Cold Embrace

I step into the room alone, bearing a gift. A single red rose for love; a single red rose to bestow upon mine.

I stay my eager, giving hand; she sleeps. I smile. To see her so still is to live in a dream - a dream where a vulnerable, beautiful side of her is mine to see.

I smile wider. She's my own, and I am living in a dream from which I hope I'll never wake.

Her vibrant chocolate tresses spill freely over the pillows and the curves of her smooth white skin. She lays curled upon her side, her limbs drawn in close but comfortably, as if delicately placed. A pensive, contemplative expression furrows her sweet, innocent face, and now I grin.

Only my Hermione.

I move towards her bedside, and hear a voice behind me.

"Ron," the voice calls, seeming uncertain.

A voice I know as well as my love's; better, even. I turn to face it, dopey grin still plastered on my face.

"Ginny."

It's just Ginny. Not my Ginny, not his. Or, if she is either, she is both; my sister, and his lover.

I place the rose on Hermione's night table.

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed her help," she answers easily.

I nod in reply and lower myself gently onto the foot of Hermione's bed, as not to stir her. Ginny sits down next to me.

I fold my hands in my lap and stare down at them. Yet her gaze manages to search out mine. The look is penetrating, appraising, and I'm wondering when her eyes became so cold.

"Ron," she says again. Her voice strains and falters in the same syllable.

The still silence unnerves me, but I endure it. I wait.

"I'm sorry."

Confusion reigns, but I endure this, too. I wait.

She presses a single red rose into my hand.

"Do you know what this means?"

I nod. "It means 'I love you'."

"Something else. There's something else it means."

The urgency in her tone gives me pause.

"Still. It means, 'I love you still'."

Her eyes stray from mine, now, and her body shakes with the strain of unshed tears.

My sister.

I push her to the floor and scramble to Hermione's side, gathering her in my arms. I can feel her lost livelihood against me - the lack of breath pushing through her lungs, the absence of a heartbeat. I howl in anguish.

She's so very distant now...so unattainable. I linger in her cold embrace, not wanting to wake from the living dream that was my Hermione.

Yet she calls. I hear her muffled sobs, and know the unshed tears will now be spent.

My eyes emulate, and I feel the salty droplets spilling over my own cheeks. I turn to her.

"Why, Ginny? Tell me again. Tell me why you're sorry!" I demand, my voice cracking with my violent sobs.

"Because I love you, Ron," she responds miserably, her body slumped in defeat. "I love you still."

My lover.

I throw the rose to the floor in disgust, and she howls in anguish, watching as I crush it under my heel.

"Please," she cries desperately. "Please. Ron..."

I glare through bloodshot eyes. "Please, what?"

"Don't hate me," she requests, in a voice so very small.

"It's what you deserve."

She swallows. "I know." Her voice is hoarse. Her shoulders are slumped in exhaustion. But she rises to her feet and turns to go.

"Ginny," I call after her.

She stops, and turns, agonizingly slow, to face me.

It seems to take every ounce of energy left in her body. I'm wondering when she became so frail.

"Forget the fucking rose, Ginny."

Her eyes widen, but she doesn't dare to speak. She endures. She waits.

"I love you still."

My Ginny.

She throws herself into my arms and we hold onto each other for dear life.

But though her body is warm next to mine, all I feel is cold in her embrace.