“Hermione,” pleaded Mrs. Weasley, standing her ground in my kitchen. “We all want you to come! The poor boy can hardly take care of himself!”
I found it funny that the relationships I had forged with the Weasley family over the last few months had become so strong. They knew me during school, but they would never have invited me to come live with them until Ron could take care of himself properly. I didn’t want to be a financial burden on the family; on the other hand, I did not want to tell them my reasoning for not coming.
“Mrs. Weasley,” I reasoned, thinking quickly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving her hands wildly. “You would be nothing of the sort. You are one of the family, as far as we are concerned. Please, Hermione. I’d rather you be helping him than some stranger coming once a day.”
I looked discerningly at her. She seemed honest enough, and she had made a fair plea. “Besides,” she said softly. “You’re the only one he remembers.” Her eyes were quivering with tears. I couldn’t imagine how terrible it must be for a mother to have her own boy not recognize her. My heart melting, I relented.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Weasley repeated. “You’ll come over now.”
I blinked as she flicked her wand around my apartment, packing all my things and setting the place into order. I couldn’t believe it, but by the time she was done my apartment was spotless “ probably in better condition than it had been before I moved in. “Thanks,” I murmured.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Weasley said briskly, smiling as she magicked my suitcases into the air. “Now come. He really needs your help.”
I followed her into the swirling green flames. She called out “The Burrow!” and we were whisked off to the place I loved so well. Glimpses of living rooms and happy families flashed past us, until we finally arrived in the Weasleys’ kitchen, staring around. I was surprised I had managed to keep my feet this time. I did not deal with being spun around and around and around inside green fire.
“Hermione!” I dropped my suitcase and hugged Ron back. “It’s so good to see you.” I almost began to cry again, I was so happy to see him. I knew he didn’t know who I was, but he remembered my name, and that was enough for me.
“It’s good to see you too, Ron,” I said. It had been about a week since he had woken up. Now he could walk on his own, but he didn’t remember anything, and he had trouble controlling his hands and speaking at times. Mrs. Weasley had made sure I knew everything that he couldn’t do before she let me speak that morning when she had come to my apartment. Technically, it was still mine, but I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be going back to it.
Ginny came from behind him, as Ron let go of me. Ron stalked off in the other direction, blind to the world except me. That was the way I felt about him; he was my dearest friend of all, and I was glad to be there for him. He was all I could think about at times “ when I was lying at home at night, stroking Crookshanks blindly, just reminiscing. The simple things made me happy. Every smile, every touch. I was glad to be near him.
“Gin,” I said, embracing her. “How is he?”
“He’s a little detached,” she said, her voice shaky. “It’s weird to be around him. He just kind of … is.”
I swallowed and nodded my head.
“You light him up, Hermione,” said Ginny, shrugging. “You’re the only one he remembers.”
Tears were filling her brown eyes, and I swallowed. I knew this wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t help feeling responsible. Ron knew no one but me. He was blind even to his own family. As I followed Ginny into the family, I caught sight of Harry sitting on the couch, looking vaguely in Ron’s direction.
“He hasn’t spoken much since Ron came home,” Ginny said, gesturing toward her husband. “I think he’s a little shocked. He’s never seen Ron like this. Well …” She paused. “Not since the incident with the brains in the Department of Mysteries. I don’t think he thought he would ever have to see his best mate like that again.”
I looked at Ron, sitting there in the corner. He was whistling through his teeth, because he couldn’t control his lips well enough to whistle the normal way. His hands were in his lap, and there was a blank look in his eyes. His eyes traveled around the room and rested on me. If only for a moment, I caught a glimpse of my dear and darling Ron in his eyes “ the way he was supposed to be. If only I could keep him that way forever …
Harry touched my arm. I looked over at him from my position on the couch. There was fear in his eyes. Such fear I had not seen from him in what seemed a lifetime. “Harry,” I said. “He’ll be all right. I’ll bring him back.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, but I knew he would not sleep well that night. There was something in him that was attached to his best friend, and I knew that everyone there would have greater reason to rest their heads at night if he knew them.
“We better get going, Harry,” said Ginny, pulling him to his feet. Harry cleared his throat and nodded.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Weasley,” he said formally.
“Oh, come now, Harry dear. You married my daughter; the least you can do is call me ‘Mum,’” sighed Mrs. Weasley, crossing the kitchen and taking Harry’s cloak from the rack. “You’re one of the family now.”
Harry smiled, comforted by finally having a family after all those years. I often wondered whether he kept in touch with the Dursleys anymore. Even if they had treated him badly, they were still his family. With me, blood ties were very strong, and miraculous as it would seem, I would have kept in touch with them. I couldn’t blame him for it “ They had been horrible to him.
Harry and Ginny reached the door together. “Thanks, Mom,” Ginny called over her back. She turned to me. “I’m trusting you, Hermione.”
With that, she left the Burrow. I felt a great lump rising in my throat, and I almost choked. I caught myself. This was my fault; I knew it. I didn’t care what the world would tell me “ I had somehow caused this.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Weasley?” I asked, reaching for an apron which was hanging over the back of the chair. She turned to me and sighed.
“Help me with the potatoes, if you wouldn’t mind, dear,” she said, turning back to the skillet and tossing the peppers a few times. “Always remember,” she said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, “that the best food is not made with magic, but with hard work and effort.” She smiled, glanced at her son sitting quietly in the next room, and tossed the peppers once more. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a tear glistening in her eye. But when I thought about it, years later, I couldn’t be so sure that it wasn’t forming in my own.
“Dinner!” I called timidly into the next room, only to find it empty save for Ron. He came running like an obedient puppy, and I almost had an emotional breakdown just watching him. It was as if he remembered nothing at all. Yes, you’d say; he remembers you. He only remembers my face “ nothing of meaning. It’s as if he remembers me, but not why he remembers. It was almost looking at a photograph I thought I had seen before, but I wasn’t quite sure. Ron looked empty.
“You’ve got to say it louder, dear,” she said, looking up at me. “Arthur’s hearing is terrible.” She grabbed two soapy frying pans from the sink and clanged them together. “Supper!”
Even I, who had been expecting it, jumped when the two pans clanged together like a resounding gong. This was the Weasley home, and I was so glad to be treated as a part of it.
“Mmm … excellent, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley, laying down his fork and wiping her mouth with his napkin.
“Hermione made the most of it,” she said absently, getting up and bustling around the table to collect plates and cups. “I only made the mushrooms.”
“Well, the mushrooms were delicious, then,” he said, winking at me. “Thank you, Hermione.”
I blushed, glad to be treated as one of their own. The Weasleys were already like family to me, so I was blessed to be considered a part of this happy establishment. I rose to help Mrs. Weasley clear, but she motioned for me to sit down.
“I want to help,” I reasoned, but she refused to let me clear.
“Go help Ron,” she said, vigorously scrubbing a dishpan. “That’s why you’re here.”
Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs. I knew that she was right: That was why I was here, but I could still help. I had been in Ron’s room many times before, but I was used to Ginny’s, since I had spent so many nights there. As I fumbled with the doorknob and the door swung open, I stifled a laugh.
Ron’s room had not changed one iota since I was there. The walls were still orange, the bedspread was still the same, the Chudley Cannons poster was still plastered to the walls. The only thing that was different was how clean it was. The bed was made, the floor was vacuumed. I had never taken the time to think what Ron living in the room would do to it, and I suppose Mrs. Weasley had tidied it up a bit since Ron moved out.
Ron himself lay sprawled on the bed. I knew that position. That’s what he did when he was thinking. I remembered the many times I had seen him assume that position while pondering some particularly difficult potion or some complex spell. Usually when he did this, he would sit up, scratch his head, and ask me for the answer. This time, he just lay there contemplatively. I didn’t want to disturb him, for I feared that I would lose this rare sight. Ron thinking for himself.
I walked over to him and sat on the edge of his bed. Even if the room was a blinding shade of orange, it was refreshing not to see him lay amongst white sheets. I hated the idea of that hospital now, with all its patients. I could feel what I change Ron had wrought in me, and I loved him more and more every day.
His eyes fluttered open and he looked at me. “Hermione,” he said, clearly perplexed. “I can’t remember …” He closed his eyes again. “Do you know?” Here was clearly a mind that couldn’t read itself.
“No, Ron, I don’t,” I said soothingly, brushing his hair away from the place that I remembered with all the blood and white bone. I had been so scared that night, but we had lived through it “ we both had. I smiled to myself. “I don’t know, but you do. You’ll remember soon enough.”
“If you say so,” he yawned. Evidently, his accident had turned me into an absolute truth as well. I could get used to this.
I bent and kissed his forehead. “All in time, Ron,” I promised, slipping my hand into his. He squeezed it instinctively. “All in time.”
He was sleeping. I couldn’t see anything but him, I loved him so much. When I was near him, everything felt so “ so “ right. Like now, my hand in his. Surely, this was the way it was supposed to be, I could feel it. I was no Seer, that was for sure, but I could feel him in my future.
“We’re meant to be together, I know it, Hermione,” he said, putting his hand tenderly on my shoulder. “I can feel it.”
I looked at him incredulously, not believing what I had just heard.
“Nothing is certain, Ron,” I said, pulling away. “You can’t know that.”
“I know this,” he said, his eyes blazing. “This is certain. I know I will be with you.”
Oh, I had done everything in my power to prove him wrong. I had made sure that I would be proven right in the end. I was an absolute truth in my opinion. I couldn’t be wrong. My life nearly depended upon it. Oh, but how wrong I was.
“All in time,” he murmured quietly, as he was drifting off to sleep. I smiled, running my fingers over his face, feeling the stubble that had grown there since his father had helped him shave after he got home. I longed to caress the soft skin beneath it and hold him close to myself.
That too, I thought to myself, will come in time.
I paused at the door, swinging it wide before me. “Never forget I love you, Ronald Weasley,” I said shakily, my throat hurting from tears of happiness. “Never forget that.”
I closed the door behind me. Ron stirred in his sleep, unmaking the rigid bedcovers. I could feel him in my heart. He was everything to me, and I could not let him go.