Disclaimer: I don't own HP :(
A/N: Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy it - things are starting to pick up. :)
"Well, I guess I'll just leave you to it, right?" Ron rubbed the back of his head, the stubble soft against his palm. He stood in the doorway; his back pressed painfully into the trimmed wood, and sighed.
Ginny looked up from her station on the floor. She had dumped her pockets onto the rug the moment she had walked into the room, revealing numerous bottles and lists and a small clipboard. Her wand had been artfully tucked into her long hair to hold it away from her face. She was sitting cross-legged sorting through her things.
She knit her brows for a moment and then shook her head. "No, you don't need to go. In fact," she continued with a tilt of her head, "it would really help if you would walk me through your process… I mean, from what I see here," she gestured to the lists she had gathered from what was left of Hermione's paperwork, "you haven't been following the recommended procedure."
Ron shrugged, unsure of whether he should act ashamed or cocky. "It wasn't right."
Ginny answered with another quick shrug, "Fine by me." She hoisted herself to her feet and began to peel back Hermione's bed sheets. "Wow," she remarked, running her fingers lightly over Hermione's arms and face, "you really cleaned her up." Ginny met his eyes with a sort of genuine satisfaction. "I'm impressed! I mean, coming from you, after all."
Ron blushed and straightened a little. He, accompanied by Gus, walked to the end of the bed. His fingers curled over the wood of the end board so hard his fingernails turned white. It helped to calm him.
Ginny smoothed Hermione's hair and conjured a basin with water. She began to carefully wash the pale woman's forehead.
"Well," Ron's voice shook, "I decided on a daily routine that would minimize the amount of care I would have to serve." His eyes darted up to see if Ginny would be okay with that. Her face remained tranquil, her movements flowing. He cleared his throat and began again, this time with a bit more confidence. "Two sleeping draughts, a calming draught every other day counterbalanced by a healing potion, broth for dinner, a bath once or twice a month, dreamless sleep concoctions, I grew back her fingernails, her hair has been filling in, bandages redressed every single day, things like that."
Ron crossed the room, calmed by the sound of splashing water, and fingered through the files splayed across the bureau. He found his crumpled, stained parchment and looked over it. "I have it all recorded here – I even have a journal if you'd like to look over it."
Ginny nodded patiently, wringing out the cloth and blotting it against Hermione's slim arms. She tried not to notice the blue veins running in rivers beneath her skin, but it made her insides crawl. "You said broth?" she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.
Ron's head bobbed in affirmation.
"So you've been feeding her?" Ginny's voice sounded incredulous. "You actually got her to take solid food?"
"No," Ron answered immediately, dispelling Ginny's wonder. "Just soups – nothing solid. She can't take them unconscious. I was afraid she would choke. Strictly liquids."
Ginny finished bathing Hermione and vanished the basin. She pulled the wand from her hair and let it cascade down her back, like licks of flames. She didn't speak much after that, simply directed her attention fully at her patient like any Healer would. Ron sat on the windowsill and watched her back for a while, his mind wandering to the complex's backyard. The small square of green was empty and illuminated by the noontime sun, making the usually dingy metal bars of the playground sparkle with absent magic.
To Ron, it felt like hope – a tiny little glimpse of it somewhere on the horizon – given the opportunity. Usually he would have squinted, turned from the window; annoyed. Instead, he was filled with a sudden, very slight exhilaration that left him the moment it hit. It made him acutely aware of all the latent energy that had been building inside him for so long. He felt like yelling, screaming until he was hoarse.
The moment passed all too quickly, leaving Ron jittery and unnerved. He roughly shoved open the window beside him and allowed the breeze to slither into the room. He smelled the wet aroma of the city in April – the abundant mud, the overflowing gutters, the leaves plastered against the bark of growing trees. Resting on his elbows, Ron thought perhaps today was just a bit better than the rest.
Ginny smiled, feeling the wind creep across her arms. She didn't mind the goose bumps. She glanced at her brother and saw him slouched, tense, and in deep thought. He was slowly easing into a person resembling the Ron she remembered.
She resumed examining her patient. It was slightly unnerving thinking of Hermione – one of her friends, part of her family – as nothing more than a body. She swiftly checked vitals, skin tone, bones, and things like that. A quill scribbled quickly across the clipboard hovering near her right elbow. Hermione's reflexes were good – her pupils dilated slightly when exposed to sunlight, her knees and elbows were flexible to a point, her muscles were not tight, but supple and lean. Ginny examined her brain activity and to her surprise found it extremely active for someone who had been in a coma for several months. Hermione responded slightly to a voice, touch, temperature and all of this was duly noted.
A half-hour later, Ginny brushed off her hands and turned fully to face Ron, smiling. "She's in excellent condition, Hermit Brother," she announced, thoroughly impressed. "Mungos is going to give you a great recommendation whenever you decide to step out of this place."
Ron shook his head, secretly pleased and afraid. "No," he said, clearing his throat. It felt strange to talk – he went for weeks without speaking a word to anyone, minus the mild praises he award Gus for eating the whole can of food or coming when called – and he could tell his voice was raspy and jilted. "I'm fine where I am."
Ginny slid her weight to her left hip, jutting it out again. "Whatever," she tossed her hair over her shoulder, reminding Ron that she was still only twenty and had not fully grown up yet. "So…" her voice trailed off as she looked about the room, unable to think of what to say next.
"D'you want something to drink… to eat, maybe?" Ron asked, standing up. "I've got some chocolate biscuits Mum sent awhile back."
Ginny - dead-set on making her visit as pleasant as possible – immediately replied, "Sure!" and swiftly bounded from the room, beckoning Ron to follow.
---
They sat in the kitchen an hour later, both of them cross-legged on the counter on opposite sides of the sink. Ron wasn't much of a cook so Ginny charged herself with making them a small lunch, leaving Ron to the mundane task of boiling hot water for the tea. He didn't mind – it was nice to have someone else dote on him. Ginny had skirted about the kitchen grabbing food out of the fridge and poking about the shelves for pots and dishes, chattering lightly about things she thought Ron would appreciate – Harry's favorite Quidditch teams, her new apartment, Minister Shacklebolt's new troll policies, Hagrid's visit to the Burrow last November. Ron stirred the tea. Ginny turned on the Muggle radio and began to hum in between her sentences, her hair whirling about her shoulders as she danced in preparations.
"This is good," Ron grumbled through the toasted beef sandwich Ginny had meticulously finished. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling grease moisten his rough skin. "You have a knack."
"Just like Mum," Ginny chirped happily. She had finished, deciding only to eat half of hers so she could sneak the rest into Ron's fridge for later. "So," she leaned forward, almost pitching herself into the silver sink, "what's been new with you?"
"Nothing," was the easy, truthful answer.
Ginny shrugged it off.
"How's Harry?"
It was a subject he hesitated to delve into, but Ron had absolutely nothing to offer up to Ginny that would be of interest to her. He knew that Harry and Ginny dated off-and-on, most of the time seriously. He also knew the less-definite months were the hardest on Ginny – she already wanted to settle down and perhaps get married or some girl bullshit like that. She knew that Harry wouldn't be up for three kids and a white picket fence for years – maybe not ever – but foolishly kept the hope someday he would bring her a ring. Ron could see it shining in her eyes.
"He was sent on a Snipe about a week ago," Ginny tried to make her voice sound nonchalant, but it was hard. Thoughts of Harry plagued her often, wondering when he'd be home and if he'd be alright. "The Order won't tell me anything, because I'm not immediate family."
The irony of the words hung over them – who exactly was qualified to be Harry Potter's immediate family, if not the Weasleys? Ron chuckled and soon, Ginny added her own soft laughter.
"I'm sorry," Ron apologized, taking another bite and finishing the whole thing. "It must be hard."
Again, Ginny shrugged it off. That was what she always did – just let it slide off her back. She imagined she left an invisible trail of doubts and worry behind her all the time, scattering them at home and work and everywhere else she went, cluttering up her past. "Yeah, I guess – he's gone a lot. He writes a lot, but some of his letters get lost and some have whole paragraphs blocked out."
"You know the Order monitors that kind of stuff – especially when he's on a mission. He's Harry Potter, after all. I'm sure he tries," Ron assured her. While Harry wasn't the most dependable guy, he still had redeeming qualities. He had made sure the Weasleys had a sum of money after graduation, just in case he didn't make it out of the Auror squadron alive. Harry still sent Christmas presents to the Burrow. He loved Ginny. Ron knew Harry would write if he could – not often – but Ginny would get a short, scratchy letter three or four times a month.
Ron regretted his words when he saw the glistening sheen over Ginny's eyes – all of her uncertainties and disbelief welling into tears. He reached his hand out and patted her knee awkwardly, but still conveying his brotherly message. "He'll be home soon."
A little white lie never hurt anyone.
"He said that he'll be home for sure by the end of May," she smiled, but looked miserable. She swiped at her eyes, drawing in a breath. "Sorry!" she exclaimed in a gush. "Ugh, I hate being a baby."
"It's alright," Ron assured her, feeling a sense of himself that had lain dormant in his heart for quite a while. He was a brother and this was what brothers did – they listened and consoled and made things right for their baby sisters. Not that he could force Harry to settle down with his sister, but he would certainly try for family's sake.
"It'll be alright."
Ginny dusted her hands again and slipped off the counter, gathering the empty plates and running the water in the sink. She concentrated on her work and eventually the tears disappeared – a little trick she taught herself when Harry went to boot camp. She felt Ron's eyes on her face and turned her gaze to the suds. No one said a word.
It was around four o'clock when Ginny finally glanced at the clock above the living room fireplace and very adamantly declared she must leave. Ron obliged quietly, saddened that his guest was quitting him already.
Ginny wrapped her arms around Ron's slim torso and breathed in his old rum scent. Ron tried to commit to memory the soft way her hair moved against the top of his chin.
"Goodbye, Hermit Brother," Ginny told him, her voice slightly muffled by his t-shirt. She patted his back and drew away slowly from the embrace. Ron's face looked taught and pale, but he was attempting a smile. It was a bit comical, the way his mouth hooked back and his tongue poked out from between his straight teeth. "I'll come again soon – I'm sure Mungos will want more live updates now that Hermione's condition has improved so much." She punched his shoulder. "All thanks to you, Doctor Brother."
Ron's smile widened and became more natural, a hint of blush gracing his cheeks. His mouth wanted to say It was nothing, but his brain knew better. Instead, he kissed her freckled forehead and handed Ginny her bag. "Give Mum my love."
"Of course," Ginny assured him, grinning. She squeezed him one last time and took a handful of Floo power from the vase on the mantel. Before stepping into the raging green flames, Ginny tossed a, "Give my love to Gus!" over her shoulder.
Then, she vanished.
Ron slumped onto the couch, his smile still plastered on his face. He swiped a hand that smelled deliciously of beef over his face. Gus joined him shortly after and Ron relayed Ginny's message, scratching his ears. He closed his eyes and pictured his sister laughing. His chest swelled with delight.
---
That night, Ron went upstairs to tuck Hermione in. Her skin was white and beautiful and he brushed his fingertips over her relaxed hands, sure she would not wake. He felt an ease around her body that he had not felt since she had been conscious. Perhaps it was Ginny's bright demeanor that seemed to lighten the mood of the entire flat.
He took a seat in the chair a few feet from the bed and watched her chest move slightly and rhythmically. It must've been nice to sleep while problems just floated by like unseen dreams. To have someone look after you every day and night – to have a protector and guardian. It would be like being a child again, removed from the adult world of troubles. Hermione always did look more peaceful in slumber than in reality.
"Sometimes I miss you," Ron admitted, "but I can't let you back into my life, not now." The words seemed heavy in the air, but he felt lighter with each word that passed from his lips. "I feel like I might have a second chance at whatever it is I'm supposed to do," his breath was wispy, his voice tainted with small hope. "I don't think I can do that with you around."
Hermione's breath was even and slow.
"I'm not saying I'm giving you up – I have no clue as to why." Ron smiled, "Maybe it's just the Stockholm Syndrome setting in. But once you wake up, you have to leave."
Hermione did not reply.
"Sound good?" Ron asked, his eyebrows raised.
Hermione's lips remained un-parted.
"Good." Ron stood up from his chair and stretched his muscles so grandly his fingertips touched the ceiling. He smoothed Hermione's hair and shut off the light, treading quietly down the stairs.
Ron found Gus in the living room, curled up into a ball on the sofa. Figuring he'd douse the fire and head to bed, Ron patted the dog quickly before reaching for the bucket next to the couch. His hand caught on something sharp and it stung painfully.
"Where do you keep getting these things?" Ron asked incredulously, retracting a short scrap of parchment from Gus' jaws. He shook off the droplets of spit and opened the letter.
Immediately, he felt the unmistakable urge to vomit.
A/N: Didja like it?! Sorry about the cliffhanger... maybe. :) Have a a great weekend!
Plus, leave a review!!
Love, Katie