Ron lay on his bed on the quiet ward in St. Mungo’s, staring at the ceiling. Mrs Weasley, finally convinced that Ron had drifted off to sleep had been persuaded by her husband to leave his side and get some rest.
As soon as Ron had heard the door open and close, and had taken a moment to listen and ensure that he was indeed alone, he opened his eyes once again and continued staring at the ceiling.
His body felt tired and achy, his mind, weary from the prolonged attack of the Dementors. He thought back to the events of the day and once again cursed his stupidity in following Hermione without first retrieving his wand from his bedroom.
He found it hard to let his mind wander to Hermione. Every time he did so, he found that he no longer pictured his friend of the last five years, nor did he picture the girl that he admittedly had a large crush on; instead the enduring image of Hermione that came to mind was of her sitting, staring at that mirror, her wand lying idle in her hand as he had begged for her help when the Dementors had attacked.
She hadn’t even looked around. It might have been easier for him to assume that she was unaware of his presence. At least that way he could have forgiven her for not coming to his aid. Unfortunately, Ron knew differently.
Ron remembered walking into the room. He had stood watching Hermione silently for a moment, he hair rising on the back of his neck. She sounded different. He could see that she was talking, but the voice he heard did not sound like the Hermione he knew, and there was no one in the room but him so who was she talking to?
He had approached her slowly and cautiously, had placed his hand on her shoulder to make her aware of his presence.
“Hermione?”
She hadn’t even blinked. She hadn’t acknowledged his presence and seemed even more taken with the image in the mirror. She whispered something urgently and quickly glanced around at Ron before raising her wand and saying an incantation.
Ron hard hardly even registered what she had done when already he felt the cold begin to penetrate his body and began to hear the unmistakable rattling breath of the Dementors. He wasn’t even sure how they had entered the room. Suddenly they were there, standing near Hermione but she had seemed strangely unaffected by them.
Too late, Ron realised he had no wand, no protection whatsoever. He tried to call out but found his voice strangely muffled. He backed away toward the rear of the room, all the while trying to call to Hermione.
He could see her wand. He could see it just lying there idly. Once again she was entranced in whatever it was she was seeing in the mirror. He tried to move forward towards her but the Dementors now occupied the space between them. He felt the cold and emptiness begin to envelope him and fell to his knees. In the back of his mind her remembered Harry telling him of the attack that he and Dudley had suffered and had raised his arms around his head, attempting to cover his face.
He had felt them draw closer, had used the very last of his energy to call out to Hermione one last time, before his eyes had closed and darkness had taken hold of him.
Ron sighed and rolled over on to his side. He didn’t want that to be his abiding memory of Hermione. It was as if every original, happy memory of her that he had cherished had been wiped away.
His mother and father had filled him in on everything that had happened after he had passed out. They had not blamed Hermione. They told him that they not know the full facts yet but that Dumbledore had told them enough to make it clear that Hermione had not been acting of her own free will.
So why was Ron finding it so hard to forgive her and move on?
He shook his head slowly and sighed again. He knew why. It was because he liked her, not only that but he realised that he had liked her for a long, long time. Almost since her had first met her. Without ever saying it, Ron knew that he would have done virtually anything for Hermione. He had realised recently that it had always been that way, he just hadn’t ever thought about it before.
That was why it had hurt him so much to see her sitting there ignoring the danger he was in, not moving a muscle to help him. It was something that Ron couldn’t forget that easily.
Deep within him, his heart defied logic and reason, and Ron knew, that in his heart, he never could blame her for what had happened. His heart knew Hermione would not have left him at the mercy of Dementors, not if she could have helped it. Ron just needed time to accept what his heart already knew.
Ron closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind and get some sleep. The sleeping potion the healer had suggested he take lay untouched on the bedside table. Ron knew it was just delaying thinking about everything that happened. He wanted to try and make it through the night without that kind of help.
Hermione had awoken from an uneasy and fretful sleep to find herself in a bed on a darkened ward of a hospital. For a moment she hoped that everything that had happened had been a bad dream, but one glance around her confirmed that it had indeed been reality. She felt disorientated. A glance at her watch told her that it was the early hours of the morning. She felt surprised that she had slept so long.
She quietly crept out of bed and felt around for her shoes. She was still fully dressed, and slipping on her shoes, she crept out into the slumbering hospital ward.
Slowly Hermione made her way along, unsure at first whether she was going in the right direction. Up ahead she heard the distant rumble of voices and followed the sound.
She slowed her pace as she neared the group, taking in their slumped posture and general dejection. Lupin still sat unmoving, Tonks had fallen asleep, stretched out on two chairs beside Remus, her head on his lap. She still held one of his hands in hers while she slept. Remus gently stroked her long brunette hair with his free hand as his eyes gazed in an unfocused blur at the door opposite him.
Hermione could see the top of Ginny’s ginger head at the side of Remus’s chair. She still sat curled up on the ground, but now wore Hagrid’s large fur coat wrapped around her like a blanket.
Hermione could just discern the shapes of Mr and Mrs Weasley moving quietly down the corridor into the cafeteria. She felt the lump growing in her throat as she watched them all silently. She didn’t need to be told how Harry was doing “ it was obvious.
She felt her stomach clench as she thought of Ron. Dumbledore hadn’t been able to give her any reassurance as to his condition either. She was afraid to speak to anyone, to ask how Ron was doing. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they had shouted at her, had asked her to leave. It was all her fault after all.
Quietly she tiptoed past the group towards the Healer’s station. Remus and the others didn’t seem to notice, or if they did, chose not to show it.
She quickly asked one of the healers how Ron Weasley was doing and what room he was in. She felt relief flood through her when the Healer told her that the Dementors had not performed the kiss, but felt her senses plummet again when they told her that Ron still silent and not very responsive. Seeing her worried face, the healer kindly reassured her that they were doing all they could and that they were hopeful that he would make a full recovery. Harry on the other hand…well that was a different matter.
Hermione left the healer’s station and slowly made her way back up the corridor. The healer had told her which room Ron was in but had warned her that he was not to be disturbed. Hermione felt compelled to see him.
Despite what the healer had said, she couldn’t rest until she saw Ron and knew that he was okay.
She quietly tiptoed to the room and after quickly checking that there was no Healer nearby, opened the door and tiptoed inside.
Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, Hermione could hear the quickened breathing of one of the patients in the room. As her eyes adjusted she noticed that the room housed two patients and that the bed nearest the door was empty. She slowly tiptoed towards the other bed in the room.
As she got closer, she discerned the shape of someone restlessly tossing about in their sleep. A strip of moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, falling on Ron’s pale face, glistening with perspiration.
Hermione found her breath catching in her throat as she looked at him. His eyes were scrunched up, even though he was asleep as if he was vainly trying to fight off some terrible happening in his subconscious. He groaned, flinging his arm over his sweating face, his breath coming in short bursts.
Hermione crept closer, her eyes filling with tears as she watched Ron struggle with his nightmare. She felt utterly helpless and completely responsible.
She heard him groan again and whisper something, she crept even closer to his bed so that she was leaning over him, trying to make out what he was saying. She nearly cried out when she realised he was whispering her name. He was whispering her name and begging for help.
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to crush any sound as the tears began to flow from her eyes in torrents.
“No, get away from me. Hermione please do something. I… I have no wand….I can’t fight them NO!”
Ron jerked upright in the bed, panting as if he had been running a race, sweat dripping from his long hair into his eyes. He stared straight ahead, trying to get control of his racing heart, trying to convince himself that it was just a nightmare. He felt someone else in the room and looked to his left, to see Hermione, her hands covering her mouth as tears streamed silently down her face.
It was instinctive. Before his brain had even fully separated itself from his dream state, Ron had reached out pulling Hermione down onto the bed and into his arms.
He buried his head on her shoulder, his hand lost in her thick tresses of hair at her neck, and felt her break down completely and cry as she held on to him as though her life depended on that contact.
It lasted for no more than ten minutes. He felt her begin to calm, her racking sobs began to ease. He pulled away from her slightly bringing both hands to the sides of her face so that he could clearly study her, could look directly into her eyes.
She stared back into his eyes without moving, willing him to see the remorse she felt at what had happened. She felt the urge to lean in and kiss him, but knew that would be crossing a boundary. She loved the feeling of his fingers on her skin and wished it would never end.
Slowly, Ron let her go, pushing her slightly so that their bodies were no longer in contact. With one last look at her, he lay down again, and turned away from her.
Hermione was stricken.. Staring at Ron’s unresponsive back, she realised that she had no option but to turn and leave. She also understood that she hadn’t been forgiven and began to face the awful truth that Ron might never be able to forgive her.
“I’m Sorry Ron,” she whispered, as she turned and left.