Half a Man

Hermione put her arms around Ron. Suddenly he felt warm, happy and strong, feelings he hadn’t had in weeks. He never wanted it to end. And for a while she stayed there, her arms giving him all the comfort he needed.

When Hermione did draw back, there were tears shining in her eyes.

Ron crumpled the letter into a little ball and tossed it into the pond. Now that somebody had read it, it suddenly wasn’t important that he kept it. He watched it float away in the water and than turned to Hermione who was sitting next to him on the grass.

"That must have been the shortest Quidditch career in all wizard times," Ron said. "Stopped even before it started. I reckon that will earn me a spot in ‘Quidditch through the Ages." If his legs would have worked he would’ve kicked a stone. The fact that he couldn’t only made him angrier.

"Ron, please don’t," Hermione. "You have every right to be sad and angry about this. I know how much you would have loved to play for the Chudley Cannons. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me or Harry. We could have -- "

"Could have done what, Hermione? My legs won’t work so I can’t play for the Cannons, simple as that. I don’t even know if I would’ve made the team. Being asked for that tryout was --" for a second Ron hesitated.

"I know that they’re hardly the best team in Britain, right? But I know I’m not the best Quidditch player and being their second keeper was my only opportunity to become a professional. That’s gone now."

"And what about next year?" Hermione said. "Do you think they’ll give you a chance to tryout next year?"

"I’ll still be lame then, remember?" Ron replied a bit irritated. He took a pebble from the ground and tossed it into the pond.

"No, you won’t be." Hermione looked stern as she said this. She suddenly reminded Ron of Professor McGonagall.

"You now what they said at St. Mungo’s. If you would do all the exercises the fysiotherapeut gave you and take your potions, you’ll have a seventy-five percent chance of walking again. Honestly Ron, don’t tell me that you don’t remember those talks."

Ron felt his anger creeping up. He couldn’t believe that Hermione actually believed that crap.

"Blimey Hermione, I thought that you were the smart one," he said. "You can’t think that all that exercise nonsense will work. We’re wizards, not Muggles. Madam Pomfrey could rebone Harry’s arm in one night. And when Dad was attacked by a giant snake, he was up and running in no time. If they can’t fix you in two weeks, they can’t fix you at all. Everybody knows that. That revalidating, or whatever they call it, is only something they say to keep the handicapped happy. "

Hermione didn’t speak a word after he had said that, which was highly unusual. Within a few minutes Ron started to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t understand why Hermione wouldn’t say anything. But since she started it, he wasn’t going to end the silence. Besides he was still angry.

To distract himself awhile Ron cast a sun blocking spell on his skin. It was the hottest time of the day and if he didn’t do that, he would return home looking like tomato. After that he started picking the daisies that grew around them and pulling them into little pieces.

Then Ron just gave up. "Er… You don’t agree?" he asked weakly.

When Hermione finally spoke, she didn’t say anything he’d expected.

"Did you really think that I would do such a thing?" she said, her voice was trembling a bit. Ron had no idea what she was talking about.

Hermione had pulled up her knees, her arms encircling them as she tried to hug herself closer. After running after Ron in the garden earlier, most of her hair had come down out of the bun she had put it in. It hung before her face, so Ron couldn’t see it. She pushed the straying part behind her ear and turned her head towards Ron.

"That would be very cruel," said Hermione. "Going on a holiday when you’ve just learned a friend would never walk again, wouldn’t it? Not something a true friend would do. You must’ve hated me, Ron."

"Wha--" Ron said. He was stunned that she could think that he could ever hate her. "No. I thought you needed a break from all the bad things, hospitals and such. Couldn’t blame you; never did."

"See, I thought that you realised," Hermione continued. "That, with a lot of effort, you would walk again. I’d never thought that a wizard wouldn’t believe in the Muggle way of doing things. Normally it’s the other way around, right?" She almost smiled as she said that.

"I knew that eventually everything would be alright. That’s why I wasn’t worried about going away for a few weeks. Of course, if you really would have stayed disabled, I would’ve stayed to support you."

Ron wanted to say something but closed his mouth again. This was a whole new way of thinking about it. Hermione never would’ve gone to France if he was permanently handicapped. She was too sensitive to do that.

Hermione touched his arm and slowly pulled up his tee shirt there. On his lower arms, there was still the evidence of his encounter with the brain at the Department of Mysteries. It was an irregular pattern of scars, some straight, some curling.

"Remember when you got those?" Hermione asked. "They didn’t heal at in two weeks; you had to put salve on them for months. With her index finger she lightly followed the trail of one of the lines. It tickled a bit and sent shivers down Ron’s useless spine.

At the moment Hermione had touched the scar, it had turned to a lighter colour. He could hardly see it. Ron guessed that his scars must like Hermione a lot.

"You know," said Hermione, "That curse stunned a big part of your spinal cord. Not all of it, some of your nerves still work. That’s why you can feel your legs, but not move them. If you were a Muggle, you would have had to learn to live with a wheelchair for the rest of your life. But the potions that you take --" Hermione was practising her stern look again. "You do take your potions, do you?"

"You mean the potions that are greasy and black?" said Ron. "The ones that make you vomit if you swallow too much at once?" He paused a second. "The potions that Snape makes, and he makes sure that they taste of old smelly, sweaty socks because he still hates me, even after I helped to save the world? You mean those potions?"

"Well," Hermione said.

"Yeah, I take those potions," said Ron. "Aren’t I a good boy?"

"Honestly, Ron," she said. "I know that they’re awful. But they revive the stunned nerves in your back, and grow new ones. You’ve to do exercises to teach those new nerves how to work. But all and all, it’s pretty amazing." Hermione smiled as if she thought about the complicated magic behind those potions.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was stricken by some fireworks, but in a good way. There was only one thought in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, he would walk again. Next week he would meet the fysiotherapeut from St. Mungo’s and he would do everything needed to get that chance of recovery.

Ron wanted to sing, or to dance or … kiss Hermione. Ron studied her face, her shining brown eyes and her mouth when she watched the pond. He would love to kiss that mouth; her lips seemed so soft and warm. For a second he hesitated. Maybe she wouldn’t mind and wouldn’t slap him, but simply kiss him back.

"Ron? Are you all right?" Hermione asked. She waved her hand before his face. "You look a bit distracted."

With that, the moment was gone. Ron knew that he would never have the courage to kiss Hermione or tell her how he felt. Even when he wasn’t handicapped, he didn’t think she could fall for him, goofy old Ron. And the airchair didn’t do anything to boost his sex appeal either.

Ron decided what he always decided. He had to wait until his silly crush was over. Too bad he had been waiting for that moment for more than three years now.

Ron wanted to make up some lame excuse for the fact that he was gazing at her, when something hard hit his head. After scrambling his brains it bounced into his lap. It seemed to be a Quaffle, a very old one like the one his family used. Some hard and male sounding laughter gave away the identity of the beater.

Above him the whole Weasley Quidditch team was flying through the air. Bill flew very close to Charlie, trying to wrestle him off his broomstick into the pond. At the same time with some spectacular moves, Ginny was chasing Fred, who apparently had stolen her floppy straw summer hat. In an attempt to save his twin brother, George followed her, throwing all kinds of objects to her.

"Hi Harry." Hermione stood up and walked towards Harry who had landed next to a big tree. He looked better than he had in months; even Ron noticed that. With all the food Ron’s mum made him eat, he had gained some weight. The almost permanent frown was gone which made his face look more relaxed.

Hermione tiptoed to whisper into Harry’s ear. He glanced at Ron and said something back in a very soft voice making sure that no one could hear it. As he said it, Harry smiled from ear to ear. The man was practically glowing with happiness.

The slightest hope he had, disappeared from Ron. Hermione was Harry’s, he was certain of that. And if she loved his best friend, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even complain that it wasn’t fair, because it was so right. Only the best was what Hermione deserved. And Ron could never beat his rich, handsome friend who would have, no doubt about it, a big career lying ahead of him. While he watched the laughing couple, Ron felt his heart splintering into a thousand little pieces.