BIG, GIANT, HUMONGOUS THANKS TO - for being so kind and being my beta/editor for this! It was a GIANT chapter to go through! Go and check out their work! Diva is an amazing writer!

Trigger warnings: cursing, hospital, medical injuries (brain damage, memory issues, agraphia), negative thoughts about one's own disabilities
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CHAPTER 5- BEDPANS AND BROOMSTICKS

The first few days awake in the hospital wing were bleary ones. Ron had difficulty remembering all the various daily moments without consulting an ever-growing stack of parchments with reminders. Any lapse in memory was fine though, as he had Hermione there to remind him of anything he forgot. He forgot quite a bit, considering how much Hermione had to remind him.

Ron felt exhilarated to see his friends on a weekday. It was excruciating being remanded to the hospital wing, waiting for people to come to him, and with very little to do. He loathed sitting still for too long. Sure he loved to laze about, but it'd be with the knowledge he could do anything he liked later. At home having the freedom to read comics, eat some ice mice, play chess or go for a fly made even a lazy day where he did nothing but sleep and do chores pleasant.

Having nothing to do in a hospital wing was a different thing altogether. Enforced laziness wasn't fun. Harry had brought him his chess set, and a couple of chocolate frogs. Ginny brought him some Quidditch magazines. Hermione brought him loads of homework and her highly detailed notes from their shared classes. He couldn't do the work, though. Not that he didn't try. The moment he'd start reading an assignment by the end of a paragraph he'd have forgotten most of what he'd read.

He tried taking notes, but holding a quill and controlling it enough to even ink the quill made his whole arm spasm within five minutes, and the concentration it took to process words and spell them made him rage with frustration. He wasn't a genius like Hermione but he'd always been bright enough that school wasn't that hard for him and he could float by without much effort. Now it took all his willpower to write his name legibly and he even struggled to spell it. Pomfrey called it Agraphia, or the inability to process words to write them, and assured him that this would all come back, that it was all temporary. It was of little reassurance when experiencing the strange fear and crazed feeling of being unable to spell and write your name, a task he'd been able to do easily since he was four years old.

His family had all written to him, sans Percy, with Mum sending a few follow ups when he hadn't replied. They sat unanswered. There was no way for him to reply. He could barely sign a letter, much less write one. He kept trying to will his way through them, but all it lead to headaches and fatigue.

Despite spending all his days in bed, the hospital wing thoroughly exhausted him. No matter what activities his friends brought him he was unable to enjoy them, and it wasn't relaxing in a hospital. He was in pain or at least uncomfortable all day and night. Pain potions didn't help much and when they did, he slept. Every night he was awoken a few times as Pomfrey came to administer spells and potions, or just check the room. What sleep he got was light and restless, plagued by nightmares of choking to death or being unable to control his body. The fear would jerk him awake and it would take hours to fall asleep again.

"How did you sleep?" Pomfrey asked, as she did her early morning round, waking him a good hour earlier than he ever woke on his own.

"Fine," Ron lied, sitting up fully in bed as she spelled the bed to support him. "I think I can manage class today. I'm feeling good, now."

She looked at him with a hint of agitation. Maybe he gave it away by not looking at her directly. She knew he was exaggerating, but Ron couldn't help but hope she'd let him out of his prison, even if for an hour or two. He saw a hint of a smile on her face before she squared up in front of him.

"Oh? You're 'feeling good?' Well let's test you just to make sure. Please raise both your arms straight in front of you."

Ron quickly complied. That was easy enough. They almost immediately began to ache as he held them aloft. He was so weak he could feel them imperceptibly begin to shake.

"I am going to press down on them, and I need you to push back to keep your arms in the same position."

Ron nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on keeping his face neutral, and his arms firm and unshaking.

She gently pushed down on his arms. He forced himself into keeping his arms aloft, but his head began to swim, and they were quickly pushed down to his lap by the Matron.

"I'm sorry, Mr Weasley. You haven't regained the strength and stamina needed to attend your classes. Just getting to one of them right now would be too much for your body."

Ron nearly cursed and wanted to throw something, but he was too exhausted to do it. He hated being weak like this. It wanted to bash his brains in, feeling so useless. He always felt a bit useless, which he hated, but at least he could combat it by just being there for people. He might not be the smartest, the most talented, good looking, or even useful but he had grit, and he was good at just being consistently present. At least, he tried to be that. Maybe he wasn't even any good at that. He'd had a pretty bad track record of being there for Hermione, and his falling out with Harry their fourth year. And now he was sitting in the hospital wing unable to help them with anything at all.

He hated to admit it, and flat out refused to tell Madam Pomphrey, but he was utterly spent. Blimey! He'd toss Harry off the top of a tower to get a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Not sleeping wasn't helping his memory issues get any better.

He swore if he had one more friend say they'd said something to him already he'd scream!

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Ron feigned sleep, just in case it was Lavender. He knew the moment he paid her a lick of attention the newfound peace he'd found with Hermione would vanish, and Ron really didn't know if his heart could take losing Hermione again. He would surely mess it up all on his own eventually, but he'd be damned if he'd let her slip away today. The footsteps sounded like the fast little rhythm of Hermione's, but he didn't dare open his eyes until he heard her laugh.

"Ron, I know you're not asleep!" she said with a bit of a giggle that made him smile in turn as he opened his eyes. He'd never take her smile for granted ever again.

"How'd you know?" He sat up slightly in the bed.

"Because you snore every time you're asleep for more than a minute or so."

"What? Naw, I don't. Not all the time."

"Believe me, you do," she said with a smile. "Harry's mentioned it too, and he gets far more of an earful than anyone else, I imagine."

"Is it loud? I don't sound like a dragon rattling the timbers or anything, do I?"

"No, I'd say your snoring is something akin to the sound a bear makes."

Ron flinched in embarrassment.

"A smallish bear," she added with a small smile. "Well, now at least. You'll probably have it get worse as you get older. I don't envy anyone sleeping with you by then."

Ron's mind flew to a vision of he and Hermione settling into bed, an old married couple, her poking him in his back as he snored. It was the most domestic, and least sexy thing he'd ever imagined about Hermione in his life, yet somehow his cheeks began to burn what was surely a deep red.

"Oh don't worry," she said, eyeing his red face and taking a seat on his bed as she had for the past two mornings. "I'm sure there are lots of solutions for it; silencing spells or something. At least you don't have sleep apnea."

"I've no clue what that is."

"It's a condition where you stop breathing in your sleep for a moment or two. Mum and Dad have a fair few patients with it and the Muggle devices for it are ridiculous. They put a breathing apparatus with long tubes on your face, and you have to do it every night. It's quite mad, really."

"Where do the tubes go?" he asked, horrified.

"It's a face mask that sits around the nose, and sometimes mouth area."

"Sounds thoroughly miserable. I'm picturing it like the pipes in the bathroom going up the nose."

"No no, it's plastic bendy tubes. More looks like a jellyfish sitting on your face than a metal pipe."

The two of them smiled as he budged over a bit more so she should sit with her back supported by the inclined bed.

"Are you able to come to class today?" she asked.

"I wish. And it's Herbology then Potions today, right?" He asked looking to her to confirm. She nodded and he let out a relieved sigh. His memory was slowly improving, though not fast enough for his liking. He'd never been a Hermione, able to memorize books of information, but he'd always been pretty good at recall. The poisoning had left him struggling to remember innocuous details, and was easily distracted as he lost sight of what he was doing. He'd almost lost in chess a few times.

"I thought I could maybe do class today, but Pomfrey did a test on me, and I'm still… Well I'm still pretty useless right now."

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said, holding his hand. His hands at least had gotten well enough that he could hold her hand almost normally again. "You'll be better soon, and then you'll be back to outstripping us all with your long legs, coming to class and playing Quidditch."

"Yeah…" Ron said with a sigh. "I'm hoping they want me back for Quidditch. I dunno if I'll be cleared to play again. I hope so. McLaggen's replacing me while I'm out, and he's a really good Quidditch player so— "

"He's not as good as you."

"I dunno... He seems pretty damned confident about his skills and did really well at tryouts."

"But he didn't beat you, did he?" Hermione interjected. "Plus he has the personality of a skrewt. Trust me, no one will want to keep him around."

"You were able to keep him around for Slughorn's party," Ron said before her could stop himself.

"Well… That was only one night. And it was rather awful, if I'm honest. That's why I left the party early as I did."

"It was? You didn't 'finish the evening' another time?"

"Definitely not."

Ron felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"You really think he's a berk?"

"Yes."

"And you… You didn't go out on another date with him?"

"No."

Ron was positively beaming. She wasn't involved with McLaggen. He had a slight worry about the team preferring that arse, but the one person whose preference most mattered didn't like McLaggen at all. Instead she was sitting in a hospital wing, on Ron's bed, holding his hand. He found his other hand coming round to draw circles on her hand.

"Would you like to play some chess?" Hermione asked, a little flush working its way across her cheeks.

"Naw, I'm fine doin' this," he replied, unable to catch her eye as he was content to stroke her tiny cold hand. Her hands were always so cold, like little ice packs, but it felt wonderful when she'd take one and put it against his overheated face. He'd never appreciated fever fudge more than when it got Hermione to check his temperature fall of fifth year. He'd blushed almost purple between her touching him, and the effects of the sweet.

"I wish you could come to class," Hermione said quietly.

"I'd be more useless than usual at them," Ron said with a snort. He hadn't told Hermione how he couldn't really write. He was fine with her thinking he was procrastinating, because at least he'd have a semblance of pride. "Plus, me being gone isn't that big of a change for you, is it? We weren't exactly spending that much time together in class the past few months."

"No we weren't," she said, worrying her bottom lip. They hadn't spoken about their months long rift, and Ron didn't feel capable of truly broaching the subject with her, even if part of him wanted to. "But still, you were there."

She clutched firmly at his hand.

"You're always there, even if things aren't going well, and I don't like looking over to find you're not there. Plus Harry looks so lonely without you next to him."

"He gets on fine without me, I'm sure." His ears gave away his lie.

"No he doesn't," Hermione argued back. He wished she'd said she couldn't get on without him either, but it wasn't in Hermione's nature to lie. She might not like Ron missing or whatever, but she certainly didn't need him. No one really did, not even Harry.

Harry was awkward with other people, but he could get on without him in the picture. This year, at least, half the school were drooling to get a piece of Harry, so it'd be easy enough for him to find plenty of new friends. Much of the time it felt like a matter of time until Harry would move on to better friends than him. Sometimes he thought the only reason Harry kept him about was to have an in with the Weasley clan, and have the loving family he'd always deserved.

He didn't resent it most of the time. He was happy to give his family to Harry. They might all be perfectly mad, and more than half of them annoying, but they were a brilliant family most of the time. They preferred Harry to him anyways, and after everything Harry had done and been through, he had little inclination to become territorial over them. He didn't have much he could share with his best friend, but he sure had an overabundance of family.

Dad loved to corner Harry to learn about Muggle things, Mum would go out of her way to fatten up Harry and croon over his newest accomplishment, Charlie and Bill had immense respect for him, the Twins shared all sorts of secrets with Harry and even gave him free merchandise and Ginny seemed to have grown rather close with him too the last few years. The only Weasley who didn't seem to prefer Harry over Ron was Percy, but that was only because of the Ministry. Ron was certain it was only a matter of time until Percy joined in too. It did hurt at times knowing his family liked and admired his friend more than they ever did him, but there was no use in mourning it. It was just one of those things he had to accept, like being poor, maroon sweaters, or corned beef sandwiches. Hermione seemed to like and admire Harry more too. He couldn't blame her on that. Ron knew how grumpy and argumentative he could be, and how Harry excelled at everything and was 'fanciable.' Well…

"You alright?" Hermione asked, drawing him from his ponderings.

"Yeah," he said, removing his hand from hers and giving a stretch. It wasn't all that rare for him to get lost in thought, but since the poisoning it was a lot easier. "Might be up for that chess game after all."

"Oh! I can fetch it for you."

She hopped down from the bed and the lovely sensation of her pressed to his side was gone.

They began to set the chess pieces up on his wheeled overbed table. Ron's hand spasmed as he put a knight in place, sending the pieces spilling and clacking across the table.

"Bleeding fuck! Sod it!" Ron snarled pushing the table away and covering his face in frustration. A few of the pieces cursed back as they picked themselves upright.

"I'll get it, don't worry."

"Don't bother, I doubt I can even play properly! I can't do anything anymore!" he lamented, looking to the ceiling.

"You're getting better every day! You can even feed yourself now, and—"

"Oh there's a big achievement," he cheeked. "Ron Weasley can finally feed himself. How bloody spectacular! Next we can have people line up to watch Ron wipe his own arse. A real treat, that! What a useless sod I am..."

"You know what?" Hermione admonished. "Since you're feeling useless, why don't you reply to your letters or do your homework? They're really piling up and— "

"I don't want to."

"Oh, honestly! I know it's not fun, but you need to see to your responsibilities, and it will give you something to pass the time. Here, I'll get your textbooks and papers. Professor Snape's Defense essay is quite grueling really, and it will take some time to do it. I spent hours just picking the books to use for my research, and I don't think he'll give you an extension, even with being poisoned. I'll just fetch them, and we can make a rough outline of what research we want to use."

"I'm not doing it now, so don't bother. You really don't need to!" Ron protested, hoping she wouldn't open his satchel and see the sad attempts he'd made at the essay already. He'd been able to hide the child-like ink scribblings for days, despite her being drawn to his parchment and books like Dobby was drawn to socks. She pushed ahead though and started rifling through his bedside table. The idea of her seeing what an imbecile he'd become made him reel in panic.

"Really, don't!" Ron said, scrambling out of the bed. He got one leg to the floor before it shook and gave out, pitching his whole body onto the side table with a loud crash as the lamp and all the other contents fell to the floor. Hermione narrowly avoided his shoulder crashing into her face by leaping out the way, and he struggled to hold himself from falling to the ground as the table precariously clacked against the flagstone floor.

"Mr Weasley! What are you doing?" Pomfrey cried out at the calamitous sound. She bustled over and got him back in the bed. "You aren't supposed to leave the bed without help, and you know it! What were you thinking? If you had smacked your head in its unstable state you could have seriously inhibited your recovery!"

"Sorry," he miserably gritted out between his panting hard breaths.

"Attempt it again and I'll tie you to the bed, young man."

"I won't! I won't!" That was the last blow to his dignity he could take. He huffed as Pomfrey and Hermione silently gathered everything that had fallen to the ground, and willed himself not to throw anything or cry in front of them. He couldn't even stand. Pathetic. His whole body was trembling like he'd been running through the Department of Mysteries. With Hermione looking at him with concern, he turned his body away and it automatically collapsed in on itself like a quivering fold-away cot.

"I'll have some breakfast for you soon," said Madame Pomfrey rather quietly, before leaving his side.

He errantly nodded in response, unable to speak. He could hear Hermione shuffling the papers together behind him. If she had papers in her hand, she was reading them. She'd see the childish scrawl, the holes his quill had pressed through the paper, and multiple attempts to write his own name.

"Where would you like me to put these?"

Ron gave a weary sigh.

"Doesn't matter. Anywhere. Burn em. Useless, aren't they?"

"We don't have to do any homework now. You're tired. I will go."

"You don't have to go," Ron muttered into his pillow before slowly turning towards her.

Hermione carefully perched upon his bed before holding up his papers.

"Were you going to tell me you're having trouble writing?" she asked with affected calmness. He could tell by the hunch of her shoulders, the tension of her neck, and the small scrunch of her brows she was anything but calm.

Ron shook his head and she sighed in return.

"I wouldn't have pushed you if I knew!"

"You also wouldn't know I'm currently an illiterate halfwit!"

"Only currently?" Hermione teased.

"Yes, hex me when I'm disarmed. Real nice, that," Ron groused and she made an effort to suppress her smile.

"You'll find a way to cope. This is all tempor— "

"Temporary? It's bloody humiliating, is what it is! Knowing it's temporary doesn't suddenly make it a treat, Hermione. Mum and the whole lot keep poking me to write back, and all this work is piling up- meanwhile I'm— I'm…"

Ron swallowed roughly.

"YOU try not being able to spell your own fucking name. Let's see how you'd 'cope' if anyone knew. And you wonder why I didn't tell you... It's cause who wants to tell the smartest girl in the world they can't write or spell because their brain is broken. I wasn't going to tell you that, and if you weren't so bloody nosy, I could have a shred of dignity left for myself, but I guess that's off the fucking table isn't it?"

Without a word, Hermione primly rose from the bed, and walked away, her quick little strides making a beeline for the door. Ron swore under his breath. He knew he'd ruin things with her as he always did, but he thought he might get a bit more time than a few days.

"Wait, please don't go! I'm sorry!" Ron yelled after her as best as he could. Her strides didn't slow down at all, but instead of going through the doors she made a detour for the supply closet. He could hear her rattling about in the cupboard, and a series of metal clanks, before she strode over to him with a bedpan in hand.

"Er, I don't have to…" Ron began, looking at her with incredulity. Surely she didn't expect him to use the loo in front of her!

"Put the parchment in it," she said, a bit cooly.

"What?" he croaked.

She rolled her eyes, and thrust the bedpan at him.

"Put the parchment in the bedpan."

He did as she commanded, warily eyeing her, unsure of what her game was. She wasn't going to conjure up birds to peck at him again, he was mostly certain.

"You can set fire to it either with a wand or matches. Which would you prefer?"

"What?"

"You said you wanted me to 'burn them.' So we're doing just that. Now, wand or matches?"

"Pomfrey will freak if I use my wand."

"She doesn't have to know. It's your choice, either way," Hermione said, her eyes fervently boring a hole into him. She could set fire the parchment with just that look.

"I'll… I'll stick with matches… Haven't tried any wandwork yet. Don't want to set fire to the bed 'cause I can't do the movement right..."

"I'm sure you would do fine either way, but I agree it's safer to do matches," Hermione nodded. She shifted through her book bag for a while and found an old quill. She snapped it into a few pieces then transfigured them into matches and a striking surface.

"There! Ready when you are," she said with satisfaction, before throwing a hint of a smile his way. "Are there any more papers to burn?"

"Got a few stuffed in my potions book. Feel free to burn the book at the same time, if you like."

He knew it'd prickle her to hear him speaking of burning any book, and was rewarded with her familiar foreboding glare.

"If it was Harry's portions book I would add it to the pyre," Hermione sniffed. She gathered all the offending parchments and jammed them into the white bedpan. Ron grinned at her, still incredulous at her sudden bout of pyromania.

"You do the honors," she smiled again, handing him the matches.

He had trouble grasping them, and fumbled the first two matches so poorly the tips turned black without producing any fire. The final match he managed to strike in a straight line, and it burst into a small glowing flame. He and Hermione shared a smile, the kind of private breathless smile they had enjoyed after she lied to McGonagall in first year, or after she had slapped Malfoy, or after she had kissed his cheek last year. The flames were almost to his fingertips, but he dared the flames to stay back a moment longer, just so he could continue to look at her warm brown eyes and the flicker of fire in them.

"Don't burn yourself," she whispered to him, before glancing down at the match.

He licked his lips then let go of the match, smiling with satisfaction as the parchment slowly lit up. They sat and watched the flames flicker before growing a deep orange that ate away at the papers, eviscerating all evidence of Ron's struggles.

Hermione cuddled up beside him, her small hand working its way into his pale freckled one for the second time that morning.

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered.

"About the writing, or you being a pyro?" he said, trying to keep a tender look off his face.

She gave him a nudge in the ribs then put her head on his shoulder. Her bushy hair tickled his nose a bit, but he'd gladly have a whole handful of her hair choking him if it meant he had even one more moment of her to himself like this. He'd never thought a bedpan could be entrancing, but Hermione could make anything entrancing really.

The flames grew too high to stay safe so Hermione finally moved from his side to extinguish them.

She had to leave, eventually, to make it to class, but in her absence, his pleasant fiery morning with Hermione kept a smile on his face for hours.

She'd promised she'd being Pig later and would help him compose some letters. "We'll just say you can't do small motor movements yet," she'd assured him when he opened his mouth to protest.

Hours later, while everyone was at class, Ron contentedly napped on and off, thinking of Hermione and the shine of her eyes as she helped him set his parchment aflame.

However, he still had his problem. Each time the doors made a noise he'd open an eye to see who it was. Harry came by before lunch, mood looking foul.

He marched into the hospital wing, a prodigious frown on his face. The air around Harry seemed to frizzle with fractious energy when he was angry, and today was no exception. His green glare pierced its way across the hospital wing, and Ron cautiously sat up, wondering how he could help Harry calm down a bit.

Ron tried to school himself into a nice neutral mood for Harry, but it was difficult to hide his own light mood as his friend stomped over.

"What's got you in such high spirits?" Harry irritably inquired. Ron knew not to take it personally. He might have been in a snit, but it was rare Harry could see through his own mood to ask Ron about his. Being an invalid had its perks, he guessed. Harry flopped onto the foot of Ron's bed, throwing his book back to the ground with a great thump. "Feeling any better?"

"A bit, yeah," said Ron, biting back a grin as he eyed the charred bedpan in the corner.

"Good! You'd better recover quickly. I can't take another moment of McLaggen!"

"Oh yeah? How's he shaping up?" Ron asked, nervous to hear the answer.

"He's a complete disaster. His Keeping is fine when he stays in position and minds his business, but fat chance of that."

"Oh?" Ron sat up taller. "What's the bellend done now?"

"What hasn't he done? Harangues me nonstop about Quidditch strategy wherever I go. It's this constant stream of terrible advice! But he's even worse at practice. He keeps interfering with everybody and trying to direct the way the practice runs and tell people how to play their for absolute chaos on the field. I could barely Captain and he barely let anyone else play their positions either. If he's not grabbing Coote's beater bat, he's vying for the snitch, or he's hogging the ball as if he's a Chaser to hold demonstrations on how to play."

"Oh I bet Ginny doesn't like that!" Ron said with barely contained glee.

"No she doesn't." Harry had fond look on his face. "Had to stop her from hexing him about five times. Finally missed her once practice was over."

"Did you actually miss, or did you let her do the dirty work for you?"

"As Captain I would never condone someone hexing another team member," Harry said with mock solemnity, but his wry smile was showing through. "I told her which specific spells I didn't want to see any team members inflict on one another. How was I to know she'd use one of those very spells on him not minutes later?"

"Oh yeah, no one could have predicted that! What's a Captain to do?" Ron laughed along with his friend. "What spell did she use?"

"Waddiwassi. Shoved the snitch right up his nose. He'll probably drag himself in here soon enough since I can't imagine anyone would be willing to remove it for him, the prat."

"I'll keep an eye out for that," Ron beamed.

"Maybe they'll shut the school down and then I won't have to deal with this shit anymore," said Harry, laying back on the bed to glare at the ceiling.

"Why would they want to shut it down?"

"Oh Hagrid was going off about what'll happen if students keep getting attacked."

"Well either you me or Hermione has nearly died every year and I've not gotten so much as one holiday for it, so I think that notion is a load of bollocks," said Ron, wobbly putting his arms behind his head. "Even if Dumbledore himself got chucked, there'd be old McGongall and the rest of the staff to keep it together well enough. Even Snape wouldn't want Hogwarts to shut down. Then he'd have to spend all his time with the Order, who he hates. That or face being a full-time Death Eater."

"Maybe he already is one," said Harry darkly, not giving any more information. Ron gave him an expectant look, and finally Harry relented. "Hagrid told us he heard Dumbledore and Snape having an argument the other day. A bad one. Snape was saying he 'didn't want to do something anymore,' and Dumbledore said Snape had 'promised to.' He was really ticked at Snape, it seems."

"Cor! I've always wondered if Dumbledore thought he was as big a prick as we did. What do you suppose Snape's trying to avoid?"

"Investigating the Slytherins properly. He's protecting Draco somehow."

And they were at that again.

"Look, I know Draco wants me as dead as anyone," Ron began, "but he wouldn't have been after me—"

"There was no way he could have targeted you with the mead, I know that. All of this is tied together though, and Draco's been up to something. And after what we heard between Snape and Draco this holiday… Snape's trying to help Draco. Perhaps he's trying to cover up Draco's involvement?"

"Hmm…" Ron answered vaguely, looking to Hermione's charred bed pan again. As interesting as it was to hear about the happenings of Dumbledore and Snape, he wasn't sure how good it was for Harry to be obsessing the way he was.

Harry had a tenacious mind. While Ron quite admired him for it, and would always back him up, he knew Harry needed time to be a kid and do stupid shit. Ron couldn't tell him that though. If he did his friend would probably explode on him. No, it was best to humor him, but bring the conversation to a close. "Well next lesson with Dumbledore see if you can wheedle something out of him. If you have a moment alone he might have some correspondence on his desk or something you can read and get a clue from?"

"Good idea," Harry said stoutly, as he rose from the bed to gather his book bag. "For now I've time to watch the map a bit while I get lunch. Maybe I'll see if Draco or Snape are doing something different than usual."

"Or you could get food and come back to play chess with your invalid friend," Ron said with a smile.

Harry paused before he looked Ron in the eye for a moment.

"You're pretty bored in here aren't you?" he said, looking a bit shame faced.

"I mean, I have the marvelous views of bedpans and Madame Pomphrey," Ron said with a shrug. "And Hermione was in this morning, so that was nice."

Harry nodded contemplatively.

"Well, I have Potions after lunch, so I've not a lot of time to get to the Great Hall and the East Tower…"

"Don't sweat it, mate," Ron said immediately. He was trying to distract Harry from Draco, not make him guilty. Harry had enough guilt and suffering on his plate for a lifetime, and Ron wasn't about to pile on.

"Maybe if I skip lunch—"

"You're scrawny enough! You're not missing meals on my account," Ron insisted.

"I'll see if I can come after dinner then? But I have practice… Well maybe after Charms, if he lets us out early. I could skip dinner then go by the kitchens on the way to practice."

"If you manage to come by you're welcome company, but seriously don't even think of skipping a meal for me."

"Fine fine, no skipped meals!" Harry relented. "Sorry I haven't had much time to stay with you, though."

"If it were reversed I'd never visit you. It's boring as hell in here."

"You've always managed to visit me loads when I'm in here," Harry said with a knowing smile.

"Well that's because I'm a better friend than you," Ron teased. He feebly tossed a pillow at Harry, who didn't need to bother blocking it. It barely made it to the foot of the bed. Harry's mouth became a firm line as they stared at the pillow.

"You'll be well soon enough, and then it won't matter."

Harry was pathetic at bolstering spirits and this was no exception. Ron understood, though, because of those bloody Muggles. The wooden smile that didn't reach his eyes, the stiff way he held his body, and his inability to fake enthusiasm were a perfect combination to thoroughly depress a person.

"Yeah…" Ron replied tightly. He knew he was supposed to be well soon, but of all the times he'd nearly died, this one felt the most real, and the consequences were much more frightening. He wasn't sure how many more close calls he could take. "Well, get on out of here, you skinny git. If you pass out at practice from lack of nutrition Ginny'll have my head."

"When I have you back on the field I'll make you pay for all the jokes about my size today!" Harry laughed as he left the hospital wing. Just as Harry reached the door Ron heard Lavender greet his friend. Ron quickly slammed his eyes shut and feigned sleep. In moments her footfalls, along with someone else's, were next to his bed.

"He's asleep Lav. Let's get going. Firenze is still considering doing a workshop, and I really think I can convince him if he sees we're interested!"

"Oh, Parvati, I can't! I've not visited Ron since yesterday!"

"But he's asleep! He won't know the difference."

"He will, I just know it," Lavender said stoutly before approaching the bed. He could feel the bed give as she sat on it and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hello Won Won," she whispered. He didn't know why she thought she had to be quiet now, when she'd been at a normal volume not two feet away from him moments ago. "I don't want to wake you of course, but I'm sorely tempted. I've got some new robes I want to show you again. I was wearing them on your birthday but you were on that horrid love potion then, so I don't know if you properly saw them. I'm sure you'll like them!"

Ron knew he should open his eyes and compliment her— make her feel wanted and admired, especially after he'd rejected her to find Romilda the other day— but he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye and lead her on. It was a whisker width to outright lying.

Ron was a lot of things— poor, jealous, freckled, a right grumpy git— but he wasn't a liar.

"Ok, Lav, you've been staring at him for like two minutes. He's not waking up. Let's go," Parvati said, with much more patience than Ron would have in the same ridiculous situation.

"I suppose…" Lavender mumbled, a wobble to her voice. She slid off the bed and made her way to the door. "I can't believe how much he's sleeping! She must have him on an awful lot of potions!"

The door closed behind her, and Ron gave a great sigh of relief.

"Mr Weasley."

"GAH!"

He bolted straight up, hearing Madam Pomphrey's voice so close to him. His head felt woozy at the quick change in position, and little spots swam in front of his eyes.

"I have your lunch," she said, setting the tray down on his table. Ron looked towards the clock.

"A bit later than usual," Ron mused.

"Well seeing as you were working so very hard to feign sleep, I thought I'd not give you a reason to wake in front of her."

"Thanks," said Ron, flushing in embarrassment.

"Hmm…" she said, giving him a beady look, put out his usual potions on his over-the-bed table, and whisked herself from the room. She normally hung about a little to inquire about his health, but he supposed she didn't want to associate with such a cowardly arse.

Before he'd been poisoned, Lavender's company was like a warm salve after the burning pangs of jealousy he felt over Hermione. Her touch, smiles, and comforting supporting were so easy and able to fill part of the void he'd felt in Hermione's absence. He felt wanted and whole at times with her. The way she looked him… like he was the one person who made her heart lighter. He'd never in his wildest dreams be able to look back at Lavender that way. He wished he could. He'd tried his damnedest to get over Hermione, but he couldn't hack it no matter how he tried.

It was time he resign himself to the fact that he wasn't getting over Hermione Granger. Not any time soon at least. Until his infatuation had blown over, he really couldn't date another girl. He'd have to wait, and surely eventually he would stop fancying her. That or he'd fancy her until he died and ended up alone and bitter and turn into a sad bugger like Snape.

Well, he'd never be able to stop being her friend, so he wouldn't be completely alone. There was the errant hope that maybe she could fancy him back, but that was too much in the realm of unreality to fathom.

Even if she never fancied him back, he needed her in his life, even if it was only as friends. Maybe he could end up better off than Snape and turn into a Dumbledore sort. He'd never be great or powerful, but maybe he could be a weirdo obsessed with sweets and grow his beard far too long. Yeah, that was doable.

That evening Hermione brought Pig down to him so he could write his parents, and get to spend a bit of time with his silly pet. As ridiculous as his owl was, he cared about the little blighter something fierce. He might be pathetic, but he was all his.

Hermione sat beside him on the bed, and she patiently wrote out his letters as he dictated them, stroking Pig's little wings. He wished he could always have her write his letters. It wasn't just for the convenience of it— though he had to admit, it was nice to avoid ink stains and hand cramps— but it was because he was at complete leisure to watch her writing as he'd never dared to before. It was better than when she fed him the other day, because now she wasn't aware of it. He could stare at her eyelashes as they fluttered down, the way her brow would give a tiny quirk when she finished a sentence, the way she'd bury her face behind a curtain of hair and she'd get a cute little double chin for a moment. Everything about her really was worth staring at.

He knew he shouldn't think about her like this and his gut squirmed in guilt. It was all kinds of wrong being entranced with one girl all the while avoiding his girlfriend for days. He was rotten and didn't deserve either of them in his life. Inexplicably they still kept visiting him. He'd perk up and feel downright merry when Hermione would visit, and he'd pretend to be comatose whenever Lavender visited.

Madam Pomfrey still had him on loads of potions, but had added in some little exercises for him to do in bed. They'd be simple tasks like 'straighten your leg and tense the quad muscle here and hold for ten seconds' or 'take your hand and bend it back and hold it.' They all seemed ludicrously easy and silly as she went through them with him, and they were easy the first few times he did it. He'd be shaking and sweating by the time he'd done all the little reps though.

The rest of the week dragged on, but by Saturday he was almost feeling himself. He was still sluggish and not back to full form composing papers, but he felt markedly more whole. He could get out of bed and walk to the loo unassisted and his memory was pretty spot on at this point, as long as he wasn't too anxious or tired.

He had finished putting on some clothes when Madam Pomfrey walked into the wing and gave a loud exclamation.

"What are you doing, Mr Weasley!"

"I wanted to go watch the Quidditch match."

"I'm sorry, but you can't make that long of a journey, plus the overexcitement of the game alone could cause a serious backslide for you."

"What? How?" Ron angrily asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stood head and shoulders above the Healer but she stood her ground.

"Let me put it this way— remember when you injured your leg two years ago? You wouldn't want to force yourself to walk on it when it was that badly broken."

"I did walk on it," Ron interrupted.

"Oh yes! I quite remember," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I normally can heal a broken leg in a trice, but you made it much worse it by walking on it, compounding your fracture, creating some real messy issues with your muscles and tendons— that's why you were here much longer than a broken leg would take."

"But I won't be doing anything at the game! I'll just be sitting there!"

"To an injured brain, almost anything beyond sleep is stressful and taxing on it. A Quidditch game to a boy like yourself? That's like running a marathon for a brain. It's simply too over-exciting."

"This is completely mad! I'm fine! Catching up on studies is a hell of a lot more 'stressful' and 'over-exciting' than any match could be."

He knew he was acting out of line, but there was no stopping his protests.

"We've already pushed your brain through enough stress as it is. I'm not about to let you go to today's match and hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself?" Ron scoffed. "It's walking to tht pitch and back."

"When you're stressed or excited you have more frequent headaches, your memory deteriorates and your motor skills decrease. Imagine tripping coming back and hitting your head. You might be in St. Mungo's for good if that happened."

"It's not that bad…" he weakley protested.

"Do you remember when you could barely speak? Do you want to backslide to that?" she asked, arms akimbo.

His breath caught in his throat. He vividly remembered it. He still had nightmares about it. Low blow, Pomfrey… but effective.

He gave a moody shrug and sat back down on his bed.

"I'm sorry to have to be so harsh, Mr Weasley," she said, sounding more kindly than usual, "but that's the reality of this situation. I know you're frustrated."

He nodded, before toeing off his trainers and pushing himself back onto the bed.

He was mulishly staring at the wall when Harry came to visit, firebolt broom over his shoulder, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and looking far more at ease than Ron ever had before a game. Part of Ron was relieved he didn't have to play, but after he'd done so well last game he thought he might be able to handle the pre-game jitters better this time.

"All right?" Harry asked as he sat on Ron's bed.

"No," Ron bit back. Harry raised his eyebrows, prompting Ron to try to control his temper. "Pomfrey won't let me go to the match."

"What, why?"

"Says it might 'overexcite me' or something…"

He understood it was a bigger deal than that, but there was no way he would reveal how bad things were to Harry. Harry had been rather oblivious to Ron's worse symptoms, and Ron was happy to keep his friend in the dark.

"Bollocks, you'd only be sitting there!"

"That's what I said!" he complained, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I hate being an invalid… How's McLaggen shaping up?"

Would the bastard take his place on the team?

"Still a complete knob head."

"Good— I mean, I want you to do well at the game of course. And that Smith character will be playing, so I'm hoping you kick his arse round the field a few times."

"We'd perform a lot better with you there," said Harry. It was a complete lie, of course, as Ron knew he was a shit player more often than not, but it was a rather nice lie. "I can't keep losing my star players, though. If it weren't for Ginny and Demelza our team would be complete shit today."

"You're alright too," Ron said with a small punch to Harry's arm.

"Thanks," he replied, giving a dismissive shrug. "Won't count for much if we're getting scored on every ten seconds."

"Oh? McLaggen not shaping up too well?"

"No…" Harry said, eyeing Ron. "You sure you're doing alright?"

"M'fine. Should be out of here soon. No blood spewing, can walk about and everything. Definitely capable of watching a match," he huffed. It was bad enough being endlessly trapped in the hospital wing and not getting to play— but it was downright miserable having his place filled by McLaggen. Hermione had said there was nothing between them… Then again she said that about Krum too… She never badmouthed Krum, so at least there was that. Perhaps if McLaggen did poorly at the match it would cement her disdain for the troll permanently. She might talk loftily about how little she cared for Quidditch, but she had a track record of dating really good players. She'd said as much back in December before her date with McLaggen. The thought made him wring his hands.

"So how's McLaggen shaping up?" he asked, nervously fidgeting with his duvet cover. Harry made a grim face.

"I've told you," said Harry, a bit slowly. Bugger. He'd forgotten he asked. Perhaps he was a bit anxious… Maybe skipping the match today wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"He could be world-class and I wouldn't want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can't wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people," Harry added, rising from the bed to shoulder his broom, "will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She's driving me mad as well."

"Oh," said Ron, looking away. He hadn't realized anyone knew he was feigning sleep beyond Pomfrey and Hermione that one time. "Yeah. All right."

"If you don't want to go out with her anymore, just tell her."

"Yeah ... well ... it's not that easy, is it?" said Ron.

Ron boggled at what awful advice that was. Harry hadn't ever had to properly break up with a girl. Hell, he'd barely dated anyone. Cho and Harry's relationship, if you could even call it that, consisted of one horrible date and one kiss under some mistletoe. They never spent time with one another, and he was reasonably sure Cho had never really looked at Harry the way Lavender looked at him. If anything, it was the opposite. Cho was still hung up on another person… he never thought he'd sympathize with Cho Chang, but perhaps Hermione hadn't been too off when she was overanalyzing the girl last year.

He was so confused, fancying Hermione, but genuinely caring for Lavender. He didn't fancy her, but he liked her. And there was a sense of safety knowing he could turn around and have a girl cheering him on, no questions asked. Then there was that horrible guilt he couldn't escape that kept gnawing at him. He felt so much he thought he might explode. He wished he could sit down and have Hermione help overanalyze himself a bit. There was no way to have her help him since she was one of his main concerns, but he couldn't help wishing it. He hadn't seen her this morning at all, and he was feeling a bit wobbly for it.

"Hermione going to look in before the match?" He couched this very smoothly, he thought. Just the right sort of casualness that Harry wouldn't be able to catch on how much longed to see Hermione.

"No, she's already gone down to the pitch with Ginny."

"Oh," said Ron. This was a right shit day. "Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith."

"I'll try," said Harry, shouldering his broom. "See you after the match." With that Harry was racing out of the ward and Ron was left, once again, stuck by himself in the hospital wing with no company.

The window was open, and if he strained his ears he might be able to make out what the commentator was saying. He waited in equal parts anticipation and dread for the game to begin. He paced a bit, but found it too tiring to keep up.

He laid back in bed wondering what to do with himself when Madam Pomfrey brought a small box that looked like an ancient wizarding wireless and put it beside his bed. It was wooden with little brass knobs and speaker.

"Now, if you promise to stay relatively calm, I'll leave this here for the entirety of the game."

She waved a wand over it and he heard Luna Lovegood come onto the wireless.

"The sun has been shining through the clouds so very prettily. I saw one cloud that very much looked like a Horned Hodag today, and I think we all know what that portends for a Quidditch match."

Ron hadn't the foggiest what it could mean to see something like that in the clouds, but he gave a hearty laugh, the first good guffaw he'd had in weeks.

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!" he enthused, settling deeper into his covers. She gave him a warm smile before leaving to do whatever it was she got up to in her office.

What barking lunatic had thought to give Luna a microphone and a platform to speak from? Oh this was going to be glorious.

"The Hufflepuff team are all in their uniforms of yellow and black. I think they look more like bumblebees than they want to. Especially the big one. Yes he looks very much like an angry bumblebee, especially now that he's glaring at me like that."

"The other team is Gryffindor, of course. I like them a lot. Hufflepuff are known for being friendly, but the Gryffindors have all been a lot more friendly to me. There's a big player standing in for Ron Weasley today, but he doesn't look as friendly or red-haired. I think it's Tarmac Blaggins?"

"Cormac McLaggen!" McGongall corrected, sounding very unamused. Ron beamed, wishing he could see the two of them interacting.

"Oh no, there's no remembering that. I'm just going to call him the Gryffindor Keeper… He was very loud at the Christmas party I went to, and is not very funny."

The game began, and from what he could tell from Luna's wandering commentary, McLaggen was as useless as a bag of bludgers dropped in a bathtub. Ron knew he shouldn't root for his replacement to fail, but he was only human. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling.

"Zacharias Smith is not very good at holding the quaffle for long. Perhaps he just isn't good at holding things in general? Or it could be a case of — oh wait, he has the ball perhaps— oh dear, dropped it again. Yes, I'm quite certain that he has contracted a very bad case of Loser's Lurgy…"

"Oh look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats. I don't think that's very usual for this game. And— oh dear!"

Ron could hear the whole audience at the pitch give a terrible sound of alarm, and even McGongall gave a great yell he could hear over the wireless.

"The Gryffindor Keeper Porkluck McFloodle hit a bludger right into Harry Potter's head! My, he fell off his broom from very high up. The Gryffindor Beaters have caught him though. There is an awful lot of blood… What a strange strategy to employ at this point in the game."

Ron heard a sound from Pomfrey's office, and a moment later she bustled into the ward a determined look on her face.

"Ginny looks so upset. The Gryffindor Beaters Ceakes and Poot are busy moving Harry, but the team hasn't called a time-out. The Gryffindor Keeper let the quaffle through. Oh no! Without a captain they can't call a time-out can they… The Hufflepuffs are scoring quite a lot of points now. Even Smith has managed to hold the quaffle a bit, despite his Loser's Lurgy."

Demelza and Dean managed only one goal each, while Hufflepuff trounced them soundly and the match ended with Hufflepuff mercifully catching the snitch..

Harry was brought into the ward on a stretcher not long after the team lost. Ginny, Hermione, and McGongall were marching behind it looking rather stricken. Harry did look a mess, all pale and lifeless— but Ron figured it was no big deal compared to some of the other things he'd faced, right? Ginny looked rather close to tears as Harry was spelled off the stretcher and onto the bed.

Pomfrey waved her wand and diagnostic spells hummed around his head and neck, lighting his pale face before she closed the curtains around Harry.

"Oh Merlin," Ginny moaned, moving over to Ron's bed. He put an arm round his sister.

"He's got a hard head," Ron offered with a smile.

His smile fell as Hermione stayed beside Harry's bed, biting her lip and watching with worry. A fleeting terrible thought of Hermione fancying Harry darted through him. He'd entertained the thought before, and like always he quickly swatted it away.

"That stupid McLaggen. I want to hex him into oblivion," Ginny growled, wiping at her eyes. "The whole game was a complete shitshow. Ron, if you aren't back on the team next week, I might quit."

"He's that bad?" Ron tried to say with sympathy, but he knew he was failing miserably given the punch he received.

"Oi! How am I supposed to be back on the team if you attack me when I'm healing!" he said, rubbing at his arm.

"I ought to hex you for making us get stuck with him in the first place."

"Ah yeah, sorry about that. I'll try really hard not to get randomly poisoned next week. That do?"

"I suppose it must," she said with dramatic flair, before sitting in Hermione's usual place at his side. For a moment he wanted to kick her out so he could entice Hermione to cozy up with him, but he could sense his sister was a bit rattled and needed some support.

Hermione finally left Harry's side to join them.

"Pomfrey said it's a cracked skull, but she can heal it easily and he'll be fine by Monday. He'll be staying here at least overnight," she informed them.

"There, see?" Ron said to his sister. "It wouldn't be a proper school year if Harry wasn't hospitalized unconscious at least once."

"Well I am quite tired of the two of you getting injured all the time," Hermione fretted.

"Here here!" Ginny agreed.

"You've been hospitalized a good bit too, Hermione," he reminded her. She'd had plenty of short stints, but there were three long ones she'd endured that he would never forget.

The first had been when she had the accident with Polyjuice potion and had turned into a human-cat hybrid. She'd been trapped in the ward for almost a month. That hadn't been so bad. He missed her during the day, but it was nice to spend time with her alone, helping her to catch up on her studies. He'd ever had better notes before or since.

The second time she'd been petrified by the basilisk. That had been pure torture seeing her usual expressive face frozen in shock. He visited her quite often, despite the lack of interaction, and talked to her about all sorts of things. It was like talking to an imaginary friend. He knew how she would have reacted, and could see it quite clearly in his mind. He'd always wondered if she could hear what all he'd said, but never had the guts to ask her. It had been bad, but there was a cure on the way, and somehow death just didn't seem like a possibility for them. He used the news that she was ok to power some of his earliest patronuses.

The third time was the worst. The fight inside the Department of Mysteries had been the closest to death he had ever been. He was covered in the ugly scars of it and still haunted by nightmares. When he finally woke up in the hospital wing Hermione was beside him and she looked so pale and still that he was convinced she was dead. He kept checking her pulse, and was reassured by the medi-witch she wasn't dead— but it had been too close a call for him to feel comforted. She'd nearly died! They'd all cheated death, a bunch of kids against full-grown Death Eaters. It almost felt like death himself would swoop in to chastise them like the Three Brothers in the old fairy tale. Death felt tangible and real. He supposed it had already felt that way for Harry since Cedric died, but it really sank in for him how very mortal they all were.

Ron chose to put his life on the line a fair number of times and figured that would be his role in it all. He would be a shield for the real heroes, like Harry and Hermione. And he was fine with that. It's not like he wanted to die or anything, but he wasn't particularly surprised when he'd had another close call. That was just part of it. He had to do his duty and keep Harry and everyone else safe.

It shook him to have others going out there doing the same thing. When he'd been running through the department of mysteries he had lagged behind his sister and Luna, doing everything he could to shield them from the onslaught of spells. Hermione wasn't supposed to be a shield or wand-fodder like he was. She was supposed to go on to do great things, like Harry. He couldn't fathom a world without her, and wished he had a way to convince her to stay safe in a library somewhere instead of following him and Harry into danger all the time. A world without Hermione was unthinkable. He didn't want to live in a world without Hermione.

"Yes, we all spend too much time here," Hermione said with a sniff. "I'm quite tired. I think I'll go take a nap. I'll see you tomorrow, Ron."

With that she practically fled from the hospital room. Ron looked to Ginny for answers, and she gave a shrug.

"It's been a tough week. First you, now Harry… It's enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed."

He had a feeling Ginny wasn't just speaking for Hermione.

"Don't worry. We'll be out of the hospital wing and driving you mad in no time."

"You manage quite well even from the hospital bed," she said with a grin.

"Tell me about the game, then. Luna's version, while spectacular, was a bit hard to follow."

Ginny went into all the details of the game, doing a great impression of McLaggen that left him in stitches, and nearly got her kicked out by Pomfrey.

"He gave a terrible speech before the game like he was captain when Harry was running late."

"Late? Harry left here with plenty of time to get there."

"I don't know. He barely made it for the kick off, though."

Ron would have to poke Harry about that later. Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head before climbing off the bed.

"I'm off to shower the stench of losing off me before it sets in. Don't want to get Loser's Lurgy!" she smiled.

"Check in on Hermione, will you? She'll be lonely without Harry."

"Or you."

"Well…" he began, but Ginny gave him a hard knowing look. "You'll check on her?"

"Of course. We are friends you know. I might not be in your little 'secret trio club', but I do talk with her."

"Secret trio club?" Ron asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I've not the patience to get into that today. Break the news of our loss to Harry easy."

"Will do," he said with a salute to his sister.

He was glad to spend time with her like this. As children they'd been joined at the hip, being the youngest. He didn't necessarily want her company at times, as the Twins gave him so much grief for it— but it had been such an easy companionship. He wished they could have that easy of a time now. She was just so prickly with him. He missed how sweet she'd been when they were knee high to gnomes and climbing over the cobbled walls together. Now there was always so much attitude towards him, as if he was a stand-in for everyone who had ever annoyed her. He didn't mind it most of the time, but it would be nice to not have her teenage rebellion aimed at him every time they talked.

As much as he had enjoyed their short time together, he was still a bit miffed she'd made him miss out on his time with Hermione. He was hoping Hermione would have stayed with him as she'd been doing every day. He looked to the corner and saw that the bedpan Hermione had burned his papers in was still sitting in the corner, charred as ever.

How had the meticulous Pomfrey not noticed it?

He glanced over at her and saw she was still wrapping Harry's head in about a million meters of tape.

As inconspicuously as he could, Ron slipped from the bed and went to the corner to inspect the bed pan. He poked it, and it stayed firmly in place,most likely held by a sticking charm. There seemed to be a subtle shimmer to it as he looked— whatever the spell it kept Pomfrey, or anyone other than Ron, from noticing it. It was like a little monument to them.

Ron felt warmth course through him all over at the thought.

In moments like those he could pretend she was his girl, and not just his very good friend.

He caught himself daydreaming that often enough. Whenever she'd sit close to him in his bed he'd been quite unable to escape the thought, with their legs touching, her elbow resting a bit on his stomach as they crammed together on the bed. If she were his girl he'd be able to put his hands in her hair, and lean in with his face right against hers. He could nibble on those little ears he'd never touched before. He'd be able to toss the letters to the side and kiss her until his head was swimming from lack of oxygen. He'd be able to laugh and hold her hand any time he liked. He'd lean in and whisper in her ear how much he fancied her and she'd tell him how much she loved him back, saying - "

"Oh no!" Ron let out, jerking himself upright from the bedpan.

Shit! He loved her. He didn't fancy her. He loved her!

His stomach lurched and he thought he was going to be sick from nerves.

"Are you quite well Mr Weasley?" he heard Madam Pomfrey ask from Harry's bedside, looking up at him with concern.

"Spiffing! Just had a small cramp. I'm fine!" he lied, letting out a slightly hysterical sound that might have resembled a laugh. He wasn't sure.

He loved Hermione!

Maybe it was the clarity that came from having almost died, but he now knew with certainty— this wasn't just a crush he had on Hermione. It was that real deal, want to throw yourself from the astronomy tower, write poxy poetry, bolts of lightning, do anything for them kind of love.

This was too much! He wasn't supposed to love her! He wasn't even supposed to fancy her!

She'd barely shown a sign she might welcome any sort of advance from him, let alone allow him to love her. He was so crap, and she was so great. How did one keep a secret like this? It felt a bit like when he'd been love potioned. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to tell her!

But he couldn't. He couldn't tell a soul. God, if he didn't watch it, he might blurt it out accidentally. That was a horrifying thought.

It was the absolute shittiest thing that could ever happen in the history of wizardom. And why? Why did he have to realize it now? He had no right to it! None at all. He had a girlfriend. A really nice, if a bit silly, girlfriend. And Hermione? She had no interest in him like that at all.

This was the most mental thing that had ever happened. And there was nothing he could do about it at all. Well… fuck. It was a hopeless situation.

He thought back to Harry's advice to just end things with Lavender. That would be easy enough, wouldn't it? But then again… the thought of making her cry made him ill. He couldn't very well tell her 'I have an unrequited love for Hermione, so kindly eff off? But I hope we can still be friends!'

He'd tried earlier that year to pull away from her a bit and let her just naturally lose interest. Perhaps he could just drop a hint here or there and let his actions speak for him. He knew for a fact he didn't have the words.

He'd have to carry on as usual, even though he felt a bit like doing the conga and offing himself all at once. At least he had a few moments to himself to process it. It'd be hours before Harry was awake, most likely, and Pomfrey would be holed up in her office soon enough.

Resigned, he lay back in his bed, turning himself away from the little charred bedpan in the corner.

Author's note:

Sorry this took so long to get out- hope you found it was worth the wait!

If you liked it, please give it a comment! :)

They give me such motivation to write more! :D