Neville's Sacrifice

Chapter Three

The sun came in through the partially closed blinds. It entered the blue and white bedroom, slowly caressing the wooden floor, lingering lovingly upon the lacy, white duvet, finally coming to rest upon the faces of the two people, asleep in the bed.

They were curled up together, Hermione's hair spread out upon Ron's warm, freckled chest. His arms were around her, unwilling to let her go again even in his sleep.

Hermione's brow was furrowed, her forehead beaded with sweat. She groaned and mumbled in her sleep, her mind replaying the day's events.

She could see it again in her mind, running towards Harry, stumbling and almost falling on the rough, uneven ground. They had gotten so close, so close. Then it had happened. Voldemort had exploded, the impact knocking Harry to the ground. Over and over in her dream she saw Harry falling.

"Harry no! No, Harry, no!" she mumbled anxiously in her sleep. The bedcovers were getting twisted around her body as it writhed underneath them, as she tried desperately to break out of her dream induced prison.

The movement of the bed rocking to and fro eventually woke Ron.

Groggily he said, "Hermione, what's the matter? What's wrong?

He put his hand on her back, feeling the sweat and dampness that had soaked through her nightgown while Hermione had been struggling against her dream.

She lay there on the bed, still deep within the dream, crying and trembling. Ron, feeling frightened, grabbed Hermione's shoulder and gave it a hard shake.

Hermione bolted upright, looking wildly around the room. When she realized that she was home, in her own bed and not on the battlefield her body visibly relaxed.

She slid back under the covers with Ron, curling up next to his comforting warmth.

Ron whispered. "What were you dreaming? You sounded really upset."

His hand smoothed the sweaty strands of hair back from her face. The trembling from her body was vibrating the bed.

Hermione dried her eyes on the bodice of her soft cotton nightgown, then shakily replied, "Harry. I was dreaming of Harry and Voldemort. The way Harry fell, the hollow thud of him hitting the ground... it's infested my mind. I can't seem to stop seeing it, hearing it...even in my sleep."

Ron pulled her closer and whispered, "You're safe now. You're not at the battleground anymore. You're safe and Harry's safe and You-Know-Who is dead. You don't have to worry about anything or anybody. I'll protect you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron and Hermione walked quickly down the dirty London pavement until they came to an old fashioned red brick store front, scarred black with soot and grime. A faded green sign in fancy, scrawling handwriting proclaimed the store to be Purge and Dowse.

"This is it. God, last time I was here was when Dad was in the hospital. Let me see if I remember how to do this..."

Ron furrowed his brow in frustration, and then his face suddenly cleared.

"Oh yeah, I remember now." Ron glanced around to make sure there was no one listening, and said quietly to the ugly, hairless dummy in the window. "We're here to visit Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter."

The dummy nodded its permission and glancing one more time around to make sure they were unobserved, they stepped through the glass store front and into St. Mungo's large reception area.

The reception area buzzed with life. Several people were sitting in chairs, waiting to be seen. One man's eyes had moved from the front of his face around to the sides, giving him the look of a frightened deer. A woman was holding the hand of her young son, who had eaten too many Fizzy Whizbees, and was now floating, over her head, like a helium filled balloon.

To the left of the main doors was the floor guide. Hermione quickly scanned the floors.

"Ground floor-artefact accidents, Second floor-magical bugs, Fourth floor-spell damage." Read Hermione from the gold emblazoned chart.

"So what do you think? I guess it has to be the Ground floor then. It does say it covers broom accidents so maybe it covers other accidents as well." Reasoned Ron.

They walked across the gleaming white floor and over to the large desk set along the right hand side wall.

A perky blonde Admittance clerk was sitting at the desk, chewing gum and gossiping with one of the male orderlies.

She didn't even glance at Ron as he stood in front of the desk. She was saying to the orderly, "... and then I heard Camilla caught him in bed with Emma! Can you believe that? And then..."

"Excuse me," Ron said loudly. The clerk rolled her eyes at the interruption and then grudgingly turned away from her conversation and asked, "May I help you?"

"Yes, we're here to see Ginny Weasley."

The Admitting clerk brought out a long roll of parchment, covered on both sides with names of patients.

"Weasley, Weasley...Ah, here we are, Ginevra Weasley. She's in room 101. Down the hall and to the right."

The clerk was just turning back to her gossiping when Hermione said, "Wait! We don't know what room Harry is in. You might as well find that out too, since we're right here."

Ron said to the clerk, "Uh, Miss?"

The clerk turned back to Ron, clearly annoyed. "Was there something else I can help you with? she asked in an unfriendly tone.

"Actually there is. We also need to know what room our mate, Harry Potter is in."

The clerk stared at Ron, her hazel eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Mates with Harry Potter are you? I suppose you think I'm going to tell you what room he's in just like that?"

Ron's looked confused, he said, "Well...aren't you?"

The clerk snorted quite unbecomingly through her nose and said, "Do you know how many people have tried to get in to see Harry Potter? Hundreds! And all of them are his best mate, his long lost cousin, his aunt's cousin's uncle twice removed. Do you really think you can just walk in here and claim to know him, to be mates, and you can just go in?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, uncertain about what they should do to try to convince her.

They were standing there, trying to think of a way to prove that they really did know their best mate of eight years, when two orderlies came by pushing a large, squeaky trolley.

The thin blonde orderly was talking to the greying older orderly when suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, and pointed at Hermione.

"There she is! That's the girl that brought Harry Potter in! I'd know that hair of hers' anywhere! Bushy it is, like the top of a tree!"

"Ye don't say! Said the female orderly peering closely at Hermione.

They both stared interestedly at her, as if she were a two headed calf in an unusual pet show.

Hermione began to feel a hot flush creeping up her neck and over her face. Her discomfort at being stared at caused her to snap, "There! Doesn't that prove to you that we're who we say we are?"

The clerk's demeanour instantly changed once she realized that they really did know Harry. She became overly helpful, almost fawning.

"I do hope you'll forgive me for not believing you. But there are just SO many people wanting to see him. If we let everyone in that said they knew him, we would have to magically expand the room to get them all in." said the clerk, laying her hand placatingly upon Hermione's arm.

"Now that you're satisfied that we know him, can we have his room number please?" Ron asked feeling disgruntled.

"Seeing as you are such good friends of his," began the clerk ingratiatingly.

She was about to tell them how to get into the room when she noticed the two orderlies still standing there staring curiously.

She stared at them hard until the young orderly said sheepishly, "Come on, Fenella we'd better go do our rounds."

They walked on down the wide, tiled floor pushing the heavy cart in front of them, stopping occasionally to shoot glances back at Hermione and Ron.

"As I was saying, we've had to move him to a room that you can only find if you already know where the room is. We mostly use it for stars that have had plastic surgery or an embarrassing illness, you know, so the likes of Rita Skeeter don't find out about them having it."

She smiled at them, and then continued, "What you have to do is go down this hall until you come to the portrait of Dilys Derwent, who was a very great Healer. Tap the wall to the left of the portrait three times and the door to his room will appear."

They turned to leave, glad to be done with her. They had barely walked a foot when they heard her say, "Hey wait a minute!"

They turned around, and there was the clerk with a piece of paper in her hand.

"Since you're going there anyway... do you think you could get me his autograph?"