The Final Reckoning

Chapter Twenty-Three: Coping

Ron stood outside Hermione's door for a full five minutes, staring at it dumbly as he berated himself over and over again for his behaviour. All he could think of was how he'd made her cry. That single thought had carried him throughout almost the whole of the castle as he'd searched for her. The library, the Astronomy Tower, the dungeons...the entire time he saw her in his mind, her brown eyes filling with tears, because of what he'd said.

He felt like the worst man in the world.

At last he raised his fist and knocked gently on her door.

Please let her be here. I've looked everywhere else.

'Hermione?' he called softly, his voice breaking slightly.

There was no response from behind her door. He knocked harder.

'Hermione?' he called again, this time a little louder. He gingerly pressed his ear to her door, bracing himself for some kind of magical shock, but none came. He listened and heard it: she was crying.

His heart clenched with guilt.

'Hermione?' he tried again.

'Go away,' said her muffled voice.

'Hermione, please,' he begged. 'Please open the door.'

'No,' she said, and her voice was harsher, and closer; she'd gotten up and crossed to the door.

'Please?' he said.

'I'm not opening the door,' Hermione said coldly, and he could feel her words stab at him like an icepick, even through the thick barrier between them.

'Okay,' Ron said, conceding defeat. At the very least, he'd found her; she couldn't leave her room without talking to him. If he had to converse with her, to apologize to her and beg her forgiveness through a four inch thick door, he'd do it. 'Will you...will you listen to what I have to say, then?' he added.

'You've said enough,' said Hermione angrily, but her voice was teary. 'How could you be like that?'

'I'm sorry!' Ron cried. 'I didn't mean it--'

'I know this is difficult for you, Ron, but you can't just treat me that way and expect me to--'

'I know,' Ron said heavily. 'I'm sorry. 'Mione, please...I'm an arsehole, okay? I am, I shouldn't have taken this out on you--'

'I only want to help you get through this,' said Hermione, her muffled voice now sad again. 'Don't you think it hurts me to see you go through this?'

Shit. I hadn't thought of it that way.

Of course you hadn't. Selfish pillock.

'I'm sorry,' Ron said lamely.

'Go away, Ron,' said Hermione, sounding tired. 'Just leave me alone.'

''Mione, please hear me out!' Ron begged. 'Please. I...I'm sorry...it's just...the things I'm seeing...they're all terrible and I don't have any way of dealing with them, I don't know...I see these visions of you...of you dying and it's like my fucking heart gets ripped out...I can't stand it...I shouldn't have yelled at you, I'm a prick for yelling at you...I love you...and I hate myself for hurting you and if I ever do it again you can hit me or hex me...just...please don't hate me, please...I love you...if you want me to say I'm sorry a thousand times I'll do it...I'll do anything...please...please forgive me...'

His voice broke and he fought a lump in his throat. He couldn't stand feeling this way, on top of everything else. He couldn't stand the thought of Hermione being angry with him, of hating him. He needed her, he didn't think he could stand being without her...

He listened at her door for what seemed like an eternity, but he heard no sounds anymore. Maybe she'd locked herself in her bathroom. But she wasn't listening to him anymore, and she wasn't coming out to talk to him.

Ron blinked back the tears that were threatening, and took a deep breath. He was exhausted. The visions he'd had today had been the worst yet, and there was no outlet for his anger, his fear, his desperation. He couldn't seek comfort in Hermione's arms, he couldn't disappear into the sky on his broom. All day he'd alternated between wanting to break things and lock himself in a broom cupboard and cry his eyes out. Hermione had tried to be so supportive, so understanding, but he couldn't bear to be close to her, knowing that he couldn't get the kind of comfort from her that he needed. And now he'd managed to take his fury out on her, the person he loved more than anything. He felt utterly wretched.

He turned slowly and started back toward his room. The only thing he could do now was sleep. He thought about that bit of Dreamless Sleep Draught he still had; it was probably no good anymore but he'd take it anyway, to hell with his dreams, he needed to be free of the visions in his head for a while.

He entered his room and began to pull off his clothes; when he was down to his jeans and a t-shirt he heard a faint knock at his door.

His heart leapt in his chest even as he told himself not to get his hopes up.

'Who is it?' he asked, his voice scratchy.

'It's me,' came a soft, familiar female voice.

He didn't feel his feet as he crossed the room and opened the door.

He almost pinched himself just to make sure he was there, that it was really her at the door. Her hair was a huge mess and her eyes were puffy and her nose was red, and she was beautiful.

'Hi,' she said hoarsely.

'Hi,' he said, feeling like his heart was about to break open.

'Ron...'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm so sorry--'

She silenced him by crossing the threshold and walking into his arms; she wrapped her arms round his waist and buried her face in his chest.

He let out a sigh and put his arms around her, burrowing his face into her abundant hair.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

Ron pulled back. 'What?' he said. 'Don't you apologize, I'm the one who--'

She looked up at put a finger to his lips. 'Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?'

'I didn't...want to bother you,' he said lamely.

She punched him in the arm, very hard.

'Ow!' he said. 'What--'

'Dammit, Ron!' she said. 'I told you a thousand times not to be such a boy about things like this!'

'Hermione, you cursed,' said Ron, rubbing his sore arm.

'That's not important,' said Hermione. 'What's important is...is that you tell me about these things instead of bottling them up.'

'I know,' Ron mumbled, feeling very stupid all of a sudden.

'If you tell me this stuff I might be able to help you,' she said.

He looked at her wryly. 'Yeah, well, the way you can help me is sort of off-limits at the moment.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Ron, it's only two weeks.'

'I know,' he said defensively.

'And this summer we went without for over three weeks, so--'

'I know, Hermione,' he said.

'Then what's the problem?' she said. 'Can't you...on your own--'

'No,' said Ron.

'Really?' said Hermione, and now she looked disturbed. 'You're not even allowed to do that?'

'No,' said Ron again.

'Oh.'

She looked at him for a moment, and then away, as if pondering something, and then she spoke again, briskly. 'Well, surely you can manage to be...anti-sexual for two weeks.'

'That's not it,' said Ron, a slight whinge creeping into his voice that he hated but couldn't seem to help.

'Then what?' said Hermione. 'Honestly, is sex the only thing men think about?

'It's not the only thing I think about,' said Ron.

'Right,' said Hermione, putting her hands on her hips. 'You think about Quidditch, too.'

'No,' said Ron. 'I mean, yeah, I think about sex and Quidditch but I also think about...about you. You know...' His ears went red and he struggled not to say anything corny but it came out corny anyway. 'I think about...cuddling and...and stuff like that...you know...all that...mushy stuff...'

He looked down at his shoes.

Hermione giggled softly. 'Really?'

'Yeah,' said Ron, the defensive sound creeping back into his voice.

'You're a romantic, Ron,' said Hermione, smiling.

Ron scoffed and waved a hand.

'No, you are,' she said. 'That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you.'

Now he was certain he was red all over. 'Yeah?' he managed.

'Yes,' she said.

He looked at her for a long moment and finally took her hand. 'I don't deserve you,' he said.

'Don't say that,' she said.

'It's true,' he said, shrugging.

'It's not,' she insisted.

'Do you...do you forgive me?'

'I forgive you,' she said. 'Don't do it again.'

'I won't,' he said, taking her other hand. They looked at each other and he saw in her face a trace of the little girl he'd first met on the train. Not her bossiness or her overwhelming intelligence but her vulnerability. She was brilliant and brave but underneath she was tender, just as he was, and he hated himself for having abused that tenderness, and thanked Merlin and everyone else that she loved him enough to forgive him for being a prat. She smiled at him softly and he couldn't stop himself, he bent down and kissed her lips.

She kissed him back, and then their mouths were pressing together, opening, tongues meeting, and he pulled her to him and drank her in and forgot that he shouldn't be doing this...

Stop! You can't do this!

''Mione,' Ron gasped, as he pulled away. 'I can't...I'm sorry...'

'It's okay, it's my fault, too...' Hermione said. 'Dammit. This is really hard, isn't it?'

'In more ways than one,' he said.

'Ron,' said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

'You cursed again,' said Ron, trying to smile through his discomfort.

Yup, another cold shower will definitely be needed tonight.

'Well, I'm frustrated,' she said.

'See what I mean?' said Ron vehemently. 'It's like...if there wasn't this ban on having sex I could probably go without it for two weeks just fine but...just knowing I can't...that we can't...' His voice trailed off into a groan as he sat on the bed. He looked up at her and continued. ''Mione, it's not...it's not just sex, okay? I mean...maybe...maybe girls are different or something but...but when we're together like that...it's amazing and I feel like...like everything's perfect in the world, like I can't be any happier.'

Hermione gave him a knowing look.

'Not just physically,' said Ron insistently, his voice growing husky as he looked deeply into her eyes. 'It's not just physical. It's...it feels like when I meditate...when I'm with you I feel open to everything only...everything's really good instead of horrible...I'm not making any sense, am I?'

She smiled at him warmly and touched his cheek. 'You're making perfect sense,' she said. 'What you said is really beautiful, actually.'

Ron shrugged. 'It's how I feel.' He looked at her for another long moment and felt the ache build in his chest, knowing that he couldn't be with her tonight as he wanted to be.

'I should go, shouldn't I?' she said.

'Probably,' he said. 'I...I'm sorry...I wish I could just...but...'

'No, it's okay,' she said. 'I don't want to make things any more difficult for you.'

She stood up and crossed to the door, and then turned and leaned up to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

'Promise me something,' she said.

'I promise never to be a rude berk to you again--' he said.

'Something else,' she said. 'If you're upset about...about the meditating, about what you see, you'll tell me? Don't let it fester.'

'I'll tell you,' he said.

'And let me help you,' she said.

'I told you, the only way--'

'That's not the only way, Ron,' she said, rolling her eyes again at him. 'You're just not using your brain.'

'Your brain's big enough for both of us,' said Ron, grinning.

'Yes, well, a good thing, then,' said Hermione. 'I'm going to the library; I think I have an idea on how to help you deal with this that won't require you to break Firenze's rules. You should get some rest.'

'Yes, Mum,' said Ron, although he knew she was right. He was so tired.

'Ha ha,' she said dryly, and then she kissed him again, quickly, on the lips. 'Good night.'

'I love you,' he said.

'I know,' she said, smiling. 'I love you, too, you prat.'

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

Ron awoke the next day with renewed purpose. He'd slept well and had pleasant dreams, which he recorded in his diary. He knew he'd have to meditate, there was no avoiding it, and this gave him pause for a moment, but he took a deep breath and climbed out of bed. He sat cross-legged on the cold floor and closed his eyes.

After a minute, the visions came.

There was a little girl crying, holding a dead kitten in her arms. Another image came, of war--Muggle warfare, it looked like. Men dressed in gray combat uniforms and carrying strange, black metal weapons that made tremendous banging noises and spread smoke and made people bleed. There was a couple standing in a kitchen, bellowing at one another. And then a vision came that wasn't horrible. Well, it started out horrible, but then it became so beautiful that Ron didn't want to let go of it, he held onto that vision, clung to it like a lifeline.

There was a woman, lying in a hospital bed; she was screaming in agony and her forehead was covered in sweat. Ron couldn't make out her face, or what she was saying. He heard a man's voice, talking to her in soothing tones. Ron saw a large, blurry hand brush across the woman's forehead, saw the man lean forward and kiss the woman on the cheek, saw that he had some strange sort of wrap on his head, saw bright lights and people surrounding the woman's bed, and then he heard it: the loud, pealing cry of a baby. He heard the joyful sobs of the man and the woman, heard a disembodied voice say 'It's a girl' and saw gloved hands pass a bundle, a tiny bundle, into the woman's arms; she was looking down at the bundle and the man was kissing her forehead. The woman looked up and her face was sweaty and streaked with tears, and her brown hair stuck to her forehead and her big brown eyes were leaking, and then Ron saw the man with the funny wrapping on his head, saw ! his blue eyes that were crying also, saw the freckles on the man's face...Ron saw the baby, sleeping peacefully in her mother's arms, a shock of red hair peeking from beneath the blanket...the vision was perfect and wonderful and...and it was fading...Ron didn't want it to fade, it was beautiful...

Ron's eyes snapped open as he collapsed onto his side. He was panting and his forehead had a thin layer of sweat upon it. He mopped his brow and sat up, taking a deep breath, unable to believe what he'd just seen.

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

Ron dressed quickly. The vision of the two people and their baby wouldn't leave his mind. He wanted to tell Hermione, he'd promised he'd tell her everything, but...

How can I tell her I saw us? With...with a baby? How old were we? I couldn't tell. Were we married? I think I saw a wedding ring somewhere, didn't I?

He'd written it all down in his journal, of course, every detail of it he could remember. It was one of the few truly good visions he'd seen since he'd started having visions, and yet...

Me and Hermione...and a baby?

He'd thought about it, of course, but only in the abstract. It wasn't a question of him knowing he'd marry Hermione someday, it was more a question of him being unable to imagine being with anyone else in the future. He simply couldn't fathom being with another girl, another woman, other than Hermione. But it had never become a concrete concept in his mind, he hadn't really thought of a future with Hermione--marriage and children. And why should he? They were still so young, so very young, and Voldemort was still out there. Everything was uncertain.

And yet...he'd had a vision that could only be of the future. Did that mean, then, that he and Hermione would get married someday, and have a baby?

If he were honest with himself, the idea was a little frightening to contemplate. And a little wonderful.

Ron went down to breakfast with the vision still humming in his brain. He was starving and he downed a full plate of bacon and eggs before Harry and Ginny joined him.

'You're up early,' said Harry.

'Felt like getting up,' said Ron, helping himself to another plate of bacon and eggs.

'Did you and Hermione...' Harry said slowly.

'Yeah,' said Ron, and he smiled. 'How are you feeling today, Gin?'

She smiled. 'Fine,' she said, and for once her tone wasn't tight. She lowered her voice a bit. 'Actually, a lot better. That Empath came last night; we're going to start training twice a week.'

'Really?' said Ron eagerly, leaning in. 'Who is she? Or he?'

'She,' said Ginny. 'Get this. It's Tonks's mum.'

'No shit,' said Ron. 'Really? Wow. An Empath and a Metamorphmagus in one family. Maybe her Dad's a vampire or something.'

'You've got an Empath and a Seer in one family,' Harry said in a low voice.

'True,' said Ron.

'How are you feeling, Ron?' said Ginny. 'With...with the visions and things?'

'Better,' said Ron. 'Well, at least for now. I dunno. Hermione said she's going to try and help me deal with it but I don't see how she can.'

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks.

'Not that way, you prats,' Ron said. 'I can't do that, remember?'

Harry and Ginny stifled laughter and turned their attention to eating when Hermione appeared. She sat down next to Ron and smiled tiredly at him.

Her eyes were bloodshot and there were blue bruises beneath; she looked knackered. She also looked beautiful, and for a sudden, brief moment Ron imagined her holding a red-haired baby in her arms.

It wasn't an unpleasant image, and that scared him a little. He blinked. He couldn't tell her about that vision. Not yet.

'What?' said Hermione, eyeing him. Ron quickly changed the subject, which wasn't hard, considering how tired she looked.

'Are you okay, love?' he said. 'You look worn out.'

'I'm very tired,' she said. 'I was up most of the night working.'

'On what?' said Harry. 'Hermione...you can't wear yourself out on those code things.'

'It wasn't just that,' said Hermione. 'I came up with a way to help Ron deal with his visions.'

Ron took her hand. 'I appreciate it, 'Mione, but you shouldn't be--'

'Hush,' said Hermione. 'I've got it all worked out. Well, mostly. I just need a few more ingredients.'

'Ingredients?' said Ron. 'You're brewing a potion?'

'Mmm,' said Hermione, nodding. 'Well, two potions, I suppose. The only trouble is the ingredients...aren't readily accessible.'

'I don't like the sound of this,' said Ron.

'It's just a matter of getting a few things from Snape's storerooms,' she whispered.

'Wait, wait,' said Ron, and he lowered his voice. 'Hermione, are you mad? You can't go stealing potions ingredients.'

'Of course I can,' she said loftily. 'It's for a good cause. And I've done it before.'

'You're Head Girl now,' Ron said incredulously. 'Things are different.'

'I'm also good friends with Harry Potter,' said Hermione in a low voice. 'If I get caught I'll just say I was looking for some things to help him.'

'I am a good excuse,' Harry conceded.

'You shouldn't be breaking rules for me,' Ron said.

'It's a little late for that,' said Hermione, giving him a knowing look, and he blushed and grinned.

'Right,' he said, and he noticed Harry and Ginny exchange glances once more, and roll their eyes.

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

Their next Defence Against the Dark Arts Lesson proved to be even more unsettling than the ones they'd had last week.

And that's saying something, Ron thought.

The first thing Ron noticed was Draco Malfoy's absence. The second thing he noticed was the hateful, searing way in which Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott glared at Harry. The third thing he noticed was that Daphne kept glancing at Harry, but every time he would look at her, she looked away. And she was sitting with Blaise Zabini.

Clearly, Harry's date with Daphne hadn't gone as well as Harry had let on. Ron made a mental note to ask Harry about it later, but then Professor Hopkirk called their attention to their assignments.

The first part was a reading assignment: Chapter Three in their Most Lethal Charms book. Ron was surprised to see that it was a chapter devoted entirely to magical methods of killing vampires. When he glanced up at Professor Hopkirk she licked her lips and smiled, revealing even white teeth with pointy incisors--they looked like normal teeth and yet...

Ron shuddered and looked down at his text, but it wasn't much better than looking at Hopkirk, because the chapter also included gruesome moving illustrations. Apparently, the only way to really kill a vampire involved stabbing it through the heart with a sharp wooden stake and then cutting off its head, in that order. The safest way to do this involved conjuring up a wooden stake and hurling it at the vampire's chest and then using a Severing Charm aimed at the throat. This meant that one did not have to get too close to the vampire and risk being bitten, but killing a vampire at a distance required precision aim and timing. Ron shuddered and glanced up at Professor Hopkirk again, who was pacing back and forth behind her desk; her feet didn't seem to move beneath her long black robes.

If she is a vampire, why the bloody hell is she having us read a chapter on how to kill them? She really is sick...

But if Ron thought the reading portion of the lesson was disturbing, it didn't compare to the practical part of it, in which they ordered to perform Asphyxiation Curses on one another. Hermione protested vehemently, but Professor Hopkirk cut her off sharply and took five points from Gryffindor for her 'cheek' and another five when Hermione tried once more to make her point.

'Let it go,' Ron hissed.

'Practicing Asphyxiation Curses on students is illegal!' Hermione hissed back under her breath.

'I can hear you, Miss Granger,' Professor Hopkirk called. 'By all means, keep talking if you wish to lose more points.'

Nott--who seemed to have taken over Draco's position as Number One Prat of Slytherin house--chuckled along with his cronies; Blaise Zabini and Daphne looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Pansy Parkinson seemed to be hiding in a corner. Perhaps she was wondering about Draco, but it was clear she looked a bit lost without him there.

Hopkirk cleared the room of desks and they paired up to practice. She insisted on only one rule--that nobody was allowed to use the curse on their partner for more than thirty seconds, or until that person passed out, whichever came first (she cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor just in case).

In the end, Neville and Pansy both fainted after being hit by the curses. Harry--who'd partnered with him--was horror-struck and quickly shouted the countercurse, but Neville seemed to be fine. Millicent Bulstrode was paired with Pansy and Ron got the distinct impression that Millicent's failure to work the countercurse after Pansy had fainted had nothing to do with the larger girl not knowing how to do it. Professor Hopkirk wound up reviving Pansy, and gave Millicent a stern warning and deducted five points from Slytherin. Crabbe and Goyle and Nott alternated and seemed to take great delight in using the curse.

The lesson ended, with a two foot essay on vampires and how to kill them and a reading assignment on Blood Boiling Hexes.

'At this rate half the class'll be dead by the end of term,' Seamus muttered, as they left the classroom. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent pushed past Harry roughly; Ron started to protest but Hermione grabbed his arm and shook her head.

'Leave it,' she said.

'You should have reported them, Harry,' Ron muttered. 'Even if they did give Malfoy what he deserved, at least they'd be expelled.'

'It's not my place,' said Harry uneasily, though it looked to Ron like he wasn't comfortable keeping Draco's secret.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were just stepping out into the corridor when someone spoke.

'Potter? Could I have a word?'

It was a girl's voice, and Ron and the others turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing there, fidgeting and looking tired. Daphne and Blaise were about ten feet back from her, watching.

Harry eyed her for a moment. He then looked at Daphne and Blaise, and then back at Pansy, and nodded.

'In private?' Pansy asked.

Harry shook his head. 'Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Ron and Hermione.'

Pansy let out a breath. 'Fine,' she said. 'I just wanted...I heard. About you bringing Draco to the hospital wing.'

'Yeah, so?' said Harry.

'How is he?' she asked, and she bit her lip, and for the first time she didn't look mean and nasty, she looked scared. 'I went to visit him this morning and he wasn't there. Pomfrey wouldn't say anything. Do you know where he is?'

'Didn't Snape tell you?' Harry asked, looking uncomfortable. Pansy shook her head. Ron watched Daphne and Blaise whispering and staring at Pansy.

'I can't tell you where he is, Pansy,' said Harry.

'Why the hell not?' she snapped.

'Because I was told not to say anything,' said Harry, and at this Pansy's eyes filled with tears.

'Dammit,' she muttered. She looked up at Harry with a mixture of sadness and annoyance.

'Can you at least tell me if he's okay?' she asked.

'He was really messed up,' said Harry. 'Broken ribs, punctured lung--'

'Jesus,' Pansy whispered. She took a deep breath and looked at Harry, then at Ron and Hermione, with a hard gleam in her eyes.

'Fine,' she said. 'Thanks, Potter.' And she stalked away. At that moment Blaise and Daphne walked up.

'You can't say anything about Malfoy?' Blaise asked.

'I just said that, didn't I?' said Harry, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. 'Anyway, I don't see why you're so concerned.' He cast a cool glance at Daphne, who flushed to the roots of her hair.

Harry turned to Ron. 'Let's go,' he muttered, and he started off down the corridor, leaving Ron and Hermione watching after him dumbly for a moment, trying to figure out just what was going on.

'Harry, wait!' Daphne said suddenly, and she hurried after Harry.

Blaise watched her go for a moment, and then followed.

'What was that all about?' Ron asked.

'I don't know,' said Hermione. 'Let's just ask Harry later, okay?'

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

Transfiguration that day involved more Glamour Spells, this time involving hair colour. Ron meant to turn Harry's hair as red as his own but instead turned it green, and Harry turned Ron's blue. They were given extra homework.

And then there was History of Magic, which hadn't even taken place last week because nobody could locate where Professor Binns had gone. Ron and Harry had been hopeful that perhaps, finally, Binns had gotten tired of teaching, or perhaps Peeves had found a way to deal with him, but unfortunately McGonagall announced the Professor Binns had simply been visiting a dead relative over the summer holiday and had lost track of the time. And apparently he'd also forgotten to tell anyone that he was going on holiday in the first place. So the late afternoon was taken up with History of Magic. Ron managed to discern that the lesson was about the Demon Devastation of 1874 before he decided to take a nap, which was frequently interrupted with Hermione elbowing him angrily and hissing at him to take his own notes. He finally gave her his best sad puppy look and she relented and let him sleep. Well, he was exhausted. Meditating took a lot out of him.

Later that night, Harry told him and Hermione about what had happened with Daphne. She'd apologized, apparently, and had asked to see him again, but Harry had said he was too busy.

'So you're not going to see her again?' said Ron, a bit surprised.

Harry let out a sigh. 'I like her, but...I don't know if I can get past what she did,' he said.

'She's just scared,' Ron offered. 'Look what happened to her brother.'

'Everyone's scared, Ron,' said Hermione forcefully. 'That doesn't mean people should go into hiding.'

Ron bit back a retort; his emotions were still very much at the surface, but he wasn't about to get into another row with Hermione, not when they'd so recently patched things up.

'Maybe you're right,' he said instead, and she smiled.

'Thank you,' she said, and then she left to go to the library, pecking him softly on the cheek.

'Good one, mate, I could tell that hurt,' said Harry, after she'd gone.

'Better that than a row,' said Ron.

As the week progressed Ron settled into his very busy routine. Keeping busy helped immensely, he found, because it left him little time to brood over everything he was dealing with. In the mornings he would wake up and write in his dream diary. He found himself having the same dream, the one of Godric Gryffindor wearing his, Ron's, clothes and pointing out the silver sword that lay on the ground. Every time, Ron would pick it up and experience the worst, gripping sort of pain up his arm that seemed to squeeze his very heart; he'd turn and see Harry coming toward him and then he'd wake up. For the life of him Ron couldn't figure out what the dream was supposed to mean. And then he had the dream of Harry's mother, or what looked like Harry's mother, standing in front of the bassinet. Except that the woman's eyes kept changing from green to brown.

After writing down his dreams, Ron would meditate. The visions were still mostly terrible, but he hadn't had any that related to him or his friends, and he hadn't seen the one of him, Hermione and the red-haired baby. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed about this.

Probably both.

Harry told them he'd only managed to find time to read two or three of his parents' letters; they were, he said, quite short on practical information, but didn't elaborate further. Ron could only assume this meant the letters were long on declarations of love and other mushy things. Hermione, meanwhile, announced that she was frustratingly stumped on the various pieces of coded parchment.

Then there was Voldemort. Or rather, the noted lack of Voldemort. There was nothing new to be found in The Daily Prophet regarding Death Eater attacks; no news of Lucius Malfoy; there was only rumour and speculation. Harry's scar was tingling all the time now, as it had in fifth year, but he wasn't having any visions.

Ron was so caught up in his many activities that he forgot about Hermione's vow to brew him some potions that might help him cope with the many awful visions he was seeing every day. It was only when she pulled Harry and Ron aside before Potions that he remembered she planned to steal some ingredients.

It was time, then, for another diversion. It was easy enough to achieve. They were working on Anti-Swelling Potions; Snape was sitting at his desk, grading essays and only occasionally casting his beady dark eyes about the room.

Ron purposely took a seat near Crabbe and set up his cauldron. Harry was just behind Crabbe. Everyone was concentrating quite hard on their assignments today--one couldn't successfully complete any N.E.W.T. potion without doing so. Ron only hoped he didn't screw his up too badly.

He paused long enough in the midst of brewing his potion to write something on a piece of parchment. He glanced surreptitiously up at Snape as he folded the parchment into a small square before dropping it near Crabbe's foot.

Crabbe noticed the piece of parchment and bent down slowly to pick it up, and Harry acted; he dumped a flask full of dragon blood into Crabbe's potion. The potion bubbled heavily for a moment but didn't otherwise react. Harry quickly sat back down and went back to work. He glanced at Ron, who glanced at Hermione; she nodded at both of them. Crabbe opened the piece of parchment and gave a light snort; Ron looked up and grinned at him cheekily. Crabbe began to crack his knuckles threateningly, and Ron rolled his eyes and went back to his work; he did make sure, however, to keep a very close eye on his own cauldron.

As the double period wound down, Ron finished his potion--he was sure he'd gotten it right--and took a flask of it up to Snape. Harry followed suit, but as he climbed off his stool, he tripped quite dramatically and collided into Crabbe, who fell forward, crashing into his cauldron and sending it toppling right onto Goyle, who was splashed everywhere with Anti-Swelling Potion.

'Potter!' Snape bellowed, and he jumped up from his desk and started toward Goyle. Hermione leapt up and ran for the store rooms.

Goyle spluttered and suddenly began to yell as his clothes began to shrink. Along with his head, which, by the time Snape reached his side, was smaller than a Bludger.

Ron wasn't watching that, though--his eyes were on the door to Snape's storerooms.

Come on, come on, Hermione!

The next moment she appeared and nodded to him.

'Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter,' Snape hissed. 'Clean this mess up and be glad you don't have detention.'

Snape turned just as Hermione sat on her stool; she reached down to pick up her bag, looking cool and collected, and surreptitiously dumped whatever stuff she'd stolen from Snape's storerooms into the bag.

Crabbe, meanwhile, was given the task of taking Goyle to the hospital wing; by the time Goyle left, his clothes had shrunk so much that they had torn; he moaned in agony as his trousers squeezed him in delicate areas (the boys in the classroom let out a collective wince). Goyle's skull had shrunk to the size of a Snitch.

'Can we never do that again, Hermione?' Harry asked quietly, as they left the dungeons. 'It's too bloody nerve-wracking.'

'I agree,' said Ron. 'Although messing with Crabbe and Goyle is always a laugh.'

'What'd your note say?' Harry asked. 'The one you dropped by his foot?'

'"Vincent Crabbe is a big, dumb twat",' Ron said at once.

'Ron!' Hermione said indignantly. 'Honestly.'

'Nice work, Harry,' said Seamus, who came up from behind him and patted him on the back. 'Goyle's head now matches the size of his brain.'

Dean chuckled. 'Bet his balls--' Hermione gave him a scathing look--'er, his privates are really sore right about now. Good one, Harry.'

'And you didn't even get detention,' said Neville, looking a bit awe-struck. 'You only lost ten points.'

'Snape's going soft,' said Dean.

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

'How was your week, Mr. Weasley?' Firenze asked. He was pacing back and forth across the 'forest' floor of the Divination classroom; Ron was seated cross-legged on the ground in front of a magical fire.

'Wonderful,' said Ron dryly.

'You have avoided...extracurricular activities?'

'Yeah,' said Ron glumly. 'Have I ever.'

'I trust your meditations have been revealing,' said Firenze, his palomino tail swishing. 'Might I have a look at your diary?'

Ron gulped. 'Some of the...some of the stuff in there is really private, you know,' he said. 'Dumbledore promised I wouldn't have to--'

'If I am to properly train you, Mr. Weasley, it is vital that I see your every dream in detail,' said Firenze.

Ron's face was hot. 'Please, sir...do you really need to see...you know...my dreamsaboutmygirlfriend...' He trailed off, his voice going to a mumble.

'Ah,' said Firenze. 'I wasn't aware you recorded...those particular dreams.'

'Dumbledore told me to write down everything,' Ron muttered.

'In that case, perhaps you could tear do a simple Concealing Charm on the material you wish to keep private,' Firenze suggested.

Ron flushed even further.

Why didn't I think of that?

'Right,' he said, and he pulled the dream diary from his bag. He took out his wand and flipped through the pages, pausing to perform Concealing Charms on every page that was taken up with a sexual dream. He then handed it to the centaur; Firenze opened it and his eyes scanned the words so fast it looked as if he wasn't really reading anything.

'Interesting,' he said at last. 'You've experienced a few recurring dreams, I see. That is significant.'

'How so?' Ron asked.

'A recurring dream typically means there is a recurring issue or problem in someone's life,' said Firenze. 'For example, a person who regularly procrastinates in his studies might have a recurring dream of sitting an exam that he forgot to study for. Or perhaps one might dream of an argument one had with a friend that resulted in the end of that friendship. A recurring dream often signifies a subconscious desire on the part of him that dreamed it to correct the problem. Once a person corrects the problem, the dream may stop. A recurring dream could also be a remembrance of a traumatic event in one's life. I see here that your early entries indicate a recurring dream of a man called--'

'Dolohov,' said Ron dully.

'But the dream has not appeared in some time, I note,' Firenze went on. 'That is a positive sign.'

'Finally some good news,' Ron muttered under his breath. If Firenze heard him, he gave no indication, but instead went on speaking.

'In the case of your recent dreams, however,' he said, 'something else may be at work. With Seers, recurring dreams are often a signal.'

'A signal?' Ron repeated. 'Of what? The future?'

'Perhaps,' said Firenze. 'Or perhaps your mind is trying to give you a clue, to help you solve a riddle that you might encounter down the road. The recurring theme of the sword seems to be an attempt by your subconscious mind to solve a puzzle. The recurring theme of the woman with the red hair might also be a clue.'

'Maybe,' said Ron doubtfully. 'The dreams seem so...random.'

'Have you ever considered that the two might be connected in some way?' Firenze suggested.

'No,' Ron admitted. 'Wait, yeah, I mean, I have. Because Harry's in both of them. But...that's it...'

'Your female friend,' Firenze interrupted. 'Hermione Granger, is it?'

Ron blushed. 'Yeah.'

'Yes, I know her name, she caused...quite a stir among my former herd a while back,' he said.

'She didn't mean to insult anyone,' said Ron quickly.

'Of course she didn't,' said Firenze. 'Human beings often cause the worst hurts when acting with the best of intentions. But,' he added, when Ron started to protest, 'in fairness to her, my people are perhaps...too proud for their own good.'

Well, there's a first, a centaur admitting he's wrong about something.

'Why do you ask about Hermione?' Ron asked.

'I notice...she appears in a recent vision,' said Firenze.

Ron flushed again. 'Yeah, right.' Oops, forgot to conceal that one.

'It is...rather a positive vision, wouldn't you say?'

'Yeah,' said Ron, looking down at his hands. Neither one said anything for a moment, and then he looked up.

'Sir, what does it mean?' he asked. 'Is that...my future?'

'Yes,' said Firenze. 'And no. It is one of many possible futures.'

'So, the future isn't set, then,' said Ron.

'Yes and no,' said Firenze again. 'The stars, the planets, fate...things are written that cannot be undone. But those are only the outcomes; there is nothing set about the many possible journeys, the many stops along the way. And the outcomes, those are bigger than you or I, they affect us all. The outcomes are the result of a thousand, a million choices and actions that, when taken together, fall into place.'

Ron stared at him. 'I don't understand.'

'You will come to understand,' said Firenze. 'Here is your book.'

Ron nodded and took the book; he looked at it for a moment and then looked up at Firenze.

'Sir,' he said, 'does that mean...I'll end up with Hermione?'

'Is that what you want?' Firenze asked.

Ron swallowed. 'I don't know. I mean...'

He faltered; he wasn't sure he wanted to discuss something so personal with Firenze, not when he hadn't even talked about it with Harry. And yet Ron was aching to make some sense of something that he'd seen. So many of his dreams and visions seemed almost pointless. If he could just have an answer to one of them...

'I haven't thought about...that,' he said finally. 'Marriage and...and kids and stuff. I'm only seventeen. And...Voldemort is out there...the future just seems so far away. I can't imagine being married to anyone. But I can't imagine not being with Hermione, either.'

Firenze smiled. 'You have your answer, then,' he said.

Ron looked up at him, and he realized he was only more confused. The look on his face must have registered with Firenze, who smiled again.

'You will figure it out,' he said. 'Now come, it is time for you to meditate.'

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

Harry and Hermione were not at dinner; Ron had arrived just in time to see Harry leave with Ginny and Colin and Dennis Creevey; Harry told Ron that Hermione was in the library again just as he headed out. None of the other older Gryffindors were in the Great Hall when Ron sat down to help himself to some food, so he wound up eating with Lizzie Towler, who talked his ear off about subjects that he forgot the moment he finished his dinner; then again, she didn't seem to want or need him to say much of anything, which suited him just fine.

Ron went to his room shortly after dinner. He was tired and irritable from his session with Firenze; the visions that had filled his mind had hit him hard and fast, like Bludgers. Ron realized that it was the fire that made it worse, that damned scented fire. Firenze had told him to burn the herbs, and he'd forgotten, and a part of him wondered if he hadn't subconsciously decided not to for the very reason that the scented fire made the visions that much more numerous, more horrible, more vivid. Ron had not travelled in the world all that much; he'd only been to Egypt and roundabout in England, but his visions were showing him a vast, strange world full of miserable, lonely, and in many cases, violent or evil people.

It was still early, but he was tired, and he decided he might as well turn in; he didn't have the energy to study, anyway. He pulled off his robes and uniform and put on pyjama pants and a t-shirt; he washed his face and brushed his teeth and collapsed onto his bed, making sure that his dream diary was on his nightstand, when there was a knock at the door.

'Yeah?' he called.

'It's me,' came Hermione's voice.

He got up and opened the door, and she entered his room without preamble. Not that he would have stopped her.

'Hi,' she said, looking up at him. She was, as usual, holding a stack of books and her school bag. Her eyes were bloodshot and bright from exhaustion. Her skin was pale, her hair was messy, and Ron suddenly noticed that her face seemed thinner.

'You skipped dinner,' he said.

'I wasn't hungry,' said Hermione. 'I was in the library working on Harry's stuff; I think I'm close to figuring it out. Oh! And I added some new things to my list, although I'm not sure about what they mean yet, but maybe once I've cracked those codes--'

'Hermione, you have to eat,' said Ron. 'And sleep. You can't go wearing yourself out, for me or for Harry.'

'Are you lecturing me?' said Hermione, putting her hands on her hips.

'Yes,' said Ron at once. 'I'm serious, 'Mione. I appreciate your help, and so does Harry, but you have to take care of yourself.'

She smiled at him tiredly. 'You're right,' she admitted. 'I just...I get on a roll and I forget about everything else.' She set her books down on his bed, and then began to dig through her school bag.

Ron watched as she extracted two flasks and a small bowl. She crossed to his desk and set the flasks and the bowl down onto the surface, and then pulled her wand from her robe pocket and tapped the bowl. It grew several inches larger.

'What's all this?' Ron asked.

'This,' she said, lifting one flask, that contained a dull, muddy green potion, 'is a Libido Suppressing Potion.'

Ron let out a choked laugh. 'You're joking.'

'No, I'm not,' said Hermione. 'Two teaspoonfuls of this, every six hours, for the next week should make things a lot easier for you.'

Ron eyed the potion sceptically. 'Er, that stuff doesn't have any...lasting effects does it? I mean, once I stop taking it it'll wear off, right?'

That's all I need, to take that stuff and never be able to get it up again.

'Of course,' said Hermione, smiling slyly. 'Just don't go over the recommended dosage.'

'I wouldn't,' said Ron. 'It looks foul. Do I want to know what's in it?'

'No,' said Hermione. 'And you might have to hold your nose when you take it.'

'Maybe I should just deal with the sexual frustration,' said Ron.

'As you like,' she said breezily, setting the flask down.

'What's that other stuff?' Ron asked, indicating the bowl and the second flask. 'Do I have to drink that potion, too?'

Hermione picked up the second flask; the liquid inside was pearly and silver and shimmered.

'No,' she said, and she uncorked the flask and poured the liquid slowly into the bowl.

'Hermione, what--'

'This is your Pensieve,' she said, unable to hide the note of triumph in her voice.

'My...my what?'

'Your Pensieve,' she said. 'You know what it is--'

'Yeah, I do,' he said. 'Where'd you get it?'

'I made it,' she said. 'Well, not the bowl--I sort of...stole a bowl from Grimmauld Place, not that anyone would miss it. I started on the potion over the summer. You have to let the ginkgo leaves dry for twenty days--'

'Wait, wait,' said Ron. 'You've been working on this since the holiday?'

'Yes,' she said.

'But...when?' said Ron, incredulous. 'I didn't see you working on it--'

'I worked on it alone, whenever you and Harry were playing chess,' she said. 'I wrote to Dumbledore over the summer and asked him how to do it. He told me that technically only fully qualified wizards are allowed to have Pensieves but he did give his to Ginny and he agreed that it might be helpful for you to have one--'

'You wrote to Dumbledore?' said Ron, confounded. 'When?'

'That day you had the vision of Lucius Malfoy's trial,' she said. 'Remember? I wrote him about Harry's stuff? Well, I included a mention of you. He sent me a separate note saying he'd send some ingredients along, but that he had to send them to your mum because they were restricted only to wizards and witches who are of age. A few days later your mum gave me an envelope with some of the ingredients in it. Dumbledore told her he'd sent it because I had an extra credit assignment, but I don't know if she believed that or not. Anyway, I couldn't complete the potion until I got here and could get access to Snape's storerooms, though. Oh, and...I sort of nicked a few things from the greenhouses, too, but don't say anything.'

Ron gaped at her.

'You...you went to all that trouble for me?' he asked.

'It wasn't too much trouble,' she said, blushing. 'I thought the Pensieve could help you. You know how it works, right? You can put all your excess thoughts in it and retrieve them whenever you want--'

'I know how it works,' said Ron. 'I...I can't believe you did this.'

'I told you, it wasn't too much trouble,' she said. 'Only, you have to make sure no one knows about it. Dumbledore told me the spell for extracting thoughts; I wrote it down for you, it's quite simple, actually. And try not to spill the bowl, because I probably won't be able to make any more of the potion. You can just put an Anti-Spill Charm on it when you're done using it each day--'

'You're incredible,' he said, taking her hands.

She blushed even deeper and looked down. 'Ron...'

'No, I mean it,' he said fervently, tipping her chin up so that her eyes met his. 'You're the best, Hermione, the most amazing, most brilliant--'

'Ron, you're embarrassing me,' she said, looking away again, but she was smiling.

'Thank you,' he said, more touched by her gift, by the effort that went into it all, than he could possibly imagine. 'This is...thank you.'

She looked up at him with soft brown eyes. 'You're welcome.'

He pulled her into a hug and she sighed as she leaned her head against his chest. His fingers moved into her hair, smoothing the tangled curls, and they held each other for a while in silence. Ron hadn't felt this relaxed in what fell like forever.

At last Hermione looked up at him and smiled.

'I'm really exhausted,' she said.

'Me, too,' said Ron, still holding onto her.

'You should get some sleep,' she said.

'You, too,' said Ron. 'And no more skipping meals.'

She laughed softly. 'All right. I won't.'

'How am I supposed to repay you for...for all this?' he asked.

She smiled mischievously. 'Just get me something good for my birthday.'

'Your birthday?' Ron said, pretending to be confused. 'Is that soon?'

She swatted him on the arm. 'Very funny,' she said.

And then he remembered something. 'If I'm not mistaken, your birthday is on the same day that I get to stop being celibate.'

'Ah,' she said. 'Well, I think I know what I want, then.'

Oh, shit.

He looked at her and he couldn't help it, he had to kiss her. So he did, softly at first, then pressing his lips to hers harder, parting her mouth with his own, pressing his tongue inside...

Hello! Weasley! You're not supposed to be kissing, remember?

I can't help it, she's so amazing, she tastes so good...

And there goes Mr. Shaft. Down, boy!

He broke off; they were both panting.

I'm in hell. That's all there is to it.

'Merlin,' he breathed.

'Do you want the potion?' Hermione asked.

'Yeah,' said Ron fervently. 'I'll take it.'