Shiver

2: Stay

"So I turned the radio on, I turned the radio up . . . and this woman was singing my song . . . the lover's in love, and the other's run away . . . the lover is crying, 'cause the other won't stay . . ."

~Lisa Loeb~

Standing in the middle of the Quidditch field, Ron mounted Harry's Firebolt, and with a quick push of his feet on the grass, he soared into the air. His heart felt like it was about to burst as he tried to begin thinking of what to say to her. He hovered about, hand to his chin, deep in contemplation.

"Hermione . . . I can't let you leave . . . because I'm in lo - . . . no, no . . . that sounds bloody stupid," he cursed himself. Taking a deep breath, he smiled, his eyes wide like a puppy's. "‘Mione, I love you." The sound of that just disgusted him, and he made a face. He couldn't just out and say it to her. He had to sound eloquent, romantic. He sighed loudly, a low growl coming from inside his throat. Rubbing his temples, attempting to stimulate thoughts, he wished for a moment that he could be like Harry and know what to say. Or maybe, to be like Hermione - she always seemed to know what to say in every situation.

Of course, were he like either of his best friends and knew what to say, he wouldn't be in this situation right now. Had he known what to say a long time ago, when he first fell in love with Hermione - she would be in his arms right now instead of on the damn train, bound for America. How could he have been so completely daft all this time? he asked himself.

He heard the sound of a train whistle blowing in the distance. His heart lept, and he looked about momentarily until he spotted the chain of steam the Express was giving off as it chugged along several miles away. He smiled in relief and switched on the small radio he'd grabbed off his nightstand before leaving. Clipping it to his belt, music blasted forth from it, lifting his spirits. He told himself confidently that he could do this. After all, it was just Hermione, just his best friend. He'd been in love with her for almost seven years now, it was time to stop denying it. Leaning forward into the broom, he took off in the direction of the Express, hoping he could make it in time . . .

Hermione gazed out the window distantly, not really paying attention to the scenery that flashed by as the train rattled along. Her chin rested against her hand, her elbow propped up on the windowsill. Her eyes were puffy and a little red from having cried a little while ago when she'd boarded the train and taken her last look at the little train station and the silhouette of the school she'd called home for the past six and a half years. But it hadn't been so much the location that she was crying over as it was the people she would be leaving behind. Ginny, Harry, Hagrid, Dumbledore . . . Ron . . . They were home to her, not the castle itself. He was home . . .

The door to the large, lavishly decorated compartment opened, and Dumbledore stepped inside, carrying two cups of tea. He pushed the door shut with his foot and walked over to Hermione with a sympathetic smile.

"I thought a little tea might soothe your anxieties about leaving," he said in his soft way. She looked up with a grateful smile at the old man, taking a cup from his hand. He looked at her with concerned eyes, and she knew what he was thinking without him ever saying it. She averted his gaze, staring back out the window.

"I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that I should have just told him. About everything. That if he really cares about me at all, he would believe me. You're going to say that he just doesn't see what's been there all along because he's him. I should stand up for myself, fight back, because I'm stronger and better than this. I should just face my fears and my feelings, instead of running from them. I need to have more faith in myself and in him," she said, her voice wavering. "And you might be right." She let out a shaky sigh, holding back the tears that were wanting to fall again. She was as pale as a ghost, with dark rings under her eyes, a tell-tale sign that she had not seen much sleep recently.

"I just do not believe that running from the situation is going to help you. I understand you feel confused and a little run down by it all, but the problem isn't going to go away just because you do, Miss Granger. Chances are, when you return to Hogwarts, the problem will still exist, and may even be worse. The longer you continue on without telling Ron everything, the more tangled up in Magda's web he will become," Dumbledore expressed gently. "The longer you continue on without telling the truth, without even being honest with yourself, the farther apart you and he will grow. And the more confused still you will become." Hermione closed her eyes, taking a tiny sip of her tea, then leaned her head against the cool glass of the window.

"Professor . . . it's just . . . I just . . . I don't know what to do anymore. This isn't something I was expecting to happen. In a million years . . . I never thought that he . . ." Her voice finally cracked with a sob. She paused, allowing the tears to flow before opening her eyes and looking up at Dumbledore. The sudden onslaught of tears brought a little color back into her cheeks. She spoke again, in spite of the sobs that now shuddered through her entire tiny frame. "I never thought I . . . Magda's just so . . . and the humiliation of her being with him, and him not even knowing . . . everyone in the world knowing . . . how I feel about him . . . and who she . . . what she is . . . everyone but him. Even she knows. And she holds . . . she holds it over my head like some kind of victory . . . like some dead animal she killed that she's proud of. She doesn't give a damn about him. While I . . . he . . ." She let out a cry of anger and longing, throwing her hands up into the air in frustration, which sent her cup of tea flying. Tea sprayed everywhere, and the cup shattered all over the floor. "He's everything to me, the dumb prat! And so I am forced to suffer because of it!" She buried her face in her hands, sobbing loudly in frustration. Dumbledore put a kind hand on her shoulder, letting her cry until she felt a little better again.

"Everything will be fine, Miss Granger, I assure you. However, you must to do the right thing, no matter how hard and frightening it may be," he explained calmly. She let out a bitter half-laugh, half-sob.

"I'm not sure I even know what the right thing is anymore," she said in a monotone, taking her hands away from her face once more and staring straight ahead into the light blue flames of the fire. "And even if I do . . . I'm not strong enough to follow through with it. And I'm just so angry at both of them that if I even had the chance to be with Ron now, I don't know if I would take it. I don't know that I want to be with someone who can make me feel this wonderful . . . and at the same time, this horrible. I never thought anyone could be so completely ignorant and naive to the true nature of someone, or so blatantly oblivious to the pain and suffering of someone they love. I'm just . . . I'm not sure about anything anymore." Tears welled up in her eyes again. Dumbledore pulled his wand from his robe, and charming the pieces of the broken cup from the floor, put the tea cup back together. It landed in his hand, and he gingerly set it down on a table nearby.

"Uncertainty is no excuse for tucking tail and running from your dilemmas. It shows a great strength of character to face your fears and fight for what you want. For as you grow older, Miss Granger, you'll find that life has little meaning unless you're happy. Doing the things you love, being surrounded by the people you love, and finding someone to love who will love you in return - this is the path that each of us must take. And none of us has the same journey," Dumbledore observed. He smiled at her fondly. "I can teach you all the spells and charms in the world, but if I do not teach you and your fellow students how to love, be loved, and find yourselves, find that which makes each of you happy, then I have failed miserably in my job." Hermione wiped away the few tears that had fallen once more and smiled back at him sadly.

"I don't know how to do that any longer, sir. I'm afraid I've lost the ability," she whispered, looking down at her hands forlornly.

Ron had almost forgotten how fast Harry's Firebolt could fly. He was from the Quidditch field to the roof of the train within a matter of five minutes. Landing as silently as he could, he moved slowly along the roof of the quickly moving train to the end of the car. Climbing down the ladder on the side with one hand, while holding the broom in the other, he paused before going inside. He flicked the radio off, not wanting to disturb anyone inside, or tip Hermione off to his presence, lest she try to run from him. Then he looked at his reflection in the window of the door and nervously smoothed down his red hair, which was wind-blown and sticking up and out wildly in every direction. He then took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

As he walked along the narrow hallway of the car, he looked into every compartment, hoping to see Hermione's beautiful, smiling face. But no such luck. As he came to the last compartment, he stopped upon hearing Dumbledore's voice.

"Miss Granger, I do not believe you've lost the ability to find love and happiness. I believe you know what you want, you've simply lost the nerve," the old professor was saying. Ron leaned over slightly and peeked into the compartment. Dumbledore stood in front of a large, crackling fireplace. Ron could just see the back of Hermione's head behind an armchair nearby.

"Perhaps," came the soft reply. The sound of Hermione's voice sent shivers up Ron's spine. This was it, this was the moment he'd been waiting for. This was the girl he loved, and nothing was going to stop him from telling her how he felt for her. He opened the door quietly, and Dumbledore saw him standing there. The professor nodded slightly and motioned for Ron to wait just a minute before making his presence known. Ron could hear Hermione's voice shaking with what she said next. "Deep down . . . I've always known Ron was the one for me . . . the last and only person I'd ever really love. I knew the first day I met him, on this train, when he and Harry were eating all that candy and he had the smudge of dirt on his nose. I knew if he could be that much of a pain in the butt, be that rude to me, and yet still be overprotective of me and caring to the point of being tender despite his rough edges, and I could still be attracted to him, still love him, then he was it. I just never expected he wouldn't feel the same way."

Ron's eyes widened in amazement. She . . . she actually loved him back? And she thought he didn't love her? How wrong she was! He let out a laugh, forgetting that she didn't yet know he was standing there.

There was a pop as Dumbledore winked at Ron, then disapparated. Hermione stood up quickly and spun to face Ron. He gulped as she glared at him crossly. Even angry, she was still the most amazing looking girl in the world. Her brown hair was piled up on top of her head in a mass of soft curls, with a few stray wisps framing her face and at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple, knee-length, coral strapless dress with a pair of black capris underneath that showed off her perfectly shaped, slim body and a hint of a tan. Over the dress, she wore a white, long-sleeved cardigan. A pair of matching coral slides adorned her small feet. His mouth fell open, and the broom slipped out of his fingers, hitting the floor with an echoing clatter. She wiped the tears from her red, puffy eyes, still glaring at him angrily.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped defensively. He moved toward her, but she backed away.

"‘Mione . . . I . . . ," he spoke, moving toward her again, his arms reaching out to her slightly. She backed away a little more, fear glittering in her tear-filled eyes. She panicked, seeing him standing there in front of her in a pair of ripped up jeans and a thick, forest green sweater, his hair wind-blown and crazy, but still looking like the sexiest man she'd ever known. He'd heard her declaration of love, and she knew it. But something unfamiliar shone in his blue eyes as he mumbled an incantation under his breath. He moved toward her again, but this time, as she tried to run away, she found her feet very much stuck to the ground. She struggled, trying with all her might to budge from the spot. She looked up at him, red-faced and furious. He just grinned at her, only a couple of feet from her now, and still moving nearer.

"What . . . are you . . . doing here, Ron?!" she shouted. "And how much did you hear?!" Now he was nose to nose with her. She could feel his breath warm against her cheek, driving her crazy, as he whispered ever so softly in her ear.

"Only what I needed to," he said. Finally giving up on running, she pushed him away hard with her hands. She was fast growing desperate. The tender way he was looking at her, the gentle, passionate tone of his voice, this wasn't normal Ron behavior. He was radiating an emotion for her she honestly thought wasn't possible, and she was scared to death. He was obviously finding her fright funny as he continued to smile at her, his familiar lopsided smile, charming as ever.

"Leave! Now!" she exclaimed, frantic. She was trying to get away from him, not give in and fall for him all over again, she thought. She couldn't give in. She had to stand firm. "Leave, Ron, please!" She pushed him again, this time with such force that she lost her balance and almost toppled over. He caught her gently, and with her firmly in his grasp, he mumbled another incantation, and her feet were free once more. She leaned her head into his chest and began to sob. "Why . . . are you . . . here?" He wrapped his arms around her as she gently pummeled his chest with her fists. As he drew her closer to him, and she was intoxicated by his scent, the warmth and nearness of his body, and the tenderness of his embrace, he spoke again. She lay her head against his chest, out of breath and exhausted, still crying pitifully, as he said simply,

"I love you, ‘Mione. Please . . . stay . . ."