The Book of Morgan Le Fey

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Second Sight

Ron approached Dumbledore's office with more than a little trepidation. He tried to think back on a time since he'd come to Hogwarts that he'd ever spent a moment alone with the Headmaster in his office, and he couldn't think of one. The thought of seeing Dumbledore one-on-one made Ron nervous. Perhaps because, at least this year, Dumbledore always seemed to be the bearer of incredibly sad or otherwise bad news. What if what he wanted to talk about was something horrible about Harry, or Hermione? Or worse, both of them?

Ron reached the entrance of Dumbledore's office and only then realized he had no clue what the password might be. He remembered Harry telling him that Dumbledore favored sweets of all sorts. Nervously, Ron stepped inside the outstretched wings of the stone phoenix and was about to name a sweet, when the statue gave a lurch and began to spin. Ron nearly stumbled as stone steps rose up and twisted upward. He righted himself and began to climb. His feet felt like lead.

Once at the door, his apprehension turned into outright fear. Dumbledore was going to tell him something dreadful. He could feel it in his bones. Something awful about Harry. Harry had lost his mind when he'd fought off Voldemort, and would spend the rest of his life in St. Mungo's with Neville's parents. The antidote hadn't worked for Hermione. Lupin was dead.

Get a grip, Weasley, he thought. It might not be that at all.

And yet Ron couldn't shake the feeling, in his heart, in his very pores, that he was going to learn something that he had no desire to learn.

He knocked on the door.

'Come in, Mr. Weasley,' Dumbledore called. His voice sounded reedier than ever. Ron pushed open the door.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, with his phoenix, Fawkes, on his perch at his side; the Headmaster was absently stroking the bird's feathers. He looked ancient and withered; he'd lost a significant amount of weight as a result of his time in hospital, and his magnificent purple robes hung off his frame. Ron swallowed.

'Please, come in, Ron,' said Dumbledore kindly. 'Take a seat.'

'Yes, sir,' said Ron, and he sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore. 'You...wanted to see me, sir?'

'Yes,' said Dumbledore slowly. 'I've spoken at length with your brother, and I know some of what occurred at the Riddle House last night. Needless to say I am not delighted to know that a teacher allowed six students to accompany him into the lair of Voldemort.'

'That wasn't Bill's fault,' said Ron quickly.

'Not entirely, no,' said Dumbledore. 'Harry's friends are as stubborn as he is.'

'Yes, sir,' said Ron, looking down at his hands.

'Mr. Weasley, do you have any idea why I called you up here tonight?' said Dumbledore.

'No, sir,' said Ron.

'I want to know exactly what happened at the Riddle House last night,' said Dumbledore. 'Between Harry and Voldemort. Your brother was unable to give me any details on that particular event.'

'Oh,' said Ron, and he bit his lip. He was so tired. He really didn't want to talk about this. 'Do I...have to, sir?'

'You don't "have" to do anything, Ron,' said Dumbledore. 'But as Miss Granger is indisposed at the moment, and Mr. Longbottom, Miss Lovegood, and Miss Bones is in the company of their families, I'm afraid you are the only one available who can fill me in.'

'Right,' said Ron reluctantly. 'Uh, well...see, we were trying to get out of the house. There was this crash downstairs and me, Susan and Hermione all ran into the living room and we saw Harry and Vol-Voldemort fighting. And...and Voldemort aimed the Killing Curse at Susan but Harry, he threw up a Shield Charm to block it, only...only this weird thing happened.'

'What weird thing?' said Dumbledore.

'Well, uh, the beams of light collided and they turned into one gold beam and then it started to split off and make this...this web, or something,' said Ron, fidgeting with his hands. 'Hermione called it something. Priori...priori...'

Priori Incantatem?' Dumbledore said gently.

'Yeah, that,' said Ron. 'And then all these grey figures--they looked like ghosts--started coming out of Voldemort's wand, and...and I saw Harry's parents. And he...he smiled at them. Right in the middle of the bloody--er, uh, the battle, Harry smiled at his mum and dad. Well, I mean, the ghosts of his mum and dad. Not his real mum and dad. But you knew that.'

'Yes, I knew that,' said Dumbledore, smiling kindly. Ron blushed. He felt ridiculous and hurried along, just to get it over with.

'So, anyway, I guess Harry kept that whole Priori thing going and Hermione yelled at him to break the connection and...and we all got ready and he did it--he sort of jerked his wand away and the web thing disappeared and we all blasted Voldemort with some spells--I don't remember what we used--and we knocked him down. And Harry went over and said he had to finish it...and...and then he sort of screamed and grabbed his scar.'

'Ah,' said Voldemort, as though none of this surprised him at all. Ron swallowed again--his throat was quite dry--and continued.

'So Harry turned back to us and he started talking, only it wasn't his voice, it was Voldemort's, and his eyes--Harry's eyes, I mean--were all red, and he was going to hex us and...and I jumped in front of the girls and I dunno, I think I said, 'It's me,' or something...and then Harry screamed again and...and Voldemort screamed. And they both fell, and then Voldemort Disapparated.'

A long silence greeted the end of Ron's recitation. He wracked his brain for anything he might have left out, but he was so exhausted that he doubted it did much good. At last Dumbledore gave a sigh and spoke.

'Thank you for that, Mr. Weasley,' he said. 'That explains...a lot.'

'It does?' said Ron. 'I...I don't understand, sir.'

'Has Harry told you about the Prophecy, Ron?' said Dumbledore.

'Yes, sir,' said Ron heavily. 'I know about that.'

'Then you know that sooner or later, Harry will face Voldemort again,' said Dumbledore. 'And if Harry escapes and Voldemort survives, Harry will have to face Voldemort yet again, and again and again until one of them...is dead.'

Ron groaned and put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up. 'That's not fair. Why...why Harry? Why?'

'I can't explain why, Ron,' said Dumbledore sadly. 'And you are right. It is unfair. For a sixteen year old boy to hold the fate of our world in his hands, to be called upon to defeat a man most fully qualified wizards would quail to face. But it is Harry's destiny.'

'Yeah,' said Ron dully. 'I know.'

'You have to understand, Ron,' said Dumbledore. 'Harry cannot do this alone. The events of last night proved it.'

'Yeah?' said Ron. 'All I saw was that it proved four of us throwing jinxes at him didn't do sh--er, squat.'

'The final reckoning of Harry and Voldemort will not simply come down to a duel of wands,' said Dumbledore. 'You saw, first-hand, Voldemort attempt to possess Harry's mind. Not through the Imperius Curse, but directly. He tried to use his connection with Harry to get Harry to hurt you, and the girls. Voldemort is nothing if not ruthless. If he cannot destroy Harry through a Killing Curse, he will destroy him in a crueler, more insidious way--through his friends.'

Ron shuddered. 'Voldemort...when we were trapped, he said...he said he was going to kill us, and...and make Harry watch. He said that...this would make Harry suffer more.'

'Yes, that does rather sound like something Voldemort would say,' said Dumbledore grimly. 'And do. And he is right--it would cause Harry more suffering. That is why Voldemort tried to take over Harry's mind and force him to kill you, and Miss Bones and Miss Granger. What better way to destroy his worst enemy, than to make him the murderer of the people he loves most?'

Ron closed his eyes, then opened them. 'That's sick.'

'Yes, it is,' said Dumbledore sadly. 'But you see, Mr. Weasley, in the end, Harry fought back. And he has you to thank for it.'

'Me?' said Ron, flabbergasted. 'What do you mean?'

'Did you not say to Harry, "It's me", when he aimed his wand at you?'

'Uh, well, yeah,' said Ron uncertainly. 'It just sort of came out...I mean, I was pretty scared.'

'Of course you were,' said Dumbledore. 'Regardless, you were able to get through to Harry, in the midst of being controlled by the most powerful Dark wizard in a century. You were able to penetrate Voldemort's hold on Harry's mind.'

Ron was stunned. 'What are you saying?'

'Did Harry tell you about the part of the Prophecy that says he has a power the Dark Lord knows not?' said Dumbledore.

'Yeah, uh, he mentioned that,' said Ron.

'Can you not guess what that power might be?' said Dumbledore gently.

Ron considered for a moment, but he was simply flummoxed, and he shook his head.

'Love, Mr. Weasley,' said Dumbledore. 'A force more powerful, more beautiful and more terrible than any living thing. More powerful than death, more powerful even than hate. It is the one thing Voldemort lacks, the one thing he cannot understand. It was love that saved Harry, and you and the girls, last night. Voldemort cannot possess Harry's mind when his heart is full of love; the very power of it hurts him and he cannot hold onto his control. You managed to penetrate Voldemort's grip on Harry's mind when you spoke to him, because you reached out to his heart, and Harry heard you.'

Ron stared at the Headmaster; his mind was spinning.

'What...what does that mean?' he said, utterly confused.

'It means,' said Dumbledore, 'that in the end, love is the force that will destroy Voldemort, and save us all.'

Ron's shoulders sagged. 'I don't...I don't understand.'

'You will,' said Dumbledore, and Ron bit back a scowl. He HATED when people said that to him.

'Okay,' he mumbled. 'Um, can I...go now?'

'Not just yet,' said Dumbledore. 'There is one other thing I have to ask.'

'Yes, sir?'

'In speaking with your brother, and in putting together all the events of the past several weeks, I have come to a particular conclusion about you,' Dumbledore said.

'Oh,' said Ron, still confused, but for a whole new reason. 'Uh, what's that?'

'Is it not true, Mr. Weasley, that you experienced quite a few visions last summer?'

Ron gulped. 'Uh...'

Why on EARTH would Dumbledore bring THAT up? Ron had nearly forgotten about those visions. He had WANTED to forget them, because they were so horrible.

'You can tell me, Ron,' said Dumbledore gently.

'Well,' said Ron, relenting, 'yeah. I mean, yes, sir.'

'And I understand from your brother that you have long had suspicions about the student known as Edward Carmichael,' said Dumbledore.

'Yeah, I did,' said Ron reluctantly, 'but, that was just 'cause he was scamming on, I mean, uh, flirting with Hermione.'

'Is that all?' said Dumbledore.

'Well, no,' Ron admitted. 'I mean, that was a big part of it but...I dunno. He always struck me as...off.'

'Tell me,' said Dumbledore. 'Did you have any suspicions at all that Eddie Carmichael was in fact Bellatrix Lestrange?'

Ron swallowed. 'No, sir.'

Dumbledore gave him a look.

Ron groaned. 'Look, I...okay. I didn't KNOW. I didn't. I just...I had a few dreams about Eddie. Not ABOUT Eddie but Eddie was in them. Only he looked really evil and he had this weird laugh and then...he would sort of disappear and this dark-haired witch would show up in his place, only she had the same kind of laugh. But I didn't KNOW anything.'

'And what of the book?' said Dumbledore. 'I was at least able to learn from Miss Lovegood that you seemed to know exactly where to find it in the Riddle House. She claims, in fact, that you heard it.'

Ron shot out of his chair. 'That's bloody daft!' he said, but even as the words left his mouth he panicked. He HAD heard the book...speaking. Whispering. Or at least, he'd heard voices.

Shit, he thought. Dumbledore isn't about to tell me Harry's mad. He's about to tell me I'M the one who's mad.

'Is it daft, Mr. Weasley?' said Dumbledore. 'Did you, by any chance, dream about that room in the Riddle House?'

Ron ran a hand through his hair. 'Yes,' he said, feeling angry and embarrassed and confused. 'Yeah, okay? Look...what's this all about, anyway?'

'Please, Mr. Weasley, sit down,' said Dumbledore gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

Ron flopped heavily into the chair; all attempts at decorum for the Headmaster's sake went out the window.

'Tell me about the dream, of the book,' said Dumbledore.

'I don't remember all of it,' said Ron, a bit petulantly. 'Just...there was this big room full of book shelves and the book was on this table and there was whispering and somebody or something kept telling me to open the book, so I did. And then Luna told me I shouldn't have done that.'

'And is this what happened in reality?' said Dumbledore.

Ron flushed. 'Well, uh, yeah. But I didn't mean to! I...it was weird...I felt all weird and...and foggy or something. Bloody hell.'

He was swearing in front of the Headmaster (repeatedly), but he just didn't care now. He was just coming to the conclusion that he was, indeed, mad as a hatter.

'There is something,' said Dumbledore, 'that you need to understand about yourself.'

'Great,' said Ron. 'I've gone barmy. That's it, isn't it? Is that why I'm hearing bloody voices in my head? Now I know how Harry felt in second year--'

'Peace, Mr. Weasley,' said Dumbledore, holding up his hands. 'You have not...gone barmy. If you'd allow me to finish...'

Ron looked up at Dumbledore and sighed. 'Yeah,' he said.

'Mr. Weasley, the brain that attacked you last year,' said Dumbledore. 'It belonged to a very famous witch. A Seer.'

Ron's eyes widened, but he suddenly couldn't speak.

'True Seers are exceedingly rare,' Dumbledore went on. 'You may not realize this, but Sybill Trelawney, I'm afraid, lacks a true Seer's gift.'

'No kidding,' Ron said, laughing nervously. 'I mean, uh, I sorta figured that.'

'But, as I said, true Seers are very rare,' Dumbledore went on. 'When a true Seer dies the Ministry--with the consent of the Seer's surviving family--will take the brain of that Seer and study it, in the hopes of learning more about how a Seer's mind works, how she came to get the gift. I say "she" because most Seers in recorded history have been women. There is a reason for the old saying, "a woman's intuition." Women, by and large, are more intuitive than men; their brains are more likely to be open to extra-sensory experience. As such, this makes them more likely to possess second sight. You know what second sight is?'

'That's...seeing the future, right?' said Ron, clenching his fists.

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, and he looked at Ron for a long moment.

'What...what does all this have to do with me?' he asked nervously.

'Ron, you had many visions and dreams this past year, and at least a few of those dreams became a reality, more or less,' said Dumbledore slowly. 'Am I correct?'

'More or less,' said Ron, looking down at his hands. 'But...but they were so vague. It doesn't mean anything.'

'I think it does mean something,' said Dumbledore. 'It means something quite significant.'

'No!' said Ron, leaping up, not wanting to believe it. 'This is...this is crazy. I'm not the one who has messed up dreams that come true. That's Harry! Remember? All those dreams he had about Voldemort. About my dad last year, and the snake! And...and he's had some other ones, too...I can't think of any others at the moment but he has! I know he has! And those visions he gets--'

'Ron, when that brain attacked you,' Dumbledore interrupted, 'it left behind a mark, and not just on your arms. It triggered something in you that has in fact been there all along. Harry has dreams and visions, yes, but he was not born with that gift, or curse, as it were. It was bestowed upon him when Voldemort cursed him as a baby, and more often than not, Harry's dreams and visions relate mainly to him and those closest to him. And his dreams, as often as not, relate to events that happen in the present, not the future. You had dreams about a woman you barely knew, about a book you'd never seen. Your visions reach well past your own circle of influence and knowledge.'

'No,' Ron said desperately. 'No. It's not true. I am NOT--'

'A Seer?' said Dumbledore, and Ron felt his heart leap into his throat. He couldn't speak; his tongue felt thick.

'Sit,' Dumbledore said, gesturing again to the chair. Ron sank into it.

'You are not a Seer,' said Dumbledore slowly, and Ron let out a huge sigh of relief.

'Thank Merlin,' said Ron, not even wanting to contemplate it.

'Not yet,' said Dumbledore.

'Shit,' said Ron, without thinking, but Dumbledore didn't hear him, or if he did, he pretended not to notice.

'Even a true Seer must hone his or her gifts,' said Dumbledore. 'Most do not know they are Seers, in fact, until there is some major event that alerts them to the gift. It is possible that there are any number of Seers who never truly realize their gift at all. And it may be that you are not a true Seer, but have only moderate abilities in that regard; I cannot say. But you were born with at least some ability. The only way to really determine whether you have the true gift at all is through careful study and practice.'

Ron gaped at Dumbledore, horrified. 'I don't want to--I don't--look, I GAVE UP Divination because it's rubbish. Because it IS rubbish! Harry says so, Hermione says so, McGonagall says so--even you admit Trelawney is half-mad!'

'Professor Trelawney, Ron,' said Dumbledore. 'And while I admit that this particular branch of magic is very unpredictable, it nonetheless exists.'

Ron groaned and put his head in his hands again. 'Fine. It exists. But I'm telling you, I'm NOT a bloody--er, I'm not a Seer. No way.'

'You could be right,' said Dumbledore lightly. 'But I want you to explore the possibility, nonetheless.'

'What?' said Ron, horrified.

'Ron, if you do possess true second sight, do you have any idea how helpful that could be to Harry?' said Dumbledore. 'I understand that it must be difficult for you, but I am asking you, as a student in my charge, as a prefect, but most of all, as a friend to Harry, to look into this. This war will not be won with wands alone. The very best efforts of our hearts and minds will also be needed.'

Ron closed his eyes. He just couldn't believe it. It was impossible. Nobody in his family was a Seer. Not that he knew of anyway. How could this be? It was ridiculous!

And yet here was the Headmaster, arguing that Ron might in fact have such a "gift" and that it could be helpful to Harry. And that was what it came down to, in the end. Helping Harry. Because he couldn't beat Voldemort on his own.

'Fine,' said Ron dully. 'I'll...I'll do it. I'll look into it.'

'Good,' said Dumbledore.

'What do I have to do?' said Ron.

'The first thing you must do is keep a dream journal,' said Dumbledore. 'You should be accustomed to this; I believe Professor Trelawney had you use one.'

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'but I always just made stuff up.'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'Yes, well, you wouldn't have been the first. But, in all seriousness, Ron, I must ask you to revisit this task, and be serious about it. Your dreams are vague to you only because you put them out of your mind when you awaken--like so many of us. But dreams can tell us many things.'

'Okay,' said Ron. 'Okay. I'll do a dream journal.'

'As regularly as you can,' said Dumbledore. 'Try and write it in when you first get up in the morning, while your dreams are still fresh in your mind. You don't have to worry about every detail--just write down as much as you can.'

'Then what?' said Ron, unable to fully believe he was agreeing to this.

'Read your journal entries,' said Dumbledore. 'Look for patterns, or recurring themes. You don't have to overanalyze. Just...pay attention.'

'Right,' said Ron, and then something occurred to him.

'Sir,' he said, 'do I have to...that is, is this a private journal?'

'Of course,' said Dumbledore. 'The only way for you to see any patterns to your dreams is if you can write down everything--you'd hardly be able to do that, I imagine, if you knew someone else would see your journal entries. I'm sure not all dreams are meant to be shared.'

Ron blushed and looked down and tried to shove from his mind all the many sexy dreams he'd had about Hermione.

'Sir, can...can I go now?' he asked.

'Yes, Mr. Weasley, you can go,' said Dumbledore. He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Ron stood up, feeling drained, feeling horrible. He didn't want to believe even the possibility that he might be...that he could have...no, it was ridiculous. But he'd keep the stupid dream journal and write in it anyway, just to appease Dumbledore. Somehow Ron had a feeling Dumbledore would know if he WASN'T writing in it.

Ron turned to go, and then remembered something.

'Sir?' he said.

Dumbledore looked up from the parchment on his desk.

'Yes, Mr. Weasley?'

'Sorry about, uh, the yelling and the cursing,' Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.

'Were you yelling and cursing?' said Dumbledore, looking perplexed. 'That's funny, I don't recall hearing any of that.' And then he smiled, and Ron swore he saw the old man's eyes twinkle.

And Ron grinned in spite of himself, and left the office.

Barking, he thought. The old man is completely barking. And I could be a bloody Seer, which probably means I'M barking, too.

Hermione is going to laugh herself sick when she hears about this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron returned to the hospital wing and upon entering, nearly fell over. Harry was sitting up in bed; there was a tray next to him with an uneaten meal on it.

'Harry!' Ron yelled, and he dashed over to Harry's bedside and without thinking, threw his arms around the black haired boy's neck.

'Ron,' Harry gasped. 'Air...can't breathe...'

Ron quickly let Harry go. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Sorry. Just...shit. I haven't slept and...'

He turned to Hermione's bed, and his heart sank; she was still unconscious and looked like she hadn't moved an inch. Ron moved to sit on Hermione's bed and took her hand.

'She's going to make it, Ron,' said Harry. 'I know it.'

'She looks better,' said Ron hopefully; her color DID look better, and the black spots had indeed faded, so much that they were nearly gone altogether. 'I just wish she'd wake up. Even if she'd just nag me about something.'

'Bite your tongue,' said Harry, grinning.

Ron grinned back. 'I'm glad you're okay, mate.'

'I'm glad to be okay,' said Harry, and he became somber. 'Ron...thanks. For...for what you did back there, at the Riddle House. When Voldemort got inside my head--'

'I know what he tried to do,' said Ron. 'It wasn't you, Harry. And you wouldn't have done it.'

Harry nodded; he didn't look entirely convinced, but he smiled weakly all the same.

'Have you seen Susan?' he asked.

Ron frowned. 'No,' he said. 'But...well. I was just talking to Dumbledore and he said her whole family, practically, is here. So...so maybe they're not letting her out of their sight. You know, being really protective and all.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'that's probably it.' But he was looking down at his hands, and his voice didn't sound convinced of this. Ron felt a pang somewhere in his gut. Why HADN'T Susan been around? Ron didn't expect her to spend every waking minute in the hospital wing, but at the very least she could check on Harry from time to time.

'Aren't you going to eat that?' said Ron, nodding at the food.

'Not hungry,' said Harry. 'Why, do you want it?' He smirked.

'No,' said Ron defensively, and his stomach growled in response.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Take it.'

'No, it's yours,' said Ron. 'You should eat. You need your strength.'

'Okay, Mum,' said Harry. 'Are you filling in for Hermione while she's sleeping?'

'Shut it,' said Ron. 'You know I'm right.'

'I also know your stomach sounds like a starving animal,' said Harry. 'Let's split it, okay?'

'Well, if you insist.'

The two of them ate the meal in silence, but Ron didn't mind. It had been a long, exhausting week. He had just spent over an hour with the Headmaster learning a few things that he'd rather not have learned. He had no idea how Hermione would react when he told her. Susan was absent for reasons he didn't know about, and Harry was stung by it. And someday, he would have to face Voldemort again, and Ron would have to be there.

But for now, they were just two teenage boys, eating a meal and joking around, as they had so many times before, and later on Ron would fetch his chess set, and they would play and Harry would lose spectacularly, as he always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron felt lighter than he had in ages. He was walking with Hermione. Or rather, she was walking in front of him, but she was clutching his hand. She was leading him somewhere, but he couldn't see where. They were walking down long, brightly lit corridors. Every now and again she would look back at him and smile shyly.

'Ron,' she said, and then turned and walked on, still clutching his hand.

They came to a familiar tapestry. Hermione smiled again and looked up at him.

'Stand there,' she said. 'And don't move.'

'What is this?' he asked, smiling, arching his eyebrows. Whatever it was, he had a feeling it was going to be really, really good.

'You'll see,' she said. She walked back and forth in front of the tapestry three times. A door appeared.

'There,' she said. 'It's all ready.'

'Cool,' said Ron, grinning.

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes and took his hand. 'Let's...go in...'

She gripped the doorknob and turned it.

'Ron,' she said as she backed through the door. 'Ron...'

'RON!'

'What?!' Ron's head jerked up. He blinked. Bright sunlight was pouring into the hospital wing. It was daylight. The following morning. He blinked again.

'Ron!' the voice said again. Ron shook his head and looked toward the source of the voice. He felt his heart leap into his throat.

Hermione was sitting up. Her eyes were bright, her skin clear, the black spots on her face and body gone. Her hair was messy and tangled and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her arm was wrapped in a clean white bandage. She was the most beautiful sight Ron had ever seen. And suddenly Ron wondered if he was still dreaming.

'Her-Hermione?' he whispered.

'I was beginning to think you'd never wake up,' she said, tilting her head and giving him a reproachful look.

Ron felt his eyes burn.

''Mione,' he croaked, and he pulled her into a fierce hug, burying his face in her hair, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

'Ron,' Hermione gasped.

He pulled back from her and looked her squarely in the eyes.

'I love you,' he said. 'Oh...my god I'm so glad you're awake. Are you okay? How do you feel? You look beautiful...'

He crushed her against him again, and put his arms round her.

'I love you, too,' she rasped.

'Don't ever scare me like that again,' said Ron, hugging her tighter.

'Ron,' Hermione whispered again. 'I...can't...breathe...'

'Right!' Ron quickly let go of her, and saw tears in her eyes. He brushed hair back from her face.

'You're...you're okay,' he said, smiling, the lump in his throat making it very hard to talk.

'I'm fine,' said Hermione, running a hand through his hair. 'Luna's potion, it worked.'

'When did you wake up?' he demanded suddenly. 'Why didn't you wake me up?'

'I've been trying to for the last fifteen minutes,' Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 'I started to worry a little, but then you started drooling on my pillow and--'

'I do NOT drool!' Ron said indignantly.

Hermione arched her eyebrows and pointed to the corner of her pillow, which was a bit wet.

'Oops,' said Ron. 'Uh, sorry. I was really, really tired.'

She gave him a stern look that melted into a smile. The most wonderful, gorgeous smile in the world.

'I don't care about the bloody pillow,' said Hermione.

'You don't?' said Ron, shocked. 'But house elves fluffed that pillow! And washed the pillowcase that I drooled all over! Honestly, Hermione, you're not sending a good message to all the other members of spew--'

'Ron, shut UP,' said Hermione, and she kissed him. He shut up.