Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Exciting End to the Day

First, I want to everyone for their reviews to my second chapter, and special thanks to the Guest who mentioned hard truths, mostly because I can't respond directly to thank you for your insightful opinions on this matter. I will always send a personal thank you message when possible, but a public thank you is always healthy, I think.

Secondly, I want to publicly address the concerns reviewer HeroInTheWings731 had. Without spoiling anything, the whole confrontation in the hidden passageway is not quite as one-sided as Hermione raging last chapter would imply, and I want everyone to know that I have no intentions on this being a Ginny-bash, and I'll reiterate that I do not hate her character.

As for the guest who decided I do, in fact, hate Ginny, I'm sorry you see it that way. I am not, in fact, an only child, and acting as though Ginny is completely in the right and Ron is completely in the wrong is just not paying attention to both sides of this issue.

I hope the length of this chapter makes up for the fact that it's been a week since I posted. I got distracted by the last two episodes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (more to the point, the FitzSimmons ship) and by the amazing story To Know You is to Love You by Coyote Laughing Softly. Read this excellent story once you have time.

Lastly, I, of course, do not own these characters. That'd be the most excellent J.K. Rowling (when she's not acting like Hermione could have gotten with Harry, that is).

Chapter Three: An Exciting End to the Day

"I – CAN'T – EFFIN' – DO – IT," Ron shouted, out of breath. He'd been practicing out here for at least an hour, and what did he have to show for it? Dick, that's what. He knew he wasn't playing at his best. He knew he was distracted due to recent events. He knew this all, but there was something else he knew: there was something seriously wrong with this Quaffle.

Ron had been bewitching Quaffles to try to score goals since the beginning of his fifth year, mostly due to his fear that anyone who he could ask to practice with so he could attain the position of Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team would just laugh themselves to death at the thought. Ron knew he wasn't even half the Keeper Oliver Wood was, but he did know how to charm a Quaffle correctly. However, this Quaffle was just not cooperating.

Usually, it would aim for a goal at random, sometimes swerving as though a Chaser had put a curve on the throw, but it never tried to aim straight at Ron, like it was doing now, or fly at full speed towards a hoop only to stop right before reaching Ron, just to back up and do it again. Ron didn't know if he'd been distracted while charming it, but it certainly had never acted like this before.

Maybe I'm over-thinking it, Ron considered as the Quaffle backed away from the hoop it had just been aiming towards. Maybe I'm just too preoccupied to play well right now.

Ron shot a freezing charm at the Quaffle to stop it for half a minute so he could rest for a bit. At least this gives me something to do instead of sit around and snipe at Hermione, or anyone else for that matter. He wasn't fooling himself, though, with the inclusion of 'anyone else'. It was Hermione that was at issue here, Hermione who he couldn't stop thinking of, Hermione who he pictured snogging Krum and more every time he closed his effin' eyes-

His thoughts broke off as the Quaffle barreled towards the hoop on the far right, and Ron realized that this was probably not the time or place to dwell on these matters. As if I could stop myself, he thought as he narrowly slapped the ball away from the goal, sending it down twenty feet before it picked itself up again.

Still, he knew he was being unfair to Hermione. It was not her fault Ron was feeling, well, something for her that he either couldn't or simply wouldn't put a name on. It was not her fault that Ginny told Ron she had snogged Krum. Hermione probably didn't want either Ron or Harry to know, and Ron was happy, at the very least, that he wasn't seriously considering this possibility during his fourth year, or his friendship with Hermione might have ended right there. As it was, it was still an extremely terse time for them, and he'll never forget the shouting match they had after the Yule Ball had ended. That aside, he knew his cruelty towards Hermione these past few days was just not right.

What can I do though, Ron thought, missing the Quaffle as it flew into the left-most hoop, walk up to her and say, "Sorry I'm being a dick, Hermione, it's just that I can't help thinking of you and Krum shagging every time I close my bloody eyes. Oh, and this bothers me because I have feelings for you."

While Ron had the feeling that it'd probably shock Hermione into silence, something he usually got a kick out of doing, his intuition told him this would probably be the absolute worst way to go about dealing with his feelings and this situation.

Bugger that, he thought, watching the Quaffle getting ready to fly at the goals again, what I'm doing now is the absolute worst way to deal with this. Blocking her out, with her not knowing why, all because of what she did two years ago. Hell, she even said she wanted to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with me. Why should what happened with Krum two years ago matter when she asked me to go to a party with her this month? Did she mean as a friend... or a partner?.

The Quaffle was shooting towards the goals again as Ron made this epiphany. That's it. Before practice tonight, I'm going to tell her everything, damn the consequences. Even if she doesn't feel for me as strongly as I feel for her, she still needs to know, because we can't go on like this. Frankly-

The thought was not completed, however, as at that moment, the Quaffle, which under any normal charm would have avoided him as best as possible, suddenly swerved towards his right hand and smashed it against the middle goal post.

The agony was more immense than anything Ron had felt before, beating how he felt getting his leg broken in his third year. Delirious with pain, Ron guided his Cleansweep Eleven slowly to the ground, though not in a very controlled manner. Looking over at his right hand, he threw up, the puke falling to the ground alongside him. The bleeding, bruised mass of flesh, tendons, veins and bones barely resembled a hand, with the pinky and ring fingers seemingly coming out of the side of his hand, and the other fingers didn't look much better.

His hand flaring with pain, Ron Weasley lost consciousness, let go of his broom, and fell twenty feet to the base of the goalposts, slamming his head on the grass. His broom loftily continued to descend to the ground, landing softly in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

Groaning, Ron narrowly opened his eyes, squinting into the sun, happy to see a group of clouds heading to block it out. Least I won't boil while I suffer. His right hand was throbbing madly, but he couldn't stomach to look over at it. Groggily reaching his left hand to the back of his head, he felt a sticky substance, and realized he must have hit the ground pretty hard. He moved his now-bloody hand from his injured head to block out the sun from piercing his eyes, searching for his broom in the now-overcast sky, though he didn't see it anywhere, the same of which could not be said of the Quaffle he had been practicing with.

Oh, you have got to be fuckin' shi-

The Quaffle, whose charm had worn off, landed directly on Ron's forehead, and he thought no more.

The air was slightly warm when Hermione Granger stepped through the doors of the castle onto the grounds. Checking her watch, she saw that it was 3:30, plenty of time to talk to Ron before they'd be interrupted by the practice tonight, though she doubted the conversation would last that long, especially considering that no matter what else was going on, there's no way Ron would miss dinner after these hours of practice.

To be fair, though, I have absolutely no idea how this conversation will go, do I, she asked herself as she walked north to the Quidditch Pitch. I've never really had to do something like this before. He's been short with me for the last few days; will he even want to listen to what I have to say?

Hermione shook her head fiercely, telling herself to stop worrying. Ron liked her, Harry had said. That alone should be enough to get him to want to have a talk with her, though she knew that with his myriad of feelings, something could potentially stop him from prolonging the conversation.

Look, we'll just talk. I'll tell him how I feel about him, her face reddening at the thought of revealing the feelings she's held for him since the summer between their third and fourth years at Hogwarts, explain how I told off Ginny, and, well...

Her walking faltered slightly, halfway to the pitch. Her shadow faded, and looking up, she saw the sun had been blocked out by a cloud bank, and it was certainly more chilly then it had been when she left the castle. It was her thoughts, however, and not the change of temperature or weather that caused her to slow for a second.

She could envision the beginning of the conversation. She'd call to him from the sidelines of the pitch, if he hadn't already flown down from the goals wondering what she was doing there. She'd ask to talk to him, and she figured his curiosity alone would allow that to take place. She could see the two of them sitting in the locker room, her spilling out her feelings to him.

But then what?

She didn't know. She could see the beginning of it perfectly, but she had absolutely no idea how it would end. Would he admit his feelings as well? Would he get freaked out by her sudden openness and flee from the room? Would they-

She stopped the thought, afraid of where it would lead too, probably taking into account the hours they had before being disturbed and them being left alone with no one around. She was not even going to think of it, though if Ron's response was what she hoped it would be, some definite cuddling would be in order, if not some snogging.

No, no, no, I will not think of that yet, she warned herself, rubbing her arms to fight back the new chill in the air. We have a very meaningful talk to get through, and I will not allow myself to consider what physical actions might or might not take place afterward.

Reaching the pitch, Hermione walked through the gates, looking up to the overcast sky towards the three goalposts on the far side of the field. Seeing nothing, she looked at the other set, where no flying shape could be identified.

Frowning slightly, Hermione strode over to the locker rooms, wondering if he was in there. She stopped herself from entering, though.

The last thing I need is to walk in on him while he's in the shower, was what went through her mind, though images of a sopping wet Ron wearing only a towel came along with these thoughts, making her feel something she certainly did not have time to deal with.

Oh come on, she blushed, leaning against a wall to the stands, I am not going to let my mind wander to that as though I'm a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl.

"Hey, Ron," she shouted into the locker room, "it's Hermione. I wanted to talk to you about something. May I come in?"

'I want to talk to you about something', she thought with wonder. What an amazingly eloquent way to start off what might be one of the most important conversations I'll have all year, maybe my life.

She stood still for a second, hearing no reply. She tried again, speaking a bit louder, though once again there was no reply to be heard.

A ball of worry quite separate from her worries about the up-coming conversation starting growing inside her as she yelled for him once more. Receiving no reply, she decided to risk it, and entered the locker room, hand over her eyes leaving only the smallest of gaps in case she ran into Ron.

"Ron, it's Hermione," she said in a lower tone, considering she was back in an enclosed place. "I have my hand over my eyes so I don't see anything, but I've yelled for you three times now and you haven't replied. I wanted to-"

She stopped speaking, however, as it was clear that Ron just wasn't in the locker room. The air wasn't humid as though the showers had been running. She lowered her hand to get a better view of the room, and aside from Ron's bag, there was no evidence he was in here.

She stood rooted to the spot, looking at Ron's bag, which seemed to contain his non-Quidditch related clothes, and felt herself turn cold.

Where is he, she thought frantically, pacing through the room. Where is he?

Stopping, she allowed herself to take a few deep breaths, not wanting to get overcome with panic when there was probably a very obvious explanation to this. Not that she could think of one at this time, but that was beside the point. She was not going to lose her mind just because she couldn't find Ron in the first five minutes she'd been at the pitch.

Turning back towards the doors, she walked quickly back onto the pitch. She glanced at both sets of hoops, confirming Ron wasn't flying up there, and then she yelled her question, wincing at the alarm that was apparent in her voice.

"RON, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Nothing stirred anywhere she looked, and the dimness of the day since the clouds arrived did not at all help her in her quest. However, she did notice something in the middle of the pitch, and figuring it was a better clue than nothing, ran out towards it.

When she saw what it was, ten feet away from it, she came to a halt, her heart dropping. Ron would never leave his Cleansweep just lying on the ground, it's one of his most favored possessions...

She slowly began walking toward the broom. The panic she had outwardly held back could be held back no more, and, grabbing the broomstick, she screamed.

"RON, WHERE ARE YOU," her voice cracking from the abuse she'd put it through today. "RON!"

She looked frantically towards the goalposts on the far side of the pitch, and she almost screamed when she saw a dark shape lying there at the foot of the goals, a dark shape with ginger hair. Clutching onto Ron's broom, she ran as fast as she could towards the shape.

No, no, no, she thought, wishing she could banish all the images that had popped up in her mind. He's fine, he has to be fine.

Hermione ran towards the shape, and was relieved she finally got there, as she was about out of breath. She lit her wand so she could get a better view, then looked down.

It was Ron, but something was terribly wrong with him. There was blood all over his face, vomit on his robes and next to him, and his right hand looked as though it'd been crushed by a Troll, as it was bruised, swollen, covered in blood, and...

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered, seeing that a bit of bone seemed to be sticking out of his hand, and that his fingers were in positions they didn't belong in. The one saving grace was that he still seemed plenty alive, as she could see his chest moving up and down slowly.

She fought the tentacles of panic that had gripped at her mind, knowing that if she let it out of control, nothing good would come out of it.

Now is not the time to panic. I need to get Ron to Madam Pomfrey right now! But how do I move him?

She considered using Mobilicorpus, vaguely remembering it being used to moved Professor Snape's body while he was unconscious at the end of her third year, but she didn't want to risk hurting Ron anymore than he was already, and she recalled how it stood Snape up as though he was floating on his feet. Hermione needed something that could keep Ron as level as possible. She needed...

An idea came to her in a flash, and she pointed her wand at Ron.

"Locomotor Ron," she whispered, wiping the tears that had started to form away with the back of her broom-filled hand. Ron rose about a foot off the ground, and floated there, arms and legs slightly splayed to the sides, but not touching the ground. Satisfied, she started moving her wand to cause Ron to follow when she noticed Ron's wand laying on the ground.

She went to kneel on the ground, still holding out her wand to keep Ron up, and put down Ron's broom. She reached for his wand, thanking whatever force there was that it wasn't broken. Placing it in one of the pockets of her robes, she picked the broomstick up and stood unevenly, hands full. She glanced at the ground and saw nothing more than a Quaffle a few feet away, matted with blood and some red hair. Hermione closed her eyes, took a breath to steady herself, and opened them again.

She started for the exit of the Quidditch Pitch, dread filling her with every step she took.

Harry was running through a hallway on the fourth floor, winning disapproving glances from everyone he ran past, and the occasional 'Hey, you prat!" when he bumped into someone, which he seemed to do about every other minute. Pity his nimble Seeker skills didn't always seem to do him a lick of good while on the ground. He knew only one thing: Ron was hurt.

Annoyingly, while Harry didn't much care for the school's gossip vine, mostly due to the fact that it was clamoring about him half the time, he still expected a bit more information than that Ron was in the hospital wing, but Seamus seemed woefully unconcerned about the details. To be fair, he might still have been a bit peeved at Harry for picking Dean as the substitute Chaser after Katie got injured, but nonetheless it didn't enamor Harry towards him at all.

There was also sadly the fact that those passing along the gossip just didn't care enough about Ron to add details, and as Harry made it to the first floor, he wondered how many people in Hogwarts actually cared about Ron as a person. Not the Keeper, not the friend of Harry, not the last male Weasley at Hogwarts, but the person he actually was. No matter what fights they had, he knew that Ginny could still be counted as a member of that select group. Of course Harry would count himself, and Ron might be shocked how much Hermione would be in that group.

But besides us three? Harry shook his head as he turned the corner, the doors of the hospital wing coming into view. He supposed he could also count Neville and Luna, but they didn't seem to talk as much since Dumbledore's Army closed up shop, even though Ron and Neville slept in the same bloody room. This Harry had to blame Ron on. He always had a knack for ignoring those around him who weren't strictly within his close circle of friends, and no matter what adventure they went on last year, Neville didn't seem to enter that circle to him.

As for Luna, hell, Harry hadn't really stayed in contact with her. She was a different House and year, true, but that didn't seem like a good excuse considering that she did risk her life for Sirius last year, and did it like it was as easy a choice as getting eggs for breakfast was. As for Ron, well, half the time he thought Luna was a complete nutter and said as much, and the other half, well, he still thought she was a complete nutter, but was struck speechless by some mystical Mombastree or her common Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

So in short, he wasn't surprised Ron seemed to let that friendship go, though Harry mentally kicked himself, and made a mental note to check up on Luna after the match tomorrow.

He was about to barge through the doors when he stopped himself. There was no way that Madam Pomfrey would approve of him coming in like a half-crazed madman, and he'd be thrown out before he could utter Ron's name. Taking a second to calm himself, Harry opened the door to the hospital wing.

He could automatically tell that Ron was situated on the third bed on the right of the room, as the curtains to the bed were closed and he heard voices from behind it. One was the hushed, caring, tone of the matron, Madam Pomfrey, and the other sounded like Professor McGonagall, which he could tell by the clipped but also concerned tone.

Looking around, he saw Hermione slumped on the bed opposite of where Ron was located. She wasn't facing the door, and it seemed like she didn't hear him come in. Quietly walking towards her to try to figure out what McGonagall and Pomfrey were saying, he supposed Hermione heard something, as she turned around and looked at him.

She looked terrible. Her eyes were redder than Harry had ever seen them, she was shivering and holding her shaking arms to her body, and her entire posture screamed that she was deeply unhappy. Shaking, Hermione stood up and let out a small, quite sob.

"Harry," she croaked, her voice sounding as bad as she looked, and she threw her arms around him and hid her face on his chest, where he felt his robes becoming distinctly damp.

"Hermione," he said slowly, patting her on the back, "it's okay, Ron's-"

He cut himself off. How the hell can I tell her Ron's fine when literally all I know is that he's here in the hospital wing?

"How is Ron," he said, changing his statement. "What happened?"

Breathing shakily, Hermione took her head from off his chest and removed her arms from around him. Turning her head away slightly, she spoke.

"Madam Pomfrey hasn't said anything yet. She's been in there twenty minutes with him, and Professor McGonagall got here about fifteen minutes ago. She questioned me a bit, then went behind the curtain with Madam Pomfrey. I don't know how he is!"

"Okay, okay," Harry said, wanting to calm Hermione down a bit. "How'd he get here? What happened?"

Hermione sat down on the bed she'd been on before, and Harry sat beside her.

"I walked out to the Quidditch Pitch to, you know, talk to him," she started, folding her arms around herself. "I couldn't see him flying or in the locker room, and then I saw his broom laying on the middle of the pitch."

She nodded towards the broom leaning against the nightstand of the bed closet to them, which Harry hadn't noticed before. He also saw, glancing over, that Ron's wand also lay on the nightstand, and it looked a bit... bloody.

Harry turned back to her, silently urging her to finish the story as quickly as possible so Harry would know what to expect when allowed to see Ron.

"I knew he'd never leave it laying around like that, and then I saw a shape at the foot of the goalposts," she said quietly, voice hitching for a second. She closed her eyes for a bit, and Harry assumed she was trying to keep herself calm. When she spoke again, her voice sounded as normal as it could after the heavy use it must have gotten in the past hours.

"Ron must have fallen from his broom for some reason. The Quaffle he'd been practicing with was a few feet away, covered in blood. He was unconscious when I got there. His face was all bloody, and his hand looked...," but Hermione seemed unable to continue, grabbing some tissues from the box on the nightstand to dab at her eyes.

"It looked crushed, Harry," she said quietly, and Harry just sat there stunned. What in the hell had happened out on the pitch? Why was the Quaffle covered in blood? It was a fuckin' Quaffle, not a Bludger! Ron always charmed it so that it'd aim away from him and just for the goals!

He sat quietly next to Hermione, allowing her the time to finish mopping up her tears. A voice from their side startled both of them.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said. They jumped off the bed and turned towards her, and Harry saw McGonagall subtly looking Hermione over as she continued to speak.

"Madam Pomfrey has informed me that Mr. Weasley is in no immediate danger," she started, and Harry and Hermione let out a collective sigh of relief. "His hand appears badly damaged, but Madam Pomfrey assures me that she'll be able to heal it right up, and it'll be as good as new after he gets rest over the next few days.

"He's still unconscious, and Madam Pomfrey would prefer he get out of it on his own time, as she predicts it should be within twelve hours. He has also appeared to have obtained a cracked skull in two places, one on the back of his head and the other on his forehead. While Madam Pomfrey has healed the obvious physical damage there, she said that she won't be able to ascertain if there any mental problems until after he gets up."

Professor McGonagall turned white while adding this bit, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how she'd be reacting if this wasn't a teacher-student conversation. He knew she deeply cared for her Gryffindor students, even though she never showed favoritism in giving House points or dealing out homework.

"It's unlikely," seeing the looks on their faces, "very unlikely, but possible..."

She trailed off, and stepped toward Hermione.

"Miss Granger," she said softly, and Hermione brought her head up to look at her. McGonagall surprised Harry by putting a hand on her shoulder as she continued. "Madam Pomfrey added that if it wasn't for you finding him when you did, he could have been much more seriously injured, and she even said there was a small chance you saved his life, especially considering no practice was planned for another two-and-a-half hours, and he'd have been left out there if someone hadn't gone searching for him."

She looked proudly at Hermione as she lowered her hand from her shoulder.

"100 points to Gryffindor are in order, I think, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled slightly, but Harry could tell she was still worried sick about Ron. Professor McGonagall turned her attention to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I really do hate to burden you with this now, but the Quidditch match against Slytherin shall be taking place tomorrow, and Madam Pomfrey has informed me that she'd curse me before allowing Ron to play, if he's even awake by then. As team Captain, finding a suitable replacement for Mr. Weasley is in your jurisdiction, though if I may offer a suggestion, you held tryouts. Who was the second-best Keeper there?"

Before Harry answered, he saw Hermione redden and turn away slightly. While Ron did block the five required goals, Cormac McLaggen hadn't been too far behind when Hermione had used a Confundus Charm on him, causing him to swerve the opposite direction of where the Quaffle was headed. Harry wasn't too put off by this, considering that McLaggen was the most arrogant jerk in Gryffindor Harry had ever had the displeasure to come across, but neither he nor Hermione had informed Ron of what kept him on the Quidditch team this year, and Professor McGonagall was unlikely to be happy if she knew.

"That'd be, uh, Cormac McLaggen," Harry muttered, unhappy he'd have to play a match using him regardless of what happened at the tryouts.

Professor McGonagall's lips tightened, and Harry figured she'd had some past experiences with McLaggen that made her dislike him as well, even though she'd never say it due to her professional manner.

"I see, Mr. Potter," she said, looking slightly put out. "I'll inform Mr. McLaggen that his attendance shall be required at the practice tonight. At 7, I believe?"

Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall sighed.

"Right, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, it's been a stressful day for all of us. Perhaps a rest is in order-"

"Actually, Professor McGonagall, I was hoping Harry and I could sit with Ron for a bit," Hermione cut in. Harry turned away uncomfortably, as interrupting Professor McGonagall never seemed like a good idea, but she didn't seem to mind at this moment.

"Miss Granger," she started, sounding concerned, "I really don't like what your voice sounds like. I'll see if I can get Madam Pomfrey to dig something out for that, and I'm sure she'll allow the two of you to sit here a while with Ron."

She smiled at the both of them, then turned back to walk through the curtains surrounding Ron's bed. After a short, whispered conversation, she returned to address them, Madam Pomfrey pulling back the curtains behind her.

"Madam Pomfrey said it'd be okay to sit with him," she said, nodding curtly at the two of them. "Mr. Potter, please remember you have Quidditch practice tonight, so I would suggest you not forget to partake in dinner before you head down to the pitch. I shall go find Mr. McLaggen and inform him his attendance is required for tonight."

Professor McGonagall turned and walked out of the hospital wing, shutting the door behind her. By this point, Madam Pomfrey had finished with the curtains surrounding Ron's bed and turned to look at Hermione.

"Miss Granger," she began, pulling out a small bottle from a cabinet lining the wall, "this will help sooth your throat, so take this. Afterwards, your throat should be feeling much better. If it wasn't for the fact that I feel you'd likely move to Mr. Weasley's bedside as soon as I left the room, I'd give you a bed of your own."

Hermione grabbed the bottle, then pulled up a chair to the left side of Ron's bed, placing the bottle on the corresponding nightstand. Hermione thanked her quietly, then turned to Ron, and began to look him over, taking in his bandaged hand and head. Satisfied, Madam Pomfrey then turned to Harry.

"Mr. Potter," she began, "I'll have you know that I'm already more impressed with you as a Quidditch Captain than I was with Wood, if you don't mind me saying."

She chuckled at the flabbergasted look on Harry's face and continued.

"Oh, I'm not talking about team performance, and quite honestly, I have a rather low opinion on Quidditch in general," she stated, and Harry's face got slightly red, "but unlike your former Captain, you seem to actually take into account the health of the player before the health of the team. For example, not one time, when a Gryffindor was injured during Wood's tenure as Captain, did he ever come in asking if that player was alright. The first question out of his mouth was always about whether or not the team member would be released in time for the next practice or match. And Professor McGonagall wondered why I lobbied for a new team Captain..."

Madam Pomfrey trailed off, and though it'd been over a year since Harry had last seen Oliver Wood, he still felt some loyalty towards him and his methods, even though he also had no doubt that what Pomfrey said was true.

"Being a Quidditch Captain isn't easy work," he said, glancing over at Hermione, but she was looking so intently at Ron's injuries that he wondered if she knew there was a conversation going on here at all, "and while I'm happy you see me in a better light than Oliver, Ron's a close friend of mine. I've been friends with him long before either of us were even on the Quidditch team."

"I'm aware of this," she replied. "Nonetheless, I find it a refreshing change of pace compared to your predecessor. This sport leads to over half the injuries I need to take care of every year, and it's nice to every so often have a Captain like you. Ten points to Gryffindor."

She smiled and nodded at him.

"I have an injury report to file, now," she finished, glancing over the two of them, "and you've both been here enough times to know the rules. Miss Granger, if I come out in an hour and you still haven't taken that potion, I'll get you a bed and hold you at wand point until you do. I expect there'll be no trouble."

Nodding curtly to Hermione, who hadn't seemed to pay attention during her conversation with Harry, she walked to her office and shut the door gently behind her.

The second Madam Pomfrey left the room, Hermione grabbed the bottle from Ron's nightstand and pulled the cork out. Sniffing distastefully at it, she gulped down what seemed to be half the battle. She grimaced, then quickly finished it, and put the bottle back on the nightstand.

Harry walked over towards her to grab a chair, but felt awkward about doing it when he saw that Hermione had been holding Ron's hand, and probably had been since she had settled next to him.

"Uh, Hermione," he said, faltering to pull up the chair, "you didn't have a chance to talk to Ron about... well, what you went out to talk about, did you?"

Hermione looked up at him, and Harry wondered if she'd been crying silently all this time as well.

"No," she sniffed, "I told you, he was already unconscious by the time I found him."

"Well," Harry said, placing his chair on the other side of Ron as a compromise, "then don't you think it might be a bit odd for Ron to wake up and find you holding his hand?"

"It'd be a conversation starter, at least," she said, and Harry knew that she wasn't likely to let go.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said finally, looking at Ron's right hand and wondering why, if Pomfrey healed it, it still looked as misshaped as it did. Silence between the two fell between them then, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.

Knowing Pomfrey, Harry thought, looking over Ron one last time before checking his watch, which read 5:20, Ron will be healed and out of here by Sunday, though I'm not convinced he'll be waking up anytime soon after what he went through. He felt it best not to voice this opinion to his friend right now, however.

Harry saw the door of the hospital wing open up, and was almost amused at how Hermione reluctantly let go of Ron's hand as she stood up and turned around to see who it was. Surprised, he saw Dean Thomas walk in, who eyed Harry awkwardly before closing the door behind him.

He walked towards Ron's bed until he was about five feet away, and then stopped to clear his throat and speak.

"Hey, Harry, Hermione," he began, nodding to them, "I know I'm not a, you know, big friend of Ron's, but seeing as I'm a substitute Chaser right now, I thought it'd show some good team spirit and moral support to drop by. How's he doing?"

Harry eyed him coolly, needing to remind himself that when Dean wasn't snogging Ginny, he was actually a pretty good bloke.

"He's healing," Harry said shortly, deciding to not get into a situation here, "two skull fractures, I think, which Pomfrey already patched up, and what seems to be a completely broken hand, which, oddly enough, doesn't looked patched up yet."

Dean nodded grimly, looking over Ron, and Harry had a specific question for him regarding Ginny, but thought it'd be better to phrase it as a more general one.

"Hey, where are the rest of my team to show 'team spirit and moral support?"

"Oh, well," Dead said, turning away embarrassed, "I tried to get the rest of them to come down, but they, well... Ron's been short with the team the past couple days, and I don't think many of them... have much desire to see how he's doing right now."

Harry wasn't terribly shocked to hear this, as he suspected this much, but he was surprised to hear Dean come out and say it so bluntly. Not only that, even though no one else came down, he did.

I'd like Dean so much more right now if it wasn't for the fact he was dating Ginny, Harry thought, a bit annoyed at the conflicted feelings he had towards Dean recently.

"Right," Harry said, putting aside his issues with Dean for the time being, "I think I'll give a little talk on that before we start our practice tonight."

Dean nodded glumly, finally turning his head back to look at Harry.

"Also, I heard we'll be having McLaggen fill in for Ron until he gets better? I can't stand that guy..."

Harry let a small smile come to his face at this.

"Hey, he's on the team right now," he started, jokingly, "what happened to your 'team spirit'?"

Dean's eyes lit up as he chuckled for a second, and Harry decided that as long as he never saw Dean and Ginny snogging again, he could treat him like any normal bloke.

Dean stopped chuckling and sighed, looking back at Ron.

"I was also hoping," he said sadly, "that he was up so I could apologize for what happened a few days ago. I'm not going to apologize for being with Ginny; she's still my girlfriend. But I am sorry that Ron had to see it, as that must be hard for an older brother. And knowing Ginny, she probably said some harsh stuff to him, which might be why she's been crying in her dorm for the last thirty minutes, cuddling with Arnold."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione look up with a guilty expression on her face at this news, and Harry wondered once again what exactly happened between those two earlier today.

"Well, yeah, they had a bit of a row," Harry said, wanting to defend Ginny even though she did hit some extremely low blows on Ron, "but even if she didn't come down, I'm happy to hear she's sad he's injured. I'll tell you, it's more than what Ron would have expected."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "I hope the two of them make up soon, and I do hope Ron doesn't completely hate me for this."

Harry heard Hermione speak up for what seemed the first time in thirty minutes.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Hermione said, smiling at Dean, and Harry could tell her voice sounded a lot better than it had when she last spoke. "Yeah, he's a bit... rough sometimes, but I'm sure he'd be glad you came down to see how he was doing."

Harry very much doubted this himself, personally, thinking the only thing Ron would have been glad about was if he had his wand on him so he could hex Dean, but decided it'd be unwise to comment this out loud.

Dean smiled back at Hermione, then spoke.

"Well, I'd best be off. Dinner's starting in," he stopped to check his watch, "thirty minutes, and I wanted to try to cheer Ginny up before we went down. I hope Ron gets better soon. Bye Harry, Hermione."

He nodded to both of them then turned and walked out of the room, and at the mention of dinner, Harry's stomach grumbled. He didn't eat a lot at lunch, mostly nervous about how he was going to approach Hermione about Ron, so he was right starving now, and it'd certainly do no good to confront the team on an empty stomach.

Looking at Hermione, he decided he'd be better off not asking if she'd wanted to head down to the Great Hall with him, as she already was holding Ron's hand again and had even rested her head on Ron's chest. Harry actually thought she looked rather peaceful, more peaceful than he'd seen her in days, actually, though he still couldn't help worry about Ron's reaction if he woke up to find Hermione this way.

"Uh, Hermione," he started, slowing moving around Ron's bed and backing his way towards the hospital wing doors, "I'm going to head down to dinner. I'd suggest you eat sometime tonight, even if it's not until later. If Ron wakes up, tell him... Well, I guess you'll be busy with your own stuff. See you later, Hermione."

He heard her say goodbye softly, and he wondered if that throat-soothing potion had any side-effects that caused drowsiness, as it might led to an awkward conversation with Madam Pomfrey if she walked out to find Hermione sleeping where she was.

Walking to the Great Hall, Harry started to consider what exactly he'd be saying to his team before practice started tonight. He was grateful that Dean had come down, at least, and he knew that Katie would have done the same if she'd still been here, even if it was just more out of friendship with Harry than liking of Ron's Keeping ability.

He was a bit disappointed that no one else showed up, but Dean had been right: Ron had, for good or bad, been a jerk to them recently, and it didn't help that he still wasn't an absolutely immaculate Keeper.

Harry got to the Grand Staircase and started to head down along with the throng of other students, still considering how exactly he could berate his team without getting them so annoyed that they'd lose the match tomorrow.

Madam Pomfrey looked up at her clock, which read 6:30. She had heard Harry leave around forty minutes ago, but even though dinnertime would be over in the next fifteen minutes, she still hadn't heard Hermione leave.

This has always been my least favorite part of this job, she thought as she stood up from her desk, sighing. Walking out of her office and glancing at her patient, she saw automatically why Hermione hadn't left for dinner yet.

Minerva never said that they were together, she thought, watching Hermione's head rise and fall with the movement of Ron's chest, her eyes closed, using her bushy hair as a pillow. Guess I shouldn't be surprised, seeing how she was acting while I was working on him, and how often I see the two of them in here together.

She saw the empty bottle on Ron's nightstand and walked silently over to pick it up, certainly not wanted to disturb Hermione now.

I should have warned her that this would make her drowsy, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference to her either way.

Looking down at the couple, Madam Pomfrey smiled. Of course, this was hardly the first time she'd caught people together while under her care, and she considered it a bit of patient confidentially to not bring it up with any Head of House. Considering what she'd caught other students doing in these beds, this was certainly minor, and rather cute, at that.

Oh, I'm a hopeless romantic at heart, aren't I, she thought, drawing the curtains around the two so they could have privacy if someone else walked in.

Glancing around to the other side of the room, she walked over and picked on Ron's broomstick and wand, which she'd keep in her office until he woke up. Smiling while thinking about how her hand was still next to Ron's even in sleep, Madam Pomfrey started humming softly as she walked back to her office.

The night was chilly, and considering how the day had been, Harry wasn't the least bit surprised. I only hope the weather's a hell of a lot better tomorrow, he thought grimly, carrying his Firebolt on his shoulder while walking to the pitch.

Professor McGonagall had cornered him just ten minutes ago, right as he was about to head out, and asked him about Ron's solo Keeper training. She was under the belief that the Slytherin team had sabotaged the Quaffle Ron had been playing with, as she and Madam Hooch had detected another Charm on the Quaffle besides Ron's, and she wanted to know if he, as team Captain, had seen hostilities escalate between the two teams recently.

While Harry appreciated McGonagall's train of thought, and he too was curious to know how Ron had gotten so badly injured while practicing, McGonagall seemed to be forgetting that the entire Slytherin team was usually quite happy to play against Ron, as they all considered him a sub-par Keeper. He had no doubt that Malfoy would call it a plain waste of sabotage if confronted about it.

Walking into the locker room, he saw the rest of the team getting ready for practice, though McLaggen already look done with changing, a cocky grin on his face as he chatted with Ritchie.

"Hey, guys", Harry started, wanting to get their attention before he started changing, "we're going to be having a small talk about team spirit before we head out there tonight."

No one said anything, but as Harry turned around, he heard someone, quite possibly Jimmy, start to chuckle, and Harry knew that this was probably going to be his harshest speech to the team.

Harry got his Quidditch robes on, though he left a sweater on underneath so he wouldn't freeze, then turned back to the team, who were situated on the main bench of the room. Dean was on the far-left, followed by Ginny, who, Harry noticed, looked a bit tired and red at the eyes.

She is having one hell of a day, he thought, considering that her only brother left at Hogwarts was in the hospital wing and the presumably loud telling off she got from Hermione.

Sitting on her right was Demelza, who also seemed concerned about Ginny's state from the way her eyes seemed to question Dean from across Ginny. Cormac was flanked by Jimmy and Ritchie, who were laughing from some crude joke he had just finished. Harry was a bit annoyed to see how well they already seemed to get together.

"Oi," Harry said loudly, getting the team's attention, "so, before we head out there, team spirit. Does anyone here know what team spirit is?"

Harry was happy to see that while no one answered, Ginny and Demelza looked a bit guilty. Dean didn't answer, but Harry didn't begrudge him for that. The fact that he came down to check on Ron was enough to get him back in Harry's good graces, and he hadn't expected him to out himself to the team as the one decent guy there, especially when they knew he tried to get them to visit Ron with him anyways. Harry suspected that Dean would take this talk quietly, knowing it wasn't meant for him. The rest of the team looked decidedly bored.

"Team spirit," Harry continued, remembering the definition McGonagall gave him when he told her his plans, "is the camaraderie between members of a group that leads them to work well together, or so McGonagall said when I asked earlier."

Harry saw Jimmy mouthing the word 'camaraderie' with a confused expression on his face, and Harry just shook his head.

"That's what McGonagall said team spirit meant," Harry continued, making sure they were paying attention. "What I say it means is that when a member of the team gets injured, the team fuckin' shows up to see how their injured teammate is doing!"

Harry was happy to see the startled reaction in the team from this, and continued.

"Not one of you bloody people showed up at the hospital wing to see how Ron was doing, save Dean," Harry said, nodding at him, "and quite honestly, that makes me sick! Ron is a valued member of this team, and-"

"'Valued," Cormac chuckled, causing Harry to almost see red. "He's the most worthless member of this team."

"Oi, he managed to beat you in the Keeper tryouts, Cormac," Harry spat at him venomously, "so what's that make you to this team, exactly?"

Cormac reddened with anger at Harry's retort, but didn't say anything in return.

"I cannot explain how disgusted I am right now," Harry continued in a hard voice. "Ron is your teammate. He could do with your support, not dismissal. I know he's been a bit of a jerk these past few days, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore him. Furthermore, have any of you considered he might be a bit of a better player if his own team actually had confidence in him? As it is, we still don't know what happened to him, exactly, but McGonagall suspects Slytherin sabotage, and-"

"They wouldn't waste a sabotage on Weasley, considering he's the worst-"

"CORMAC, ONE MORE WORD AND GRYFFINDOR WILL BE PLAYING WITHOUT A KEEPER TOMORROW!"

That silenced Cormac, though he looked mutinous.

"Right," Harry breathed heavily, "we're going out to practice, and I hope it goes well. I hope we kick Slytherin ass tomorrow, but I will still count this as a personal failure for this team."

He glared at them all for a second, then grabbed his Firebolt and indicated they follow him out. He was really not looking forward to this practice.

Hermione slowing opened her eyes, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand when she realized where she was laying. Jerking up, she quickly looked to see if Ron had woken up and noticed, but he still seemed completely out.

Sighing, Hermione didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. Certainly this conversation with Ron would go easier if he saw exactly how she felt about him, and her laying on him like that would certainly go a way towards showing that. However, he could also have freaked out, and Hermione didn't want to risk that at all.

Glancing up, she noticed that someone, presumably Madam Pomfrey, had pulled the curtains around the bed to give herself and Ron more privacy, and Hermione blushed at the thought of being seen like that by her. Getting up slowly, Hermione glanced at her watch and almost fainted. It was fifteen minutes until curfew, and that meant that Hermione had been resting her head on Ron for the past three or so hours!

Feeling guilty, Hermione shuffled out from behind the curtains surrounding Ron's bed, and nearly jumped when she heard the door to Madam Pomfrey's office open.

"Ah, you're awake now," she smiled at her, guessing by the deep blush on her face that she wasn't accustomed to being so public about her feelings. "I'm glad. I wasn't looking forward to disturbing you myself to get you up. As you might or might not know, curfew is coming up. And I'm sorry to say you missed dinner."

Hermione nodded, head down, trying to hide her blushed face from Madam Pomfrey.

"It's not the first time I've missed a meal," she said quietly, then she looked up at Pomfrey "and I'm sorry about sleeping here like that, I-"

Madam Pomfrey held up a hand to stop her.

"Miss Granger, you have nothing to be sorry for," she said kindly. "I've been caring for the students of Hogwarts for over twenty-five years now, and what you were doing with Mr. Weasley is nothing to be embarrassed about. I count it as a part of patient confidentiality, and no one need know. I must say, it was one of the cuter displays I've seen from a couple in some years."

"Oh, we aren't a couple," Hermione said quickly. "I-he-doesn't know that I-"

"Ah, I see," Madam Pomfrey replied knowingly, "is that, by any chance, why you went out to the Quidditch Pitch in the first place, to talk to him about it?"

Hermione nodded, embarrassed despite when Pomfrey had just said.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I am going to have to ask you to leave now," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "Normal hospital wing visiting hours start at 8 a.m., but if you happen to come down any time after 6, I'd be happy to let you in. I'm guessing Mr. Weasley will awake sometime in the night, and while no strenuous activity can be allowed, I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to talk to him in private."

Hermione was still red, but she looked up and smiled at Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said gratefully. "I-I appreciate it a lot."

She walked over to Ron and gave his left hand a small squeeze, and with a quick look at Madam Pomfrey, dashed quietly out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Walking quickly to the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione didn't really want to think about the day's events. She had plucked up the courage to finally talk to Ron (well, forced into the issue by Ginny, more like, but still), and it just so happened that it was at the same time he sustained an injury that knocked him out for half a day.

Hermione could have laughed at her luck if it hadn't been for the fact that the image of him crumpled on the Quidditch pitch, blood all over, was still in her mind. She had slept well just then, but she figured that had to do with the throat potion and being close to Ron. She didn't think she'd be as lucky tonight when it came to sleep.

Speaking the password, Dilligrout, the portrait of the Fat Lady opened, and Hermione climbed her way to the Common Room.

There was activity all around, but she did a once over, and made a beeline for Harry, who was sitting slouched at the same table they talked at earlier today, which seemed to Hermione to be more like a hundred years ago.

"Hey," Harry said, grinning at Hermione as she sat down at the table, "get some good sleep?"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, blushing, but she was smiling as well. "If you actually care to know, yes, it was nice. And peaceful."

"I don't suppose Ron ever woke up?"

"No," Hermione said, "but Madam Pomfrey said he'd probably wake up sometime in the middle of the night, and gave me permission for early visitation so I could see him in private."

"And why did she do that," Harry asked curiously.

"We..."

Hermione either couldn't or wouldn't do the story justice, it seemed, as she finished her sentence with 'talked'.

They sat together quietly for a minute, then Hermione asked Harry how the Quidditch practice with Cormac went.

Harry opened his mouth, but no obvious word for the abomination that took place hours ago seemed to come to mind, so he just closed his mouth again and shook his head. He tried again seconds later, and words actually came out.

"If it wasn't for the fact that our Chasers aren't half-bad and catching the Snitch gets 150 points," Harry said sadly, "we'd lose to Slytherin by 300 points."

Hermione nodded, though she figured she'd miss the match tomorrow, considering it took place in the morning. If she got her wish, which she shouldn't automatically count on, she learned, she was going to spend the morning with Ron in the hospital wing, and he was finally going to learn how she felt.

Getting up, Hermione wished Harry a good game tomorrow, and walked up to her dorm to try to sleep through the night.