A/N: As always, many thanks to my beta readers
Christina Teresa(with the fastest uber-beta in the West this time!), Seakays (who knows just when to sigh to keep me encouraged about my writing), and sunshydaisies (to whom I dedicate this chapter, and who I know will be back to her cheerful, healthy, brilliant self very soon!) Thanks as well to those on the SugarQuill All Things British thread, especially
Atropos,Wonky Faint and pensnest for their information on British motorcycle law.
Chapter 5
Surprises and Scars
Very early the following morning, Hermione ordered a Special Delivery Owl from Owl Post (the younger and faster ones always cost more, but their service was always much speedier). She'd decided to contact Mrs. Weasley directly because if she owled Ron, Hermione would have some explaining to do about the sudden change in plans, and wasn't that the whole point of this--to explain it to him in person?
Mrs. Weasley returned the pre-paid owl promptly and, as always, was thrilled to have Hermione come to stay that very day (perhaps Ron had been right about her tiring of just him and Ginny after only a few weeks...). Ron's mum was even more thrilled to hear about the internship (Dr. Null? she wrote. How grand for you, my dear!). But Hermione had requested that Mrs. Weasley keep the internship a surprise' so that she could tell Ron herself--and she knew the woman well enough to know she wouldn't interfere with something so important.
So it was that Hermione found herself in Ottery St. Catchpole on the Burrow's doorstep that very afternoon. She had only a small satchel in hand instead of the trunks and boxes she ordinarily carted there when she planned on going straight to Hogwarts with the Weasleys in September. Her father hugged her goodbye, assuring her he would be back to get her the afternoon before she was to leave for her internship. He thanked Mrs. Weasley for her hospitality, then quickly hurried off to start the long return drive home.
Hermione stepped through the door of the Burrow, feeling the familiar warmth of the house course through her immediately. The sweet summer scent of vanilla and fresh-cut flowers instantly reminded her there had been so many good times here. It was difficult to feel there was anything evil or threatening in the outside world when you were safe inside the Weasleys' home. She had missed being here last summer when they all stayed at number twelve Grimmauld Place to prepare it for the Order--and she already knew it was going to be difficult to leave after only four days' time.
Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs.
Ginny came loping down the steps, a big grin blossoming on her face when she saw Hermione standing in the foyer. Hey, you made it! I'm glad you're here--now Ron will have someone else to pick on.
Mrs. Weasley said reproachfully. That's not a very nice way to welcome someone.
Ginny rolled her eyes. She knows Ron, Mum.
Speaking of Ron, you did tell him Hermione was coming like I asked, didn't you? Mrs. Weasley asked. Is he in his room cleaning up or...?
A sudden look of realization crossing her face, Ginny's hand moved to cover her mouth before she let one sound escape.
Oh, Ginny! Mrs. Weasley scolded.
But he never came in, Mum, Ginny said, defending herself. He's been out in that shed all day. I heard the door bang once--he might have come in to grab something for lunch--but I thought he'd come in later and then I just got so involved in sorting all those parchments from the files...
Well, there's nothing for it now, Mrs. Weasley said. He has been out there an awful lot--but then, I suppose that's what it's going to take for him to do what I asked. So do you think you can take Hermione up to drop her things in your room and still remember to show her the way to the shed after?
It was easy for Hermione to see where Ron got some of his sarcasm; she smiled.
Ginny grimaced and rolled her eyes. Yes, Mum.
The two girls climbed the stairs to Ginny's room and returned, chattering all the while about the events of the few weeks since they'd left Hogwarts.
As they worked their way out onto the back porch and into the scorching summer heat, Hermione looked around the enormous back yard. She didn't remember there ever being a shed big enough that someone could spend a lot of time in it, but perhaps the Weasleys had added something since she'd been there last. She saw nothing but the tiny outbuilding Ron had told her was probably once a chicken coop; surely he couldn't have been in there.When Ron looked out toward the voices he heard near the house, his string of profane words would have impressed even Peeves had the poltergeist been around to hear them.
What is she doing here today?! Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything? Ron said in exasperation to himself.
If he'd been closer to the front of the huge wizard space, moving objects from one place to another as he'd been doing earlier, he might have heard the car soon enough to do something about it. He might have even made it to the house in time to sneak through the back door and get to his room before Ginny and Hermione made it to the back porch.
As it was, Ron had been down in the depths of the space, polishing and cleaning parts of the now-dismantled motorbike, so he hadn't managed to hear the car until it was driving away. At first thinking it must have been someone on their way to the Muggle neighbors' house some two miles down the road, Ron was shocked when he walked up to look through the open shed doors and saw a car identical to that of Hermione's parents speeding its way down the dusty path.
Trying to give himself a few more seconds to collect his thoughts and compose himself, Ron had pulled the shed doors tightly shut. The two girls were on the porch by now and had likely seen him, but he didn't care--if they were going to launch a surprise attack, they deserved what they got. He heard footsteps crunching down the little path.
Frantically glancing between the doors and the sound of the approaching footsteps just beyond, Ron looked down at himself. His old shorts, T-shirt and trainers showed little black smears of whatever goo was all over the inside of that motorbike--he'd been trying to clean all of the little pieces. He tried desperately to remember if he had run his hands through his hair while mucking in the black stuff and a quick look into the semi-shiny side of a toaster told him he had. To top it off, there were a few black smears on his face as well. And--he looked down, mortified--there was no way the short sleeves of his T-shirt were going to cover those scars...
Damn, and I've been out here all day in the heat! I must smell like the business end of a Graphorn! Little did he know he was going to be having guests--important guests. Ron lifted his arm and took a whiff. He scrunched his face at the smell. Argh! There isn't even a back door to make a run for the pond! What now?
His eyes landed on the spray bottle of Simple Slim's Slicklean he'd had in his hand --the cleaner! Ron snapped it up from the table and sprayed a bit into the air, sniffing again. It smelled like...it smelled like...hell, who knows? But it smelled better than him, he thought. Quickly he lifted each arm and squirted. Taking another sniff only confirmed his resolve not to let the two girls in until he found his wand.
Bloody hell! It was clear back there, by the motorbike. Accio wand! Ron said and held his hand up to receive it. But just at the moment he said the words, the shed doors banged open and startled him; he heard the soft clatter of a wand landing when it fell somewhere nearby.
Surprise, Ron! he heard Ginny say loudly behind him.
Surprise-- and hello, Hermione's voice was a bit more tentative, but he could tell she was right behind him.
He winced. Nothing to do now but turn around.
Ron said rather dejectedly. Surprises for everyone.
Hermione smiled straight into his eyes as he faced her and she made a move as if to hug him, but he took a quick step back. Ginny's eyes shifted between them for a moment before she purposefully stepped away and casually wandered off between the tables, occasionally picking up some object to examine.
I -- I didn't know you were coming today, Ron spluttered in explanation. Or else I would have been more, er, ready--
Hermione said softly with a strange tone to her voice. Seeming oddly disappointed when he had moved to avoid her, she finally got a chance to take a closer look at him. I mean...well, that's all right. You didn't know. There was a very loud pause in the conversation. How are you?
Okay, and...er...dirty, it seems.
Looking at Hermione made Ron feel even worse about his own condition. She'd been excited to see him when he'd first turned, her eyes sparkling, her curls softly bouncing around her face. She was tanned and the glow of the warm Bermuda sun had been trapped in her hair to reflect with a hundred different lights. She looks really pretty, he thought, purposely stopping himself--as a friend, Weasley, as a friend!
And look at you--you're filthy... and at best, you smell like Simple Slim's Slicklean... A quick look down at his bare arms made him choke back a gasp. He shoved his arms behind his back to hide the scars while he cleared his throat to distract her. Say something --fast. Erm, how was the island?
All right. Pretty much like I told you it would be, Hermione answered. She acted as if she might have noticed what he'd done with his arms, but she was trying rather unsuccessfully to cover it up. Loads of time for reading on the beach, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing--the beach, I mean--the reading's always fine.
Ron was trying hard not to be distracted by how nicely the tones of her hair against her tawnier skin seemed to make her eyes stand out more--and her smile. Something in his stomach leapt. Well, you look really...Ron's brain clenched at the sound of his own words, which had somehow gotten crossed up with something in his chest. Merlin's monkey, now you've done it --now you actually have to say something about how she looks... Think! Think! He winced as the last word burst out. Gods. Brilliance in action--just kill me now...
Hermione smiled faintly at him, with a curious sort of tilt to her head. Thank you. She sidestepped to peer around his body into the huge room beyond. So...what's all this about? As she scanned its vast expanse, her eyes grew wider and she appeared more astonished. Someone made this much wizard space in this tiny little shed? What on earth for?
Ron explained all that his mother had told him about his father's collections', and how he had come to be the one to sort it all out. He told Hermione of the trouble he'd had at first trying to separate the thousands of items down there. Explaining that he finally found a spell that worked to separate everything into some semblance of order, he told her that the job was now officially halfway done.
He also swore Hermione to secrecy about the fact that his father had gotten in the habit of stopping by' the shed after work once he found Ron was assigned to set the place in order. The problem was that Molly Weasley had told Arthur she didn't want him fooling about' the shed until Ron had it all organized so they could take care of the collecting problem once and for all'. But Arthur had other ideas, especially once he found out Ron had made such an entertaining discovery. The almost-daily visits had continued, always taking place before Arthur ever set foot in the house proper.
Hey! And you'd better not tell her either! Ron said loudly, pointing a finger at his little sister.
Ginny was nearby, inspecting a pretty little wooden box that made tinkly music when it was opened. She looked at her brother as if he was mad. Like I care anyway that you and Dad are working on that--thing. But let me take this and my lips are sealed forever.
Fine, have it, Ron said. One less thing to move about. Just remember you promised.
Ginny frowned at him, sending a meaningful look Hermione's way. What did I tell you? She picked up the wooden box and moved away.
But I can still hardly believe...your mum said you could use magic? Hermione asked in disbelief.
Amazing, isn't it? Ron said. But look at all this. She probably knew I would have just walked away if I couldn't use magic to help me. And I almost walked away anyway.
I--think I see your point, Hermione said, examining the stacks of items on one of the tables.
Even worse, practically nothing down here is magical, Ron told her. I couldn't Summon anything at all. I don't even know half the names for this stuff. But I ended up finding a way. I called their base elements like metal and wood and glass--took them down to the point where they could have gone either way, magical or Muggle: separated them into base elements, then separated by size. I used the Circumferencia Separator Spell. Whatever didn't fit through the hole waited to go with the next bigger or smaller size.
Hermione seemed impressed with Ron's magical solution to the enormous problem. Suddenly he felt just a bit better--at least enough to let an excited little thought scurry through his brain. He'd been anxious to tell her since he'd thought of it: now he could tell her in person and they could work on the project together. Between the two of them, they could easily get it done in the several weeks' time there was left.
And I've found something else to keep me busy, Ron said, his eyes sparkling.
This didn't keep you busy enough? Hermione teased. Don't tell me--cross-breeding Hippogriffs and Blast-Ended Skrewts?
Close--but this is even better. Harry's birthday present, Ron beamed. Come see. Though he almost grabbed for her hand by reflex to lead her to the back of the wizard space, he remembered in the nick of time that his hands were covered with spots of nasty black stuff. Instead, he just signaled her to follow him, hoping that she didn't follow closely enough to become overwhelmed with the odor of Simple Slim's.
Ron finally stopped and stepped aside so that Hermione could survey his workspace.
He watched her look over the numerous oddly-shaped pieces lying about the floor, all of them sparkling clean, then she looked farther until she saw the frame of the motorbike. It was fairly well-stripped at the moment with a number of parchment rolls curled together and lying between what once was a seat and the now-glistening handlebars.
He waited for her to say something, but she merely stood there staring with her mouth slightly agape. Well? What do you think?
Oh, well...it's...a motorbike, obviously...a fine idea, Hermione stammered, working hard at trying to sound polite. You know Harry can't get a license until he's seventeen--he'll only be sixteen this year.
Ron rolled his eyes. I know that--Dad asked around and told me when you could get one.
But does it work? Or did it work? All these parts...do you know how to fix a Muggle motorbike?
Ron wasn't certain if he should be insulted or not. I'm learning. Dad's helping some, too. He'd love to be able to make it run again, but he doesn't have much time what with work and the Order and all. He brought me some magazines that were lying around at the Ministry--old Muggle research stuff. He pointed to some periodicals lying open in several places around the motorbike.
Hermione looked sympathetic, as if she didn't want to tell him what she was about to say. Ron, some people have to work months, or even years to know how to put something like this back together correctly. With all these parts, and you don't know which ones are working right, how can you be sure you can do this?
Thanks loads, Hermione, for the vote of confidence, Ron said rather irritably. I was planning on asking you to help out, but never mind. If you don't even think I can put it back together, I won't even ask you about the second part.
It's not exactly that I don't think you can... Hermione said weakly, it's the time...
Ron asked. He reached for the stack of curled-up parchment pages and pulled them apart, looking for one in particular. Holding up a page that had a picture of a rather complex-looking part with the words For the key written on the bottom, he turned the parchment a quarter-turn and looked at the parts lying on the floor. Finding the group that he wanted, he knelt down to lay the parchment on the floor and set the shiny clean parts on top of the page. He stood to face the shed entrance, called Accio wand! and held up his hand until he felt the smack of it in his palm. Reformicus totallus! he said, pointing the wand at the randomly-spaced parts.
As Ron smugly watched the amazement appear on Hermone's face, the tiny parts first began to vibrate, then raced toward the diagram of the complex completed part, whirling and scrambling in and out of each other's way until they settled into some semblance of order. They finally dropped onto the parchment reassembled into one piece that looked precisely like the part in the diagram.
Hermione was staring. How--how did you know to do that? And why do they know the charm?
Ron said smugly. The motorbike was all together when I found it--just rusty and dirty and perhaps needing some new pieces--
Parts--they're called-- and when they're all together, they're assemblies, Hermione corrected. If you're going to work with them that expertly, you need to call them what the experts do.
Ron's cocky grin slipped onto his face in spite of himself. Expertly, eh? Even if he didn't actually believe it himself, it was nice to hear something like that from Hermione.
Parts, then, Ron conceded. So I just took out the larger assembly and laid the whole thing on a parchment, then charmed the parts to break themselves down and remember how to put themselves back together.
And an old Muggle motorbike responded to that? Hermione asked.
Ron answered. An old Muggle motorbike didn't. But this motorbike did. He pointed his wand at the motorcycle frame and said loudly, Ascendo Hoggus! The skeletal frame shook rather violently, but managed to lift itself several feet from the ground nevertheless.
How did you know it would--and that's a strange spell for lifting-- Hermione started in confusion, then gasped. Ron, it can't be!
He knew the cocky grin was almost unbearable by now, but what better time to use it?
He laid it heavily on Hermione.
It is.
Hermione gasped again. But I thought that was just wizarding legend! I mean, I thought perhaps Sirius really did own a Muggle motorbike at one time. But the whole thing about it being charmed to fly--and--I wonder if it's true about Hagrid and the flight to rescue Harry from Voldemort when Harry's parents were killed? I'm not sure Harry really knows and Dumbledore and the others are always really secretive about the whole thing--
I know, Ron said. That's why, now that you're here, I was going to ask for your help on the second part.
Ask me what? Hermione responded.
Some of these parts--I know they're completely useless. Maybe one day you could help me find a Muggle motorbike shop in London and go with me to replace them. And then there's the money--we could exchange some of mine at Gringott's for Muggle money, but--I'm--not sure what's what--or if it's enough. He looked at her rather sheepishly, as if for some reason he ought to have known about everything Muggle--and as if he was apologizing for not being rich.
She smiled at him warmly. Of course I will.
But I want to make sure this won't cause more problems for Harry. I know he can't really drive it until he's seventeen, but it'll be his from now on. I've already owled Professor Lupin, because he's the only other person Dad and I thought might have rightful claim to it. Lupin owled back that he didn't really want the motorbike and thought Harry was better suited for it anyway. He wrote, Think how much Harry already loves to fly. That's such a big part of life for him--just like it was for Sirius. Ron sighed and sounded more tentative then. But --do you think it's too soon? Do you think Harry would feel worse for having it instead of better?
Hermione was quiet for a moment and it was difficult for Ron to tell what she was thinking. Then her face brightened and a soft smile appeared. No one can be certain how badly Harry's feeling right now. He won't say anything in his letters--nothing. But I think--for him-- to have something that's a part of Sirius, something that's part of his own past, and something that's become a part of you because you've repaired it just for him--that if he can't have Sirius back, there's nothing else he'd rather have.
Ron was very, very pleased that she liked his idea, but still felt troubled. But I haven't got it working yet.
Hermione smiled into his eyes. You will. And that was the first moment that Ron ever completely believed that he could.
Suddenly Hermione looked a bit thoughtful and less excited. So--just when are we going to go to London?
Ron shrugged. Who knows? Some day when my dad can take us with him. We don't have to worry about that now--we have a couple of weeks yet before Harry's birthday--and he still may not be able to leave the Dursleys even then. We'll get round to it -- after all, you just got here.
Watching Hermione's expression change to an even cloudier one, Ron wondered what in the world seemed to be concerning her. After all, like he said, they'd have plenty of time together to do everything he had planned.
Stupid Fred and George!
He secretly watched her walk down the winding path; she looked to both sides, probably following the directions someone had given her. She found the alder tree landmark and looked up, directly to where he sat, but he had already looked away and made no indication that he'd seen her. She began to climb slowly up the hill, picking her way between the rocks and trying to avoid turning her ankle in any of the many ground squirrel holes.
Ron hadn't meant to desert her there at the dinner table with everyone else. It was rather rude of him, actually, and he knew that. But the anger just hadn't allowed him to think properly and now he felt bad about that, too. The twins had taunted him about everything: his excitement in having Hermione at the Burrow, the motorbike (that he wanted to keep secret from his mum for a bit), his encounter with the brain. Bloody twins! What did I ever do to deserve being born after them?
Hermione had reached the lower end of the stone wall on which he was seated; the mortar footing along its bottom edge, though worn and crumbled, allowed her to climb much more quickly and easily. In a moment, she'd be next to him. He self-consciously pulled the long sleeves of his shirt over his wrists for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Thank Merlin it was finally cooling down out here.
Without saying a word, she moved next to him and put both hands on the wall behind her, hoisting herself up to sit beside him. They sat that way for some minutes, staring into the valley below. Silent themselves, the only sounds that reached them were the rhythmic chirping of the crickets and a dog barking fitfully in the distance.
Although the light wouldn't be leaving their place for a while longer yet, the sun was sinking low in the sky and the hills to the west were already causing Ottery St. Catchpole below them to fall into a shadowy twilight. Rather than the brighter oranges and yellows still coloring the hillside where they sat, the little town was bathed instead in dusky hues of purple, deep blue, and bittersweet, and every few minutes another light would appear in the outskirts to herald the coming of another balmy summer evening.
The very same lovely breeze that Ron had wished would stay for Hermione's arrival ruffled his hair. It startled him out of his daze; he sheepishly looked away from the view below and toward the girl who sat at his side. Until now there had been no need for words, just the comfort of having her there and the warmth of knowing that she came for him.
You found me, he said.
she replied. But in all fairness, I was told where I might look.
He felt himself smiling a little. Ginny. She's been just a wealth of information lately.
Hermione turned to him, a little surprised. Oh. Well, if you'd rather be alone...
Hold on - I didn't say that, Ron responded. Actually - thanks. And - I didn't mean to do that.
Do what?
Just leave you there, Ron said. It's just that sometimes the twins--
I know, Hermione interrupted. Say no more. They are the twins and they will always be the twins, no matter how old they get. Besides, I think you made a direct hit on Fred with that Esperum Doloroso Charm under the table.
Ron turned to her with a warm, genuine smile, then the two of them resumed overseeing the valley below them where a number of lights just had come on. They watched the colors deepen and the shadows lengthen, beginning to edge their way closer.
You don't have to hide them, you know, Hermione said without looking at him. Not from me.
Ron asked, turning back to look at her.
The scars, she replied, returning his gaze. I have one too, remember.
I - I know. Ron was a bit taken aback by her directness. He knew he ought to say something else, but wasn't sure what. Er, um...how is it doing? I mean, is it - still healing all right?
Yes, I suppose. Well-- here. Hermione put two fingers inside the top opening of her t-shirt and tugged it down about three inches from the base of her neck. She held her head higher and turned away so that Ron would be able to see.
He automatically leaned closer out of curiosity, but then realized that what he was doing was staring at Hermione's chest. He turned away when his ears began to burn as hot as if someone had incanted Inflamare!
Hermione must have noticed because she looked as if she was trying not to smile at his discomfort. But a bit of a grin slipped out nonetheless. It's okay, it's not-- there. But I won't be showing you the other end of the scar, I can promise you.
After hearing Ginny's account of that night in the Department of Mysteries and trying to piece the information together with what he'd overheard in the hospital wing, Ron began to believe that Dolohov had been aiming for Hermione's heart with his spell. Ron was certain the scar had to pass somewhat lower on her left side and the simple thought of where it crossed brought the burning back to his ears-- then his face--in full force.
But he was curious to see exactly what the scar had done; he had to know for himself that she was all right. After all, Harry's scar still affected him after all these years--Ron could only hope that Hermione's wouldn't do the same.
Taking a mental deep breath as well as a physical one, Ron told himself it was simply a medical interest he had in his friend; he should have the maturity to be able to do this calmly. He leaned close to Hermione, squinting until he could see a very fine pale purple line crossing her smoothly tanned skin. The length of it as it swept four or five inches and then disappeared under her shirt collar sent a quick shockwave of sympathetic pain through him. He flinched at the urge to touch the scar and make sure it didn't hurt her any more. But he thought that would be really crossing the line--he'd never asked to touch Harry's, for Godric's sake--so he kept his hand safely on his own leg.
Well, if nothing else, I can ask. Does it still hurt?
No, not really. She spoke quietly and her voice this close was smooth, low, and resonant. Her warm, soft breath touched his ear and butterflies tickled at the insides of his ribs. It sort of prickles once in a while.
Madam Pomfrey said yours would go away completely, didn't she? he asked. Being this close to her was firing strange feelings and thoughts through his mind and his body, but he didn't know how to control them or stop them; he wasn't sure he wanted to. Suddenly the thought of her parting kiss at King's Cross Station popped into his mind for some reason, and his cheek seemed to remember the feeling much too precisely. He had to stop being this close. Now. Before he did something stupid that would change their friendship forever. Drawing a deep breath as he forced himself to pull away, he sat up straight and stared back into the valley to regain some meager sense of control.
She -- what? Hermione asked, sounding a bit confused herself. Oh--oh, yes. She said it ought to go away completely by the time we start school in the fall.
Thank the gods! Ron thought. Because it would be a crime for that ugly thing to scar someone as pretty as Hermione--I mean--what? I mean, I wouldn't wish that on any girl--any friend, for that matter. Again, things were quiet for a few minutes as they stared into the distance.
Hermione asked.
Ron replied. He finally trusted himself to turn and look at her once more.
Let's see yours, Hermione said in a strange, sort of knowing voice.
My what?
Your scars, Ron, she said. She reached for his wrist, but he pulled it away.
Hey, that wasn't part of the deal, he said. He pulled the sleeves of his faded blue shirt over his wrists again.
She stared straight into his eyes. I showed you mine, she said almost playfully. Fair's fair, you know. I've seen them before. And besides, I'll bet you're much too warm in that long-sleeved shirt. You should feel this lovely breeze on your skin.
Damn! He knew she'd like that breeze. And he was too warm--especially after... well...it must just be extra warm tonight, he thought.
Very slowly and deliberately, she reached for his wrist. He felt her fingers touch and tighten, pulling gently and insistently until his arm was in her lap. She turned his palm up and reached around to the side, unbuttoning the shirt sleeve he'd been tugging at most of the day.
They're really ugly, Ron said, beginning to get nervous.
I'll be the judge of that, she replied in a tone of mock superiority.
Ron really wasn't in the mood to watch her grimace in revulsion once she saw the jagged, red blemishes still there after all this time. No, I don't think this is such a good idea. And you already know yours will go away. Mine might be ugly the rest of my life. Reckon I might as well get used to long sleeves no matter what the weather, eh? That's what happens when you do something so stupid as to pick someone's brain... He lamely tried to joke at the same time he started to pull his arm back.
His own mention of the brain brought thoughts flooding into his mind. He wondered how much she knew. Did she know he giggled his way through the night at the Department of Mysteries? Did she know that even Luna had to save him? Was she thinking that next time she and Harry went on a rescue mission that they should plan to take Neville, their rescuer and companion, instead of him?
The pain hit as if a weapon had been fired into his head. His eyelids pressed together to shut out the sight of the ground rocking beneath the two of them. Even sitting motionless, the pulling sensation from his arms seemed determined to rip a hole right through his brain. He clenched his teeth and could feel his face all hot and contorted, and he tried his damnedest to look away from her. He couldn't imagine how ugly he looked right now. Don't look at me, Hermione! If only he could say it...
He heard her voice, but it sounded far away. Are you all right? Ron - what's wrong? What can I do?
He tried to respond to her, but his voice box was so constricted he couldn't make a sound, so he just shook his head and gulped in a deep breath to help deal with the pain.
Do you want to lie down? He could hear the concern in her voice. He could feel she cared about him, no matter what the precise meaning behind that caring. The pain began to lessen a little. He felt her small hand wrap warmly around his fist as it still lay clenched in her lap. Hold on--I'm right here. Is it getting better or worse? What can I do?
Better--a little, he choked out. He felt her shove her other palm under the damp spikes of hair now hanging over his eyes; she flattened her hand against him momentarily, apparently feeling first for his temperature, then sliding her fingers rapidly through his hair to push it back from his sweaty forehead.
Being hot in that shirt can't be helping either, she said almost irritably. Hermione reached across his lap, unbuttoning his cuff button and pushing the shirt sleeve up to his elbow. Though he already had the front of the shirt unbuttoned and open, she pulled the shoulders back with one hand so that the single layer of cloth from his undershirt was all that covered his chest and stomach.
He began to breathe more normally now and Hermione's level of concern seemed to lower a bit. At least the air seemed to be moving in and out as it was supposed to, rather than being stuck in one lump in his throat. She was trying to help him and take care of him, even if he had effectively deserted her and Harry in the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps he wasn't such a terrible person after all, if she was willing to do that.
Much--better now, Ron said quietly, feeling that strange tingling in the skin of his arms again. He opened his eyes and glanced down at his now-exposed left forearm, but he could see nothing had changed. He was just glad the tremendous pain in his head was subsiding.
Ron finally glanced over at her and gave a weak smile.
I don't know what it is when that happens, he said. It's happened a few times this summer. Maybe I'm channeling Harry.
I'm not sure that's even funny, Hermione said, looking into his face a moment longer. Didn't Madam Pomfrey say that thought scars take a long time to heal? When that pain happens to you, is it your head or your arms that hurt?
She had always been so observant. Erm, both really. It feels like they're pulling at each other somehow.
Hmmm, perhaps the thought scars and the real thoughts are doing battle-- maybe it's just the way they have to heal.
Ron thought for a moment. That almost made sense. But now her attention had diverted back to his arm in her lap. She'd managed to pull the right cuff back to his elbow while he was considering her idea.
he said tensely.
She looked up into his eyes. It's okay. I'm just looking. Her attention focused on his forearm again, where she held it warmly by the back of his wrist and turned it gently from side to side to see the pattern of the scars.
She only wants to see them, she's already done so in the hospital wing, and the light's getting dim, thank goodness. Okay, he told himself, I can let her do that...even if I can't watch her face while she does. He tried to relax and let his hand fall limp.
It's so weird that these marks are from thoughts, she said in her amazed and interested voice, the one he'd heard often when she was working on a new spell or a tantalizing unexplored subject. Did they have any idea whose brain it was?
Ron was momentarily horrified. No! I didn't ask! And I don't want to know, either. They can have their bloody thoughts back, whoever they are, as long as they take the scars, too! He gently started to pull his arm away again but she wouldn't let him; he gave up trying rather quickly.
He hadn't dared look at her face yet, but he couldn't resist the urge any longer. Ron turned his head slightly, peeking out from under the fringe of hair that had fallen back over his eyes. He was relieved to find her staring at the scars, but only with a mixture of wonder and sympathy.
Absorbed in her expression, he didn't notice at first when Hermione lifted one finger of her opposite hand and touched it to the scar line closest to his wrist. He flinched slightly and she looked up at him briefly, smiling to let him know it was all right. She carefully moved her finger a few inches up the scarline.
Does it hurt when I do this? she asked sincerely.
It does feel a bit odd--rather tickly, Ron thought. But it most definitely doesn't hurt.
He felt her one finger move higher onto his arm, the sensation reaching much farther into his body than the few inches she had touched. Suddenly he felt all of her fingers on that hand moving gently over the bumps and whorls of the scar tissue, pressing lightly and releasing, then moving on. But for some reason, it didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it would. In fact, it was quite--erm...pleasant.
Can you feel anything in your thoughts? she asked.
What a strange question, he thought. Maybe that was what he was feeling. She was accepting his scars, and him, and that made it all okay.
I--I think maybe I do, he said with a note of surprise. They don't feel so--ugly--any more somehow.
Well, they're not that bad--and I have a feeling they'll go away--just think positive, Hermione said. Besides, you got them while trying to help a friend. How ugly could they be?
Ron hadn't looked at it that way. Maybe he didn't exactly help everyone in the Planet Room and the Brain Room. Maybe things hadn't gone the way he'd expected. But he'd still gone to the Ministry of Magic with every intention of doing whatever it took to save Sirius and help Harry do so--even deal with injury or death if that turned out to be necessary.
A sudden wisp of a breeze accosted his senses. His skin made his body alive with sensation and he shivered, hoping against hope that she wouldn't feel it through her fingers on his arm.
Hermione responded, sounding curious. It's not making you cold, is it?
So much for her not feeling that. No...not cold..no. Definitely not cold. You'd better get yourself out of here now, Weasley. It's starting to get dangerous to feel this way about a friend. I think maybe we'd better head back--Mum will send out the Guard if we're not back by dark, the way things are in the world right now.
All right, but you have to leave your sleeves up all the way home, Hermione said, hopping down from the wall. If not for me, then just to feel this delicious breeze. She smiled up at him and he held his breath a moment.
Hermione, someday that smile's going to get some bloke into trouble over you, Ron thought. A little uninvited voice came then to respond to that thought ...And something tells me I just may know that bloke much too well.
Ron finally took a breath and slid from the wall himself, pushing his fallen sleeves up to his elbows as instructed. All right, then.
As they began to walk down the mortar footing just wide enough for one, Hermione took the lead. Suddenly, she turned to him. Oh! I forgot to tell you! I talked to your mum and she wants us to take a break from working in the shed tomorrow--you know, just relax and have fun--maybe have a picnic or something.
Nearly running over her as she stopped so quickly, Ron was lost in thought a moment. Hold on. This was my mum you talked to? Are you sure? Determined little red-haired woman about so tall... Ron held his hand at his shoulder level. Oh, now I get it. You needed a reading day, and mentioned it to Mum and since you're the guest, she was happy to oblige...
Hermione looked a bit affronted. No. I...
He raised his eyebrows at her. Ha! Got it in one, I did!
--I haven't even taken my books out yet, she finished quickly.
Ron thought a moment. You know, I don't think she has. Something's very strange about that. Two and a half days and he hadn't seen a book in her hand once. She'd talked about what she read in Bermuda, but had spent most of her time at the Burrow talking with him or doing things with his family.
And wanting to take a break from practicing all of those spells in the shed? This soon, when we have all summer to take a break'? Are you all right, Hermione? You must have snuffed up a bit too much Simple Slim's today.
Frowning, Hermione turned to continue walking and stayed very quiet until the two of them were near the bottom of the mortar edging. Without warning, she wheeled around and threw her arms around his middle, burrowing her head into his chest and holding on tight.
Ron was stunned and stood there with his arms at odd angles. He had walked right into her hug by simple virtue of not stopping in time. Not that he had any real objection to it--bloody hell, why would I? --and it certainly wasn't the first time she'd done this to him.
But something was much different than in third-year. Her hair smelled of lilacs and the warmth of her against him made his blood pound instantly. Ron lifted his arms and circled them solidly but gently around her. He held her to him even though she was likely being thumped in the head by his heart trying to find its way to her right through his chest wall. As they stood there on the darkening hillside he didn't let go for a number of minutes. But then, he noted warmly, neither did she.
Finally Hermione released him and he loosened his hold. She began to look up, but seemed to think better of it once she remembered she'd find his questioning eyes there. So she swung around and continued down the path without saying another word.
He followed her lead, walking silently next to her through the balmy night and the luscious breeze, his mind abuzz with a million thoughts, only half of them coherent. The rest were re-plays of jolts and tingles and feelings of wonder that he'd absorbed in those two or three minutes. But he wasn't sure if it meant the same to her--hell, maybe she even hugs Harry for no reason like that -- who knows?
Still, even that thought couldn't keep his mind and body from remembering it over and over again. Once at the Burrow, she stepped up to go through the back door into the kitchen, and he pulled open the screen door for her to pass. Just as she came closest to him, he looked down at her with the question in his eyes.
She began to look up again, but still could barely meet his gaze. He sensed that she knew the question was there, even knew what it was, but she took a different tack to avoid it. Quite simple, really, she said very quietly, flashing him a shy smile and trying to act as if she was in complete control. From that day I came--you owed me one.
And with that, she entered the Burrow, on her way to join the loud and raucous game of Exploding Snap now taking place in the Weasley living room.