HERMIONE

"I say this with love. That sometimes we have to get over ourselves and put our personal feelings aside for the sake of the bigger picture," said Ginny.

Hermione was glad when Ginny excused herself. But in the pressing silence of the library, a familiar loneliness settled upon her heart like a thin layer of untouched snow. She wished the others could sympathize with her cause against Ron. She might've expected Harry to take up Ron's cause, but now Ginny sided with him too.

Hermione rearranged the books around her into unnecessarily new piles, stacking her finished essays in order of when they were next due. She stifled a yawn and rubbed her aching eyelids. Consulting her reading schedule, she saw that fifteen more pages were due for Charms tomorrow.

What if she just… didn't?

No. She must. They were starting a new section on Appearance Altering Charms tomorrow and she needed to be prepared.

She earnestly tried to focus, but found her eyes blankly scanning lines without grabbing hold of the words. Intrusive thoughts dragged her along the same beaten train of thought. The worst was when the doubt slipped in telling, her that perhaps Harry and Ginny had a point. But it was too late to stray from her chosen path now. Wasn't it?

Several days later on the morning of Ron's birthday, Hermione and Lavender woke up at the same time. The two got ready in tense silence, deftly avoiding each other in the bathroom. This was a challenge given Lavender's great expanse of toiletries and products strewn across the sink.

Hermione inspected her own reflection. Not much consideration had gone into selecting her clothes this morning. But now she felt remarkably plain beside Lavender's pale blue floral spring dress. Of course the cold weather also made a dress impractical. Hermione consulted her closet again, but no chic jumper had spontaneously appeared to replace her soft brown one.

Instead she pulled open her trunk to peruse a collection of comfort novels kept under her bed. Disappearing into a fictional character's troubles sounded refreshing. She had the time, after all, for her weekends were lonely and she had no interest in celebrating Ron's existence. She clutched Jane Eyre to her chest and made a beeline for the exit. Passing Lavender's bed, the frills and false lace of Lavender's childhood "binky blankie" caught Hermione's eye, causing her to halt abruptly.

He was dating a child.

How fitting.

A large round candle with three wicks took up space amongst the lotions and perfumes on the bedside table, each producing the heavy banal scent of "Fields of Lavender". It's supposed to help with sleep and stress relief Lavender would say And Professor Trelawney says it can even inspire your Inner Eye while sleeping.

Allowing herself a momentary luxury, Hermione imagined what would happen if a candle were to get just a bit too close to those frills of lace. How quickly would they alight into flames, scorching Lavender's bedclothes, along with the blankie to which she kept to pacify herself. Hermione lost herself for a moment, running a hand along the spine of her novel.

The door to their shared lavatory opened, prompting her to duck her head and rush out of the girls dorm.

Everything about Lavender was painfully obvious. All her thoughts were so above water and predictable. There was nothing left to be discovered. No depth below the surface.

In the Great Hall, the porridge Hermione spooned into her bowl was thick and unappealing. Not even a strong stir, a dash of milk, addition of brown sugar and raisins could take the charred taste out of her mouth. She wondered if the house elves were feeling overworked and that's why the porridge was burnt. She would finish it, for their sake.

Upon leaving the Great Hall, she walked slowly, contemplatively, deciding where best to hide the day away. Harry would spend Ron's birthday with him. Perhaps she could conjure a chair for the view out of the Astronomy tower, if it wasn't too cold then she might -

"Oh, Miss Granger, there you are!" cried Professor McGonagall, rounding a corner, robes swishing in a frenzy around her. The look on her face showed that something had gone horribly wrong. "You'd better be getting down the hospital wing."

"What is it, Professor?" she asked, reflexively thinking that something had happened with Harry.

"It's Mr. Weasley. He's been poisoned," she said bracingly. "Potter's waiting outside the wing now, he'll explain."

"Ron?" Hermione breathed. "What's happened to him?"

"Potter will explain," Professor McGonagall reemphasized. Without any further information, she hurried toward Gryffindor Tower to tell Ginny.

Hermione took no time sprinting toward the hospital wing, the walls of the corridor felt as though they were pressing in around her. She finally reached Harry who was pacing, eyes wide with concern and shoulders tensed.

"Harry! What's happened?" Hermione demanded.

"Ron was -"

"Poisoned. Yes, but is he okay?"

"Madam Pomfrey is looking over him now. She thinks so."

He quickly explained the events of the morning - Romilda's love potion, Slughorn's office, the poisoned mead, and the bezoar. He finished by saying, "He's still unconscious."

The scene constructed in Hermione's mind of Ron with a deathly pale face, mouth open, foaming, limbs jerking on the floor. Her own stomach clenched too, breath catching in her throat. The room seemed as though it was tilting around her.

"They say he'll be okay," said Harry, talking more to himself than her.

Hermione nodded, but the doors that held back her emotion were failing and an uncontrolled sob escaped. She no longer trusted her shaking legs, so she leaned her forehead into Harry's shoulder.

"He's going to be okay," he said, patting her lightly on the arm. His voice sounded a million miles away.

Ginny hurdled down the hall, dressed haphazardly and hair mussed up in the back. She didn't listen past "He's been poisoned" before trying to yank open the doors of the hospital wing, receiving a sharp refusal from Madam Pomfrey. "I'm his sister!" she yelled at the closed doors as they heard the clunk of a lock.

"It's like dad all over again," said Ginny, after calming down enough to hear Harry's story. She wrapped her arms around herself. The three of them stood together, not sure of what to do or say next. "Harry, you're bleeding," Ginny said softly, reaching up to his ear. The skin at the top of Harry's ear was cracked, outlined by droplets of congealed blood. When she pulled her hand away, a few red flakes stuck to her index finger.

"Oh, yeah," Harry let out a gruff laugh. "Ron punched me. Don't tell Dudley, he'll be jealous."

Ginny was regarding her fingers with an odd expression on her face, as if reliving a memory.

"Here, I got it," Harry took her hand and wiped it clean.

"Thanks," she said a moment later, taking out her wand to heal and clean the cut on his ear.

A long, agonizing hour passed while Hermione desperately wished Madam Pomfrey would let them inside. She wanted to confirm for herself that Ron was still breathing, that his body was still warm. Her insides iced over at the thought of what would happen otherwise... Eventually Ginny's stomach rumbled loudly.

"I'll go get us something to eat … I could use the walk," said Harry, squeezing Ginny's shoulder before leaving for the kitchens.

Hermione waited until he was out of earshot before whispering, "Oh, Ginny, what if…?"

"Don't go there, Hermione," she replied. "If Harry said he'll be okay, he'll be okay."

Ginny conjured two plush cushions and sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Hermione continued to stand, wringing her clammy hands, staring at the closed double doors of the hospital wing. Her entire body was gripped by tightness, sending her muscles shivering as if to keep warm.

"I've been - I've just been so - so awful," she said, tears welling up.

Hermione hoped that Ginny would placate her by denying it. But when Ginny's reply didn't come, the tears finally escaped. Hermione slid to the floor and let them come.

This had been the longest she'd ever gone without talking to him. A residing guilt filled her as she remembered the vicious pleasure she'd taken to see him so miserable before Slughorn's Party. And again the night he'd come to her in the library. Testing him all to see whether or not he still cared.

She had hoped that keeping her defenses up long enough would show him he'd been wrong. She took for granted that he would be there, like he was a home she could always return to. But now her home was in shambles, and she couldn't be the one to repair it.

Harry returned with a plate of sandwiches and crisps just before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived, looking panicked and windswept. Hermione, Harry and Ginny attempted to peek over their shoulders as Madam Pomfrey admitted them into the hospital wing. All they could see were crisp white curtains surrounding Ron's bed.

It was another hour or two later when Ron's parents exited the hospital wing with assurances that Ron would be okay, but was still unconscious. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley received the full story again from Harry before leaving to speak with Dumbledore. The others continued to sit there as the day edged toward evening, begrudging Madam Pomfrey who still wouldn't allow them inside.

Hermione didn't have the heart to partake in Harry and Ginny's discussion about the motives behind the poison. Of course it wasn't long before Harry brought up his suspicions regarding Malfoy. As it was Ginny's first time hearing about it, Harry launched into a full description of his findings since their visit to Borgin and Burkes.

But Hermione couldn't stomach hearing about Malfoy again, not when her insides were still in knots. She'd barely eaten what Harry had brought from the kitchens.

At long last, they were allowed inside to see Ron. The others continued to spin their theories, but she kept an eye on his breathing. She had seen him sleep before - on the train, in class, and long nights "studying" in the Common Room. But seeing him lying so straight with covers tucked up to his chest felt strangely intimate, like it was revealing some vulnerability she didn't know he had.

Finally he mumbled something: "Er-my-nee." It'd been right after she had spoken.

Did he just say her name?

He couldn't have… could he?

Well, he certainly didn't say "Lavender."

Later that evening she closed the red hangings around her own bed. Crookshanks hopped up on her pillow and curled into a tight cozy spiral. Hermione stroked her absentmindedly for an indeterminate amount of time, taking comfort in the hum of her purring. When she couldn't fall asleep, Hermione instead got out her knitting needles.

Her hands busied themselves so she could get lost in thought.

There were so many apologies she wished Ron would make. But the greatest among them was allowing himself to get in the way of the relationship they could have. She knew, or strongly suspected, that he must have similar feelings for her. His preoccupation with Krum was so absurd, and just highlighted the same pattern of insecurities. He got in his own way, just like with Quidditch. But after today, all that didn't seem to matter anymore. The real question now was what if their last interaction had been their last?

She slept restlessly through the remaining hours of the night, waking up multiple times to check the time. When it finally reached an acceptable hour, she decided to go down to the hospital wing to see if Ron had finally woken up. When she got there he was sitting up in bed, drinking his potion. He watched apprehensively as she approached his bedside, her footsteps on the cold stone floor echoing throughout the room.

"Hey," she said, fidgeting with the wrapped gift in her hands. "How are you feeling?

He winced as he cleared his throat.

"Like a Blast-Ended Skrewt set me on fire," his voice sounding raspy. "But mostly alright."

"Good, good… they said yesterday that you'll make a full recovery," she said.

"Not in time for the match," he said, swallowing painfully. He continued to regard her curiously through bloodshot eyes. "So are you -" clearing his throat again "- speaking to me now?"

Hermione stared at the floor, hoping the words she was supposed to say would appear on the stones below her.

"I suppose that depends on if you forgive me," she said softly before pushing the gift into his hands. "Here, I made you something."

He smiled gently at her before tearing open the wrapping. She studied him. She could tell he was feeling worse than he let on. His arms moved as if through water and his fingers fumbled while untying the ribbon. His face was pale, especially against the contrast of his vivid red hair. But his face lit up as he pulled out the white scarf.

"It's white now, but I put a Color Changing Charm on it. So it'll match the color of whichever team you're supporting in the next match. School teams or professional ones," Hermione explained.

"This is brilliant," he said, grinning up at her. "You're brilliant." He wrapped the scarf around his neck and it immediately turned a deep Gryffindor crimson, revealing the pattern of three white Keeper's posts that ended in tassels on either side.

Hermione saw now that several stitches had snagged, the edges were crooked and it didn't lie exactly flat.

"You don't have to wear it now if -"

"I'm honestly impressed you remembered the order of hoop heights."

She rolled her eyes. "I've been to every one of your matches," she huffed. "And besides, I know how to play Quidditch."

"Well… I wouldn't go that far," he said, face splitting into a bashful crooked grin that made her heart thaw. "Anyway, I needed this. The blankets here are rubbish, I almost froze to death last night."

"Right, well…" she started, not knowing how to finish. "Consider it an apology… for … for letting it go on so long."

"Don't be stupid. It's fine," he replied quickly, waving a hand. "I'm just happy you're talking to me again."

Hermione felt her face go warm. After all these months, and it had been as easy as that.

"But d'you wanna know the only good thing about being poisoned?"

"What?"

"It won't leave a mark," he said, pointing to a section of soft pink skin on his hand in the shape of a sharp beaked triangle. Hermione gave his leg a pointed nudge.

They shared a lingering look before she replied, "Well…I'm glad you're okay."

One of the heavy doors groaned open to reveal Harry, who seemed thrilled that Ron had woken up and was on good terms with Hermione again. Harry recounted the story of Ron's poisoning with impressive detail, having told it so many times. The three of them discussed the new information from Hagrid, that he'd overheard Dumbledore and Snape in the Forest.

"So Dumbledore's got Snape checking up on the Slytherins?"

"Yeah, and Hagrid made it seem like they were arguing about it. Like Snape was pushing back, didn't want to do whatever Dumbledore was asking him to," said Harry, he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "I just wish he'd tell me why he trusts Snape."

"I agree that it's suspicious, Harry. But until we know more, we just have to trust that Dumbledore has a good reason not to tell you," Hermione reasoned. "You need to be focusing on getting that memory from Slughorn."

Harry shook his head dismissively and looked stonily at the floor.

Meanwhile Ron, who was thoroughly enjoying the experience of being served breakfast in bed, did not appear to notice. "Harry… have they really sent Muggles up to the sun?"

Momentarily taken out of his preoccupations with Snape, Harry looked up. "What?" he asked, sounding amused.

"To the moon, Ronald. It's not possible to get that close to the sun," Hermione smiled as she corrected him, remembering the feel of soft grass under her feet.

"How's it impossible to go to the sun, but going to the moon is no problem?" asked Ron.

"Oh yeah, didn't they send a chimp up first?" Harry asked Hermione. "To see if it'd survive the trip?"

Before she could answer, Ron added, "That's a bit fucked up, don't you think? Poor thing didn't have a choice, did it?"

Hermione's heart melted, her face falling into an easy smile. Ron seemed to have gotten some of his color back since he'd woken up too. Harry caught her eye and gave her an examining look. In response, she cleared her throat and simply responded:

"You're right Ron. Not exactly the most humane thing to do."

"That has got to be the worst birthday in history," said Ron, staring moodily down at his cup of morning potion that Madam Pomfrey had just given him. "And it was my seventeenth, too."

"I dunno, the first part was alright when you were opening your presents before Romilda's-"

Ron cut Harry off and pointed a fork at him menacingly.

"We won't be speaking of that ever again," he demanded.

"Perhaps we could redo your birthday next weekend?" Hermione suggested. "We get the Room of Requirement to do a Chudley Canons theme and Chess tournament like we did last year."

"Can't. We've got Quidditch on Saturday," said Harry, cringing at the thought. "Oh, and by the way Ron … McLaggen will have to take your spot for the match."

"WHAT? " Ron spluttered, knees jerking up to send his breakfast tray crashing to the floor.

Before Harry got a chance to explain, Hermione saw the doors to the hospital wing open again, this time Lavender entered and let out a shriek.

"There you are! I just had to hear from Dean that you were in the hospital wing! I don't suppose you could have told me?" she directed at Harry, completely ignoring Hermione. "Do you know how worried I was? I searched the entire school for you."

"By the entire school, you mean everywhere but the hospital wing?" said Ron, which did nothing to diffuse Lavender.

"We - er - better go," said Harry. While leaving, Hermione looked back just in time to see Lavender glaring at her.

Over the next week, Hermione and Harry made multiple trips each day to visit Ron in the hospital. More than once, however, they had to turn around after hearing Lavender's high pitched tones carry down the corridor. But finally on Tuesday evening, Hermione was able to bring Ron a new change of clothes while Harry was at practice.

"Ergh, not this blue shirt. This one hangs funny on me."

"Take it up with Harry, he's the one that picked them out."

"He knows that I like the longer ones," groaned Ron.

Hermione bit back a smile.

"At least he got the right pants," he said, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Do you mind?" he asked, looking pointedly at the curtain. They were the only ones in the room.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm getting dressed, Hermione. I don't need you peeping at my bare arse."

"Fine," she said, waving her wand so curtains surrounded Ron's bed.

She stood outside the curtains listening to Ron's weak, pitiful grunts as he changed. A narrow opening in the curtains piqued her curiosity. He was facing the other direction, struggling to bring the shirt over his head. She admired the divet of his spine between the two columns of rope-like muscles. Freckles covered his shoulders, collecting there and spilling down the length of his back as if someone had sprinkled them on him from above. She bit her lip and turned away.

"See? It's too small," he said when he allowed her to come back in.

"It's lovely, really highlights your eyes," she replied, only half teasing. "Don't you think Madam Pomfrey should be here for this?"

"Why? You're here," he said.

"Yes, but -" She looked nervously at the matron's office, wondering whether or not to fetch her.

"I'll be fine, Hermione. I've walked my whole life, believe it or not," said Ron, preparing himself to stand.

The twinge of gray color on Ron's face was enough to concern her. It was the first time he'd gotten out of bed in several days, and she knew his throat burned badly enough that he wasn't eating and drinking properly. Of course when he did stand, his eyes immediately went glassy and he swayed on the spot. Hermione forced him to sit and rushed to get Madam Pomfrey.

Ron did much better on his next attempt. He made it halfway across the room before a swell of nausea overtook him and Madam Pomfrey darted off to get his potion. Holding a large bowl, Hermione sat beside him on the stark white sheets of a hospital bed.

"D'you suppose McLaggen has been practicing since tryouts?" Ron asked.

"That's what you're concerned with right now?"

"He can't have been, or else we would've seen him down at the pitch. I'll bet he's really out of practice."

Ron looked at her from the corner of his eye. She glared straight back.

"I wouldn't know," she said sharply, turning away.

"He hasn't talked to you about it?"

"You can barely walk ten feet, yet you're worried about Quidditch?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah," he responded. "What if he steals my spot on the team?"

"So what?"

"So what? Hermione, I earned that spot!" he said, causing another haunting guilt to pass over her. "That wouldn't be fair for him to come swooping in and taking it now."

"I think you should just be glad you're not dead," she said shortly.

"He really hasn't talked to you about it?"

Her first reaction - her usual reaction - was to shut him down. Show him that she wouldn't entertain these jealousies. Where was his self respect? Wasn't it obvious to him by now that these questions were unnecessary?

But as she sat there, inches away from him, feeling the feverish warmth radiating from him, she decided to hold her tongue. He'd forgiven her yesterday without hesitation after she'd spent months freezing over their friendship and sending a flock of birds to attack him. Was she able to return his unequivocal forgiveness for simple reassurance?

"He and I haven't spoken since Slughorn's Party," she replied. "Well, that's not entirely true. He cornered me afterwards in the hall to tell me he fancied me … in his self-possessed way… but I told him I wasn't interested."

"You did?"

Hermione nodded. "I asked you to the party first, didn't I?"

They were interrupted again by Lavender, who'd panicked upon entering the hospital wing to Ron's empty bed. She rushed over to him, snatching the essence of rue from a bewildered Madam Pomfrey exiting her office, and proceeded to spoon feed it to Ron.

Lavender failed to acknowledge Hermione until she seized the bowl from her hands and announced, ""I'll be taking it from here."

On Wednesday that week, Hermione, Harry and Ginny came to visit Ron after dinner. His strength was returning daily, made clear by his rising moods and increasing complaints of boredom.

"You're a saint, Hermione," he said, accepting the extra helping of dessert she'd brought him from dinner. She then set a stack of books at his bedside table. "What're those for?" he asked.

"For keeping up with your studies!" Hermione said.

"You can't be serious," Ron said, exchanging a look with Harry. "I'm lucky to be alive! They can't expect me to keep up with assignments."

"You were keen enough to play Quidditch yesterday," she retorted.

"Well, that's different. The team relies on me," he said. He cleared his throat, trying to look nonchalant. "So, how's McLaggen been at practice this week?"

"Terrible," said Harry and Ginny together. Ginny continued: "Every time one of us has the Quaffle, he screams directions at us until we pass it. I'm surprised he hasn't lost his voice."

"There's an idea," Harry mumbled.

"Yesterday he told Ritchie - who he calls 'Ricky' - to be glad Quidditch is on brooms, because otherwise he'd be too slow to reach the Bludgers," Ginny continued.

"Now that's just mean," said Ron, a smile curling on his face.

"And he keeps dropping all these hints that Harry's not qualified to Captain 'Quaffle based positions' just because he's a Seeker."

"He said what?!" said Harry, turning towards her.

"I defended you, don't worry," she assured him. "He's heinous, Ron. But as long as he just shuts up and does his job on Saturday, we still have alright chances to beat Hufflepuff by a good margin. They're more of a defensive team anyway."

The conversation then moved again to the events of Ron's poisoning. "Do you remember any of it?" Hermione asked, referencing Romilda Vane's love potion.

Ron's face turned a deep red and he nodded. "All of it. It's got a pink haziness to it though… Like I said, no one mentions it again," he said forcefully.

"Don't take our fun. Maybe Harry can do a reenactment?" Ginny said, looking at Harry and raising an eyebrow. "Just once?"

"No way," Harry laughed. "I'll stay on his good side, my ear still hurts."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that mate," said Ron, smiling apologetically.

"S'alright. But you owe me. Next time I get in a fight, you're backing me up."

"I hope it's with McLaggen," Ron grumbled.

Harry brought out a game of Exploding Snap and they took turns until they accidentally set fire to Ron's sheets and were immediately shooed out by an irate Madam Pomfrey.