Needing Hermione

Needing Hermione

Author's Note: All the dialogue from OoTP is copyright JK Rowling. I'm not claiming it as mine, okay, so don't sue me!

Night had fallen at last. The deep blue skies of evening had faded into the gray of night, and the moon glared garishly, piercing through the otherwise undisturbed blackness. Even the stars had ceased to shine tonight, and the fruitless searching for constellations tired those who wished to see pictures in the stars.

Ron shuddered; he hated night. Madam Pomfrey dimmed the candles in the Hospital Wing earlier than he would have liked, leaving him alone, with only Hermione's prostate form for comfort. Whatever curse Dolohov had put upon Hermione was done splendidly, for she refused to wake no matter the combined efforts of Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey.

He stared at her side, watching her chest rise and fall slowly, as if she needed air but hadn't the strength to breathe. "Breathe, Hermione. Come on, you can do it," he willed her, silently, encouraged by every breath. "I need you. You can't leave me here alone. Please, Hermione, breathe," Ron said, out loud this time, sighing as Hermione made no sign to indicate she'd heard him.

Ron rolled over, wishing he could fall asleep. A part of him thought it would be better to stay in an unconscious state, like Hermione, than to be plagued with the dreams he had been having. No, not the dreams- the nightmares. They were nightmares; terrors that filled his brain with an alternate reality, a reality in which he was being strangled to death by brains, their tentacles flaring, while Hermione looked on. Then, suddenly, Hermione would be hit with a jet of purple light, and she'd crumple to the ground right in front of him. Right before he was about to die, he'd wake up, screaming in both physical and emotional pain. Madam Pomfrey would try to comfort him, but Hermione was so close to death when he awoke that it wasn't much comfort.

He rubbed his upper arms unconsciously, feeling the large lumpy welts underneath the bruises. They ached, but not as much as it did to see Hermione like this. She'd always been so healthy, with the exception of the end of second year, when she was petrified. She had always been there when he needed her advice, when he needed comforting, when he needed... her. It was hard to get used to this time alone.

His parents had been there, of course. He heard Madam Pomfrey talking to them outside the curtains that separated Ron from the door into the infirmary. She told them that he'd "be suffering more from the emotional pain than the physical, and that perhaps he'd be better once Hermione came around". They were worried, as parents tend to be, but they couldn't say anything to help him. He just wanted to be separated from the night world; the dream world.

Madam Pomfrey refused to give him Dreamless Sleep potion. She said it was addictive, and having it for more than three nights in a row would either make him immune to it or dependant upon it. He didn't care if he had to take it every day for the rest of his life; he had to have it. It was almost as if he was already addicted, but he just couldn't live with these night terrors any longer.

He remembered trying to steal a vial of the potion. It was late one night, and he had just woken up from another nightmare, stifling his screams so Madam Pomfrey wouldn't awake and try to comfort him. He stood unsteadily, and walked over to the cupboard where the nurse kept her medicinal herbs and potions. Digging through it, he kept careful watch on the door leading to her private quarters, hoping Madam Pomfrey wouldn't come rushing in and getting him into loads of trouble.

Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes, but was probably only three, he found it. The treasured vial of Dreamless Sleep potion lay buried under a pile of vile-smelling herbs. He popped out the cork and lifted up the vial, staring at the silvery contents in the candlelight. He studied it, wondering. "Should I really take this?" he thought, worrying about the repercussions. After a moment of pondering, he heard Hermione's voice in his head, "Ron! Ron, never go against a teacher! I'm sure she has her reasons not to give it to you...." Sighing, he recorked the potion and set it carefully back inside the cupboard, exactly where he had found it, and closed the wooden door. He padded back to his bed, took of his slippers, and lay back down, thinking of Hermione and how proud she'd be of him.

That was only two days prior, and yet it seemed like a lifetime. Every day without Hermione seemed like a lifetime to him. He tried to sleep, willing himself to count backwards from one hundred. Ron muttered under his breath, "100, 99, 98, 97...." It was getting late, after midnight perhaps, and his eyes were slowly drooping. "45, 44, 43, 42..." Eventually, Ron slowly drifted off to sleep.

*

Ron's brain was hazy, flitting from thought to thought while the world around him shifted and rolled. He was walking along in a dark room when he saw the brains. They were in a huge tank, full of greenish water, swimming around tantalizingly.

"Harry! Ha ha ha, look at it Accio Brain!" Ron cried, mystified by the flying organ, disgorging itself in ribbons as it flew toward him. "Come and touch it, bet it's weird...." Ron giggled happily as it came his way.

"RON, NO!" Harry yelled, as Ron reached out to the brain, catching it in his hands. The moment they touched his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around his upper arms, continuing to the lower while constricting, restricting almost all blood flow. Through the haze of his mind, he felt the intense pain and screamed, "No, Harry, no- no- I don't like it, no- stop, stop it!"

But Harry couldn't hear him. He was miles away, running, as Ron stared dumbly at his retreating back. "Harry! Don't- no- stop it!" Suddenly, as the brain's feelers moved lower, wrapping around his chest and curbing his air flow to a immeasurable level, Hermione appeared, next to a Death Eater. He made a slashing movement, the kind Neville had described, and a cross of purple light flew toward Hermione. She crumpled, dead, on the floor, as the room began to spin. Ron couldn't breathe.

"No, not Hermione, stop it, no- NOT HERMIONE! STOP IT!" Ron screamed with his last burst of air, before falling to the floor beside his best friend.

*

Ron awoke, screaming, from the same nightmare. "NOT HERMIONE! STOP IT!" Ron screamed, pleading to the unforgiving silence that always met him when he woke in the middle of the night. Oddly enough, Ron heard a noise. Not the scurrying footsteps of Madam Pomfrey, nor the clomping of Harry, or the shuffling of Neville. In fact, this noise sounded nothing like footsteps.

"Ron," someone whispered, "Ron." It was quiet, almost silent, but it was there. He almost wouldn't let himself consider it. "Hermione?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Ron," the voice continued, "come here." Ron stood, and shuffled over to the bed next to him. "Hermione?" he breathed, looking into the partially opened eyes of his best friend.

"I heard you... it's okay... I'm here now...." Hermione trailed off, but her eyes stayed open. Ron bent over, and made to hug her, but thought better of it. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm okay now that you're here." Ron smiled at her.

"And I... now that... you're here...." Hermione breathed the last few words, making Ron wonder whether he'd heard her right. He smiled again, and Hermione's eyes closed.

Ron walked back over to his bed, and climbed inside. His mouth stayed curved upward in a smile, and as he fell asleep this time, he had no problem with nightmares.