The Book of Morgan Le Fey

Chapter Three: Tea at Midnight

Dinner that night in the Weasley house was a quieter affair. Fred and George were not there, having announced they were meeting Lee Jordan and a few other friends in Diagon Alley for dinner. Bill was out with Fleur.

Mrs. Weasley seemed especially terse tonight, and Ron knew it was because Charlie was leaving tomorrow morning to return to Romania. He had made some progress in recruiting foreign wizards to assist in the Order of the Phoenix but had to return to his job studying dragons.

Mr. Weasley seemed to be the only one who was talkative. He spoke at length about the many changes that had occurred in the Ministry in the past month.

'All these new security measures,' he said over his glass of wine. 'The Wizengamot is so concerned they're debating whether to introduce legislation to ban Apparating and Disapparating from the Ministry. I hope not. The car is nice, of course, but it's so much quicker to just Apparate there.'

'What about the Floo Network?' Mrs. Weasley asked, taking Ron's plate and piling it high with roast chicken, potatoes and green beans.

'The Ministry has Aurors at various posts, but I can't see that lasting,' Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully. 'The Aurors are needed for hunting out You Know Who's followers, after all. Aurors are too important, and too talented, to waste on guard duty at Ministry fireplaces.'

'Fudge has certainly been under fire all month,' Charlie said. 'Not that I feel too sorry for him. But if things start to get really bad out there and You Know Who's followers start killing again, Fudge could be out of a job. Half the Wizengamot is furious with him--they knew all along Dumbledore was telling the truth but Fudge wouldn't do anything about it.'

'Good riddance to bad luggage,' Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes glittering dangerously. 'Fudge was always more concerned with his own power than he was with what's best for the Ministry and everyone else.'

'Sounds like someone else I know,' Charlie said darkly, taking a mouthful of potatoes.

'Don't start in on Percy again!' Mrs. Weasley warned. 'He's still your brother, isn't he?'

'Unfortunately,' said Charlie, taking a sip of his wine. 'Honestly, Mum, I know he's your son, but why the hell hasn't he written or called on you to apologize? After the way he treated you and Dad? And Ron nearly died in that fight last month. But Percy's nowhere to be found, is he?'

'He's probably too ashamed to talk to us,' Mr. Weasley said, his face very set now. Mrs. Weasley dished Hermione up some food but seemed to do it a bit too vehemently, and potatoes spluttered onto the table.

'As well he should be,' Charlie said firmly. 'Times are bad enough, we ought to be sticking together.'

'He'll come around,' Mrs. Weasley said, in a voice that indicated the discussion of Percy was closed. Charlie got the hint and took a bite of chicken.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny had said nothing. The subject of Percy was still a very sore one, and every time Ron thought about his older brother he felt a flash of hot anger. He didn't really care if Percy treated him shabbily, but Percy had slammed the door in his mother's face, literally, when she tried to talk to him, and had spent the whole year ignoring his father every time they crossed paths at work. He hadn't even bothered to visit Mr. Weasley when he was in hospital. To hell with Percy's pride, Ron thought savagely as he dug into his green beans. You Know Who's cronies nearly killed Dad and me, and Ginny, too; the least he could do is apologize.

He felt Hermione's eyes on him and looked at her. She gave him a sympathetic smile and he smiled back in spite of himself. She was eating a bit more tonight, at least, and she seemed to have fully recovered from the scare of falling off her broom earlier that day.

The meal ended with barely another word of conversation. Ron helped his mother clear plates, while Mr. Weasley began to wash dishes with Charlie. Ginny and Hermione walked upstairs, apparently to Ginny's room, and Ron, not wanting to go upstairs just yet, offered to help.

After a few minutes the dishes were done, and Ron figured he might as well go upstairs to his room.

He started up the stairs and was just on the second floor landing when he nearly collided with Hermione, who was just exiting the bathroom wearing a fluffy white bathrobe. Her long hair was wet and her skin pink.

'Oh!' she said, startled. 'Um, sorry.'

'No problem,' Ron said softly. It was a narrow hallway and as he moved around to get to the staircase up to his room, he brushed against her and caught a whiff of her shampoo. It was the familiar scent of lilacs.

'Well, good night then,' she said, backing slowly into Ginny's room. She seemed a bit skittish and Ron wondered if she had been thinking about her fall.

'Are you sure you're okay, Hermione?' he asked, taking a step toward her.

'I'm fine,' she said quickly. 'Just fine. Good night.' Her right hand was clutching her side again, but before he could ask she had gone inside Ginny's room and shut the door.

'Good night,' Ron said quietly to Ginny's door. He shook his head and started up the stairs.

He made it upstairs just in time for another vision to attack him. Images of blood dripping flashed before his eyes and the sounds of screams and tearing filled his ears. He sank to his knees and closed his eyes, willing the vision to go away, and again it did, almost as quickly as before.

He sat on his knees on the floor in the middle of his room, breathing hard. The visions were less frequent now and he seemed better able to get rid of them, but they left him drained and scared. He had never learned just whose memories he was reliving, and somehow this disturbed as much as the horrible memories themselves. Whose death was it that he was seeing? The person whose brain had burned him? Someone else? Did it have anything to do with You-Know-Who?

He got up slowly and shook his head. Maybe he'd sleep better tonight. He was exhausted; the multiple Quidditch matches he'd played in the hot sun had worn him out. And maybe the vision he'd just had meant that he wouldn't have anymore when he fell asleep. He peeled off his clothes, slipped on pyjamas, and flopped into bed.

An hour later he was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. His mind drifted back to Hermione. Something was different about her. It was not just the way she looked. There was a nervousness there he had never seen in her before.

She's always been the cautious one, he told himself, which was true. She was always lecturing him and Harry about rule-breaking-especially since she had become a prefect. She had always been the one to warn him or Harry when they were about to do something reckless or stupid. She had even informed on them to teachers in the past when she was convinced they were up to something dangerous.

But this is different, another voice in his head said. She's cautious, sure, but hasn't she always jumped in with Harry and me at the end? Hasn't she broken her share of rules? Ron turned his thoughts over and over in his head, but he simply couldn't place the change in Hermione in a logical way. He simply knew in his heart that she had changed. He could only guess it had something to do with what had happened in the Ministry that night. She had nearly died from that Death Eater's spell--it was only the fact that she'd thrown a Silencing Charm on him that prevented him from saying the incantation that might have killed her. She had been unconscious for two days.

He shuddered, and realized he didn't want to think about Hermione lying motionless and near death in the hospital wing. He didn't want to think about what it might have meant for her to die.

After another hour of staring at the ceiling, Ron groaned in frustration and got out of bed. It was no good. He might as well get up and do something now, because sleep wasn't coming.

He pulled on a robe and padded downstairs, past Ginny's room and down to the first floor. Perhaps one of his mother's many herbal infusions would help him sleep.

He reached the first floor and looked across the living room to see someone sitting on the couch. It was Hermione. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and Crookshanks lay on the couch next to her, purring.

'Hermione?'

'Oh!' She jumped and whirled around, looking terrified. Then she let out a sigh of relief. 'Ron. You startled me.'

'Sorry,' he said. Why was she so jumpy? 'What are you doing down here?'

'I couldn't sleep,' she said, running a hand through her now-dry hair. She was wearing a thin cotton robe over her pyjamas.

'Yeah,' he muttered, crossing to her. 'Me neither. I was, uh, just gonna make some tea. Want some?'

'Won't that just keep us awake?'

'Nah, it's one of Mum's herbal things,' he said.

'Okay,' she said. 'I'll help you.'

She walked into the kitchen ahead of him, trailing the faint scent of lilacs again. Had she always smelled like lilacs and just never noticed it? he wondered. Then he thought of the perfume he'd gotten her last Christmas. Truthfully he hadn't given all that much thought to what scent he was choosing, he just found one that smelled good and bought it and had almost immediately forgotten about it. Perhaps she was wearing it, he thought, but then again he couldn't figure why she'd put on perfume if she was planning on going to bed. He only knew that the scent was...lovely. That she looked rather lovely in her pyjamas with her hair falling down her back. He swallowed and shook his head.

Tea, he thought.

Together they prepared the tea: Hermione put on the kettle and Ron got out a tin of herbs and filled the pot. Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and winced, clutching at her ribs again.

'You all right?' Ron said quickly, taking a few steps toward her.

'It's fine,' she said, but her face was locked in a grimace. 'Just, you know, the aftereffects of...' Her voice trailed off.

'Right,' said Ron, taking a seat at the end of the table so that he was next to her.

'It's been hurting a bit all summer,' she said, not looking at him. 'I had all those potions Madam Pomfrey gave me but they're almost gone. They help a little, anyway.'

'I haven't been sleeping much,' Ron said, without thinking, not meaning to get himself drawn into a conversation about what had happened to them at the end of last term. But now that he had started, he found he could not stop. 'Madam Pomfrey told I'd have scars, the kind you can't see. I didn't know what she meant. I thought she was talking about, you know, my arms.' He pulled up the sleeve of his pyjamas and showed Hermione the slightly puckered burn scars left by the brain.

Hermione took his arm gently and ran her finger lightly over the scar. Ron felt like ice had been poured down his back, and he shivered, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.

'Does it hurt?' Hermione asked, still trailing her fingers over the scars. He shivered again and his stomach flip-flopped. He blinked and shook his head again, wondering why he was feeling so strange.

'No,' Ron said quickly, pulling his sleeve down. 'Not anymore. But I have these...flashes. Visions, I guess. I feel like Harry, you know? I'm seeing things but it's not real, it's just someone's memories. Only I don't know whose memories they are. But someone...someone's dying in them. In a really bad way.'

'Oh, Ron,' Hermione said sadly, and to his astonishment her eyes filled with tears.

'It's okay,' he said quickly, for he hated to see her cry. 'I mean, it's getting better. I'm not having as many as I used to. Madam Pomfrey told me they'd go away.'

'I know, it's just...' Her voice trailed off, and she stood up and crossed to the stove where the teakettle was just beginning to steam. She took the kettle off the burner and stood with her back to him, when her shoulders began to shake.

'What?' he asked, getting up and following her. 'What's wrong?' Very awkwardly he put a hand on her shoulder.

To his surprise she turned and almost collapsed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head into his chest. He was almost as terrified at that moment as he had been the last time she'd flung herself on him, in their third year. But this time instead of patting her on the head he found himself putting his arms around her and stroking her hair. His heart was racing. They stayed like that for several minutes, Ron caressing her hair, resting his cheek on the top of her head. It was...nice.

She pulled away from him.

'I'm sorry,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'I shouldn't just throw myself at you like that.'

'It's okay,' Ron said quickly, his stomach flip-flopping again.

'It's just, I haven't talked to anyone about what happened, you know,' she said. 'I can't talk to my parents, of course. And I didn't want to burden you and I certainly didn't want to burden Harry with it.'

Ron said nothing, feeling torn. He couldn't begin to imagine how Hermione must feel, having nearly been killed. She hadn't talked about it to him or anyone else in the week that followed, and for a month she had said nothing to her parents. He really ought to help her, he thought. He ought to listen to her if she wanted to talk. But another part of him was still reeling from his last vision. He didn't want to revisit those memories of that night. He didn't know if he could handle reliving it, and part of him didn't understand why girls always seemed to walk to TALK about everything.

'It's not a burden,' he heard himself say.

He poured the hot water over the herbs in the pot and let it steep for a few minutes. Hermione had sat down again. He pulled out two mugs from a cupboard, and a tea strainer, and poured out the herbal infusion into the mugs and sat down next to her.

'I'm a bit of a mess,' Hermione announced, after taking a tentative sip. 'I'm not sleeping well. My stupid ribs hurt all the time. I look...ridiculous.'

'What?' Ron said. 'What are you on about?'

'Oh, come on, Ron,' Hermione said, with a flash of her old impatience. 'My hair, my new wardrobe. It's just not me. And I know why I did it. I must have figured if I looked good on the outside, I'd feel better on the inside.'

'Oh,' said Ron, at first not understanding what she meant, and then remembering a phrase that Ginny had used once very recently: shopping therapy. Something, apparently, that only girls did when they were feeling blue.

'I don't think you look ridiculous,' Ron said, feeling his face get hot. You look pretty, he wanted to say, but he didn't.

Hermione smiled. 'Well, I feel ridiculous,' she said. 'I feel like I should be grateful that I'm alive and mostly okay and I've got all my friends in one piece. But then I think...' Her voice became shaky. 'I almost lost...you...and Harry. Myself.'

Ron swallowed. It was painful talking about this, and he felt a lump in his throat. He had not wanted to be drawn into this but there he was, thinking again about Hermione lying in hospital, unconscious but looking dead. And Harry, alone and without his godfather and stuck in the same house, yet again, with those horrible Muggles.

'We're okay,' he said, trying to convince himself. 'I'm fine. You'll be fine. Harry'll be fine. We just have to get through this, that's all. Once school starts we'll be too busy to dwell on this stuff.'

Hermione smiled tearfully at him and nodded. 'At least that Umbridge woman won't be there.'

'Amen to that,' said Ron fervently, taking a sip of his tea. 'Stupid cow. She should be in Azkaban with all those Death Eaters. But at least Harry'll get to play Quidditch.'

'No O.W.L.s this year,' Hermione said.

'Don't remind me of those,' Ron said, relieved that they seemed to be on lighter conversational grounds. 'I thought we would have heard by now, but...'

'Maybe with Voldemort being back there were some delays,' Hermione interjected, and Ron winced as she said the name.

'Oh, really, Ron WHEN, are you going to just say the name already?' she asked, sounding exasperated.

Under normal circumstances Ron would have retorted, and their conversation would have devolved into yet another verbal brawl like the hundreds they'd had over the past three years, but tonight Ron was exhausted and worried for her and remembering how soft her hair had felt.

'I'll say it,' he mumbled. 'You know, when I'm ready.'

Hermione seemed to get the hint and dropped the issue, but not before rolling her eyes and smiling. 'You're impossible.'

'You're a nag,' he countered.

'I am not!' she protested, looking indignant.

'Okay, you're not,' Ron said, sipping his tea again. Then he muttered under his breath, 'Nag.'

She swatted him in the shoulder, and they both laughed. This was better, Ron thought. They said nothing to each other for a while and just sipped their tea, occasionally looking at each other and smiling awkwardly, then looking away quickly.

After a half hour of this, Ron finally felt the vestiges of sleep creep up on him. He stood up and collected the mugs and took them to the sink, while Hermione rose, yawned and stretched.

'That tea is really quite good,' Hermione said, yawning again, and her eyelids were heavy and sleepy-looking.

'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'Uh, I guess I'll turn in.'

'Me, too.'

They trudged up the stairs, taking care to be quiet, and she paused in front of Ginny's room.

'Well,' she said, and her cheeks looked slightly pink. 'Good night, then.' She hugged him very quickly and kissed him on the cheek, lingering there just a moment. Or perhaps it was just Ron's imagination. His cheek burned.

'Good night,' he croaked. She turned and walked slowly into Ginny's room.

Ron stood there for several moments after Hermione had closed the door, the place on his face where Hermione's lips had been still tingling.

He became aware that he was standing there like a dumb lump with his mouth open when the door to Fred and George's room opened and one of them--he was too exhausted to tell which--stumbled out, apparently to use the bathroom.

'What are you doing?' the twin asked. Ron determined it was Fred.

'Nothing,' Ron said quickly. 'Just had a cup of tea. Good night.' And before Fred could come up with another snide remark--he had the amazing ability to do this even when half asleep--Ron hustled up the stairs to his room.