Fic: Ron/Hermione missing moment
Fic: A Ron/Hermione missing moment
Author: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
neppiw
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Length: ~2200 words
Characters: Ron, Hermione, various others
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters and the whole Harry Potter universe.
Warning(s): Deathly Hallows spoilers.
Summary: While Harry was digging Dobby's grave after the prisoners' narrow escape from Malfoy Manor, what was going on between Ron and Hermione inside Shell Cottage?
Notes: The scene where Hermione was being tortured and Ron could not help her wrenched my heart, so I felt I needed to write about the aftermath. Ron's POV. As English is not my mother tongue, I apologise for the possible grammar mistakes and hope you will let me know if you find some so that I can correct them. And finally, a big portion of this fic was written while listening to Sigur Rós's haunting song Saeglopur.
Ron Apparated into the back garden of Shell Cottage, holding Hermione in his arms. A horrible panic coursed through his body as he looked down at her. She was still unconscious, and her face was white and clammy, drops of sweat glimmering on her cheeks and forehead. The chandelier had hit her as it fell; there were cuts on her skin where the shattered crystals had slit her. Not knowing how seriously she was injured, Ron held her as tenderly as he could. He started half-running towards the backdoor, and only distantly registered Bill and Fleur next to him – he did not answer their worried questions but kept on going for the door. A few steps before he had reached the house however, he suddenly stopped dead on his track and looked back wildly, having remembered Harry. He had seen Harry Disapparate with Dobby and the goblin, but everything had been so chaotic… What if Harry had not made it back after all? He could not bear think about it: fear swiftly clutched his insides like a cold iron net. But the second he turned he saw Harry a short distance away, next to the garden hedges. He was crouching over something, a figure smaller than him, possibly the goblin… A huge relief flowed through Ron, momentarily dizzying him, but he did not have time to stop and he sprinted instead through the backdoor into the small kitchen, now focusing again on Hermione’s frail weight on his arms. She was very pale. Ron heard Fleur’s frightened voice behind him.
“What 'as 'appened to 'er? Is she all right?”
“I don’t know,” answered Ron hastily, wild-looking. “She’s hurt, Fleur, you’ve got to help her, please –” And he felt his voice get stuck in his throat and could not continue.
“Take 'er to the sofa, I will go get medicine…”
Ron followed Fleur’s advice and made his way through the kitchen into the little living room, where he spotted the plump, blue sofa on which he had lain countless of times during his previous stay at the cottage, staring at the ceiling and bitterly cursing his own stupidity. He reached the sofa and gently placed Hermione on it, propping a tattered velvet cushion under her head. He was shaking, and he knelt down on the floor next to her, clasping her limp hand.
“Hermione? Hermione, wake up!”
But she did not stir, and he felt agonizingly helpless, not being able to help her, to do something, anything…
“Is she all right, Ron?”
It was Luna’s voice, and as Ron turned, he saw her standing there with Dean at her side. Dean looked thoroughly shaken; Luna, however, seemed quite calm.
“I – I don’t know,” said Ron. His own voice surprised him; it was like an old man’s. “She won’t wake up and I don’t know how badly she’s injured. She got caught under this big falling chandelier on top of everything else, and I – I couldn’t… Dammit!”
He roared in frustration and kicked a nearby table leg with his foot. Dean took a few steps back, but Luna put a gentle hand on Ron’s shoulder.
“I’m sure she is going to be okay, Ron. She’s very tough.”
Ron did not have to answer her, as at that exact moment Fleur came into the room, carrying several glass bottles of different shapes and sizes, a few more protruding from the pocket of the white apron she had put on. Ron got up and moved away to give her space, and she crouched in front of Hermione, starting to feel her injuries.
“Dean, Luna, would you be so kind and leave uz for a while,” she said. “Zis may not be a pretty sight, and I would like to concentrate. Ron, you may stay and tell me exactly what 'appened.”
Luna and Dean left the room, and Ron sank to his knees again, hoping against hope that Fleur knew what she was doing, and that Hermione would be all right…
“What did zey do to 'er?” asked Fleur, still checking Hermione’s limbs.
Ron swallowed hard. “They… they used the Cruciatus Curse on her” – he felt Fleur stiffen next to him – “for a really long time… And – and we couldn’t get to her, we tried, but we couldn’t.” It became difficult for him to talk; he steadied himself. “When we finally made it there, she was unconscious… And then this big chandelier, or lamp thing, it fell on top of her… I don’t think it hurt her really badly, she was in the middle, but it was heavy and… I can’t tell, I don’t know – just, please…” He gulped, finishing weakly with, “You’ve got to make her better”.
Because if she won’t be fine… but he did not finish the thought. He would not accept it.
After a while that felt like a much longer time than it really was, during which Fleur checked Hermione’s injuries and Ron, pale-faced, dabbed Essence of Dittany on her wounds, Fleur spoke.
“I theenk she will be okay,” she said, her mouth a thin line, her hands uncorking a small blue bottle. “Eet seems the lamp 'as not 'it 'er badly, only cuts and bruises. 'Er body may just be in a shock. I am not completely sure, 'owever.” She looked worried, and the frown on her brow stood out eerily on her beautiful face. “I will give 'er zis potion to revive 'er – if she wakes up soon after taking eet and seems all right, eet should mean that she eez over ze worse.”
After some thinking she grabbed two more bottles and added, “I will give 'er some of zese too, just in case.”
Ron watched her pour the potions carefully into Hermione’s mouth, and Hermione, still unconscious, coughed feebly but swallowed them. For a moment they stared at her languid figure. Then Fleur stood up.
“Eet will take some time before she wakes up. What about you, Ron? Your face eez covered with blood, I could –”
“No, it’s okay,” said Ron, only now remembering his aching face. He wiped some of the blood on his sleeve. “It can wait.”
Fleur did not argue with him. “Will you stay 'ere with 'er? I should attend to the ozzers.”
Ron nodded silently, his eyes not leaving Hermione. At the door Fleur hesitated and turned to look at him.
“Ron?” she said.
“Mhm?”
“Ze 'ouse-elf… Dobby?”
She was talking so un-Fleurlike, tenderly, that Ron turned to face her. “Yeah, what about him?”
“He eez dead. He was stabbed when he and 'Arry escaped.”
She watched him sadly, then turned and left the room, leaving Ron in a state of shock. He was completely dumbstruck, unable to grasp what he had just heard. How could Dobby be dead? He had only just saved their lives… Ron sat for a long awful while, looking into space. He had not even had the chance to tell Dobby how grateful he was for him for coming to rescue them all when all hope had seemed so utterly lost. The little elf who had given him socks for Christmas, who had always been so kind to him – dead. No more exasperated glances shared between him and Harry, listening Dobby sing the praises of The Boy Who Lived. Hermione losing forever her first house-elf friend… Dobby was gone: it was beyond comprehension.
Ron looked back at Hermione and felt a great lump form in his throat. He buried his face in his arms, holding Hermione’s hand tight in his grip. He did not want to think about the future and who else he might lose one day – everything was dark and painful. Depression was not in his character, but now the road before them seemed so desperately bleak and dangerous he wondered whether they would make it. It seemed impossible that all the people he cared about would come out unharmed in the end, and yet he did not want to think about it, not give it a moment’s thought. If the worst happened, he was certain he would not be able to pull through.
Ron lifted his head and looked at Hermione, who had now got some of the colour back to her cheeks. She was beautiful, and fragile, lying there helplessly. No one would ever hurt her again if he had anything to say to it. He was going to keep that promise if it was the last thing he ever did.
While he was harbouring this bitter thought, Hermione stirred. Ron jumped and quickly leaned closer. Hermione drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes.
“Hermione?” whispered Ron. He grabbed a blanket from the arm of the sofa and spread it over her, tucking the hem over her shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
She seemed to come round and turned to look at him. For a while they just stared at each other. Then tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes.
“Ron,” she sobbed weakly, and automatically he sat up on the edge of the sofa and pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione cried against his neck, and soon he was blinking rapidly as well. Having her there, whole and breathing, sent such a rush of gratitude and relief through his body that he felt he could have melted into a happy puddle right there and then.
“Thank God you’re all right, Hermione,” he muttered softly. “You scared the freezing hell out of me.”
“I was – s-so – a-afraid,” sobbed Hermione violently, clinging onto his shoulders. “It was h-h-horrible!”
“I know,” said Ron, stroking her back, “I know. You’re safe now. You were really brave, and you’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”
“You c-can’t know that,” she sobbed. “What if it’ll h-happen to me a-again or to – y-you or –”
“It won’t,” said Ron firmly. “It won’t. Ever again.”
They clung to each other for another few minutes before Hermione composed herself slightly and finally lay back down on the velvet cushion. Ron hastily wiped his eyes on his blood-stained sleeve and smiled at her encouragingly. She took deep gulps of breath, wincing every now and then. He watched her and felt things click into place, somehow, like he had understood something that he had certainly already known but of which he had not quite grasped the finer details. Everything was as clear as crystal now, as clear as daylight.
“My whole body aches,” said Hermione when she had stopped crying and was simply lying there, looking miserable.
“Yeah, I believe you,” said Ron. “You look pretty nasty, to tell the truth. Like you haven’t slept in two months.”
“Thanks, Ron. Always the gentleman.”
“No problem.”
Hermione smiled at him weakly, then became serious again. “You look awful yourself. They hit you... Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he responded, trying to look reassuring.
Someone rushed into the room from the kitchen, and Ron turned to look. It was Fleur, who gave a relieved sigh as she spotted Hermione awake.
“Zank goodness,” she said. “You will be fine now, 'Ermione, you just need rest. I will bring you some clean clothes.”
She was striding past Ron as he stopped her and asked, “How’s Harry?”
Fleur cast him a morose look. “He eez still in ze garden. He eez digging a grave.”
“A – a grave?” said Hermione, sitting up quickly, her eyes wide with shock.
Ron looked at her, suddenly feeling hollow again. “It’s Dobby. He’s –” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, not knowing how to deliver the news, then decided to say it how it was. “He’s dead.”
Hermione gave a little shriek of horror.
“He came to rescue us,” Ron continued. “Someone got him before he and Harry Disapparated. I don’t know exactly how it happened.”
He did not know what else to say. Hermione buried her head in her knees and started crying again quietly, rocking her body back and forth.
“Dobby…”
“I will go fetch zose clothes,” said Fleur softly and left the room. Ron put his arms around Hermione once more, but he did not say anything, partly because he did not know what exactly could be said, and partly because he felt words were unnecessary in any case. Hermione leaned her head against his chest, and he sat there and let her grief unburden, feeling her small figure tremble against him.
“Hermione,” he said sadly when her sobs had subsided somewhat, “I should probably go out. Help Harry, you know… I don’t think he should be doing that stuff alone.”
Hermione hiccoughed. Then she nodded several times, wiping her puffy, red eyes.
“You’re right,” she said. “You should go. We should all go. I’ll just… I’ll just catch my breath a little.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Ron gently, although he knew it was a silly question; of course she was not all right.
Hermione smiled a little. “Well, you know. Hanging in there. With the tip of my fingers.”
Ron squeezed her and stood up, starting to make his way towards the door. Halfway there he turned and looked at her.
“Hermione?”
She looked up ruefully, her eyes still red. “Yes?”
He stared at her for a moment, not knowing how to phrase his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he was no good at it.
“I’m just… I’m just really glad you’re okay. I mean, that you’re here and… and that you’re safe.”
She smiled at him. He was pretty sure she understood what he meant.
Ron turned round again and started walking towards the kitchen and the garden behind it, the pain of losing Dobby and the worry for Harry weighing on his shoulders, but the smile of Hermione glimmering softly in his heart.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
ronhermione,
