Where the bloody hell am I?
And why is it so daâ”
He boy recoiled as everything came rushing back to him in a surge of memories rich in sound and color. He saw himself berating the bartender, demanding that he let him upstairs to talk to Hermione; the girlâs face swam before his mindâs eye, first frustrated and tearstained, then apologetic and anxious, and finally, horror-struck. Ron could hear Viktorâs heavily accented voice snarling the killing curse. The sound of Hermione shouting his name as he held her was still echoing in his ears as he thought,
So thatâs it, then. Iâm dead.
Death wasnât so bad, he supposed. At least it didnât hurt. Except⌠it did. It hurt not knowing whether Hermione had made it out or not, whether she had gotten away from the berserk Bulgarian. And it hurt knowing that he would never be able to tell her⌠anything, anymore.
The old saying âhindsight is twenty-twentyâ came to mind as a horrific thought struck him; what if, by clutching the girl so closely to him, Ron had hindered her ability to slip away? What if, frozen in instantaneous death, Hermione hadnât been able to wriggle out of his lifeless arms, or to raise her wand in defense against Viktor? And if rigor mortis hadnât paralyzed him, what if the dead weight of his body had knocked the brunette off balance and pinned her to the ground, leaving her helpless as a the Death Eater did his masterâs bidding? Or, what if--?
He stopped mid-thought, a spasm of pain shooting through his head. He had thought too soon: apparently, being dead did hurt. Like hell.
Ron cried out into the nothingness, his voice laden with pain of two varieties. A kind of muffled laughter filled his mind, as if the darkness itself was mocking him. He wished he had had time to say goodbye. To his mum, his father; Ginny and the twins; to Harry⌠The truth was, he did have a chance to say his goodbyes to Hermione, but no. He had to go and waste his breath on the three most meaningless words in existence. Not that he regretted it. If given the chance to ârescueâ Hermione again, he wouldnât have done anything different. Actually saying the words to her had been a release of sorts, a relief, and he knew that he would despise himself if he hadnât said it at all.
His only regrets were that he hadnât said it sooner, and that he hadnât had the foresight to shove Hermione out of the way instead of locking her in a death grip.
Ron clenched his teeth as another jolt of pained seemed to shoot through his head. He cursed violently, and the darkness mocked him once more.
How can you be so insensitive? a familiar voice chimed.
It figures, Ron thought; even in death, Hermione was there to scold his language. Ron knew it was merely a hallucination, a surfacing memory, perhaps. Merlin knew how many times Ron had heard those very same words in the last six years. The darkness mumbled something back to the girl. Although the redhead couldnât quite make out the words, he thought that maybe the darknessâ”or whatever lay behind it, for did darkness alone have a voice in death?â”was mocking the hallucination. His guess was confirmed as the Hermione-hallucination spoke for a second time, this time sounding flustered, and perhaps even embarrassed.
Iâve had enough of you. I canât take thisâ”just⌠go... Her voice sounded closer now, clearer. Tentatively, Ron spoke into the darkness. ââŚHermione?â
There was a startled pause, and an even more startled reply. âRon?â
âYouâre here, too?â At first, Ron had been delighted by the responseâ”he hadnât thought heâd ever be able to truly hear the brown-eyed girlâs voice againâ”but then dread washed over him like an ice cold shower.
âOnly because of you,â the girl replied softly.
There was not even a trace of accusation in her voice, but Ron felt guilt press in on him like the suffocating darkness they were shrouded in. He cursed again, and it seemed each time he did, the words got a bit cruder. âOh, bloody hell, Hermione. Iâmâ”Iâm sorry. It was my fault, I shouldnât haveâ”If I had been thinking--â
âI wouldnât be here.â
âI know! I know⌠thatâs why Iâm so⌠sorry⌠Maybe if I had justâŚâ He felt Hermione take his hand, and this time the jolt of pain didnât pass through his head, but through his heart. They were so close! She was right next to him, figuratively, anyway, and the darkness was so heavy that he couldnât even see her. He could touch her, and hear her breathing, but he couldnât see her.
âHush,â she whispered. âYouâre getting worked up, and that canât be good. Thereâs nothing to worry about, everythingâs f--â
âEverything is not âfineâ!â he insisted feverishly, shaking his head violently. The familiar sensationâ”the one that suggested that his brain was trying to force its way out of his skullâ”returned, but he didnât care. âAre you mental? Donât you realize? The darkness, the painâ”youâre dead, Hermione. Dead. That is most certainly not âfineâ.â
The young girl couldnât keep puzzlement out of her voice. âBut, Iâm not dead.â
Denial, Ron thought, Bless her, the womanâs in denial. âBut you must be, because youâre here, talking to me. And⌠I am, so⌠Hermione. Try to remember. After Krum⌠got me, what happened after that? â Hermione was silent for a long moment, but Ron knew she was still there; he could hear her breathing, still felt her hand in his. âYou remember, donât you?â he said after a minute, his voice gentle and patient. âSee?â More silence as she squeezed his hand a bit tighter. âIâm sorry, Hermione.â
There might have been a hint of a chuckle in her voice when Hermione said, âOpen your eyes, Ron.â
ââŚWhat?â
âOpen your eyes.â
He hesitated, and Hermione whispered the command again. Not seeing what good it would do when all he was going to see was more darkness, even if somehow he did manage to âopen his eyesâ, he humored the brown eyed girl, and tentatively lifted his left eyelid. It was a strenuous task; it felt like his lashes were made of lead, and the effort sent a faint, pulsing pain across his brow that made him cringe.
But it was worth it to see Hermioneâs eyes staring back at him. âHermione!â He made to sit up, but the bushy-haired girl placed a gentle hand on his chest, shaking her head and grinning.
âNot so fast,â she said, sitting back down on the side of the sterile-white hospital bed. âThey just got your head to stop bleeding; keep on like that and youâll get it going again.â
Ron stared around at the room, recognizing it as one of many in St. Mungoâs. He appeared to have the room to himself; the bed to his left was empty, at least, and the sheets looked as if they hadnât been disturbed in ages. Off to the right were a set of matching chairs that had been pulled together a few feet from his bed, tilted at an angle so that whomever sat in them could see the others as well as the bedâs occupant. The bright light streaming in from the open window made his eyes ache, but the pain was welcome, because the unrelenting darkness was gone. Ron felt achy all over, particularly above his left eye and in the back of his head. âBut⌠I thought⌠What the bloody hell just happened?â Ron used his elbows to hoist himself into a sitting position, going slow upon Hermioneâs request. The effort made him dizzy. âNo oneâs ever lived through a killing curseâ”save for Harry, of courseâŚ. But that was different. Iâm supposed to be dead, arenât I?â
The girl averted her gaze, wringing her hands in her lap. âYes, and no. It depends on how you look at it.â She chanced a glance up at the freckled lad in time to see uncertainty flash across his features. With a sigh, Hermione rearranged herself on the bed so that she could see him better. âIf things had gone as Viktor planed, youâ”and I, most likelyâ”would be dead.â
Ron blinked at her some more, having no clue where Hermione was getting at. His head hurt too much at the moment, or else he would have told her so.
âAnd up until a moment or so after you grabbed me, things were doing just that. I thought for sure that⌠that the spell had hit its mark,â she explained, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. âAll I could see was green for an instant, and then you collapsed. I thoughtâŚâ Hermione blinked at him for a second as she struggled with words and fought the tears brimming in her eyes. An instant later, she had her elbows resting on her knees and her head in her hands.
Horrified, Ron stared at the girl, wondering what he had done this time. âHermioneâŚ?â
âI donât know what I would have done, RonâŚâ she began, tearing her gaze away from his to stare at the floor. âIf⌠if you hadâŚâ
âDied?â twin voices finished for her, their tones remarkably more chipper and cheerful than the girlâs. The sorrow in her eyes quickly changing to annoyance and incredulity.
George turned one of the chairs around and straddled it backwards, crossing his arms on the back and resting his chin. âOh, yes. That would have been dreadful. Absolutely dreadful.â
âI canât imagine the tizzy mum would be in if you had kicked the bucket, mate,â Fred piped up. âAnd the rest of us would have been choked up, too, of course.â
âSome of us more than others,â George added with a mischievous glance at Hermione. She returned his glance with a fiendish glare that might have made three-year-olds cry, but instead provoked chuckles and grins from the stocky teens. âChipper up, Hermione. Alls well that ends well, right?â
âBut what if it hadnât ended well?â Hermione growled at the twins. âYouâre brotherâ”how can you be soâ”soâŚâ Ron reached for her hand, but she stood up, suddenly filled with restless energy.
âEven if Dad hadnât been there, Hermione, and Krum had hit his markâ”at least Ron would have died a hero! Thatâs a right sight better than dying a git, I say,â Fred replied simply.
âHow can you be so inconsiderate?â For a moment, Ron rather thought Hermione was going to smack his brother right across the face. Instead, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, only pausing to cast a teary, almost apologetic glance back at Ron before she disappeared down the hall.
âBrilliant,â the weary redhead muttered, leaning back on his pillows.
Earnestly, George offered, âIt was for the best, really. The woman needs a good cry by herself.â
âYou should have been awake an hour ago,â Fred interjected. âHermione was positively having kittens, she was. It was scary, actually. Never cried, just leaned against the wall, staring at you, looking ghastly. Ginny said sheâd rather see Hermione cry than look like that again.â
âWe tried to cheer her upâ”you were only knocked out, after all, and the Healers had given you the right-o. But she got all defensive and told us to clear out.â
âWhy are you telling me this? Is it supposed to make me feel better? Because its not.â
âWell, no. I suppose knowing youâve made someone miserable isnât exactly a Cheering Charm. Actually, we came to talk about that pretty little necklace of yours,â George replied casually, unsurprised by the expression of alarm that crossed his little brotherâs freckled face.
Heâd forgotten all about the necklace; finding out youâre not actually dead and watching your best friend march out of the room nearly in tears can do that to a person. But, he found himself thinking that the necklace didnât matter much to him anymore. There were more important things in life. LikeâŚlife, and the people with whom you share it. Heaving a sigh, he muttered, âItâs gone. Fell out my pocket when I tackled Viktor. But itâs not a big deal, reallyâŚâ
âAh, but it isnât lost. Dad found it. He thought it was Hermioneâs at first. Still does,â Fred assured his little brother, grinning as alarm changed from relief and back to alarm on the boyâs face.
Ron opened his mouth to ask another question, but the other twin held up a freckled hand to silence him, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. âShe hasnât a clue; we told him weâd make sure the pretty little trinket got to its owner safely before he could give it to her.â
A Healer walked by the door, poking her head in briefly to see if everything was all right; Ron told her everything was excellent, and declined a pain-killing potion. When the blonde was gone, he asked the twins, âYou said dad found it? But⌠what was dad doing at the Leaky Cauldron?â His gaze was drawn to the door again as Ginny walked in, tentative at first, but then with a spring in her step when she saw Ron was up.
The girl bent to give her brother a brief hug. âFinally!â she gasped, grinning. âYou had us worried something awful, mum especially. Dadâs in with her now. Weâre supposed to wait here until someone calls.â
âUntil someone callsâŚ? About what?â
Ginny turned to look sharply at Fred and George. âHe still doesnât know?â
âKnow what?â Ron demanded.
The twins shrugged. âWe havenât gotten around to telling him, yet,â Fred muttered to his little sister.
â Gotten around to telling me what?â
âI canât believe you havenât told him!â Ginny exclaimed in amazement.
George stood, stretching nonchalantly. âWeâve been tying up some loose ends, Ginny. The subject hasnât gotten round to mum as of yet. Well, now it has, but thatâs beside the point.â
Panic seized Ron yet again. He felt as if he might explode, with so many questions rushing through his mind like river rapids, most of them pertaining to the two most important women in his life; his mother, of course, and Hermione. âWhatâs wrong with mum?â And Hermione, whatâs wrong with her? Whatever happened to Viktor? What was dad doing at the Leaky Cauldronâ”and why the bloody hell arenât I dead?!
âMum isnât âbeside the pointâ, she is the point! What could possibly be more important than--â George whipped the silver pendant out of his pocket and held it before his sister. Ginny stared at it for a minute, watching the trinket wind and unwind itself on the chain. âOh⌠You havenât given it to her yet?â the freckled girl asked suddenly, turning her incredulous gaze on Ron instead of the twins. She took the necklace from George and dropped it into Ronâs outstretched palm.
âWell, I⌠I was a bit busy, see, Krum being a Death Eater and wanting to blast us to bits and whatnotâŚâ Ron mumbled, his voice dripping with frustration.
Ginny recoiled at his tone, eyebrows raised. âSorry! I just assumed you must have, given the circumstances.â
âCircumstances?â he growled. He would have shouted if his head didnât pound with every syllable. âYou know whatâ”I donât care about the circumstances! Will somebody just answer my question?â
âNothing is wrong with your mother,â Hermione answered abruptly, startling every Weasley in the room. She seemed to have regained her composure, and color had returned to her face. Even her eyes seemed clearer. âMrs. Weasleyâs perfectly fine. A bit tired, but thatâs to be expected when one is attempting to bring new life into the world.â
Ron blinked at Hermione, not understanding what she was saying. ââŚwhat?â
âYou know how odd your mumâs been acting lately? Her moods⌠odd cravings⌠the âweightâ sheâs put on? That wasnât stress,â Hermione asserted, striding into the room. âShe was pregnant, Ron. Your mum is going to have a baby.â
Ginny, Fred, and George tore their stares from Hermioneâs face to watch Ronâs reaction. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and asked in a slightly higher tone than usual, âHow the bloody hell did that happen?â
A devilish grin formed on Fredâs face. âWell, you see, little brother, when two people really love each otherâŚâ
âShut up!â Ron spat, his ears growing red. âBut⌠I meanâŚ. Oh, this day just keeps getting better and betterâŚâ He leaned back on his pillows, throwing the necklace upon the bedspread so that his hands were free to scrub his face. âSheâs doing okay, though, right? There arenât anyâŚ?â
âComplications?â the brunette offered with a thin smile. âNo, sheâs doing brilliant. Your dadâs a bit worse for wear, actually. But Mrs. Weasleyâs fine. Just fine.â
âIs it a boy or a girl, do you know?â Ginny asked.
Hermione shrugged, sitting on the edge of Ronâs bed again. âNot yet. I donât think itâll be much longer, though⌠What is that?â she added, motioning with her hand to the end of the bed.
âHunh?â Ron opened his eyes and peered through the gaps in his fingers at Hermione. âWhatâs what?â To his right, Ginny was making an odd noise with her throat, somewhere between a hiss and a hum.
âOh, wow,â he heard Hermione breath, and he lowered his gaze to see her fingering the silver chain at the foot of the bed.
âOh, no,â Ginny whispered, followed by curses from the twins and Ronâs, âBloody hell.â His hands slid slowly down his face and chest to rest limp at his sides, and he could feel color start rising in his cheeks and ears. âHermione, I can explainâŚâ
âExplain what?â she asked, looking up from the necklace to stare curiously at Ron.
âThat itâs mine!â George said suddenly, and the eyes that were previously planted on Ron flicked to him.
Hermione was rolling the trinket in her fingers now. âIt is?â
âIt is?â Ginny echoed, looking at her brother with an air of distrust.
George comfirmed the fact with a hearty nod. âIt is, yes.â
Sitting on the hospital bed, the freckled boy couldnât believe his ears. Was this the second or third time the twins had tried to cover for him in the last few days? Watching a story effortlessly take shape behind Georgeâs eyes, Ron decided that enough was enough. No more lies. âNo, itâs not. The necklace, it doesnât belong to George.â
Fred laughed, and punched his twin lightly in the arm. âOf course, not when one is speaking technically. Technically, it belongs to Katie Bell. We nipped out to Hogsmeade yesterday, and Forge saw that pretty little thing in a shop window and knew he had to have it. That is to say, he knew Katie had to have it. Not him.â
âHow sweet,â the brown-haired girl replied with a grin.
Fred nodded, glancing at his brother with convincing scorn. âPainfully so.â
Ron shook his head and said, almost inaudibly, âGuys, itâs alright. You can stop.â
âI was never so âcuteâ with Angelina,â Fred went on, â I donât see why he has to be so⌠gentleman-like. Itâs nauseating.â
âFredâŚâ the younger lad called warningly.
George rounded on his brother, what looked to be sincere color rising in his freckled cheeks. âMaybe thatâs why you lot broke it off two months into the game!â he spat accusingly.
âGeorgeâŚâ
âIt was three months, thank you very much!â Fred snapped.
âOh-ho, one month! Big difference.â
âGinny!â Ron hissed. The girls were watching the twins with mingled amusement and exasperation, but Ginny managed to look away long enough to catch Ronâs pleading stare. With a nod, she pushed herself off the wall and grabbed her brothers by the arm.
âCome on, you two can make a scene in the waiting room,â she said, sounding like a kindergarten teacher trying to get the class ready for naptime. The twins kept bickering as Ginny tugged them out the door and down the hall, only quieting down when the fiery girl shouted at them to shut up.
âItâs mine,â Ron said with a small cringe.
âPardon?â
âThe necklace, it isnât Georgeâs⌠or Katieâs. It belongs to me.â
Hermione blinked at him. âBut then, why would George say it was--â
âThey were trying to help me. And that whole, yellow-tongue disease thing, that was a lie, too.â
âYouâre kidding!â
The sarcasm in Hermioneâs voice startled him. He looked up, relieved to see that she was smiling. Heartened, Ron allowed a smile of his own to cross his freckled features, and tentatively took the girlâs hand. âHermione. I need to tell you somethingâŚ.â
This morning Bulgariaâs own Viktor Krum, star Quidditch player and former Tri-Wizard Champion for Durmstrang, was apprehended by the Ministry on accusations of working and conspiring in accordance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. He will be charged in due course for attempted murder, conspiracy against the Ministry, and dis-orderly conduct.. According to Tom, the barkeep at the Leaky Cauldron, the place where Krum was taken into custody, the Death Eater was found unconcious, and quite, quite guilty. Tom reported seeing the accused slumped over an over-turned barstool, obviously stunned, covered with splinters of wood and glass.
âSee, the freckled ladâ”that one, whoâs knocked out?-- came in here an half hour ago, squaking about one thing or another. He mentioned something about a friend of his being in trouble, that she was probably up there with Krum. I asked him to settle down a bit, sit and have a drink, and Iâd go check for him, you know? Iâd suspected something curious from the start, see, so, like I said, I went to check at Viktorâs room.â Scratching his head, Tom adds with apparent confusion, âSomething happened up there, I donât âmember what, but when I came to, there was a sound like a barfight down here, so I came to check. I heard him [Viktor] start the Killing curse, and there was a flashâŚâ
When asked what he did next, the bartender replied, âNothing I coulda done, it was all happeninâ so fast, see, Iâm not as young as I used to be, yeh know. Anyway, then there was another flash of green, and I realise, someoneâs using the fireplace! So I look over that way, and sure enough, another redheaded bloke comes out, and quick as a kitten stuns Krum just as he finishes the incantation.â This âredheaded blokeâ turned out to be non-other than our Ministryâs own Arthur Weasley, of the Department for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Why exactly he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron at such an opprotune time is unclear, as Mr. Weasley declined any comment. Upon qustioning, he did, however, express great concern for his wife, who had been transported to St. Mungoâs shortly before the incedent.
âI thought for sure the freckled kid was done for, but then sometinâ round him âsploded and he and the girlâ”by the looks of it, hugginâ I guessâ”sorta ripped apart. She was fine, the girl, but the boy, I dunno, I think he musta been knocked out or sometinââŚâ As of yet, Tom remains the only one willing to enlighten the public. That is not to say that we gave up on our story when Arthur fled the scene and we were ordered to leave by an auror with stunningly pink hair.
We successfully tracked down the two teens Tom described for us, locating them at a far room in Mungoâs maternity ward after about an hour of asking around. Mr. Weasley was less than pleased to see us knocking at his wifeâs hospital room door, unfortuantely, and promptly informed us that only immediate family members were allowed to enter. He was not, however, able to slam the door in our faces fast enoughâ”as always, my faithful phtographer was able to pull through for myself and the readers, leaving us with a single photo that, for some, may only inspire more questions than answers. Iâll give you a hint, you donât need a color photo to tell that a certain someoneâs hair sticks out like a sore thumbâ”either sheâs the milkmanâs child, or Mr. Weasleyâs a bad liar.
âTwo minutes, Elma! And not a second more, I mean it!â
A pair of blue eyes rolled behind Zebra-print glasses. âOf course, miss,â the small witch replied. Taking a leisurly bite out of her breakfast muffin, Elma flicked her gaze to the photo Tabatha had been referring to.
It certainly looked as if it was taken at the very last possible moment.
On the left margin, an older man with a tired face could be seen clutching the hospital room door, clearly attempting to shut the reporters out of the room. In the center of the photo was a hospital bed, occupied by an exhausted but joyful looking witch cuddling a small bundle of blankets. A young girl with cherry-hued hair sat next to the older woman on the bed, wiggling her finger at the bundle, while a pair of identical young menâ”men Elma immediately recognized as the owners of Weasleysâ Wizard Wheezes--stood on either side of her.
The curtain that divided the already cramped room parted to reveal the freckled boy she knew to be one of the subjects of Tabatha Meadeâs artical, Ron Weasley. Elma looked him over with the trained eye of a jeweler. He looked quite cheerfulâ”pale, yes, but otherwise simply elated, nevermind the golfball groing under the skin above his left eyebrow. She watched as he made to stand on the other side of his motherâs bed. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder and said something to the curtain, holding out his hand.
She could not help but smile, watching yet another hand appear through the curtain to hold Ronâs. It almost made her giggle, watching the gawky, awkward teen that had visited her shop a week ago pull a young woman out of the curtain, like a rabbit from a hat.
The girl stepped up to the side of the bed, and Elma couldnât help but notice how close the pair was standing. âAh, so this is the lucky lady, well, I must say--â
âYouâre two minutes was up thirty seconds ago, you good for nothing wench!â Griselda crashed through the curtain dividing the front and back of the store. She ripped the paper from Elmaâs small hands, her eyes flashing across the page. âNow, just what is so important that you---Is this that boy who was in my store last week, one of your charity cases?â she demanded, poking the photograph with a manicured finger.
Elma nodded, brushing crumbs onto the floor. âOf course it is. See there, the girl standing next to him? Thatâs who he gave the necklace to.â
âSo it isâŚâ Griselda huffed. She brought the paper so close to her face that it touched her nose. âIs thatâ”oh, Merlin help me, a teaspoon!?
âIs it really?â Elma snatched at the paper, a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth. âMercy me, its uncanny, he really did a fabulous job--â
âAt defacing a very expensive piece of jewelry! Look how heâs repayed you, Elma, that imbecile--â
Griseldaâs sentence was cut short as an eription of girlish giggles bubbled from her coworkerâs mouth; the bushy haired girl in the photo had just kissed Ron on the cheek, and the color burning in his face was just as obvious in black-and-white. âOh, shove off, Griselda,â Elma chuckled, sweeping a biscuit off the counter and stuffing it into her bossâ gaping mouth.