Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger all belong to JK Rowling. The title Unchained Melody belongs to the Righteous Brothers. Blah, blah, blah. Does anyone ever read these disclaimers?
Author's Note: This is it, the one you've all been waiting for. The last installment. Love and thanks to everyone who's reviewed my stories, your comments have been MUCH appretiated, you guys do NOT know how much!
Unchained Melody
Ludicrous. That was the only word to describe the whole situation. And, perhaps, stupid or moronic or idiotic or maddening, but ludicrous was the perfect word at the time, Ron decided. The new year had finally come and gone, with students pouring back through Hogwarts Station and back into their cozy dormitories. Harry and Ginny were as much lovey-dovey as they had ever been, possibly more (If that was possible, he thought with a wince. Mi Amore? What kind of a nickname was THAT and what did it mean? It was gibberish, but Ginny certainly did approve of it as her new nickname), and himself? He was just about to give up on Hermione. How was he supposed to carry out the plan he promised? Helping Hermione find her "true love"? She was right, it was insane. He knew it was no laughing matter, but attempting to convince all the boys in their 4th year to sneak down into the Vault and kiss a cold-lipped Hermione, the epitome of seriousness and model student? Ludicrous, ludicrous, ludicrous. And all for what? They would ask. What could be in it for them? How was he going to solve this for Hermione? He dropped his head onto the table he was sitting at, letting it make a hollow bonk. It was a comforting noise. He raised his head and let it drop again, letting a breeze woosh past his ears and muss his hair. It was all so confusing, he thought. Why had the book that had the spell to reverse the potion been right there in Hogwarts' library? It was maddening; hadn't Hermione said she had apparitioned herself to the Ministry of Magic to check through their books (which was terribly illegal, come to think of it, how had she been able to get past the guards there) ? And hadn't she said that she couldn't find a book in the whole lot of the place on that subject, except to provide the recipe? Oh, it hurt his freckled head just thinking about it. Perhaps a nice mug of hot chocolate would solve everything, but until then... Bonk...bonk...bonk...bonk...bonk... "What are you doing?" said an amused but sarcastic voice in his ear. "Sod it, Hermione, I can't figure this out." he moaned, tugging on his hair. "Can't figure what out?" Ron sighed. It was difficult enough, her being all moony-eyed over Harry, but everyone else? He was going nuts already. "This." He gestured at the table without meaning to. She (rather, her outline) blinked. "The table?" Ron laughed. "No, no, this. THIS!" Hermione did a graceful turn in the air to face him. "Listen, Ron..." He lifted his head from the table to look at her, knowing that no student in their right mind would be in the library Saturday morning. Except him. Hermione's eyes widened, and she gave a short laugh. "What?" She pointed at his nose. "You've been hitting your head on the table, and your nose got all red!" Ron rubbed his nose self-conciously, making it even more so. "I know that's not the reason you wanted to talk to me, so go on," he remarked. It didn't really seem to matter if anyone saw him talking to a blank space of air anyway, it wasn't like they didn't think he was off his rocker in the first place. "Well, I think I've finally figured out why you're the only person who can see me." Really? He raised his head again to look at her. Hermione wrung her hands back and forth, twisting them and making for a very strange spectacle. He stood. "Let's walk." "Or, in my case, float," she offered lightly, gliding backwards as they left. The odd pair made their way down the wooden corridors, past the vacant classrooms, gaping and solemn in their solitude; past the infirmary and the constantly screechy voice of Madame Pomfrey ("Now, now, dears! Eat your chocolate, else there won't BE a leave of absence for any of you!" A collective groan was heard soon after this outburst); and past the new location of Sir Cadogan's portrait ("Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Fie, get thee hence!"). Left foot right foot left foot right foot...Ron bounced down the stone steps outside the entrance of the school, happy to be outside after a long week. It was surprisingly sunny and actually warm, which was rare in late February. "Alright, what did you want to talk about?" Ron said, sitting in the early spring grass that jutted up through the cold, indifferent earth that had been silent all winter. "Well, Ron, as you know, you're the only person you can see me," she began, not knowing if that was the right way to start a conversation in which one tells another that they are their true love. Ron nodded at this. "And I think I know why." He leaned forward, watching the clouds drift by. One that looked suspiciously like Snape's face suddenly melted into the figure of a pair of eyeglasses. "Do tell," he said lightly. Hermione wanted to take a deep breath at this point, then remembered she couldn't. There was a pause. Ron blinked and decided that maybe the eyeglasses now looked more like a rabbit... "It's you." Ron sat straight up, looking utterly confused. "What do you mean?" Hermione waved her hands back and forth, flustered. "You know..." She gave him a desparate look. He raised his eyebrows. "Noo..." She gave an annoyed whine and he laughed at this. "You...are...mytruelove!" Hmm...maybe the rabbit was turning itself into a top hat-wait a minute... "WHAT?!" Ron sat up quickly, his voice echoing against the stony gray walls of the castle. He blinked quickly several times and shook his head slowly. "Ro-on, it's the only logical explanation!" "LOGICAL EXPLANATION?!" He was becoming slightly hysterical. "Calm down, it's the only answer as to why you can see me," she replied. This was news indeed. He was her true love? Something inside him told him to jump up and down a few times and run down to the Vault and just kiss her, see if it worked; something else said WAIT A MINUTE, that's not right! What about Harry? "What ABOUT Harry..." he murmured. "What did you say, Ron?" "Mmm, nothing." Hermione stared at him, sitting underneath a tree with a dazed look in his eye, chewing his nails to busted ends. "So...?" Hermione was beginning to be afraid that Ron had gone catatonic at her theory. "Hmm?" He looked up, still chewing on his nails. "So, are you going to try to wake me up or not?" There was a long pause. "It's the only way to find out." Ron headed for the castle, practically at a run, with the ghostly Hermione trying her best to keep up with the read-headed boy. Up the front steps, around the seal in the floor and down the hall, Ron couldn't remember a time when he had been more nervous. Hermione couldn't remember a time when she had been more suspicious of Ron than that moment. Of course, what did either of them have to lose? Ron skidded to a stop. There was a pause, and he turned to look at her. "Are you absolutely sure of this?" He whispered as they stood outside the black metal doors. Hermione stared at him closely and bit her lip. "Yes," she said carefully. Ron took a deep breath, shoved his shoulder against the door, and the doors swung heavily open. They made their way down the twisting marble staircase as silently as any fourteen-year-old boy and blue outline of a girl could. The perfume from the countless sprays of flowers had receeded slightly, but they still overpowered the mustiness of the dank Vault. Ron stopped suddenly, and Hermione, who wasn't exactly paying attention to where they were going but was checking to see that no one had followed them, floated right through him. "Wait," he whispered, after the initial shock had passed and he had surpressed the urge to cry out, "Wait." Hermione turned to gaze at him. His eyes seemed almost glassy, was he having second thoughts out of fear? What could go wrong? "C-could you, I mean, would you...I don't know, not watch?" he said as offhandedly as possible. She blinked, surprised, but nodded as well. Ron took a deep breath. He had never kissed a girl before, let alone a sleeping one, but, he reminded himself, it was for the good of Hermione. He cautiously took a step forward, and craned his neck around to see the hem of Hermione's dress poking out from behind one of the columns. Another step, then another, and pretty soon he was standing on the small ledge of the block of white marble she lay upon. Ron bit his lip, hard, and tasted blood. He looked back one more time, just to make absolute sure that she wasn't watching, got a little nearer...a little closer...just a few more centimeters and he'd be right next to Hermione's face. And then, it all made sense. It was Fate that had brought him this close to her. Fate that had set the enchanted book of lovers in the library. Fate that had pulled that last page from the back of the book. And perhaps Fate had pulled her away from Harry. Keeping that in mind, Ron took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaned over her. Suddenly, he was rushing backwards in a whirlwind of grinning yellows and spinning reds, sunshined mornings and white picket fences, from his first broomstick ride to smelling roses to ice cream on hot summer afternoons and fireworks and trumpets and catching fireflies under a purple sky with an iridescent half moon. It was wonderful and colourful and confusing and it was the strangest thing he had ever felt. And just as soon as it had come, it vanished as he stood straight, almost gasping for air. Ron bit his lip again and waited for Hermione to open her eyes. And waited. Finally he turned to see her outline floating a few meters away. "Well?" he asked her. She sighed, looking rather disappointed. "It was pretty," she offered at his gloomy outlook. Suddenly she cried out. "What is it?" he asked her hurridly. "I-I'm being pulled backwards! I think I'm waking up..." Not soon after she spoke the outline that had been hovering around him for 3 months, the one only he could see, began to fade...and fade...and fade. Ron spun around, waiting and watching. Watching. Watching. He stared at her until he thought he was going blind, and very slowly and very suddenly, the eyelashes that spritted across the lids began to flutter open.
