AN: A continuation from the last chapter.

XX

Merlin.

George scrunched his eyes shut, his face pressed against his palms, he desperately tries to breathe. He can't lose another brother, he won't lose another brother, not like this, not like this… In front of him Ginny is being hoisted up onto a make shift stretcher, but he can't watch. She's okay, he knows she is okay, but he can't watch her be wheeled out of the room, cannot watch another sibling being wheeled out of this room. He can't think, can't breathe. The room is too bright, the air is too tight, his body is too hot, his brain too loud.

Please save him.

Hermione is screaming again, screaming loudly, her wailing almost loud enough to shatter windows but Ron had already taken care of the window in this room, her wailing almost loud enough to shut down George's brain for good but that won't take much more. He can hear the wheels, he can hear them stop for a moment, can hear Hermione's knees hit the floor, can hear her screams turn to wails, and more than anything he wishes he was passed out like Ginny, that he didn't have to hear this, that he didn't have to think, have to be awake for any of this. He wants to go to sleep and wake up and have it all be over. He doesn't want to have his nails chewed down as low as he could, he doesn't want to have his skin split and bleeding, he doesn't want to be thrumming his head against the wall behind him, to have his teeth biting down on gum in attempt to stop himself for yelling out.

This is all my fault.

He never should have mentioned the fucking spell. He never should have told Ron, but he couldn't not tell him, he was his little brother, it was so hard to say no to those eyes, especially when they were wide and pleading. He should have watched him more closely, made sure he didn't get the wand, made sure that he was safe. He was his little brother, his baby brother, it was his job, no is his job to look after him, his job to keep him safe. Fred would have kept him safe, Fred would have known what to do.

"But Fred isn't here."

He muttered to himself, teeth scraping against skin, words spat out into the empty room. Hermione has stopped sobbing now, has stopped screaming, has- Eyes blink, hands jerk away from his face and George is on his feet, his head spins and he steadies himself against the wall. Blood rushing to his head, ground unsteady, George wants to sit back down again, wants to wallow but he can't, not now, not with Ginny on a stretcher and Ron probably lying dead somewhere.

Not another one.

Fingers curl around the door frame, steadying George as he face whitens at the sight in front of him. He knew he should have stayed in the room, he knew he should have stayed on the floor, but it's too late for that now. Now he is standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed to the centre of the room, his heart threatening to stop beating forever, threatening to just give up. Absentmindedly he thinks that wouldn't be the worst thing to happen today. Ginny is safe he knows that, logic tells him she is fine, but she just passed out of them, she wasn't fine, none of them were fucking fine, least of all Ron. It was his damn fault, he should have been able to protect Ron, he should have stopped him from getting the healers wand, should have stopped him from pointing that thing at his bloody head, he never should have told him the damn spell in the first place. It was his fault, he hesitated just for a moment, for no more than a second and then everything moved slowly, he was slowly reaching for Ron, but he was too slow, the spell was done and the lights blew and the window exploded and he was knocked off his feet. And now, in front of him as he grips onto the door frame unsure whether he can take anything else tonight, is Hermione, laid out on a stretcher, finally quiet, finally peaceful and finally calm.

"They put her to sleep."

Harry explained, his eyes meeting George's before returning to Hermione, trailing after her as the two healers push her towards her own room. He can't process what is happening, doesn't want to. Harry's hands dig into his pockets and he takes a few steps backwards, sliding down the wall until he reaches the floor, legs stretching out in front of him, beating gravity at its own game. It's only a matter of time before he legs gave out on him, he wouldn't be standing for much longer, Ginny and Hermione are safe now, asleep and calm, but Ron's fate he still doesn't know but what he knows for certain is he only had a few minutes before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, not of his own accord. Ginny would know what to say to George now, but Ginny's asleep and it's just Harry and George, no one else knows what is going on, no one else was privy to the screaming, to the shock and the pain of the last few minutes, and neither of them can tell Molly and Arthur anything until either they are forced to or they actually have concrete answers to give.

"Good."

Brown eyes meet green, holding the gaze for a few minutes, George finds his heart beat slows, the erratic pounding against his chest calms, the ringing in his head that had been alongside Hermione's screams fades away, and he blinks, his fingers still digging into the doorframe, holding himself up as the room, no, the world sways beneath his feet. Everything is so uncertain, and he won't, can't lose another brother, can't lose anyone else, not a single person, but he may not have a choice. A question slips to the forefront of his brain and he doesn't want to answer it, doesn't want to think about, doesn't want to consider the possibility that Ron lives but not as himself, the possibility that he takes up permanent residence in this place, a joke comes to mind but he pushes that aside for later, when the humour will be well received, when they can look back on this moment and laugh at the fear they felt, thinking it was ridiculous that they were that scared, but George isn't sure a time like that is in store for them this time.

"I told them to let Ginny sleep for the next few hours."

Harry told him. He seemed to be asking George what he thought of that, but George doesn't answer, can't answer, not yet, so he looks away, turns his neck so he's looking back inside of the room, the room where he may have lost Ron for good, the room that may hold the memories of all Ron's lasts, and George stares out of the hole where the window was and nods to himself, Harry was right, right to tell them to let Ginny sleep, right to let her sleep through this. He knows she will be mad if she wakes up and Ron's dead and she missed it, she will never forgive them if that happens, but it's better this way, it's better if she sleeps through the waiting, that she doesn't let herself hope if there is none to be had, better that doesn't entertain the possibility that Ron will be alright if that is not the case. Hoping only makes things hurt worse when your hope is misplaced, hoping only ever helps if you get what you want, and in George's experience, so often those who hope do not get what they want.

"Good."

George replied, his gaze on Harry again as he tries to give him a smile but only manages to look pained, only manages to nod his head a little and Harry nods back, knowing full well that he can't smile, not now, not with everything that's happening. He can't smile, not even a small flicker on light on his expression, everything is dark, there is no light in him now, it was snuffed out the moment that window blew. All these spells trapped in his head, all these skills he has, he was the boy who lived for merlin's sake, he killed He Who Must Not Be Named and yet, there is nothing that he can do to help Ron, nothing he can do to help his best friend, his brother. There is nothing he could do for Hermione except get her put to sleep. There is nothing that he can say to George now. He cannot ask George to tell him that everything is going to be okay, because neither of them know that it will be, he cannot reassure George that everything will be fine, because he isn't sure that it is. There is nothing he can offer George now, nothing by silence, not even a small smile.

"Have you called the ministry?"

The question runs through both of their minds, keeps them silent, keeps them locked inside of their heads. Ron had been so scared once he discovered something was wrong, Ron had been so scared that they were scared, he had wanted to fix himself to put them out of pain, he had wanted to- Harry shakes his head, he can't think about that, not now, not when he needs to give Arthur a progress report on how Ron's doing, not when all he wants to do is cry, wants to wail like Hermione, to scream like she did, but he can't, not yet, that can come later, now he needs to steady his breathing and work at eventually stopping his body from shaking and allow himself to his feet. His gaze falls on George, George who is staring at the floor, his expression open but trying so hard not to be.

You have to be okay.

George thinks as he tries to reconstruct his expression, tries to fix the cracks in his mask, knows that someone needs to go downstairs and talk to his parents, that someone needs to run interference, needs to make sure that they don't come up here, but he can't fix the cracks, there are no cracks, his mask has crumbled into fucking smithereens and he can't pretend that everything is just dandy, he can't pretend that Ron will probably be fine, that everything will be a-okay. The world is spinning and it won't stop. He won't faint, he knows he won't, but he wishes that he will, wishes that something will silence the thoughts that are crashing and colliding in his head, wishes that he could sleep for the next few hours, that he could wake up and this would be over, but he can't make Harry do this on his own, can't leave his parents, so he pushes himself off the doorframe and steps away from the room, steps towards Harry, and tries desperately to build a new mask, to have a perfectly constructed expression by the time his feet are stepping into the lift because he won't be able to take the stairs, he just knows he won't be able to.

"George?"

Harry asked, eyes on him, tracking his movements, watching cautiously, nervously, trying to assess George's expression while attempting to look as though that is not at all what he is trying to do. George pauses, foot hovering above ground, and his expression wavers, he doesn't know what to say, cannot think of words so instead he simply meets those piercing green eyes and tries to tell him everything without words. He cannot remain on this floor, cannot remain by this room for a minute longer. People are coming to fix the window he knows, healers or someone will be here soon and he doesn't want to still be here when they arrive, he wants to gone, doesn't want to be questioned by anyone, doesn't want to be watched out of the corner of an eye. But he knows that he can't go down to see his parents, knows that he won't be able to face them.

"Ginny and Hermione will be in the same room right? I could get us cup of tea from the healers station and we could go wait with them."

George's voice doesn't shake and he is proud of himself for that. He doesn't let his mask crumble again, doesn't let the dam break, doesn't let himself turn into the mess he is threatening to become, doesn't let the scream that is teetering to the edge of tongue out. Instead of letting his mask shatter and fall, he walks towards Harry, and helps him up off the floor. Instead of opening the door to his emotions and letting them take control, he asks a healer where they put Hermione and Ginny and asks him to take Harry there. Instead of screaming at everything around him, he makes them both tea as promised and heads towards Ginny and Hermione's room. Everything is falling around him, the ground shaking, the room spinning, he doesn't mind change, but this change he will not accept, not for a moment and he resists the urge to throw the cups that are in his hands against the wall, resists against the urge to make this smash, to make things break just like he is breaking.

Sleep?

The suggestion pops into Harry's brain but he pushes it away, he can't sleep now, his mind won't let him, and yet its suggests sleep to him, teasing, taunting, knowing that he will be awake for hours to come, knows that he may not be able to sleep properly for weeks, months even after today. Tea half-drunk for the third time, Harry remains slouched in his chair, his eyes on Hermione, his eyes on Ginny, watching them both, wondering if they are dreaming, or if they are simply paused, locked in a split second of nothingness that extends for far longer than they are aware of. They look so fragile asleep, their expressions open, the hard lines of their faces softening, while they sleep they don't look like they do when they are awake, they don't carry the same loss, the same pain, don't have eyes that tell you they have seen the unimaginable, don't have smiles that tells you they have known great sorrow. Asleep they have a peace that they will never achieve while awake, a carefree look that they will never be able to grasp, not with the world on their shoulders. George and Harry need them awake now, they're the brilliant ones, but it is best they sleep, and Harry couldn't bring himself to wake them anyway, couldn't tell them that they still know nothing, couldn't tell them that Ron's future is still uncertain, that his life may still hang in the balance, that he may be dead.

Waiting.

George never did it well. He couldn't sit still, not when he didn't want to and now he most certainly does not want to, he wants to get up and move, wants to be able to be useful, wants to have a solution, wants to be able to think of something to say to offset the mood but nothing comes to mind, nothing at all. So he sits his hand holding Ginny's as he watches her sleeping face, trying to find peace in his baby sisters expression, trying to keep his breathing even and his heart beat slow. Charlie's with his parents now, Bill and Fleur are down there too. He doesn't know how much they know, isn't sure, but he's glad they aren't here. He loves his family, more than anything, but he doesn't want to see their expressions now, doesn't want to see his mother crying yet again, doesn't want to see his father comforting her and crying too, he can't take any more of it. So Harry and him sit in silence, just as they have done for the last two and half hours.

154 minutes.

George has been told before that time is not linear, he has been told that time does not speed up or slow down merely our perception differs with our mood or mind set; waiting for news on Ron time feels both infinitely long and also as if it zipping by. Lost in his head he is able to play memories to himself just like he did after Fred died, and time speeds up in a sense but also it is tremendously slow, the hands ticking by at an increasingly tortuously slow pace, each tick of the clock reverberating through his mind, and he wonders with each breath whether Ron is still breathing, wonders with each beat of his heart if Ron's heart his still beating, wonders with each thought that collides with another if Ron's thoughts are still spinning and erupting and simply existing inside of Ron's mind.

9240 seconds.

Harry glances at his watch, 9258 seconds, he corrects himself. It has been too long, far too long without news, but Harry doesn't want to ask, afraid of the answer he might receive. So instead of answering a question that may shatter the tiny sliver of hope he is still grasping onto with all his might, Harry refills his cup of tea and takes a slow sip, his eyes on Hermione's face as he wonders how they could possibly tell her Ron's fate if he had in fact died while she was sleeping. Heart hammering against chest, eyelids flutter closed and Harry tries not to think about what will come, instead he tries to think about how this could turn out fine, but all he finds himself thinking of is trying to pinpoint the last time he saw Ron laugh, the last time he say him smirk, the last time Ron had-

I can't take this anymore.

Teeth clamp down on gum, breath hot as it puffs out of his nose, George tries to stay patient, tries to be okay with the waiting, but he can't be- of course he can't be, he needed to know about Ron's fate hours ago, and yet here he is waiting. Calloused palms press against tear stained cheeks and he has to tear his eyes from his little sister's face, has to block out the thoughts that are threatening to spill from his mouth, he can't voice them, not when Harry may still be holding onto hope. Shoes tap against the tiles, not tapping out a rhythm, not a song stuck in his head, merely a tap of nervous energy that is overwhelming him, the nervous energy that has him on edge, has him want to get up and leave, has him to get up and do something, he can't remain still, he has to-

No one has talked to them.

Not a single healer have come to see them. Everyone else has, popped a head through the doorway before being greeted by barely concealed glares, they wanted to be alone, just Harry and George sitting beside the beds of Ginny and Hermione, not wanting to be disturbed, not wanting to be told that everything would be okay, not wanting to see expressions fall and harden keeping the words inside, giving Harry and George the look that says 'I'm sorry for your loss'. Ron isn't dead, George hopes, and he doesn't want to see that pitiful look on peoples faces before anything is confirmed, blocks out the whispered, 'Poor Weasley's', 'May lose another son', 'Poor parents', that flow unchecked form the mouths of passer-by's, not knowing that Harry and George are awake, not knowing fingers itch to fire curses at them for their mutterings.

Piss off.

The words threaten to slip out as he hears foot falls pause as they reach the door, but he turns before speaking and finds a healer standing underneath the door frame. Panic knits in his stomach, and the world shakes, the floor crumbles beneath him and he grips the armrests in the chair hoping for some stability but knowing he will find none. Behind him Harry is silent, head cocked to the left as he observes the healer, no doubt trying to ascertain what news the healer brings, whether it is bad or good, whether he-

"Where is he?"

George doesn't mean to demand not really, but when those words slip out they are demanding. He wants to know where his brother is, needs to know that his brother is safe, wants to be told that his brother isn't on his way downstairs to be kept with the dead or already in his long term position in the long term ward on the other floor. He needs to know where he is. Hermione sometimes mentions ripping off the bandaid, pulling it fast and getting it over with and that is what he wants to happen now, he can't handle the waiting much longer, it has been hours, so many hours since they all arrived, hours since Ron was waking up and asking about the ministry, and now it has been hours since Ron pointed a wand at his temple and potentially turned his brain into soup.

"Should we wake them?"

For a split second George wants Harry's question to remain unanswered, wants another few moments of not knowing, because as soon as the healer answers everything else will slip away. Right now with Ron's condition unconfirmed, he can be bother stable or dead, he can be happy and already awake and asking for them, or silent and staring at the ceiling above him barely blinking unaware of his surrounding, and George doesn't want to know. Because when the healers answer falls off the tip of his tongue and breaks the new silence in the room, the moment will be gone, and George will know, he will know whether or not his baby brother is still-

"No."

The answer hits him, totally unprepared for the shake of the head that follows it, George glances up at the healer, eyes focusing and blinking trying not to cry, trying not to demand a more thorough answer, but instead he simply stares, not knowing what to say. Pulse flickers and slows before it beats faster, the pounding in his ears, blood pulsing through him and he wants to stop breathing just for a moment let the world fall away to darkness, but instead he looks to Harry who looks to him for guidance that he cannot give, strength that he has lost, questions that that he himself can neither speak nor answer.

"No?"

Harry asked, the word no more than a whisper, not wanting to break the silence in the room, so instead of splitting it and sending the room into turmoil, his voice is quiet and his nails dig into skin, holding on to himself, holding onto the thought that Ron may yet be alive. Tongue not working, lips clamped shut, George has nothing to offer, so he ignores the way that Harry's eyes flit to him again before they return to the healer, eyes sharp and demanding, asking for answers and asking for them right fucking now.

"No. This will be a few hours, I suggest you all go home and-"

The healer started, his voice soft and practised. He was used to families, used to not being able to give straight answers, and he can tell that these two will not accept them. He doesn't need to know who they are to be able to tell, but he does know them, but name not of person, and he knows that they will not leave not even if they were physically dragged out of St Mungo's and tossed onto the street. Harry's eyes darken as the healer keeps talking, and he bites back words that would no doubt have snarled, and George's eyes refocus and the brown turns black with determination.

"No."

George answered, cutting across the healers suggestion, his voice almost vicious, his brown eyes attacking the healer silently from across the room. His stomach lurches at the very suggestion, they have been here for hours, waiting and watching, needing answers, they won't leave now, can't leave now. Could never leave their brother here alone, could never let him die alone, could never let him wake up and find himself abandoned. There is no way that they can leave, and they won't, family don't leave, they stick with you through everything, and Merlin there is no way George or any of them will leave now.

"Why can't we see him?"

Harry asked, his voice dripping with authority that is offset by the tremble. He is Harry Potter after all, he does hold some authority but not with this apparently, now his name is not important, nothing about him is, nothing about either of them is. No matter who they are, what they have done neither of them can help Ron now and the healer doesn't answer, he turns and walks out of the room, heading somewhere else, perhaps on a break, perhaps to tell another family devastating news, perhaps to tell a family the news that have been hoping to hear, perhaps to tell a family absolutely nothing, like he just told Harry and George.

Silence.

It envelopes them, keeps them safe for the next three hours. Even when Hermione wakes first, she gives them a tired look, mixed with pain and hope and sorrow and they tell her without words that they still don't know anything. She slinks further against the bed, eyes empty as she stares up at the ceiling. She takes the water given to her, drinks it because she knows she must, and she is half way through a cup of tea when Ginny wakes. Ginny wakes without words, questions shining in her eyes, inquiries on the tip of the tongue, but as she scans the room, soaks up the energy, she too says nothing, already knows the answers, well the basic ones at least. Slow bodies filter into the room, no one says a thing. The minutes stretch by, no one cries, not a single sob, the only sound is that of breathing and hearts betting collectively and knitting needles as Molly knits a scarf.

Dare we ask?

No one has breathed a word by the time dawn breaks, the sun rises in the sky but none of them can see it, in St Mungo's the world outside could be destroyed and they would be none the wiser. Ginny and Hermione share a bed, Hermione's head tucked beneath Ginny's chin as she holds her close, her words saying nothing but comfort and support leaking out of every pore. Harry sits at the end of the bed, one leg folded beneath the other as he plays chess with Charlie as they wait. Fleur sits on Bill's lap, her fingers absentmindedly tangling themselves in his hair. No one speaks because they know that words will lead to shouting and tears will be shed, and they don't want to cry, not yet, not now. They don't want to reminisce, don't want to talk about Ron's past when they are so unsure of his future. George has his back to the wall, his legs spread out in front of him as he plays a Muggle game, Scrabble he thinks, with Percy, Arthur and Neville. None of them are really paying attention but Percy occasionally huffs in displeasure and raises questioning eyebrows at George every so often.

Minds crave distractions but no distraction is distracting enough.

Each of them does their own silent thing as they wait yet another hour, each of their minds full of thoughts they wish they didn't have, thoughts that they need to air but can't possibly do so. Each locked in silent turmoil inside their own heads, thoughts crashing and colliding, stomachs churning, acid shooting up their throats. Leaning against the doorway is Hagrid who hasn't shifted for the past few hours, not even when his stomach grumbled, not even when his legs started to ache from standing for so long. Which is why when Hagrid shifts, the room falls into a different kind of silence and eyes move to the doorframe where a healer is now approaching only a few steps away from their room, his destination clear, he is on his way to see them, to give them news on Ron, he won't say that visiting hours are over because he won't be able to finish a sentence before he is passed out on the floor. The healer stops under the doorframe, hands clasping hands and a worn look on his face. Palm up he stops the barrel of questions before they come, he knows they will come, and he shifts from one foot to the other, gaze drifting through the room before it lands on Molly who meets his eyes and gives him a tired nod.

"He's fine."

The healer says, cracking the silence, making it shake before cutting it with a knife and forcing it to crumble, forcing it to explode around them. Blank eyes fill with hope, hands grasp at skin and mouths drop open in disbelief, after so many hours of silence no one knows how to articulate their thoughts, a rare phenomenon in a room filled with these people Harry thinks distantly.

"He's fine?"

George cannot pinpoint who says it, with so many voices chiming together it is easier to say that he alone didn't ask, he alone sat there in stunned silence, not able to speak. Hours of anticipating the worse, hearing the truth had him speechless. The truth that went against all reality, the truth that latched onto all hope and pulled and tugged at his heart and made his face split open into a grin, denied his mouth from opening, stopped all thoughts because there was nothing he could say. He didn't doubt the truth, not really, he just needed to know it wasn't a lie, needed to see Ron smile and swear and say something worth teasing over, needed to see Ron's blue eyes lock onto Hermione and pull her close not caring that he hurts because that is what Ron would do if he was still Ron, and Merlin George needs him to still be Ron.

"Yes. He's awake."

The healer nodded, giving Molly and then the room a small nod, but no smile, but Ginny isn't concerned, judging by the lines of this mans face he does not often smile, so a lack of one is not confirmation that this is not a good thing. The room is littered with shaky breathes that are being taken, uncertain smiles and sighs of relief. Bodies shift and shoulders roll, releasing their tension, no one is completely relaxed, but with the silence gone and good news delivered the room is not so small, the air not so tight and everything is not so hopeless. Hearts still beating faster than normal, breathing still not normal, the mood of the room is shifting, and as it tips away from chaos, Ginny's iron clad grip on Hermione loosens as she smiles into her bushy hair.

"Is he asking?"

For a moment Hermione isn't sure that those three words slipped between her lips or someone else's, but then they hang in the air above her, they wrap around her strangling her, pulling the oxygen out of the air and threatening to kill her. For another moment she doesn't think that the healer will know what she means, and part of her wants him not to know, because if he doesn't know then he can't be asking. Tentative eyes settle onto her, while inquiring eyes settle on the healer, all needing to know an answer to the question, the question that sadly all of them understand.

Please don't be asking about the ministry.

The healer scanned their faces, needing to take a second to understand what Hermione is asking. Her eyes burning into him, he stares back at her as he thinks. Nerves fill the air, crackling and demanding attention, desperate minds all needing an answer. Realisation blooms over the healers face, his head does an involuntary nod that causes everyone to suck in quick breathes before he hurriedly answered, "About you all, not the ministry."

"He's fine?"

Hermione's voice shook as the question tumbled off her tongue. She hadn't asked along with the others, like George she had been silent, but now with her trepidation almost fully extinguished she can ask the question and not be scared of the answer, not be scared of desiring the numbness that her body craves. The healer nods once, only small and then he nods again and the corner of his lips curl just enough to see that this is his attempt at a smile to soothe them, to calm their fears. The tension has almost dissolved, the fear is seeping out of everyone and onto the floor, letting happiness and hope take its place.

Oh Ron.

Head buried into Ginny's shoulder once again Hermione cries, this time silently, her body shaking and a smile ghosting over her lips. Her world is shaking but not with fear, this time it shakes in a wonderful way, it no longer shakes with uncertainty and horror, and Hermione's future becomes bright again, full of laughter and smiles, full of bickering and sighs, full of everything so beautifully mundane and so excitingly normal, full of everything and anything because Ron is alive, Ron is himself again, not asking about the ministry, not dead, not here to stay at St Mungo's forever. Ron is okay and her heart wants to sing.

"You can see him now if you want."

Hermione is up off the bed before the last word leaves the healers mouth. Beside her everyone is scrambling to their feet, all wanting to see him, no, needing to see him. Friend or family, everyone needs to make sure he is okay, make sure for themselves that he is alright, and outside the room Hermione can hear bodies shifting to their feet, old friends and new friends alike getting to their feet, knowing that they won't see Ron now, but they will be able to see him soon. It makes her smile knowing that everyone is here for him, knowing that there are dozens of people waiting for him to wake up, waiting to be okay. Distantly she remembers that Ron still needs to be debriefed but the fucking ministry can wait she thinks, she needs to see him now.

Too slow, far too slow…

Hermione wants to grab the healer by the hand and pull him forward, urge him to go faster, overtake him and leave him behind, but she can't, because she doesn't know where Ron is and she has lost all command over her mouth. Harry's hand is clutching on hers as they walk far too slowly for Hermione's liking towards wherever Ron is lying. Beside Harry is Ginny, her hand in his with George beside her. A few steps behind them is Arthur and Molly, and behind them are Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy, everyone else is waiting behind, giving the family some space.

Oh Merlin.

Her feet stop. Refuse to take her another step forward before she takes a short rugged breath and blinks once, twice, three times and struggles forward. She can see the mess of red hair and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that is Ron, all bandaged up and not even noticing that the healer as just pulled open the door to his room. Turning the healer leaves them, everyone lingers back, utterly silent and Hermione's eyes betray her, she had promised not to cry and yet she can taste the salt on her lips. Two small steps forward she is so close to the door now, so she keeps moving, her feet freezing as she steps under the doorframe, they won't go any further, not yet, not with her mind going into overload. She can feel Ginny's breath on the back of her neck, can feel George's hand on her shoulder and Harry's shoe touching hers, and she feels comforted by their presence but that doesn't stop her heart from pounding in her ears so loud she could be in a club, and it certainly doesn't stop her from feeling like the floor will suddenly drop away from beneath her.

"Ron?"

The word slips out as a question that seeks confirmation. She knows they said he was fine, but she can't be sure, can't be sure because he is sitting in his bed, back against pillows and he is gazing at a spot on the wall, sitting too still, he looks thoughtful, that is not unfamiliar, but the way he holds his body is and Hermione can feel dread fill her up. The words reach him and his head tilts, his body shifts forward and he smiles, a first a small flicker of light on his expression and then he is beaming brighter than the fucking sun, and Hermione's heart swells as his eyes meet hers, that blue that brings her home, makes her feel safe and god he hasn't changed.

"Mione!"

Ron had meant to yell, meant to sound triumphant and sure but instead it comes out no more than a breath, and he grimaces, stops moving towards her, towards his family and falls backwards against the bed, his whole body aching. Hermione grins even wider, not at the sight of Ron in pain, but at the use of her nickname, proving that Ron is still Ron and that he still remembers her, which is little but oh she will take that until she can get anything more, but mainly she is grinning because Ron hasn't changed, he is sitting too still because it hurts to move, he is holding his body in such an unfamiliar way because his body burns and aches in an unfamiliar way, not because he himself is altered or unfamiliar.

"You are a fucking imbecile!"

Hermione yelled, her voice almost shattering the windows and startling both Ron in his bed in front of her and those in the hallway behind her. Boring holes into Ron's head with her narrowed eyes she strode towards the bed, her wand still in her pocket, she glared down at him, her eyes furious and her expression dark. George chuckled behind her but everyone else remained silent.

"I'm sorry I-"

Ron started, tone weak knowing that an apology wouldn't help. He doesn't know what time it is, doesn't know what day it is but he knows he was out for hours, that even a minute of worrying would be bad and he has put them through hours of torture. Hermione has reached the side of the bed now, her feet stopping and her arms betraying her, wanting to touch him, needing to feel his skin beneath his fingers, but instead of hugging him, instead of letting delicate fingers glide over skin she finds a spot that isn't bruised or plastered and hits him, just a little, but harder than she expected and softer than Ron had.

"You're sorry? YOU HAD US ALL WORRIED SICK! You could have died, what the fuck were you thinking pointing a wand at your head?"

Hermione is shouting as loudly as she can now. Her voice is shaking, quivering and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes. She isn't scared, she is fucking pissed off. All of that emotion she had felt before has given way to anger, anger at those who hurt him and anger at him. Angry that he was so reckless, angry that she couldn't save him, that there was nothing she could do to help him, angry that he pointed a wand at his head and tried to fix himself no matter the consequences. Out of the corner of her eye she can see them nodding outside, glad that she is yelling, so they won't have to. Her body is trembling with anger as she glares at him and he doesn't even seem to shrink under her gaze, instead he accepts it, knows that he deserves it.

"It was a dumb idea."

Ron conceded. He didn't look away from Hermione's gaze, only a small part of him wanted to, another part of him was drinking in everything about her, he came so close to never seeing that face again, or never knowing that face again. He doesn't want to smile, know that will only piss her off more, but she looks beautiful, mad and fuming and just utterly Hermione, gorgeous as always. He doesn't smile, barely manages it though and he can feel several sets of eyes on him but he ignores them, rakes his eyes over Hermione's face as she looms over him, jaw set and hands waving wildly as she screamed, "Dumb? DUMB? It was downright idiotic, it was one of the stupidest things that you have ever done Ron! You are a bloody idiot!"

"It worked though!"

Ron offered up which only made her eyes darken more, only made the sets of eyes on him that were observing him now turn into glares. It wasn't the right thing to say, he knows it wasn't the right thing to do either, not really. But he was scared and he wanted to be okay, wanted his brain to work, wanted his brain to function and not frighten them. In the end it was better that he was dead and not addled, because still being alive and not really being there, not really being alive would have been harder to deal with than his death. He couldn't tell them that though, not now, perhaps later when everything wasn't so raw. He wanted to give them closure, wanted his brain to be okay or wanted his heart to stop completely, and allow them a funeral and a chance to move on.

"What if it didn't!?"

Hermione yelled, hands moving and for a second Ron thinks that she is actually going to strangle him but instead she reaches behind him and fluffs the pillow, needing to give her hands something to do. She is aware, distantly, that everyone is crowding around the door watching them, that everyone on this floor can hear them, but she doesn't care, she wants to yell some more and she will, she doesn't care if anyone hears, because she has to yell and then she needs to gather Ron's face in her hands and kiss him, just like she has been wanting to do all day.

"What if we lost you Ron? What if I lost you Ron! I don't want to live without you so don't make me, please don't make me."

Hermione's words shake and tremble, her voice cracking with emotion and this time the tears return, rolling fat and wet down her cheeks and Ron ignores the pain, bites down on his cheeks and pulls Hermione down into the bed beside him. He lets her body curl up next to his, her knees resting against his legs, her face on his chest as his arm wraps around her, presses kisses into her hair and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back. Fingers curl and fist into the gown the healers gave him and she tries not to be too heavy on him, she knows that her head lying on his chest is painful, but with his scent wrapping around her, with his hands soft and firm and lips pressing against her forehead now, she can't think about how it's painful for Ron.

"Can't get rid of me that easy."

Ron murmured, drawing circles with his thumb against Hermione's shoulder, calming her down as he kisses her nose, reassuring her that she is safe. A small part of him does want to ask about the ministry, not because he doesn't remember asking but simply because he wants to tell the ministry to come later, not now, he needs a few hours with is family, needs a few hours just to be. Using his other hand to wave everyone in he smiles up at them, Hermione's fist tightening as she pulls him down, her eyes open and her face wet as she presses her lips to his, needing to taste him, needing to kiss him, needing this to feel real, needing to remind herself that he was okay, everything is okay.

Thank Merlin.

For the next hour everything is peaceful, everything is calm, well mostly. Molly looks as though she wants to strangle Ron but hugs him anyway and kisses cheeks and he doesn't even groan or make a sound. Hermione doesn't leave Ron's side, doesn't shift her head from his chest, doesn't stop kissing him every few minutes, and Ron kisses her right back, fingers running through hair, thumb rubbing over her knuckles, arm wrapped around her keeping her close. Chess is played, and so is scrabble and this time Percy groans and argues with George who puts on words that "Aren't even real!" as Percy insists. Food is delivered and shared, and the mood is light, laughter is loud and unchecked, voices are merry and comments not held back. The world is moving again, time is now far less important because they are not waiting, they are not wishing, now the world continues, even though it never really did stop. Despite it feeling like the world had stopped, had paused, the still before a breath, it never did, it only paused for them, and now that Ron is okay again, because they can now breathe, the still is over and the world is breathing, life is just as it was. The waiting was hell, but this, this was worth it.

"When you get better I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face."

Ginny vowed as she took another sip of Butterbeer, her eyes meeting Ron, focussing on him and him alone. He nods, smiles and pulls her into another hug, the punch he deserves, he was an idiot, he shouldn't have used the spell, but it did work and part of him thinks that given the chance he would do it again, a thought that he will not voice.

Jokes are made, drinks are consumed, and the morning passes, ignored by everyone. No one wants to leave, no one has work that they absolutely must be at, so they stay, glad that Ron is in a huge room, glad that the door is kept open and that people can come and visit, glad that everything is good.

"I know you like vegetables but I'm so glad you didn't become one."

George said, voicing the joke he had thought of earlier when everything was uncertain. It's almost 10 o'clock now, and tiredness hangs in the air, Ron has drifted in and out of sleep for the past few hours but no one minds. The room stills for a moment and eyes turn to him, Hermione raises her face off of Ron's chest to catch George's eye but George is only looking at Ron, Ron whose bright blue eyes shine and he throws back his head and laughs, loud and full of mirth and around him the room erupts with laughter, their souls quaking with it, and the silence they felt for hours is long gone, the fear is a mere memory. And as George grins and gets smacked on the arm by Charlie, he doesn't care to imagine any of this ending any differently.

He's fine, Ron's fine, we're fine, we are after all, alright.

The end.

XX

AN: Okay so yeah I lied, it wasn't up before Christmas, sorry about that, but this chapter is far longer than usual so that's something right? Hope you enjoyed this miniature series and thanks for sticking with me through it, sorry that I've been slow with the updates. Thanks to everyone who reviews, it means a lot to me. Merry Christmas btw, and a Happy New Year.

Seriously sorry for the huge wait, but not to worry I am on a well overdue writing spree so chapters for other fics should be up soon and for the next few weeks I will try my best to update as much as possible.