A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

Word count:1586

Warning: character death

She was screaming. She didn't even hear herself, didn't hear her own voice. Things had gone so wrong, things had gone so right. Everyone was talking. She could hear their voices, they were just white noise in the background. He was laying in front of her, his arms spread, his eyes closed never to open again. Her voice finally died, too raw to continue.

She felt arms pulling her up, wrapping around her. She smelled lavender, sage, some other herbs she couldn't identify in the haze of death surrounding her. She heard him speaking, promising something he couldn't deliver. Her face was wet, her eyes were now dry, too dry. It hurt to keep them open. She closed them, her sobs not ceasing, but becoming softer and softer until they were silent.

Something warm being brought to her lips. She tasted honey, sweet sweet honey. Tea. It was tea of some sort. The arms were there, holding the cup when she finally opened her bloodshot eyes. She couldn't look at his face, instead focused on the hem of his sleeve. It was frayed, old, falling apart. She fought the urge to vomit, fought the urge to curl into a ball. Another sip of the sweet tea. Her throat burned with the liquid. She turned her head.

"It won't bring him back," his voice said. "Nothing can do that. We both know it."

She knew who was talking, she recognized his voice, even if she refused to look at his face. She looked at the floor. The stones were tinged red. There was so much bloodshed. There was too much blood shed, too much death. How could anything survive in a world soaked in blood.

"We won. It's going to take some time, but we did win. He's gone, Hermione. He's gone for good this time."

"At what cost?" she rasped, her voice broken. "At what price is it worth it?"

"He will be remembered. We won't let the world forget what Ron did for everyone, how he saved the house elves, how he protected the school."

"He did more," Hermione whispered. She wanted to elaborate, but her voice died in her throat. He nodded, putting his hand on hers.

"You'll tell me all about his heroic accomplishments when you've healed. Right now, you need to focus on getting yourself better, Hermione. I know Madame Pomfrey has been busy with those who need help more. She'll tend to you in time, for now, though, don't try to talk, you'll only make it worse."

Hermione nodded, slowly raising her head. She could see his pale skin, the splattering of freckles on his arm. She knew what she'd see if she allowed herself to raise her eyes. She'd see eyes so like the ones she'd lost. She'd see red hair, hair that would only remind her of Ron. She hadn't loved Ron, not like that, but right now, she couldn't, she couldn't handle seeing someone who looked so close, but yet so different.

"I could bring you something to read? There's a new article that was published about cauldron thickness?"

Hermione snorted, nearly biting back a laugh. Since when had he developed a sense of humor? Maybe it wasn't a joke? She tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of his mouth. His lips were upturned in a smile. It had been a joke, a sort of funny one.

"Or, um, have you read the last issue of Arithimancy Today? There's a fun puzzle in the back. I've already solved it of course, but you might like to try it?"

She nodded slowly. She'd actually started working on it while on the run, but she'd had to leave it behind her. There were so many more important things to put her brilliance to. He handed her the magazine and a quill. She looked at the page, letting the numbers fill her mind.

He sat down next to the bed she was laying in. She glanced over at his hands. There were small cuts on his fingers. One of his nails was broken. She ignored him as she started filling in the numbers. The puzzle was actually easy if one could figure out the cipher used. Hermione prided herself on figuring them out quicker than anyone else in her arithimancy class fourth year. She paused. That had been so long ago, and yet, not that far back.

"I think G is seven," he said, looking over her work. She nodded, scribbling out her mistakes and quickly replacing the numbers. Within minutes she'd solved the puzzle.

"Not too bad, that one. I've a whole book of harder ones."

She raised her head slightly, looking at his chest. She couldn't bring her eyes to his face. She couldn't handle seeing.

"I could lend it to you after things are a bit more settled?"

Hermione nodded. She loved these kind of puzzles. Ron had never understood why she'd wanted to do what he called school work outside of class. She bit back the tears. Her eyes were already starting to hurt from dryness.

"Great, um, I should probably let you rest? I know you're not going to heal overnight. Is there anything else you need?" he asked. She shook her head. No, she couldn't think of anything. She needed her friend back, needed her life back, needed everything to be how it should be. He couldn't give her that.

"I'll be here when you wake, I promise," he whispered, giving her a kiss on the forehead. She closed her painful eyes, letting exhaustion claim her.

She could hear movement, voices. His voice stood out, asking for something. She opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light.

"Hey, you're awake! Great, Madame Pomfrey said she could check you out this afternoon. She's worried you did some permanent damage to your vocal chords. No, don't try to speak, there will be plenty of time for speaking and lecturing people when you're better."

She let out a laugh, a soft muffled sound, almost like wind chimes in a very soft breeze.

"You like my jokes? The twins claim I don't know what a joke is. Just because I have a different sense of humor. Hey, you're smiling," he said. She couldn't deny the small smile crossing her face. At least she was waking up to someone who seemed to care about her, someone who didn't mind that she liked to lecture people. She wondered if he was the same.

"I'm going to grab us some soup, alright?"

She nodded. She watched him leave, watched him walk away. She couldn't help but notice he limped a little. Had he been hurt? Would he heal? Would she heal? She knew somethings didn't heal, a broken heart, that was something that took a long time. Would she be able to speak again? She wasn't sure what she'd done to her vocal chords. The whole battle was a blur, a set of images she couldn't understand.

He was back with the soup, gently feeding her. She raised one of her hands to see cuts and bruises. Her palms were black and blue.

"You were slamming then against the floor. I think, you might have been in shock. It's alright. I put bruise paste on them for you."

"Thank you," she rasped. He put his finger to her lips.

"Save your voice, please. Oh, here comes Madame Pomfrey. I'll go wait over there," he said, nodding. She shook her head and grabbed his hand. She couldn't bring herself to look up at him, but she didn't want him to leave her side, not when she might be getting bad news.

"With time, they will heal. Until then, soft foods, no talking unless necessary," Madame Pomfrey stated after taking a look at Hermione's throat. The young witch nodded.

"I'll be your voice," he said, giving her a smile. She didn't see it, she was staring at his chest, at the large P knitted on his jumper. She nodded.

"Hey, while you were sleeping, I found a copy of that book in the library, want to work on a puzzle together?" he asked. She raised her head slightly, saw the collar of his shirt, saw his neck, saw the tip of his chin. She nodded. He opened the book to a random page.

"This one looks good," he stated, summoning a quill. Hermione peered at the puzzle before grabbing the pen from his fingers and scribbling four equals S. He looked at the writing and nodded as she filled in that part of the equation.

He smiled watching her. Slowly her fingers brushed against his, ink smearing across their hands. She let out a laugh. No one had ever understood just how important it was to get at least one hand smeared with ink when doing Arithimancy.

"We're a bit alike, you know," he said. She nodded, solving the puzzle. She flipped to a blank page and looked up at his chin, at his hair, and finally, her eyes met his. She mouthed the word 'race' as she wordlessly summoned another quill. He laughed.

"You're on, Hermione," he stated, grabbing his puzzle and delving into it. Hermione watched him for a moment, taking in his glasses, his semi curly hair. No, he didn't look like Ron at all, not really, and maybe, just maybe she could handle the pitter patter her heart was starting to feel for him. Maybe, just maybe she and Percy could work, could heal, together.