Author's Note: I'm so sorry about the wait, guys! *Hangs head in shame* Hopefully you won't have to wait this long again!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, his world or the characters who come with him.

Ron pushed through the door of the Hospital Wing, his heart thumping at almost twice its normal speed as he followed Harry into the room. That had been a very narrow escape from Professor McGonagall; he hated to imagine what kind of punishment she would have doled out for being out in the grounds unaccompanied, if she hadn't believed that Ron and Harry were just trying to visit their petrified friend.

Biting his lip, Ron looked over at Hermione's bed, which was blocked from his view by the hangings. He stepped over towards it and pushed the curtains back, but he nearly recoiled again at the sight that awaited him. Hermione lay completely motionless, one hand outstretched on the mattress in front of her, her fingers still curled stiffly in the air, as if she had just been reaching out for something when the heir of Slytherin – whoever it was – had attacked her. Her bushy hair was tangled around her face, and her mouth was set in the determined expression that Ron knew so well and often associated with exam time stress. She seemed to be frozen in place, stuck irreversibly in one moment in time.

In fact, her features were so cold, so statue-like, that she barely even appeared to be-

She could almost be-

No, Ron couldn't bear to think of that. He turned away again, breathing rather more heavily than normal, and stared fixedly at the bedside table instead of Hermione's face, his jaw clenched. He could hear Harry in the background, explaining to Madame Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to be in the Hospital Wing, but he couldn't seem to pay attention to his best friend's words. Instead, images of Hermione's pale face and rigid body seemed to float in front of his mind's eye, until Ron just wanted to press his knuckles into his eyeballs and moan until the horrible pictures went away and left him in peace. He hadn't realised he would be so bothered by the sight of his friend until he got to the Hospital Wing and she was actually there, lying in front of him. He had expected her to look calm and serene, as if in she were just in a deep sleep. But instead, she was stiff and paralysed - she looked nowhere near as peaceful as Ron had hoped.

All he wanted was for her to be all right.

Oh, shut up, Ron, he thought irritably to himself. Merlin, you sound like some soppy girl.

He shook his head, wrenching himself back into reality, and forced himself to look back at Hermione. It wasn't like it was permanent, anyway. The Mandrake Restorative Draught would be ready soon, and then Hermione would be back to nag at him and Harry for not doing their homework on the evening it was set. (She never seemed to understand that they simply had better things to do than to write some bloody essay on the uses of dried nettles in potions!) He should just enjoy the freedom while it lasted. With a tiny smile, Ron leaned back in his chair. However, not a moment later, he had jerked back forwards so fast that his neck clicked painfully. He was staring hard at Hermione's left hand, which lay by her side. Clasped firmly between her fingers was a scrap of paper.

"Harry..." he said slowly, his previous worries forgotten.