This will have a scene from my Romione fic Twelve Kisses.

This will also have some visits from a few people. It's mainly filler, as Hermione doesn't know anything that is happening through the next chapters in the series. And I don't think she finds out until after the events unfold and she isn't petrified anymore.

So imma try to stretch this out as much as I can to give y'all something to read while you're missing everything that Harry and Ron is doing without her.

I will, however, have her not tell them that she heard everything she heard while petrified. Let's save that for a missing moment in the future or something.

I'm honestly glad to be out of this book. I thought having Hermione's perspective would make me like Chamber of Secrets. And while I did enjoy having moments with Ginny and other things in Hermione's thought process...I still don't like Chamber of Secrets lol

Anyways, on with the fic!

Chapter 43: Petrified

The hospital wing was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of Madam Pomfrey's robes as she bustled about. I lay there, still as a statue, my thoughts my only companions. My body may have been immobilized by the basilisk's petrifying gaze, but my mind was spinning relentlessly.

Time stretched in a way it never had before. Every tick of the clock felt like hours, and the world seemed to move on without me. My heart sank deeper when I overheard Harry and Ron the next morning, their voices raised in protest as they tried to visit me.

"We want to see Hermione!" Ron demanded, his tone firm, though it had a hint of desperation.

"You can't keep us from her!" Harry added. "She's our best friend!"

Madam Pomfrey's voice came through, calm but unyielding. "I'm sorry, boys. We're taking no more chances. There's every possibility the attacker could return to finish the job."

Finish the job? I had always thought of Hogwarts as my safe haven, but now the very walls seemed filled with dangers I couldn't comprehend. I wanted to scream at Madam Pomfrey to let them in, to let me have just a moment of comfort, but of course, I couldn't. All I could do was lay there, trapped in my own mind.

Madam Pomfrey's footsteps approached my bedside a short while later. She adjusted the blankets over me with a tenderness that almost broke my heart. "Oh, Miss Granger," she murmured softly, as if I could hear her—which, of course, I could. "This has gone too far. It needs to end." Her voice wavered slightly, the stress of the situation clearly getting to her.

I wished I could tell her how much I agreed. I wanted to tell her everything I'd discovered before this had happened to me. The page from the library book clutched in my hand was evidence of what I'd figured out, but I could only hope someone would find it in time. What if they didn't? What if Ron and Harry were wandering into danger without the information I'd uncovered?

I spent hours running through books in my mind, flipping through their pages as if they were filed in an invisible library. It was a game I played to keep myself sane, reciting facts about magical creatures, spells, and potions. But even that became dull after a while. My thoughts kept drifting to Harry and Ron. Were they all right? Were they still investigating? And Ginny—poor Ginny. She must have been terrified. I wished I could comfort her, reassure her that everything would be fine. But what if it wasn't?

Occasionally, I heard snippets of conversation between the professors who came to check on me and the other victims. Professor McGonagall's clipped, worried tones carried easily through the quiet.

"She was always such a bright girl," she said one afternoon. "To see her like this… It's unbearable."

"She'll be fine, Minerva," Professor Flitwick replied in his high, squeaky voice. "She's strong, and clever. If anyone could figure out a way to help, it's Miss Granger."

The words warmed me slightly, though they didn't ease the guilt gnawing at my insides. I should have been helping. Instead, I was lying here, useless. I wanted so badly to contribute, to do something—anything.

The hours passed like days, the weight of worry pressing on me like a heavy blanket. Madam Pomfrey fussed over me now and then, muttering about the stress of keeping the students safe and how she hoped the Ministry would step in soon. I could tell she was doing her best to remain calm, but I could feel the tension in her movements.

As the day waned, the infirmary grew even quieter. I was left with nothing but my thoughts once more. I clung to the hope that Harry and Ron would figure things out, that they'd be safe. And I prayed that the nightmare of the Chamber of Secrets would end before anyone else was hurt.

It was late. At least, I thought it was. Time felt like a cruel trick these days—always moving, but for me, standing still. The stillness was the worst part, trapped in my mind and unable to do anything but think. There were so many thoughts rushing around: regret, frustration, fear. But mostly, I felt guilt. Guilt for what had happened, guilt for leaving Ron and Harry to figure everything out without me. And guilt for putting myself in danger, even when I knew the risks.

That's why, when I heard the sound of a chair scraping quietly against the floor near my bed, my heart seemed to lurch. At first, I thought it might be Madam Pomfrey checking on me again, but then I heard his voice.

"Mione? Hermione?"

It was Ron.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to yell out his name, let him know I was okay—still me, even though I was frozen like this. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but I just want to let you know that I'm angry as hell at you. Why didn't you come with me? I know you were on some breakthrough, but you knew what was happening. You knew that this Heir of Slytherin bastard was looking for kids like you. Why, why, why did you do this to yourself?"

Oh, Ron. I wished I could tell him how much I regretted it. How I had thought I could solve it, stop it all before it went any further. But I hadn't. And now, here I was, causing him so much pain.

"I need to stop blaming you. This isn't really your fault. You didn't know he would strike. It was my fault for letting you go by yourself. I should have chased after you, instead of rushing to the Quidditch match. And now you're like this. That was very selfish of me. I should have been there to protect you. Instead, I was thinking about how I would rather be outside at the game instead of a stuffy old library. That's my problem. I need to study harder like you. Maybe it will help with my poor decision making."

His voice cracked, and I felt my heart break. Ron sounded so… vulnerable. It wasn't a side of him I got to see often, and it hurt knowing that this side of him had only come out because of me.

"I don't like seeing you like this. It's like you're dead. But thank Merlin you aren't. If you died, I wouldn't know what I would do. You're my best friend. Harry is too, but I would miss you a lot. Hell, I miss you right now. I wouldn't mind you yelling at me over something dumb, or nagging me to do my homework, or laughing at one of my jokes."

The tears I couldn't shed felt like they were suffocating me from the inside. Hearing him say that, knowing how much he missed me, made me ache to wake up even more. To tell him it was okay. That I'd laugh at all his jokes forever if it meant we could just go back to normal.

"You have got to wake up. You can't stay like this forever. I won't allow you to. Mione, please."

And then it happened. I felt something soft and warm press against my forehead. His lips. Ron had kissed my forehead. It was the simplest, most tender gesture, and yet it sent shockwaves through me. My heart raced as though it wanted to escape my chest and find him. A warmth bloomed in my stomach, even though I couldn't move. He'd kissed me. Ron Weasley had kissed me.

I remembered the fairy tale I'd told him once. "Sleeping Beauty." I'd been surprised he even listened, but he had. I wondered if he'd thought of it, too, as he leaned over me. He probably thought the kiss would wake me, like I was Aurora and he was Prince Phillip. The thought made me want to cry even more.

I wanted so desperately to hug him, to reassure him that I was okay. But I couldn't. I stayed stiff and still, like a statue. I must have looked lifeless.

Ron sighed deeply, and I felt his breath brush against my face.

"Fine, Hermione. Hagrid says to solve this, we have to follow the spiders. So I'll do it. I'll follow the spiders. Not for them, but for you."

I wanted to scream. No, Ron, don't do it! I knew what following the spiders meant for him. I knew how much he feared them, how they terrified him to his core. And yet, he was willing to face that fear. For me.

At that moment, I promised myself that if—no, when—I woke up, I would never tease him about spiders again. Not ever.

I felt a gentle pat on my shoulder, and then the weight of his presence disappeared. He was gone.

The silence returned, heavier than before, but his words stayed with me, wrapping around my heart like a protective shield. And for the first time since I'd been Petrified, I didn't feel so alone.

It was hard to tell time when you're petrified. Days passed without feeling like days. Every sound felt amplified in the silence—footsteps on the stone floor, the rustle of fabric, even the faint whisper of Ron's voice when he snuck in at night.

It had to be night; the castle always seemed quieter when he came.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron said softly, his voice nowadays unusually gentle. I imagined him looking around nervously, making sure no one was watching. "It's just me. Bet you already figured that, though. Harry lent me his cloak again—don't tell him I told you. Not that you could, I suppose…"

I would have rolled my eyes if I could. Typical Ron, always rambling when he was nervous.

"Things are... well, things are a bit of a mess without you, you know? Classes aren't the same. McGonagall actually scolded Harry yesterday for not writing his Transfiguration essay properly. If you were there, you would've reminded him to rewrite it. Honestly, I don't know how he manages."

His voice grew quieter. "Gryffindor Tower's been weird too. Seamus and Dean tried to charm one of Fred and George's fireworks to fly around the common room, and it singed half the carpet before we got it under control. You'd have hated it—and then told them off about it."

I could hear him shifting in his seat, probably rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway… we all miss you. I miss you. I know you'll probably hex me for saying that when you wake up,that is, if you can even hear me... but I don't care. You'd better wake up soon, Hermione."

I wanted to wake up right then, just to tell him I wouldn't hex him. But I couldn't, and the weight of my stillness crushed me a little more.

A few nights later, Ron returned. He didn't greet me like before, just shuffled in quietly, pulled up his chair, and started rustling through something—parchment? A book?

"Right, so," he began, clearing his throat. "I had Parvati nick this from your trunk. Figured, you know, you might like it. Romeo and Juliet. Remember when we read it together?" He paused. "Anyway, I'm gonna read it."

I nearly laughed at the thought of Ron, of all people, reading Shakespeare without me making him.

He started with a dramatic, overly deep voice: "Two households, both alike in dignity—blah, blah, blah. Let's skip to the good parts."

I would've sighed at his impatience if I could. But then he launched into the dialogue, attempting accents for each character.

"Juliet, my love!" he declared in an exaggerated posh tone. "Oh, Romeo, Romeo!" he replied in a falsetto so ridiculous I almost forgot my despair. "Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

His reading was terrible—words mispronounced, sentences rushed—but there was something so comforting about it. For the first time since I'd been petrified, I felt humor.

"And Juliet says, 'Parting is such sweet sorrow,' which is daft, if you ask me. Who says that? Just say 'goodbye,' right?" He chuckled awkwardly. "Anyway, you'd know better. Maybe you can explain it to me when you wake up."

He continued reading for what felt like hours, his voice gradually softening as he got more comfortable. I wanted to thank him, to tell him how much it meant to me that he was here, that he cared.

When he finally closed the book, I heard him stand and sigh.

"You've got to wake up soon, Hermione. I'm not cut out for this literature shit." he said, his voice sounding like he was grinning.

I wanted to laugh. Instead, I silently promised him I'd do my best to wake up.

It was a few weeks later when I overheard Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout talking about the Mandrakes being ready to be cut. I could barely contain my elation. Finally, everyone who had been petrified, myself included, would be cured! Relief and excitement swelled in me, even in my petrified state. It was all I could focus on, the thought that soon I could move, talk, and help again.

Hours—or what felt like hours—later, I picked up familiar voices. Ron and Harry! They were here in the hospital wing! My chest felt tight with emotion, even though I couldn't move a muscle to greet them.

"There's just no point talking to a Petrified person," I heard Madam Pomfrey say in her usual matter-of-fact tone before her voice trailed off. The sound of Ron's and Harry's footsteps drew closer, and my heart would've been pounding if it could.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" Ron said quietly. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know."

Ron's voice was warm, familiar, and comforting. I felt someone lightly rub my arm, and a wave of solace washed over me. It had to be him, Ron. I knew that touch from his visits, sneaking in to sit with me, when no one else knew. My feelings were always a mix of gratitude and sadness. I wanted so badly to tell him how much it meant to me, but I couldn't.

"What's that in her hand?" Harry asked suddenly, his tone sharp with curiosity. Finally! Someone had noticed the paper I had clutched before being petrified. Relief flooded through me. They were so close to the truth!

"Go on and get it out," Ron whispered, his voice soft but determined. I willed my hand to loosen, to give them the vital clue, but it wasn't easy. My fingers were clamped so tightly around the paper that Harry had to work carefully to free it. My heart practically screamed for them to hurry.

After several tense moments, Harry finally managed to pull the paper free. The rustle of the parchment was like music to my ears. I listened as Harry read aloud, hanging on every word, elated that they were piecing it all together.

"Ron! This is it!" Harry exclaimed. "This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber's a basilisk—a giant serpent! That's why I've been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It's because I understand Parseltongue! The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got petrified. Justin... Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again. And Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror—and—"

"And Mrs. Norris?" Ron whispered.

"The water…" Harry said slowly. "The flood from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection. The crowing of the rooster… is fatal to it!" he read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spiders flee before it! It all fits!"

I wanted to cry with joy. They had figured it out! Every piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

"But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" Ron asked, ever practical. "A giant snake… Someone would've seen…"

"Pipes," Harry said. "Pipes… Ron, it's been using the plumbing. I've been hearing that voice inside the walls…"

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" Ron whispered. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in—"

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!" Harry finished, his voice urgent.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. My friends were incredible, and I couldn't be prouder.

"This means that I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been controlling the basilisk," said Harry.

"What're we going to do? Should we go straight to McGonagall?"

"Let's go to the staff room," Harry decided. "She'll be there in ten minutes. It's nearly break time."

Their footsteps echoed as they ran out of the hospital wing, the door swinging shut behind them. If I could have jumped for joy, I would have. They had pieced it all together! I was bursting with pride for Ron and Harry, my heart swelling with gratitude and hope. Soon, we would all be safe again.