It also seemed inviting and familiar even though he only slightly remained in her memory.

As she thought more and more about the mysterious man, the odd feeling she received when she first gave in to the blackness became stronger. Hermione could now tell it was a falling sensation. It was as if she had walked right off the edge of a building that was so tall, it allowed her to fall for days and days. She fell through the impenetrable darkness for who knows how long until she heard a laugh.

She had never heard this laugh until now. It was mean and sarcastic sounding. A white light appeared in the direction the cruel laugh had come from. She reached and stretched for it but she just couldn't reach it. She continued to grasp for what she sensed was the exit and hoped that she could ask somebody to explain the odd dream to her. She knew it had a meaning but what that meaning was, she had no idea. Eventually she gave up her feeble attempts to make it to the light and felt tears well up in her eyes. She felt as if she would never get out. She would fall and grasp for the rest of her existence- if you could even call this an existence. Her tears ran down her cheeks and she began to plead.

"Please, I want to wake up. Please," she whispered between her shaky breaths. The light floated toward her and when she reached a hand out to touch it, it did not move away. Hermione was delighted and quickly grasped onto the white mass.

She awoke in a hospital bed and stared at her hands, slowly moving her fingers to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

The first thing she saw was that almost everything was white. Even the door was white. She glanced around the room, desperate for color- all this white was beginning to make her claustrophobic. Red flashed before her eyes. The color was the same that she had felt in the blackness. It was the orange red color that seemed like home and she welcomed it because the color rid her of the claustrophobia.

Once she noticed that the mass of red was on top of somebody's head, she began to get confused. Was this that man that was from her strange dream? Maybe he would know what it meant. As soon as this thought crossed her mind though, she quickly dispersed it. By the clueless look on the young man's face, she guessed that he wouldn't know. Since Hermione sensed that he would be of no direct help, she asked him for the next best thing- a book.

"Do you know where I might find a book, sir?" she asked in what she meant to be a sweet voice but sounded more childish than she would've liked.

Hermione immediately felt guilty when the man's face fell and his eyes screamed of sorrow. Had she said something to offend this person? Her guilt was soon replaced by agitation. She wasn't sure exactly why, but this bloke was acting as if she did something wrong. All she had done was ask a simple question and he suddenly became all emotional. She was the one who should be upset. Here she wakes up from a terrible dream, can't remember anything, and this guy gets depressed over a question. What was with him? Hermione didn't think that she usually was so short tempered- not that she remembered all that much about herself though- but this guy seemed to wind her up fairly easily.

She tried to hide her agitation and chose to ask as nicely as she could. "Sir, are you a doctor? I would like to have something to read pretty please."

Her cheeks flushed as she realized that she had just said pretty please. Everything was so confusing. She felt as if she knew this man and should address him like a friend, but she couldn't remember him. She couldn't even remember herself. All she knew was that she was Hermione Something Granger and she was some type of magic being- her middle name and what she was exactly seemed to have slipped her mind. Hermione felt like she should be sophisticated and intelligent but for some odd reason, she wanted to flirt with this man. She grimaced when she thought that her best flirting technique was to say 'pretty please' and decided to check out a book on relationships while she was reading about the meaning dreams. That was one of the few things she could remember, her love of knowledge. It was a comfort to know that one thing remained certain in her head and she suddenly felt incredibly fond of books and libraries.

Before she could dive into her thoughts even more, the young man said, "Umm… no, I'm an… old friend."

Well at least she had another thing right. She knew this man somehow. Memories of him still wouldn't come to her though and she replied, "Hi. I'm sorry but I don't remember you."

She felt terrible saying that she didn't remember anything at all. She felt feeble and lost. Why was everything so mixed up in her head? It almost felt as if she was half asleep and couldn't fully wake up.

"Yes, I know 'Mione. I'll be right back," the man said while he stood up and walked out into the hallway, not even looking at her.

As soon as he left, she realized how much his presence had comforted her. The claustrophobia came rushing back and she had to lay down. She did not close her eyes though, since she remembered what happened the last time she did that. She focused her eyes one the bright, white ceiling above her instead.

"It was a dream you idiot," she mumbled to herself. "It wasn't real, no matter how much it seemed like it."

She waited there for what seemed like hours, though she knew it hadn't been that long. The whole time she thought about that red haired boy. She thought about how much it meant for him to just stand next to her bed. She didn't like how much she seemed to depend on him but she knew that she would have to live with it for a while because she didn't want him to leave her in all this dull white. She needed that beacon of flaming red hair to keep this nausea away. She would ask this Ron person- if that was even his name- to stay with her for a while once he returned.