Blazing Sands

Blazing Sands

~ And in the present against the blazing sands of time we must race ~

Part IV:

His good eye focused on her face and muttered, "Nobody's called me Professor for a while...who are you?"

Hermione felt fatigued all of a sudden. This was all too much to take. Ron was alive, Snape was alive. Who else now? Voldemort? Dumbledore? Was this all a dream? Or was it really happening? Maybe she was hallucinating again; she could have schizophrenia, manic depression or even some sort of neurological disorder. She swayed as the shock of it all set in. How many dead people were alive, and why were they all coming before her? Why not before Harry or Ginny or someone else?

She caught hold of something as she tried to steady herself in the shock of all that was happening. He hopped closer and as some light fell on his face, she was sure it was he.

"Granger..." Her name came like the familiar snarl from his contorted mouth.

"You're alive...too," she whispered.

"You look like you've seen a ghost..." His smile was the usual sarcastic and unsettling one. "Better sit down."

Hermione whispered, pointing her wand to a chair nearby, "Accio chair."

As it came towards she planted herself on it clumsily and whispered, "That means...."

He hopped towards her. "Means what, Granger? It means nothing."

She looked up at him and whispered as though in a trance, to herself more than to him, "There is a wounded man in my house. He claims to be Ron Weasley. My Ron Weasley...who died six years ago. And I didn't believe him. I still don't believe him. And he sends me to you, you who died the death like all traitorous dogs do..." She spat the last part.

A throaty cough erupted from him. She saw his body rock as his face bore that snarl of a smile, seeing which she understood he was laughing. Or at least trying to laugh.

"Ah yes, Ms. Granger," he said, hopping closer, "to die the death of a traitorous dog..."

Hermione watched him blankly.

He took his wand, from her hand and she posed no resistance. "I can assure you," he said," sometimes I wonder if I am not already dead." He hopped towards the cauldron and muttered something. Hermione saw sparks fly as she whimpered, "Then...that is Ron."

Snape cast a glance in her direction. "If you want to know if Ron Weasley is alive. To my knowledge he is. But the man you say...I have not seen him to know."

"H-How?"

"Ask the bastard," he spat out and hopped towards her. "He should know better than to expose himself to you, of all people. Let him explain it."

"What do you mean, to me of all the people?"

Snape snarled at her again, "You said he was hurt."

"You bastard," she hissed, "don't change the subject."

That laugh came out of throat again as he hopped towards the shelf. He was still laughing or rather coughing so hard that he lost his balance and fell. Hermione immediately rushed to help him.

"Gerrrrrrrrrrofff me!" he slurred waving her hand away. "I don't need your pity."

"Let me help you..." She bent to pick him up.

"No!" he yelped. "Stay the hell away from me."

"Or what?" she said bitterly, touching him, watching the way his body tensed when she did and his head turn in her direction. "You'll take points from Gryffindor, Professor?"

"Don't taunt me, Granger." He warned as he supported himself on his one arm. Hermione stubbornly picked him up despite his protests and seated him on the stool nearby.

"Show it to me," she said.

"Go away."

"Just show it to me," she ordered, with a boldness she never knew she owned.

He muttered constantly under his breath as Hermione lifted his robe and gasped. He walked about on one wooden leg and foot and the other one was amputated up to mid thigh.

"This is terrible work," she said observing the filthy state of the bandages of the amputated one.

"Never fancied myself as an artist," he muttered.

She looked at him horrified. "You did this?"

"And this..." He exposed his other arm. Hermione almost shrieked at the way it was done. She could see the gangrenous tissue jutting out of the bandages. He smiled that smile again.

"Why?" she managed.

"Feel pity now, do you?" he chuckled; it was a rather odd sound to hear.

She ignored his comment and looked at the other leg. "The wooden one?"

"Credit goes to the Dark Lord, if that is what you're asking. He took it as a price for returning into his inner circle. Those weasels at the Ministry couldn't do a damn thing to retrieve it. So they gave me a substitute." He seemed rather amused by it.

"So it's true..." She reached for the bandages on the other leg. "You were a spy for us."

"A traitorous dog, a spy," he taunted. "What next Ms. Granger? Hero? Sidekick? Damsel in distress perhaps?"

She responded by removing the bandages.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing now?" He tried to stop her but she pointed her wand at him. "Foul language doesn't suit a Professor, even a former one."

She directed the wand at his leg and pulled out the rest of his bandage.

"Fine..." He gritted his teeth. "What may I ask are you doing?"

"Having pity on you," she muttered and then directed her wand at the leg and said, "Reparer femorus Severus Snape" Her hand shook as a powerful beam of white hot light shot from her wand and covered his leg, he groaned and tried to catch the aching leg but she stopped him saying, "Don't touch it."

"What was that? That's no spell."

"It is now," she said. "How did you lose this one?"

He gritted his teeth from the pain and began gasping as the light was subsiding, "Before he caught Weasley, he discovered me, disfigured my face, flung me down that blasted cliff. I lived...but every one thought I was dead. Proved a ruddy advantage until I found my leg was fractured. Couldn't do anything about it. So I had to do the honours myself."

As the light dissipated they looked at his thigh to see that whatever was left of it had healed amazingly well. The stub of his limp had clear skin and no sight of the gangrene.

Snape let out a noise that sounded like a surprised gasp. "How...How..."

"You always underestimated me, Professor," she said and indicated to his arm. "And that?"

"I cut that on purpose." He directed it to her, still in disbelief at the sight of his thigh.

As she began working, she hesitated but deliberately asked, "Why?"

"Above the dark mark," he stated as an explanation.

She nodded and said, "So nobody knows of your being alive."

"Alive?" he snarled. "Look at me Granger, is this the face of a man who lives?"

Hermione didn't dare to answer that.

He sobbed as the light surrounded his arm. "My existence is known of by select few, including that bastard boyfriend of yours."

Hermione watched the light working on his arm as she tried to ignore the 'boyfriend' comment when her mind suddenly went on alert. She was given a rather rude jolt of realization regarding the reason she had come.

"He...he..."

"What did he do now?" Snape seemed as though he'd been expecting her to wake up from her trance.

"He's been hit by a Raety curse. I believe it's...Maut...yes that's what he said. I tried to break his fever but it keeps coming back and the pain..."

"The wound," Snape interjected, "It is shaped like a serpent?"

Hermione frowned and said, "I thought it was rather like a dragon."

Snape nodded as he saw his new stub of an arm, "That was a waste of energy, by the way."

Hermione accepted that as his thank you as he stood, his robes falling back to their original state as he hopped towards a shelf, "It is a Desert Basilisk. The wand that caused that spell must have been made of..."

"Ebony." She swallowed. "A Desert Basilisk?"

"How is it that he came to you?" Snape didn't look behind as he asked her that, while opening drawers and closing them. She could hear some clinking, but saw nothing behind his back; and she knew better than to try.

"I think it was by accident," she said, surprising herself and Snape, who now turned. "I don't think he meant to meet me. I just...found him. He keeps talking about leaving. He can barely keep awake."

"How long?"

"I found him last night, before midnight."

Snape turned fully and she could discern that he was surprised. "I didn't know he was that stubborn. People don't last for more than an hour after being cursed."

"He looked like he had been bleeding a long time," she said, feeling fear creep in. "Oh and..." She opened her satchel and took out the vial. "He had this in his gut. Kept throwing it up."

Snape peered at it and turned around. "What do you do, Granger?"

"I tried to bring his temperature down and dull the ache with an analgesic spell and potion but..."

"No..." Snape didn't turn. "For a living."

"I..." she was surprised by his question and said softly, "I'm a doctor, a MediWitch."

Snape turned and hopped towards a cupboard on the opposite side of the room, "I always thought you to be more for Arithmancy."

"I was." She nodded, "After Ron's death..."

She broke off there.

Snape did not respond in any way as he opened the cupboard and took out something.

"Professor?" she started after a pause, something occurred to her rather late, "Ron didn't die with Voldemort?"

Snape grunted and looked down, "No."

"Why did...?"

"Ask him, Granger. Not me."

"Is Voldemort...?"

"Dead. At least..." He paused and hopped towards a distillation tank. "...to my knowledge."

"Six years," she whispered.

"It's not being dead that is the problem, Ms. Granger," he said slowly as he took a drop of fluid from it, "It's being alive."

Hermione silently agreed in entirety as he hopped towards the cauldron he was working on. She knew very well that she would rather have died with Ron then than live to bear his loss. Yet now, all that she had consciously known was challenged by the simple fact that he was alive.

"So the Raeties exist...in reality."

Snape nodded as he placed a miniature cauldron on a flame he had conjured up, and put whatever he was making in it. Without saying a word, he hopped towards a door in the corner, opened it and went in.

Hermione stood up and looked at the small cauldron that had some transparent but thick fluid began to simmer. She swallowed and hugged herself, feeling numb and full of emotion at the same time. Ron was alive...her Ron was alive. She should have been happy, but she wasn't. She just felt a sense of bereavement. He hadn't died. But all these years. All the tears she and Harry had shed. His family. His friends. No one knew. Why?

Snape interrupted her thoughts by hopping in, he was carrying a rather dusty jacketed book in his hand as he dropped it on the table next to her, and went towards the small cauldron as she opened the book. The pages were age-stained and dog-eared and eaten on by white ants but the writing was still clear, she recognized the language to be Arabic with English translations on the next page.

"Do you need his blood?" she asked reluctantly, closing the book.

Snape shook his head, "It's contaminated, but I will need that..." he pointed to the vial in her hand.

"What is it?" she asked as she handed it to him. He opened the vial and hopped to a shelf across the room.

She waited as he did something, hearing him curse under breath, "Damn bile!" as he turned and hopped back handing her the vial. She saw another in his hand and wondered how he could manage so well with just one complete limb.

"Before I became a Death Eater," Snape started as he poured the vial into the cauldron, then muttered a spell. "I traveled a lot at my father's expense. I got that as a souvenir."

Hermione looked at the book. "What is it?"

"A diary."

"Whose?" She frowned.

"Read it and you will understand. Just don't show it to any one, Ms. Granger, I didn't exactly receive it as a souvenir."

Hermione smiled knowingly and said, "Why give it to me?"

"I don't approve of Weasley exposing himself to any of the old lot, Granger," Snape said as he reached for a bottle and poured the potion into it, "but assuming he's been hit by the Maut curse, it is likely that he had a meeting with some serious trouble."

He hopped towards her and handed her the bottle. "And we both know how attracted trouble is to Weasley and Potter."

Hermione swallowed as she took the bottle and looked at it.

"Half of that immediately. He will vomit. Give him something to drink. No solid food. After six hours give him the other half. It is mandatory, as with any case of Death Curses for him to have rest, however...that is entirely subjective. If he has survived this long, I suppose he will live."

Hermione nodded and stood up taking the book and tucking it under her arm, she straightened her cloak as he hopped towards a cauldron, saying, "Now by all means, leave."

She never imagined Snape had a flair for decent parting and so she did not expect it now. "Do I owe you anything?"

"My pride."

She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"

"Consider it my having pity on, 'your' Ron Weasley."

Hermione nodded and started to leave. "Goodbye Professor."

As she made her way to the door, he stopped her by astonishing her, taking her first name, "Hermione..." she turned aware that he wasn't looking in her direction but his voice was definitely concentrating on her.

"I never underestimated you."

***

Ron Weasley's hatred of the light was increasing exponentially as it stung at his eyes again. The pain radiated through his head as he groaned and forced his eyes open. He felt sick. Really sick; and he wanted to go back to sleep but the pain would not let him. That was when he felt the heat in his throat. His eyes flew open and he sat up immediately, grimacing at the torture of something pulling his head from both sides. He tried to focus on something because everything was too bright. The taste of bile rose in his throat made him catch his mouth. As the light dimmed in brightness, his ears had Hermione's voice echoing in them

"Ron," she said, her voice strained, "you're going to throw up now..."

No shit Hermione! He told his conscience, until his eyes focused on hers and he realized she was actually there. As the past events hit him like a torrent of rain, he reached for her, only to find her pulling him out of the bed, "Come on..." He used her for support as she single handedly managed to get him to the W.C. He knelt on the ground as he lunged for the sides of the water closet and coughed.

Within seconds he was done, and it seemed he had spilled out all the blood he had in his body. Pain began clawing at his insides and he groaned, backing away from the closet clutching his stomach. As he coughed out more blood, he felt the cool touch of a towel soaked in water on his burning forehead. He leaned back against Hermione as she wiped his face whispering, "It will hurt."

Ron nodded and leaned on her crying out whenever the pain became too intense. As he coughed occasionally, feeling the blood in his throat again, he lunged for the W.C. and vomited again, this time it was less and he felt curiously relieved.

Hermione said something to him, he did not comprehend what it was but was aware that she got up and left. As the wave came for the third time, he felt much lighter as he collapsed on the floor. Hermione came in and said, "I think that's about it."

He looked at her perplexed as she tried to pull him to his feet, while wiping his face and beard. He felt conscious and relieved but he was fatigued as he leaned on her. He noticed he could balance himself and he didn't feel as hot as he did. As he sat on the bed and ran his hands through his hair he looked up at her. She stood with a big glass of something that looked like water.

"Drink this."

He decided against asking her what it was, knowing his history with Hermione forcing liquids down his throat, be it a polyjuice potion or something else.

"Slowly."

He felt a rush of relief down his burning throat and stomach. As it turned out, it was water. She gave him another glass more and he drank it willingly realizing that he was hungry. Very hungry.

When he was done drinking water she handed him a big glass of orange liquid. "This too."

"I'm hungry..."

His voice was hoarse.

"I know, but no solid food. Only this..."

"What?" He looked at her unamused face in disbelief. Looking at her expression he nodded and drank the liquid. The liquid turned out to be orange juice and he welcomed its fresh and sweet taste, when he was done drinking it. She gave him some more to which he didn't protest.

Feeling satiated and relieved he sank back to the bed, and relaxed, closing his eyes saying, "I feel much better."

She sat by his side and covered him properly. "It worked then."

"What did?"

"Snape's potion."

Ron's eyes flew open and he looked at her. It struck him only then, that he had given her Snape's address, and relaxed a little. He observed her for a minute, thinking that she looked tired before he opened his mouth and said, "You met him?"

Hermione nodded and pointed to the side table, "He gave me the antidote."

"I knew he'd have it." He closed his eyes and settled in to the comfort of having her by his side. She stiffened suddenly and said, "In half an hour, drink some more of the juice." She rose and was about to leave but he stopped her by saying, "How long have I been here?"

Hermione turned and frowned. "Why?"

"Just answer."

She came to his side and sat down again, he knew by her expression that she was not going to let him get up.

"Not nearly that long."

"Hermione."

He saw her tense as he mentioned her name.

If this was Ron, she knew that her name coming from his mouth would be more painful than when she did not believe him. It was painful enough looking at him living and breathing in her bed and knowing that the whole world thought he was dead. She felt guilty. Towards Harry, to his parents, his siblings, his other friends...

She looked at him staring at her intently. "A day."

"What?" "A day almost," she said, aware of his next reaction.

"Fuck!"

"Don't curse."

"Shut up!" He tried to get up but she pushed him back on the bed. "You're not going anywhere. You have to take some more of the antidote in six hours."

"I'll take it with me. I can't stay here."

"But you can't move!" she argued, "You've barely recovered."

"I shouldn't have been here in the first place." He had to be so stubborn!

"Listen to me..." she pushed him back, "If you pass out again..."

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Don't do this please...I have to go. Too much time has been..."

"Ron! You nearly died!" She said it, hoping it would shake some sense into him. "You need rest."

"No I need..." she noticed his wincing and decided to let him have it his way as he completed, "...to get out of here."

"Fine." She crossed her arms and sat in her spot.

He raised an eyebrow causing her heart to skip a pulse. "What?"

"Fine..." she motioned with her hand, "Go." And crossed them again.

"You mean it?" he looked up at her cautiously.

"I dare you to." She hissed.

He knew just by the look on her face, he would regret this, but he was too stubborn. He had his reasons and his reasons were good. Besides, he would not give up without a fight. Not that he put up much of a fight anyway. The minute he tried to raise his head from the pillow and sit up the world swam around him. He closed his eyes to squeeze out the banging in his head and that horrible sinking feeling. Unwilling to accept defeat he pressed his palms on the mat and levered his body up, so he was seated. He smiled triumphantly and opened his eyes to grin at her but any action of his set of agony in multiple directions all over his body. His stomach seemed to lurch under his diaphragm and the vertiginous feeling returned. He sighed heavily and allowed gravity to pull his upper body back into the bed. He plopped on it noisily, painfully aware of Hermione's I-told-you-so expression.

"Don't say it," he muttered and grabbed the mattress again as his brain stopped swimming in his head.

"Your brain does not swim in your head," Hermione replied.

He noticed he had a habit of saying a lot of his incoherent thoughts out loud in front of her as he opened his eyes and groaned in pain, "Don't say it."

"You can't stop me..." She looked damned adorable with that sly smile. He saw the colour returning to her cheeks, which only reminded him of how pale her face was.

"No," he warned with a smile.

He knew that wouldn't stop her from saying it and he just longed to have that smart-alecky voice, belonging to Hermione, in his ears. "...I told you so."

He laughed a little but it escaped as a cough as he opened his eyes and said, "I shouldn't be here."

Hermione's presumptuous smile faded as the pallor returned to her face, "Yes well," she said softly getting up, "you shouldn't be alive, either."

Ron felt as though a lorry had hit him. At first he doubted whether he heard that correctly or whether it was just an oral delusion, but the look on her face was distinct, she had said it.

Swallowing painfully he hoarsely whispered, "Hermione, I..."

"Sleep for a while, Ron," she said, cutting off his explanation. "I'll be here in half an hour."

"Listen...I..."

"Ron... I don't want to cast a sleeping spell on you."

Ron only stared at her helplessly as she left the room, as the fatigue encroached on his sentience, the last thing he thought was, this was a mistake.

*

Dusk had crept into her house without her knowing it. Hermione sat staring at an unlit fireplace when it struck her that it everything was tinted with the familiar blue tinge of dimness. Sighing heavily pushing all the thoughts out of her head she stood up and switched on the lights in the drawing room, dining room and kitchen. She went to the corridor and switched on the lights of the stairs before returning to the drawing room, debating whether to light the fire. It wasn't very cold, it could have been but she had no perception of feeling right now. In half hour intervals she went to awaken the tired body on her bed and feed him on the orange juice. Yet, now she had no conscious memory of it. Her mind was plagued with worry and hypothesizing.

She was aware now, that she hadn't eaten anything the whole day, save for a cup of tea in the morning and a little bite of toast before leaving to meet Snape. She never had quite an appetite but it surprised her that she wasn't the least bit hungry. In fact the thought of eating made her nauseous. Sighing heavily she curled on her sofa and covered herself with a light blanket, resting her head against the arm of it, watching the ashes of her fireplace. In one hour she would have to go and give Ron the rest of the antidote.

It was strange, accepting the fact that he was to be called Ron. After twelve hours of correcting herself every time she did call him that, when she knew that he was indeed who he said he was, she couldn't bring herself to associate him with that name.

...If you want to know if Ron Weasley is alive. To my knowledge he is ...

Snape's voice entered her memory for the sixth or seventh time since she had been sitting thinking. She felt so lost and helpless. And the only thing that kept popping up in her mind was, why?

She clearly remembered the day that Harry walked towards her, with swollen eyes. They had been in the Auror Cadet Academy at the time and she had been wounded after a long struggle with the Death Eaters. Ron had been abducted for a week then and Harry and she determinedly disobeyed orders and went in search of him. She was recuperating in the infirmary when she saw his swollen eyes and pale face. She knew the news that would come out of Harry's mouth was simple. Ron was dead.

Yet as he tragically narrated how he managed to reach Voldemort who somehow came to be in a position to cast the Avada Kedavra curse combined with a Detonus spell directed at Him and Ron in one split second flung himself on the wand and intercepted the spell, she constantly wondered why she couldn't feel his loss. She still could not believe he was dead. She remembered Harry's cold tears as he told her that by flinging himself on Voldemort, he exploded and took Voldemort with him, and her own stone-like demeanor. It was three full days before she could mourn. In the depths of her grief she saw him in everything. In her books, her house, her photographs, the walls, everywhere. She went into what was classified as clinical depression and started imagining Ron walking around her, telling her things. The worse was when she almost killed herself thinking Ron was calling her, twice. She went on a self-prescribed anti-depressant potion that made her hallucinate. The last time she did it was over a bridge, and she would have drowned if Harry hadn't dived in to save her.

It had been almost two years since then, she stopped taking the narcotic, which it was, immediately but both she and Harry were scarred, from that experience.

Ron's death had cost her more than she had imagined. Particularly whenever she went to meet his family. In all of her brothers she saw pieces of him and found it increasingly difficult to keep her emotions in control. His family close as it always had been though still in mourning for him, clung to each other and recovered from his loss. Molly Weasley however suffered the greatest because she had enough guilt in her that could show down Harry and Hermione's sense of guilt to fractions. Even the twins had lost their sense of person and felt silent for almost a year.

Harry as usual became the silent-suffering warrior, opening up to no one. If there was anyone he could open up to it was Ron and when Ron's death itself had been the cause of his ever-increasing burden of responsibility, she wondered how Harry survived, at all. Sirius Black became his guardian for Harry, till he was on his own, but Sirius himself had been plagued with Remus Lupin's death. Of course, Harry wasn't perfectly controlled. His credibility as a potential Auror decreased tremendously as he resorted to drinking and became violent with everyone except her, until Hermione cast a spell on him that would make him nauseous with even if he got a whiff of alcohol. She remained the iron pillar for every one until they recovered from his death.

Everyone moved on, except her. She tried to be brave and live, but each day held some memory of Ron, which she could not tolerate, so she resorted to extreme measures.

Hermione she bit her lower lip and sighed heavily, battling loss with by being a workaholic, battling depression by potions, battling addiction with alienation of those who cared for her. It was all for nothing. Ron was not dead. He was alive.

And that thought suddenly filled her with resentment.

No, she wasn't happy he was alive. She had spent too many tears, seen too much grief and suffering to be happy. Six years of anguish and lamenting, six years of enough psychological problems to have her parents regret sending her to Hogwarts, six years of fighting everyone except herself. She could never be happy he was alive.

She wished she had never gone to that retreating figure in the alley with red hair, last night. She wished she had stayed when Harry caught her hand.

Moreover she wished Ron Weasley remained dead.

The chiming of the clock brought her back to the present. It took her a second to realize she was actually crying softly. Something she hadn't done since the ordeal of the past twenty-four hours. Breathing shallowly she pulled the blanket away and sat up. It was time for him to take the remaining antidote. For a split second that filled her with remorse in the next second, she wondered if she should not give it to him. He should suffer more, he owed her that much. Her mind was filled with reproaching, as she made her way to the kitchen to prepare some more juice. She was a doctor, he was a life to be saved; that if, nothing else, should have kept her from having such thoughts.

Her tears increased with the increasing burden of guilt as she made the juice. Her eyes fell on a photograph on the cabinet overhead. It was a picture of the three of them cooking while they were in training, a few days after they had joined. A repercussion of being in Auror training apart from foul-mouthed mentors and ragging seniors was the terrible food they were forced to eat. She smiled remembering as Ron to the brunt, worst of all, so they sneaked into the kitchens one night and made some really nice steak, which he had managed to get from somewhere.

Just don't ask me where...I need nutrition, if I will be kicking some Death Eater arse!

Harry decided that it was a monumental event because they would eat proper food after ages, and he set the Muggle camera, which hadn't been discovered or at least was ignored in the raids by the guardians on automatic timer and they all joined in big smiles, as Ron looked rather smug at his achievement.

Of course, an hour later they were discovered and punished severely, but...look at the bright side, Hermione, we ate food and not drivel!

If ever she wanted, Ron to be alive, it would have to that Ron. She sighed and made her way up with the jug, towards the bedroom door, where the source of her insomnia lay. Entering softly she closed the door behind her and looked to see him sitting up staring into space.

This was a mistake, Ron thought, as he looked at the chipping paint of the windowsill. He should never have shown himself to her. As his mind skimmed through the events of the past forty-eight hours, he wondered why it was that he reached out to her that night, last night, in the alley. He had woken up an hour ago, and sat up, because his body was sore from being in bed for more than twelve-hours. One thing of the many things Ron had lost in these six years was his love for the one-eighty-degree position, which Hermione had warned would cost him, in Auror training.

Hermione...

She looked so different, he realized now. Her soft hair had grown all the way up to her hips and he now noticed, as he remembered vague images of her assisting him and the nutmeg curls swishing about as he did. Her face had lost its round curves and he knew that she was skinnier than she was six years ago. Not to mention, she looked older than her age. Though if anything, she hadn't lost her presumptuousness, at least not around him, he thought with a smile. When he woke up, he had originally planned to leave. To get away, because the longer he stayed the longer his mission would be compromised. Yet as he looked down at the excellently dressed wound he knew for a fact that even if he tried, either the pain and fatigue wouldn't let him, or Hermione wouldn't.

Though he knew she wanted to, just by the look of being betrayed in her eyes.

He had never considered the emotional implications when he faced her. He could barely consider the security implications, so wrought in pain and delirium. When memories of pain and torture hit him all of a sudden, just before he remembered vaguely Hermione bringing here. Dragging him into a bathtub. The feel of her hand, the actions of her wand. Her face flashed about intermittently as he sat astounded. She was half his size, and he knew that an unconscious man was as good as twice his actual weight. He marveled at the strength and determination with which she had single-handedly managed to revive him. He had learnt that Hermione's frail appearance betrayed her actual physical agility and stamina, not to mention her intellectual cunning and mental presence. In fact he should have been dead a long time ago.

For the first time since this nightmare he was grateful that she found him.

And for the first time, it didn't seem like a mistake.

Though it would cost both of them, more emotional trauma than he liked.

To her, he had been dead for long. Whether she had feelings for him that were more than friendship or not, he knew that she mourned for him. Just like he would mourn for her. The thought of her loss came to mind and he felt a jolt of distress. He would die if he learnt that she was gone. Feeling frustrated and guilty he tried to get out of bed. The longer he stayed the longer she would be plagued by memories. Six years without either her or Harry to confide in, he knew how insane he had become with his memories. He couldn't bear to have her suffer all that.

That was when he almost broke his bones by falling.

Realizing that no matter how much he forced it to, his body would not cooperate with him, he resigned to sitting on the bed. He drank up whatever was left of the juice as his stomach clawed at his control. He began to tremble with the hunger but he knew better than to do anything, which would cause him any more discomfort. Analyzing the whole situation he was, Ron Weasley was sure of one thing. Hermione Granger was the bravest woman he could ever know. It would take more than courage to keep him here and care for him like she did. Considering the idea that he claimed to be man who was declared dead, for all she knew he could have been evil. Yet she listened to him, did not take him to a hospital and managed to keep him alive on her own. Going on her own to Knockturn Alley, convincing Snape of all the supposedly dead people. It was a fucking miracle he survived, was his first opinion, but the second was that the only reason he did...was she. How on earth she managed to do it, was beyond his comprehension, but knowing Hermione, he knew she was capable of anything.

He leaned onto the headboard and wondered why he felt good, for the first time in years. He had no right to. He had no right to feel anything positive, because he died with the first man he killed. He would kill again for his friends, even if they weren't his friends anymore. Yet, with each person he killed he slowly lost a piece of him with them. So he had no right to be happy. His mind flashed an image of the red light that struck him in the stomach.

Shit!

He jerked all of a sudden, and yelped at the pain clawing in his wound again.

"Don't touch it," her voice ordered as he tried to clutch his side.

He looked towards the direction of her voice and found her standing there with a jug of more juice. It looked bloody tempting with the hunger and the nauseating with the pain at the same time. She looked like she had been watching him for sometime as she walked towards his side. Why hadn't he noticed her come in? How long had she been there?

If he had been in battle right now...

"...you'd be dead," she said, making him realize for the umpteenth time that he had said his thoughts out loud. She placed the jug on the side table and helped him back into a prone position.

"You shouldn't be sitting up," she said calmly. He twisted a little as she continued, "Why did you wrench like that? It was as thought you were electrocuted."

He relaxed as she pointed the wand and the wound and the pain subsided, he gruffly answered, "Something occurred to me."

Hermione didn't press further, much to his surprise as she opened up a bottle.

"Don't you want to know what?" he asked, curiously.

Hermione glanced into his eyes as she sat on the bed and brought the bottle to his lips, "No."

Ron didn't like the tone of her refusal but opened his mouth as she poured the contents of it into him. It tasted like shit, he thought. Not that he knew what shirt tasted like but it was similar to having a mixture of sand, glass and slime, mixed with some spicy pepper.

He coughed as his mouth was filled with saliva. She moved forward to raise his head so it became easier for him to swallow. He tried to the get the taste out of his mouth but the vile thing was too thick and seemed to form a coat around his oral cavity.

"Gross..."

He choked, realizing his voice wasn't coming out properly.

"Do you feel like throwing up?" she asked, concerned.

He waited for the bile to rise in his throat but to his surprise, he felt less sweaty. The feeling of his tongue returned in his mouth when he understood that the coating was being absorbed and then he shook his head.

She nodded and reached for the jug and poured the juice in to the glass.

"I could use something to eat," he croaked and made a face as the taste persisted.

"No." she shook her head and helped him sit up slowly, handing him the glass, "No solid food for a while. Your stomach is too soft to take it."

He had no idea what she meant by that, but did not argue as he drank the juice.

"It doesn't taste as good as the other one."

"I put some multivitamins and electrolytes in it. It will help you regain strength."

Why did she insist on talking gibberish when he was around? "Some what?"

"Don't worry," she sighed, "it won't kill you."

Ron nodded and took another glass. It was lousy, no doubt but he needed something in his stomach.

He watched as Hermione checked his temperature and pulse. "Your fever hasn't gone completely," she said, and he understood it as a warning that if he moved once more he would be in a lot of pain.

"Hermione..." He wanted to say something, just to keep her there.

She looked expectantly at him.

"I...I... How did you manage to convince Snape?"

Hermione looked at though he had just slapped her. He knew that she was still not used to the idea of knowing Snape was alive.

"He didn't need to be convinced," she said, after a pause.

"What?" he reached for the glass and she silently poured some more juice for him.

"I said he didn't need to be convinced," she repeated. "He just gave it to me."

Ron raised his eyebrows and took a gulp of the fluid.

"That's a first."

Hermione looked questioningly at him. "What do you mean?"

"He usually throws one hell of a tantrum and takes a lot of persisting on my part."

"On your part?" she said, her eyebrows rose sarcastically. "He had quite an opinion on your 'messengers'."

"Messengers?" He frowned and remembered the complaints he got from the people he had sent to Snape, particularly regarding his foul mouth. "Oh yeah...I wager you didn't know he had such a vocabulary in school, did you?"

He should have kept that comment to himself, her face suddenly turned pale and she stiffened. She looked like she would get up and leave but he caught her hand. He just wanted her to stay.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"'Sorry'?" Her voice was so low, he wasn't sure if he heard it. "'Sorry'? For what?"

The look in her eyes silenced his attempt to answer.

"For what, Ron?" Her voice grew louder and bitter. "For sending me to Snape? For making me realize that he wasn't dead just as you weren't dead? Well that's too bad, because 'sorry' doesn't make up for anything."

Ron felt a stab of shame as she tried to get up. He kept his hold on her hand and leaned forward.

"So you believe, it is me."

"I wish I didn't," she spat out. "I wish you were still dead."

He felt a pang of misery and caught her shoulder. "Hermione I..."

"Don't touch me."

Her eyes were so stony that he let go.

"You have no right."

"I know." He whispered and closed his eyes, "I shouldn't have come."

"Come, Ron?" Her tone was incredulous, "You could barely walk without lurching. I brought you here and I wonder why."

"You're right." He felt irritated now. "You shouldn't have brought you here.

"You shouldn't have lived," she said, "Die Ron Weasley, and let me remember you as the valiant sidekick to Harry Potter, and leave me be."

She turned to stomp off but he stopped her by saying, "I'm not valiant."

She turned, her eyes brimming with tears, "I know...you're a coward, that's what you are. Couldn't you have come sooner? Spared us all the pain? No Ron, you couldn't, now could you? You forced us to remember you on a granite stone."

"Hermione..."

"Why?" She came forward, her eyes screaming betrayal. "Why are you still alive Ron? Why is it that none of us knew? Didn't you care?"

Anger rose in his throat. "Don't you dare accuse me of not caring."

Hermione stared at him in a mixture of reproach, spite and incredulity; he could just sit there in her bed and tell her he cared. She let out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh really? So you do care? Then where were you, Ron?" She came forward; her stance show him that she could smother him if he lied. "Where you when Harry almost killed himself getting drunk wondering why it wasn't him? Where were you when your mother, YOUR MOTHER, held the pillow you slept on and screamed your name? Or when Fred and George silently wished they had never played half the pranks they played on you? Or when Ginny stayed unconscious for three days because she fainted on news of your 'death' and hit her head on the banister? Or when you're father almost suffered a heart attack in shock? Or when Bill and Charlie..."

Her voice cracked and she broke off there, sobbing, her tears spilling onto her cheeks.

Ron just looked at her as though his face was made of stone. He seemed as though he was looking right through her, into some distant point in space. She realized she had reached the foot of the bed as her voice had reached high decibels.

"Where were you?"

"Rotting in hell."

"Then why have you come back?" she shrieked as she went to bring her face closer to his, "WHY?"

Ron looked as though he was in a trance, "I wasn't supposed to."

Hermione lost all thought as she looked at the emptiness in his eyes. She stepped back and swallowed, "Too late for that."

Ron's motionless frame suddenly jerked as his expression changed to determination.

He flung the covers off him and swung his legs out of bed, aware that he was naked and that she was looking at him as though confused, and very well aware that the very action would send spasms around his side. He tossed his unruly hair back and he gripped the edge of the bed fiercely.

"You're right," he muttered, grimacing.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" She glared at him.

"I'm not supposed to be alive, Hermione."

He put pressure on the bed and tried to rise but collapsed again as his head swirled. Hermione reached to help him but he recoiled from her touch. "I wish it wasn't you."

"Wish it wasn't me?"

He nodded, "I wish it wasn't you...to be the one...to suffer all this. I wish it wasn't you who had to find out. I wish it wasn't you I met in that alleyway."

He moaned as the spasmodic burning pain started in his side. He couldn't stay a minute longer. He was not only distressing her, but also wasting precious time. He tried again, but this time Hermione kept him down y catching his shoulders.

"I wish it wasn't me too, Ron, but you are wounded."

"If it wasn't for you," he shook his hands away, "I would be dead. Really dead."

"Little late for a thank you." She caught him as he tried to stand but toppled over, and seated him. "You're not going anywhere."

"Look," he said sternly looking up into those eyes, those damned eyes of hers, "I have a reason for all of this. I need to get back to it."

"I don't care. You're in no position to..."

"Shut up! How dare you shower me with accusations and tell me you want me dead and want to help me at the same time? Gerroff me!"

Hermione swore, and in a split second he was staring at the tip of her wand again, this time, completely conscious.

"Don't move," she hissed, "I want to kill you with my bare hands. But I am human, Ron, unlike you. I have a responsibility to keep you alive."

"You're right. I'm not human any more, Hermione...but I appreciate your help."

"You can't change the fact that I know you're alive." She jabbed the wand into his chest.

"You can do nothing about it, except kill me."

"I can tell the world."

"Who'll believe you, Hermione? As I recall correctly, Harry had a rather fierce opinion of you thinking you saw me, that night."

The spasm in his abdomen was not the only pain in his body as a searing sting burned in his face. He caught his cheek and groaned and stared icily as the blazing eyes of Hermione who had her hand still outstretched after slapping him.

"How dare you... You have no...idea..."

"I'm sorry," he whispered and reached to touch her but she cringed away. He saw her lip quivering as she burst into tears and dashed out to the room, leaving him alone with the resounding of the slamming of the door, in pain, agony, and misery. If he hadn't before, he knew right now, he had just lost the only person he could trust. As the pain griped at his wound again he groaned and fell back on the mattress and passed out.

Ron woke up acutely aware of a sensation in his groin. He sat up immediately and was surprised to find the sunlight streaming in though the windows and that he was properly covered and lying vertically on the bed. He recalled having passed out along the breadth of the bed after Hermione slapped him. The minute the memory came into his head he knew she must have adjusted him. He felt slightly feverish and looked out wondering what time it was and realized it was the next day. He was out for more than twelve hours. The pain had decreased considerably and so had the giddiness. The sensation started again and he gently pulled away the covers and scrambled out.

He was still disoriented but he was able to make it to the loo without toppling over and soiling her carpet. He smiled at how fastidious Hermione was about cleanliness. Again he felt that stab of guilt, as he saw her face crumble when he insulted her.

He did insult her, in a way, he told himself. He knew that when she was grieving for him, she must have imagined him about her life. He didn't know how serious it was, but he knew he had no right to pick on that nerve.

After relieving himself, he wondered how his bladder could stay intact for so long considering the time he took. As a wave of nausea hit him, he closed the lid of the W.C. and sat on it to avoid falling. He looked around her bathroom as his head began to settle. It was enough for one person and he was relieved she lived alone. Spotless, which meant after he wretched she must have cleaned it. It seemed properly arranged and tidy. Standing up he went to the mirror above the basin, to wash his face.

He wondered how she could have recognized him at all even if he screamed his name on top of a building. He looked no better than Hagrid did with all the facial hair. Of course, he had always been tempted to shave it, but for the sake of his alias he had to keep it. As he splashed water on his face and smoothened whatever he could, he noticed that most of his bruises and scars had disappeared. He shrugged, attributing it to one of Hermione's many qualities. He noticed that the mirror was actually the door to a cabinet.

Curiosity got the better of him and he opened it.

There were lotions, which seemed very Muggle on the top rack. He noticed the bottle rack was full of potion, bottles and vials. He looked at each one not understanding what they were. There was a small flask of Madame Flaeme's hair revitalizer. That he recognized because he had seen Ginny use it, long ago. Rats! He didn't need to be thinking of Ginny right now. He wondered why Hermione would need anything for her hair. As far as he was concerned she had the most naturally beautiful hair he had ever seen. There was one small vial at the end, which caught his attention. It had no name or label. He opened it, and saw it was empty. He never figured Hermione to keep empty junk with her. He took a sniff of it. A sudden feeling of relief washed over his body for a split second. Then it was gone with the desire for him to smell a little more. But he wouldn't smell it. Because he knew exactly what that thing smelled like. A feeling of apprehension and anguish hit him. He slammed the cabinet shut, clutching the vial in his hands; he stomped out of the bathroom ignoring all the subsequent feelings of insomnia, nausea and the desire to collapse.

When he entered the bedroom she was standing there and seemed a little alarmed to see him. Maybe because of his sudden entry. She placed a replenished jar of juice and came to stand before him with an expectant look. Her face was flushed and tired. Her eyes were bloodshot and for one second anger was replaced by concern for her.

That was why it hurt him even more that she had abused herself.

The minute she entered to find him gone, Hermione anticipated he was in the loo. Relieved and not in the mood to see him she set about to refill the jug when his sudden entry surprised her. More so because she was sill unaccustomed to seeing him naked. She shuddered and suppressed the knowledge that he looked rather virile, considering now she knew he was Ron, it made her even more embarrassed to see him like that. That feeling was replaced with confusion as she saw his expression change to apprehension. She was about to ask him when her eyes fell on what he was holding.

She backed up as he came forward and said dangerously, "What is this?"

She swallowed and said, "What is what?"

"Don't play dumb with me Hermione." He held the bottle in front of her. "Do you use this?"

"Where'd you get that?" she asked, feeling chagrined that he had been through her personal belongings.

"Don't avoid the question."

"No," she said, "you don't avoid the question, where did you get that? What are you doing looking at my personal things?"

"If this is what your personal things are, Hermione," he roared, "I wonder what else I can find."

"How dare you..." She reached to take the vial but he moved his hand away.

"How long have you been using this?" he demanded.

"It's none of your business!"

"It is my fucking business!"

He grabbed her by her shoulders, sending a pang of fear through her. By the way he winced and the tight grip he had on her, she could see he was trying to steady himself. But he shook her and said, "Why?"

He saw a spark in her eyes as she screamed back, "You have no right to ask me that!"

"I bloody do."

"NO! YOU DON'T!"

"This is a narcotic Hermione!" He shook her again. "An ILLEGAL potion. It was banned when we were in school! How did you get your hands on this? Is there more of this? Where do you get this from?'

Hermione wrenched out of his grasp and hissed, "You have no business asking me that."

"I fucking do. I am your-"

"My what, Ron?" she said, cutting him off. "MY FRIEND?"

He shivered involuntarily at her bitter tone.

"I'M SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT MY FRIEND IS DEAD!"

"I'm alive."

"No! As far as I am concerned the Ron, I knew died. You are not him." Some stupid voice in his head that for a change did not belong to her argued that she was right. He wasn't the Ron she knew. But that still did not absolve him of the right to worry about her.

"Hermione?" He caught her again. This time she struggled but he put in all his force to holding her steady. "WHY?"

She couldn't ignore the pain in his eyes. As much as she wanted to hurt him, that look wrenched her heart. It was only when he held her like that she had an understanding of the power this man had over her. He was too big for her and she couldn't avoid him.

"Because of you," she said quietly.

Ron let her go and backed away towards the bed as though he was too tired, "What?"

"I used it because of you." She looked up at him "Do you know what your death did to me, Ron? To all of us?"

He sat clumsily and caught his head, but she continued.

"I couldn't bear it! I am sorry. I am not all strong and cold like you, so I couldn't bear it. I had to take it, it was the only way."

"The only way?" he asked incredulously. "This thing would kill you before the depression would."

"DEPRESSION?" she came towards him, "Depression does no begin to justify what I suffered, Ron. It doesn't. I know my taking it was wrong, and I don't take it anymore if that is what you are wondering, but you have no right to condemn me!"

"I am not condemning you," he whispered.

"No? I don't suppose you are!" she said sarcastically, "You think you are so righteous, well guess what--you're not! I could have died for all I cared but I had to keep strong, for everyone. Because you were dead."

He didn't answer.

"You said Harry wouldn't believe me. Well you are right. You're bloody right! Do you know why? Because of THIS!" She caught his shoulders and forced him to look at her. "I hallucinated Ron, I hallucinated I saw you and that you were alive and laughing and that you were calling me. You told me to join you once, you know that? And then I followed you off a riverbank and almost drowned! But you won't bloody know what it is to lose someone so close to you BECAUSE YOU DON'T CARE!!" She was shrieking at the top of her pitch as she shook him, tears spilling out of her eyes, her voice sinking. "You never cared."

He looked at her in anguish as though he had just been accused of murdering someone, innocently. "I...I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," she whispered and kneeled on the floor. "Don't even try. Because for six years I have wished it was I, instead of you. SIX YEARS! And if you hadn't come along I would have spent my lifetime wishing it were I, instead of you. Don't even begin to imagine what your death had put us through! You...you disgust me!" she spat, "You're a disgrace!"

Ron caught her arms before she got up to leave, "Disgrace?" he said. "No Hermione, I am not a disgrace, I am a fucking zombie. I feel nothing anymore, you know why? Because I wanted so badly to come back. But I couldn't..."

"Why?" she wailed and shook him. "WHY? Why didn't you come back, Ron? Where were you?"

"I..." He looked away. "I can't tell you that."

"Why?" she shrieked, "You don't know what it is like to wish this was all a nightmare you are going to wake up from Ron! You don't!"

"I DO!" His eyes to burned right through her, when he caught her arms and pulled her closer, "Oh bloody hell Hermione! I had to stay dead! Don't you understand?"

"NO I DON'T!"

"I HAD TO LET EVERYONE BELIEVE I WAS DEAD!" He shook her violently.

Hermione looked at him confused as she saw the tears surface in his blue eyes. Shivering she was about to persist when his eyes squeezed shut. He let go of her, and she recoiled a little but caught her balance as he yelped and caught his wound.

"Oh God," she whispered, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Oh God! Ron! You shouldn't have..." She tried to help him but he shook her off, "Please don't make this any harder... Let me help you..."

This time she clutched his shoulders and pushing him gently on to the bed.

"No! I can't stay here anymore."

"Ron..." She tried to remain calm. "Please...if you want to get back to being dead to everyone, you should be alive to yourself."

"You always talked gibberish, Granger." He muttered before wincing

"Shut up and lie down," she said. "It will stop hurting."

"No! Hermione!" He opened his wide and caught her face. "You don't understand. I am compromising the mission."

"What mission?"

"I can't... tell you."

"Fine." She covered him. "But you're no good to any mission if you pass out, Ron. Please."

He only writhed further, struggling to leave.

"DON'T MOVE!" She pushed him firmly. "It will only worsen."

"Hermione," he groaned, "I am putting you in danger, by being here."

"A little late for chivalry." She silenced him by putting her finger on his lips. "Don't move."

He stopped struggling and only moved when the spasms came along his trunk. Hermione sat and checked his temperature. It had increased as his pulse quickened. She sighed and watched as he began mumbling something about it not being safe for him to be here.

She sat with him for a while waiting to see if his temperature rose, which fortunately it didn't. He was still awake but his breathing was shallow. She debated whether to infuse the juice through a feed or to let him sit up and have it. Her confusion was lost when she saw him looking at her miserably.

"You should rest," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

"Hermione, please forgive me."

She didn't respond, instead checking his pupils. They were beginning to dilate. She checked his pulse again and sighed. His temperature was rising again.

"Hermione..." He reached for her hand. "I hope you will one day understand why I did what I did."

She could feel him burning up, he was going into delirium again, she tried to leave to get some antipyretic potion but he pulled her closer and reached for her hair. Hermione didn't move as he shifted it away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She was aware his hand was trembling and that it was burning like the rest of his body.

"Ron..."

She tried to push away but his grip was tight.

"I had to be dead," he muttered. "I had to be dead to protect him..."

"Ron..." She tried to remove his hand but stopped when his words registered to her, "Protect whom?"

Before he slipped into feverish unconsciousness he said, "Harry."