I'm putting my apologies first because I need to say them.
I want to say a huge 'I'm sorry' for all the waiting for this next chapter. Some of you may have checked my profile and saw that I had a huge, nasty computer virus a while back. I couldn't open my computer or anything, and for about a month, my dad worked diligently trying to get into my computer so that I could save my files.
After we finally saved my stuff and re-installed everything, I just lost the drive to write. Now that I think about it, I think I was terrified of writing more, finishing my work, and then losing it suddenly to another virus or crash. The fear of potentially losing everything again is what kept me away. I hadn't even opened Word since I re-installed my computer, and because of that, I lost my drive to write for a while.

On top of that, I have also been working two jobs this summer, which has been taking up my time. I have also been spending more time with my boyfriend, which means less computer time for me.

But finally, after seeing the midnight premier of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part II (it was really good, although didn't really follow the books, as usual), I've gotten back into my groove, although more recent things in my life have slowed down the writing chapter was also very difficult to write; so much to put down, yet so little. It was a lot harder than I expected.

So, I'm sorry for all of the waiting you guys had to endure. I'm sorry for pushing your patience, and I'm sorry if you have given up (and I completely understand). I'm sorry for being so unreliable lately, such amazing readers/reviewers like you guys don't deserve it.

So again: I'M SORRY YOU GUYS!
Thank you, thank you all for your patience, thank you all for your reviews, and thank you all for your dedication. No author could ever ask for more. It's because of you that I'm pushing through this fear and I'm continuing again. For you guys. 3

Extra mini-note: somebody in a review said that Blaise was a Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team. That was only true in the Fifth movie and, unfortunately, I don't really base my stuff off of the movies because they deviate a bit too much from the books at times. But you have an awesome eye/memory, because I wouldn't have noticed that! So, thank you for letting me know, but unfortunately it's in the movie and not the books, so I won't be editing it, sorry.

Therefore, after such a long time, I will now give you: Chapter 18!

Chapter 18

Casualty

"Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds" – Franklin D. Roosevelt

"It's terrifying to see someone inside of whom a vital spring seems to have broken. It's particularly terrifying to see him in your mirror." – Mignon McLaughlin

The bubble enveloped them, surrounding them in a strange, almost deafening, thick wall that allowed no sound to enter. It felt somewhat like she was underwater, unable to hear what was spoken on the surface, but just barely able to discern, from vibrations, that something was making noise, only if the sound was loud enough.

She fidgeted uncomfortable; while she had been in trouble many times before in the past, nothing she had ever done equated to the actions she had taken just minutes earlier.

McGonagall seemed to almost calm down somewhat, her face less red than earlier, body less tense, but the disappointment in her eyes never faded. Sighing heavily, she sat at her desk and stared at Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, tell me why did you decide to do something so…stupid?" The anger was there, barely kept in check, but the disappointment was stronger and more painful.

Shuffling her feet a bit, she took a deep breath, staring down at her boots as she tried to gather enough courage and determination to go through this without breaking. She wanted to cry, to beg for forgiveness, to ask the Headmistress to stop staring at her like that, but she knew that she couldn't.

She had to be strong. Draco had her back, she had to have his.

Swallowing thickly, she took in another deep breath, and faced one of the few individuals she looked up to. "It was in self-defense," she began. "Ron…well, he…" she stumbled, trying to formulate an appropriate sentence, "you see, Draco and I have been seeing each other since Christmas. We kept it secret because we knew the student body wouldn't accept it. But, we decided that maybe today we would let it know."

"Go on."

"So, as you saw, when the game was over we, well…let the school know that we are together. I thought Ron was stable enough now, thought that he had enough common sense to try and be more of a man about it…" She faltered. Her heart clenched tightly in regret. She knew she should have waited, she should have been completely certain that Ron would not snap when finding out about her relationship with Draco.

"What was done was done, in that scenario, Miss Granger, "McGonagall said softly, almost as if reading the young adult's thoughts. "Please, keep going."

Nodding, she played with the end of her scarf. "When we, uh, kissed," she blushed darkly, "Ron must have snapped. He attacked us. We saw no choice but to defend ourselves; there were too many students around. I tried to reason with him, trying to get him to understand, but he wouldn't have any of it. Our attacks were defensive, we did not aim to harm at all, merely avoid getting harmed." Her voice had gradually grown stronger, more determined and confident. Let McGonagall be disappointed, she now thought. She had done the right thing.

"Why didn't you just use the disarming spell?"

That was a good question. Even now she wondered why, at the time, expelliarmus wasn't the first spell to be spoken. "We didn't have a clear shot," she answered firmly. "We also had no choice but to defend ourselves when he performed the fire tunnel curse. Disarming would have removed the wand, but we would have certainly been hit by the fire."

She was getting to her, she realized. The disappointment was slowly being replaced with understanding, although the frustration was still there.

Sitting back, McGonagall removed her hat, placing it aside as she patted down her hair, trying to push the strands back into the severe bun. "That is…plausible. What I need to know, though, is about Ronald Weasley now. I know that he has lacked a certain amount of common sense before but…please, elaborate on what you meant by 'stable'."

Hermione began to pace then, crossing and uncrossing her arms, shoving her hands in and out of her pockets, trying to find the right way to tell the Headmistress about Ron's psychological issues. Should she ease into it? Start gradually and then either let McGonagall figure it out or explain like one would explain it to a child? Should she be direct and straight to the point? Tell her that Ron was mentally…disturbed and that he was being more than just an idiot?

Rubbing her face, she withdrew her hands and found little droplets of blood on her fingertips. Touching her face, she found that some time during the fight, she must have cut her lip. Only now did the pain begin. It was strange, she thought, how one could be injured and not notice or feel pain, and yet, once one saw the wound it hurt more than ever.

"He needs help," she blurted out, wiping the blood on her jeans. "He's not himself anymore." The words burst from her, no special order, no planned sentences; they exploded from her heart as the pain swelled up, both in her lip and her soul. "He…for a long time, we thought nothing was wrong. He was just being an arse, we thought he was moody. We ignored it. Now he's…he's different. He's not himself. He yells, he cries, he snaps over everything. I can't be with him, I can't be near him. He's not stable. He seems to believe that he and I are meant to be, and when I told him it wouldn't happen, he broke more. He's…his mind is broken." Tears escaped them, flowing freely in scalding trails down her cheeks. "He's broken…something broke my friend…"

He moved to the other side of the room, unable to be near him. The kid was giving him dirty looks, angry glares, and shoved all of the blame in the world in those furious blue eyes. But he could care less; he knew it wasn't his fault; the redhead was the idiot that started all of this shit.

Leaning against a side table, cautious of his aching back, he wriggled his toes. They were becoming cramped in his Quidditch boots; he had probably tied the laces a little too tight before the game and they weren't exactly made for running around and dueling in. Leaning down, he untied some of the side laces, easing the tension in his legs, and focused his attention back on the bubble just a few feet in front of him.

He watched as she fidgeted, looking more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, and he couldn't help but wonder just what they were talking about.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted his feet for comfort and continued to watch her. He couldn't see her face, would be unable to read her lips, but he saw the Headmistress's expressions gradually change from disappointment to concern and realization.

"Don't look at her."

Rolling his eyes at the childishly snappish voice, he lolled his head to look at the angry redhead at the other side of the room. He looked rather comical; his clothes were ripped in places, his hair was standing askew, the Keeper helmet having been lost at some point before the fight, and his cheeks were mottled red with rage, making his freckles either stand out obscenely or blend into to increase the ruddiness of his cheeks.

"Who, the Headmistress or Hermione?"

He just had to do it; he always had to do it, egg him on; pester the Weasley youth until hackles rose and teeth were bared. Even when it seemed like the worst idea in the world, he always took some strange pleasure in bothering the young man. There was just something in the way the redhead's mouth first fell open, gaping like a confused fish, before quickly slamming shut, as though he had just become aware of what he had been doing. Then the cheeks flooded red with frustration or rage, depending on Draco's comment, and lastly, the hands would shake and the ears were coloured to match the cheeks as he ground his teeth.

There was something almost comical in the way things occurred and, now that he thought about it, Draco was pretty sure it was the ears. Weasley was the only person in the entire world whose ears turned as red as the ripest tomatoes.

It was really funny.

"You know who I'm talking about, Malfoy," Ron snapped, crossing his arms and shifting on his feet, moving his body to make it appeared larger.

Looking over his opponent – usually, he would say rival, but with Ron's recent actions and mental state, it wasn't right to use that term –, Draco twisted his lips into a smirk while his mind went over and calculated the odds of winning in a physical brawl at the moment. Ron was strong, there was no doubt about that, but so was Draco. The main issue was that they were both already exhausted from a rather grueling Quidditch match, further weakened from the duel, and Draco's back felt as though he had a fourth degree burn covering the entire area of it. It wasn't a very good sign that whenever he moved a single part of his body in the slightest matter, hot, electric needles pulsated throughout his entire back.

It would probably be an even fight, he deduced; his injury slowed him down, but Ron was already slower than him, so it put them on a more even fighting ground. And Draco was able to think clearly, Ron's emotions quickly clouded his rationality and made him excitable and predictable.

But, nonetheless, it was the worst idea in the entire world to start a fight in the Headmistress's office, after being brought there for fighting. So he'd have to just keep the witty remarks to a minimum.

"I'll be honest, I have no clue who you're talking about," he sighed, tearing his eyes away from the redhead to gesture to the women in the bubble. "I suppose I'll have to assume that you mean the delightful Hermione. And I suppose," he added, turning his eyes back to Ron, "I should tell you that you have no right to tell who I can or cannot look at."

Ron's fists tightened, knuckles whitening as his frustration threatened to overflow once again. However, one little glance to McGonagall had his body relaxing in small increments. He had to remind himself just who was present, and while McGonagall could suspend him, he didn't want Hermione witnessing the savage beating the ugly ferret standing in front of him.

It was just too cruel.

"Malfoy, I told you once, I'll tell you again, stop looking at her with that disgusting look on your face," he growled, trying to make his voice hold as much menace and promise as he could.

What he didn't expect was to see Malfoy suddenly scoff and look at his nails. "Honestly, Weaselbee," Draco began in his rarely used drawl that was reminiscent of his younger years, "you have no clue who you're talking about. You see, I can look at whoever I want to; it's a free world. And besides," he added with a smirk, "she likes it when I look at her with this 'disgusting look,' she has a thing for it."

It took every last bit of will he had not to slug the blond. That bloody, stinking ferret was baiting him, trying to push as many buttons as he could; experimenting with different words and actions to see just what the results might be. He couldn't let him win, but holy fucking hell did he want to beat the shit out of him.

"You don't deserve to be free, you bleedin' Death Eater," Ron snapped, trying hard not to pick up the nearest object and whip it at the smiling blond.

That did sting a bit, Draco realized after a second's silence. Even now, three years after the war had ended, he was still being put into the category of cruel, uncaring, malicious Death Eaters. Even after he had exposed himself as the informant for the Order during the war, he was still being ostracized and segregated for his past actions. Technically, now that he thought of it, the only wrong thing he had done was disarm Professor Dumbledore, but even then, he hadn't had a choice. It was either attempt to kill the Headmaster or watch his family be tortured and butchered before his very eyes. He never had a choice, and even in the end, he still hadn't been able to bring himself to use the Unforgivable Curse of death.

After all of this, after being tortured for having been found out by a few Death Eaters – who had been killed shortly after by members of the Order –, after helping the Order perform pivotal actions and missions that helped them gain the advantage, after saving the lives of so many people, he was still seen as the nasty, foul-mouthed, cruel, wannabe Death Eater he had been in his First Year.

Hell, he had even saved Weasley's life at one point – not that he had had a choice, he admitted bitterly.

And this was how he was being repaid for his actions.

"Weasley," he began slowly and carefully, wanting nothing more than to rip out the eyes of his current enemy, "you know very well that I'm as much of a Death Eater as your mother was. Call me anything you want, hit me, curse me, say what you want about me, but never, ever call me a Death Eater, because I never was and never will be one."

There must have been something in his voice; Ron had instantly slammed his mouth shut and swallowed any retort he had been ready to dish back out. It didn't matter what he had done, the argument was finished and he wasn't in the mood to start another; his back was aching and he wanted nothing more than to fix his wound and take a nice, warm bath with Hermione.

Instead he was stuck in his here because of the damn idiot on the other side of the room.

There was no indication that they had finished with their conversation; the next thing he knew, Hermione was stepping out of the bubble, looking torn between pain and relief. Her cheeks were red and eyes just barely puffy and he knew that she had been crying.

Stepping forward, he let his hand just gently brush against her shoulder, a simple sign of comfort that he knew she needed. "I love you," he whispered softly, just squeezing her shoulder before moving to step into the bubble with the weary looking Headmistress, unwillingly leaving Hermione alone with the last person he wanted her alone with.

"Mr. Malfoy," she began almost instantly, lacing and squeezing her fingers together, "while Ms. Granger has been kind enough to explain the situation, I would like for you to tell me everything that has been going on with Mr. Weasley. From the beginning."

He hadn't been expecting this; well, he had, but he had not expected it to be the first thing she asked. He had been positive that she was going to first ask about his relationship with Hermione, and then ease into the subject about Weasley. This directness told him that Hermione must have really let everything out about Weasley.

"To be honest Professor, I'm not sure exactly when it started," he began. "I only became very close with Hermione just prior to the Christmas holidays, but I have been watching for some time. It's not hard to see that he had been acting differently. He was angrier, more short tempered, and seemed almost obsessive with Hermione, especially when she said that she would be staying behind for the holidays." He then began to recount the situations that had passed in the months before and after Christmas, demonstrating his concerns for Hermione's well-being while being in contact with Weasley.

When he finished, there was surprise in the Headmistress's eyes, and he assumed that Hermione had not been able to see all without a biased approach to her once close friend.

"All of that has been happening and no one has said a thing about it?"

"I've discussed Weasley's situation with Hermione before, but I understand that it's hard for a friend to see him in the way that I do." He was being calm and serious; he had no choice but to sound professional when discussing the situation, it made him sound serious and it kept him from raging childishly about the redheaded bastard.

"Then tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what do you suggest we do about this situation? Evidently, you and Ms. Granger will be appropriately punished with the loss of House Points and detentions, but I will not be expelling either of you due to the circumstances surrounding the fight. Mr. Weasley, however, is a different matter. Both you and Ms. Granger have expressed your concerns for his psychological state and, after witnessing this afternoon's events and hearing what you had to say, I join you in those concerns." Leaning before, she adjusted her glasses, showing the faintest sign of weakness in her eyes. She was getting too old for these childish games, too tired to deal with students with too many problems that couldn't be easily solved.

It was, for lack of a better word, a pain in the ass.

"What do you think has caused this?" she asked. Normally, she would have been able to fully assess the situation, but she had not always been present at every fight during the War, and something may have happened that she did not know about. It was very easy for a curse to go wrong and have an effect on the mental state of a witch or wizard; it happened all of the time. She just needed to know which curse, and they could move on from there.

"I think it's a culmination of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Curse-Gone-Wrong Syndrome," he answered calmly. "I don't know which curse, but during the final battle, there were so many curses flying around that it is likely a badly casted one hit him. Add on the mental trauma of losing family and friends, and dealing with the stress of the war, it was only a matter of time before somebody showed signs of instability." He almost felt like a Mediwizard with his terminology, but he kept it as textbook sounding as possible, it removed him from the situation and kept his emotions at bay. He really just wanted to whine and vent about Weasley being the world's biggest thorn in his side, but that wouldn't help him get what he – well, Hermione – wanted.

"I agree," the Headmistress said without a moment's hesitation. She then leaned forward and the stern expression returned, pushing away the weariness of age and experience. "Now, tell me why you didn't merely disarm Mr. Weasley."

Draco resisted the urge to sigh and began his explanations.

The tension was so thick that not even the sharpest blade could cleanly slice through it. She had moved to the farthest possible point in the room, unknowingly standing in the same spot as her lover had moments before. She didn't want to be near him, didn't want to look at him and see the stranger hiding in her friend's eyes.

The reality of the situation only got worse the more she thought about it, the more she realized just how long she had purposely put herself in the dark about Ron's mental breakdown.

Taking in a deep breath, she willed her body to relax and tried to ease her mind by focusing on one of the questions for her Potions homework that she was having a slightly difficult time with.

It worked for a moment, slowing her heartbeat, easing her breathing, and slowly the tension seemed to glide out from her body. It was great until something decided to snap her concentration and lull her back into her anxieties.

"Hermione…"

Bloody fucking hell, couldn't he just leave her alone for five minutes? All she wanted was five minutes to relax, calm herself, and stop worrying about the weight of the world, and yet, he always seemed to be there, either in body or mind.

"Ron," she began softly, "please don't…"

"I…I just wanted to," he began, taking a sudden step forward, worry making his eyes glow.

"I'd rather not talk to you right now," she responded, trying to detach herself as much as possible.

"Then listen." His hands twisted and twined uncomfortably and he fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot. Seeing the signs that he had something he needed to let out, she let out a quiet sigh and silently indicated for him to continue.

"I…I want to say that I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, or what made me do it, but…I'm sorry. I was just that seeing you with Malfoy…it was just so…it just set me off. I can't stand that, I can't stand him and he is." He began to pace, still fidgeting with his hands. "He's a Death Eater, you know. A bloody Death Eater, and he tried to kill Dumbledore! That should count for something! He's not right for you, Hermione! Not at all! And it's not right that…that you kissed him like that!"

"Ron," she interjected.

"No, no, no, let me talk." He waved a finger at her, stopping mid-stride. "It's just…I can't believe that you can't see him for what he really is! He's a Death Eater," he emphasized, gesticulating wildly as if it further increased the emphasis. "A bleedin' Death Eater, Hermione! And he says you love him? How could you love someone like him? He's one of those bastards that tried to kill you, your family, and your friends, and you love him? This is either the world's biggest hoax or he's charmed you in some way, because that would never be true! I know it, I know it wouldn't be true, because I know you really love me." He began to babble then, going off on several tangents, each one wilder than the last.

"Ron," she tried again, her voice a tad louder this time.

But he continued to go off, talking about her love for him, and his hatred for Draco, continuously digging himself deeper into his hole of mental instability. If she didn't stop him soon, he wouldn't be able to crawl his way out.

"Ron!" she shouted, resisting the urge to slam her hand down on the table. "Stop it right now!"

He seemed to freeze, staring at her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She took that to her advantage and continued on; "Ron, stop all of this right now. I will tell you something very important and I need you to listen to me. Do you understand?" She didn't even wait for a response, barreling forward; she needed to keep this momentum. "Draco and I are dating. Yes, and no, he didn't not use any magic on me to make me suddenly fall for him. We have a mutual attraction for each other, we care about each other, and there isn't anything you can say or do that will make me leave him.

"Secondly, Draco is not and was not a bloody Death Eater. He joined our side before the war even started and was our informant since before Dumbledore's death. There's a lot more to his job as a mole than we know about, but I do know that he has always been on our side, even when he acted like he wanted to be Death Eater. So don't you dare call him one of those, because he never was one!" She took a deep breath, needing to calm herself before she lost too much control.

"Finally, Ron, I used to love you, but I don't feel that way anymore. I care about you, deeply, but only as a sister would care about her brother. I'm not in love with you; we just…don't fit. I waited for you, but you never seemed to want me, so I moved on. You need to move on too; Ron, but you can't do that without help." His face twisted in confusion, the first expression he had been able to show since she had begun her tirade. "Ron…you're sick. I think you got hit with a badly casted curse during the war and it's been affecting your mind. I also think you've got mental trauma from the war and it's changed you. Not just physically but mentally. You're not the same person that you used to be."

Taking in a deep breath, she rubbed her eyes, trying to will away the ache that slowly began to throb behind them. Unfortunately, it didn't offer much relief.

"I'm…I'm not sick," he stammered, torn between confused anger and dread. He wasn't sick; he was perfectly normal, the same person that he had always been. There wasn't anything wrong with him at all. "I'm the same as always, Hermione, stop joking around." He chuckled, but it was half-hearted; a part, deep within his soul, believed her words.

"You're not!" she replied. "You're not the same person at all! Before, you were more patient, you were kinder, and you were more understanding. You've become unbalanced, unstable, and you're not the same person you used to be. You're not the person who used to be my best friend." Her voice grew harder, her heart aching as the tears of regret and loss threatened to fill her eyes. "Think about it." The words were softer this time, trying their hardest to appeal to the remnants of her friend within the shell before her. "You know…you know that something is wrong. You break through sometimes, you push past the broken pieces and you see that you're not the same."

She was lying, wasn't she? She was just making this up, trying to find excuses to avoid the topic of her dating Malfoy, right? He was perfectly normal, wasn't he? Ron turned away, trying to push away her words and think clearly; it'd been so hard to think clearly for such a long time.

Massaging his forehead, he paused. Did his unclear thinking mean that she was right? There was always this strange fog on the edge of his vision, sometimes blanketing him until he couldn't remember what he did or saw. It was like a part of him fell asleep, only to wake up confused and disoriented.

Is this what she meant? That some other, darker part of him was taking over and making him do all of these things he couldn't recall doing. Was he really as unstable as she said he was?

No, no, no…no, no, no! His fingers dug into his hair as his heart quavered with apprehension and pain. She wasn't right…he was normal; he was the same as always. No, tears threatened to leak from his eyes, she was right...he was sick.

He didn't know how long he stood there, fighting the part of him that yearned for normalcy and denial, trying to understand what she meant and battling the truth in her words. All he knew was that when he turned back to her, the fog was lifted for a short time and he saw the truth.

"I'm…I'm sick." It hurt so much to say those words, hurt even more to admit them to himself, and his voice shook. "Hermione…you're right…I'm sick…What…what have I done? What have I become?" His nails dug sharply into his head, the physical pain briefly overpowering the agony in his heart. He looked up at her, watching as the tears slid down her cheeks, and his stomach twisted in despair. "I'm sorry, Hermione…I'm so sorry, for everything," he choked out as the realization grew stronger, denial pushed away by self-conviction.

"Ron," she began, taking a small step towards him. "I…"

"Can I go back to how I used to be? Can…can this be fixed?" he demanded, panic making his eyes shine. "Can we do something about this…about me?"

She nodded, fighting a smile. She was happy now, happy that he finally saw it, accepted what had happened to him, and was willing to change things. He had probably known for some time, but it had been buried so deep within that it had needed to slowly crawl its way out for him to see it. "Yes," she half-sobbed. "Yes…please. St. Mungo's has a ward devoted to psychology; they can help fix this, but only if you want this. Do you really want this, Ron? Do you really want help? I need to know."

"Yes I do," he nearly shouted, arms falling to his sides, hands closing into fists to punch the air. "I…I want to be normal again. I don't want to be this way, I don't…I don't want to hurt you again. You mean so much to me," he admitted softly.

"Then get help," she answered. "Just ask; ask Professor McGonagall, ask your family, ask for help and you'll get it. We're your friends, your family, Ron and we want to help you. All you need to do is ask." She wiped at the tears, relief suddenly flooding her body as she acknowledged the fact that Ron was finally going to get the help he needed.

"Okay." He nodded, rubbing his face. "Okay," he repeated. "I will, I promise. I want to; I want to get help, to get better."

Their timing was perfect, just seconds after his last words were spoken, the bubble dissipated around Professor McGonagall and Draco. Upon seeing her tear stained face, Draco instantly rushed towards her, ready to block her from any blows Ron might try to deliver, while the Headmistress stood from her desk, crossing her arms sternly.

"Hermione," Draco began softly, confused by the mixture of tears and her smile. "What happened?"His words were quiet, almost as if he was embarrassed or afraid to show this tender side to the others. It was a side of him only for her.

"Professor McGonagall," Ron suddenly said loudly. He had taken the moment of confusion to gather his confidence and strength, to will himself to take one more step towards healing his mind.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" She stood over them as a stern mother might stand over and watch her children.

"I…I want help. Please," the tears welled up and flow freely down his face, "I need to get help. I…I…I need to go to St. Mungo's and get help."

Astonishment filled Draco's face and he quickly glanced over to Ron, and then back to Hermione. "You convinced the prat that he was mental?" he whispered, earning a smack from the woman in front of him.

":Honestly, Draco, you could use nicer terms," she scolded. Her frown quickly formed back into a smile, however, and she added; "Yes, I did."

"I don't know whether I should call you brilliant or bleedin' mad," the blond said, twisting his lips into a small smirk. "I still wanted some reason to beat the living shit out of him."

"Don't make me hit you again," she warned with a sharp jab of her finger to his sternum.

Still smirking, he leaned closer, whispering to her, "Maybe I like it."

Her cheeks flushed red and her hand landed hard on his arm. "Sod off," she muttered. "We're having an important discussion here, stop trying to change the topic."

Rubbing his arm, he rolled his eyes and turned back to McGonagall and Ron, who had remained silent the whole time. As much as he hated the Weasley, it would be nice to have him be a bit more normal from now on. It would make him a much worthier rival, too, if it ever came down to it. But he was so much more interesting when he was insane…Oh well.

"Maybe," Hermione said softly to Draco, "once Ron is better you two can become good friends?"

'I hope he stays mental long enough for me to make Hermione forget she ever suggested that,' Draco thought, fighting the urge to sigh in exasperation.

"Mr. Weasley, are you sure about this? Do you really want to willingly go to St. Mungo's and receive medical aid?" the Headmistress asked, knowing full well that if the decision had been influenced in any way, Ron may later regret it and do more harm than good.

"Yes, I do," he answered firmly, seeing clearly for the first time in a long time. "Could...could you," he continued, cheeks red with slight embarrassment, "contact my family? I would like to tell them."

It had always been a rare sight to see Professor McGonagall smile; before and after the war she had always had the stern, thin-lipped expression on her face. Especially after the war. But now, her lips smoothly flowed into a gentle, motherly smile that made Hermione's heart warm.

"Certainly, Mr. Weasley," she answered before turning to look at Hermione and Draco. "Would you two please fetch Ginny Weasley for me? I think this would be better if we discussed this with the family at their home."

Draco gave a stiff nod and moved to tug Hermione from the room; things were getting a bit too dramatic and emotional for him and he was growing more and more inclined to roll his eyes than smile. Hermione, however, pulled away from him to move over to Ron. Leaning forward, she press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I'm proud of you Ron, remember that. I'll try to visit you whenever I can, I promise."

The redhead could only nod, throat stuck as tears threatened once more. It had been such a long time since Hermione had been nice to him. It was a pleasant feeling.

The couple moved to leave, a foot in front of the door before Ron spoke, determination thick in his voice; "Hermione, I promise you that I'll get better. No matter how long it takes, I'll get better."

Smiling, Hermione nodded and opened the door. "I'll hold you to that," she answered before stepping out.

"Fucking hell that was more than enough dramatics to last me a year."

Rolling her now-dried eyes, Hermione dug her elbow into Draco's side. "What did you expect? We were confronting someone about their mental illness; did you think that it was going to be all smiles and laughing?"

"No," he answered, stepping out from the staircase leading to Professor McGonagall's office. "But, I was kind of hoping for a bit more violence. I didn't get to hit him enough at the Quidditch pitch."

"Speaking of that," she said, forcing him to turn around so she could examine his blistered and raw back, "we need to pay a visit to Madame Pomfrey. I think you should go ahead and I'll fetch Ginny."

"What do you need to see me for?"

Turning around, Hermione wasn't all too surprised to find Ginny, Harry, Luna and Blaise sitting by the entrance, looking as though they had come straight there from the pitch and had been waiting the whole time. Harry was pale and disheveled, looking as though he had just fought through a herd of Blast-Ended-Skrewts , which was very possible given the mob reaction the crowd had gotten after the fight had subsided. Ginny was equally pale and Hermione felt a pang at the raw apprehension in her friend's eyes. Even though she was aware of Ron's situation and knew that her brother needed help, he was still her brother and she loved and cared about him very much.

Blaise, on the other hand, looked mildly amused, although there was an inkling of concern in his eyes that she knew he reserved for Draco. The two were like Achilles and Patroclus, without the suggested sexual relationship, and while the two acted like 'men' around one another, she had realized, through time, that they were very much like brothers. Luna, all the while, looked like her mind was stuck in the clouds, the lion-head hood still tucked over her hair, with the scarf pooled in her lap, the cobra's head sticking out over her knee, tongue pointed out as though in a mocking gesture towards Hermione. She hated to admit it, but it made her laugh, inwardly, a bit.

"What's going on? What did McGonagall say?" Harry asked, standing up, leaving a lovely mess of mud on the ground from his Quidditch gear.

She had really wanted to relax a bit, change, get Draco fixed and then have this conversation at the Head's room over a cup of cocoa, but now it seemed it was inevitable and she was going to be spending more time in her mud covered clothes. At least she could mildly heal some of Draco's wounds.

"I think it's best if we talk in the Head's dormitory," she answered before turning to look at Ginny. 'But, you need to go on up, Gin. McGonagall wants to see you."

Questions slid through Ginny's eyes like a slideshow, one after another, and Hermione knew every single one that passed. But she wasn't the one to answer them; it would be Ron and McGonagall's jobs. Instead, she merely gestured to the stairs and watched as Ginny squared her shoulders, gave Harry a peck on the lips, and made her way up to learn about her brother's fate.

Turning to lead the way to the dormitories, Hermione knew that she should have felt relief wash over her body, but instead all she could feel was this great sense of loss; even though she knew she was doing the right thing, it still hurt.

It would always hurt.

P.S. I know 'casted' isn't a word...I have yet to determine a 'special name' for a curse that was fucked up. Lol. 3

P.P.S. I love you guys. Thanks again for your patience.