The Power He Knows Not

The Power He Knows Not

It always was this way, Ron Weasley thought. Harry Potter was at Hermione Granger's bedside and blaming himself for her injury. Never mind that she knew the dangers of what she'd been doing, never mind that Harry was on the other side of the building at the time, never mind a half-dozen other things. Harry would always blame himself.

Ron laid a hand on Harry's shoulder to draw his attention. Reluctantly Harry looked up at him, his eyes so red-rimmed from lack of sleep that Ron was briefly reminded of Olivia's words to describe Harry at times like this: Christmas eyes.

"I'm going back to the Burrow for a bit," Ron said softly. Harry nodded, his attention already returning to Hermione. Ron brushed a kiss against Harry's head, then walked out of the room.

Once in the hall, Ron allowed himself to lean against the wall, close his eyes and watch Hermione fall once again in his mind, to watch her move through the door they thought had been cleared and be struck with a curse he'd never seen before as part of a booby trap.

If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, he muttered in his mind once again. However, Harry would never allow him to blame himself. He would, instead, shoulder all the blame despite the fact there was nothing he could have done.

Sighing heavily, Ron pushed off from the wall and headed out of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He walked through Muggle London for several minutes to gather himself before Apparating to The Burrow, the Weasley family home.

"Daddy!" a little girl, dark pigtails bouncing, ran at Ron. He grinned and scooped her up into the air.

"And how has my Olivia been?" he asked, cuddling her to his shoulder.

"Uncle Fred and Uncle George tried to trick me again," she pouted.

"They should know better by now, shouldn't they?" Ron replied. His mother Molly, the plump matriarch of the Weasley family, appeared in the kitchen doorway. Lines of worry creased her forehead, but she didn't ask any questions in front of Olivia.

Ron dutifully listened to his daughter's complaints about her uncles, amused at how many of those complaints were the same as his own.

"Where's Mummy?" she asked as Ron lay her down for the night.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, brushing back her hair. He'd been dreading this question.

"Mummy isn't well," Ron said after a long pause.

"That's what Grandmum said," Olivia said through sniffles. "Will Mummy be okay?"

"I hope so, little one, I hope so." Sniffling himself, Ron kissed Olivia's head then bid her goodnight.

He managed to hold it together until he got to the kitchen.

"Hot chocolate?" Molly offered, holding up a cup. Ron studied her for a moment, then broke down in tears. Molly said nothing further, merely gathered him in her arms and stroked his back.

His tears embarrassed him but Hermione had taught him they were necessary at times. Like a release valve, Ronald, he could hear her say in his memory. The fact he'd retorted that sex was also a release had amused both he and Harry, making her smack the backs of both their heads.

"I can't live without her, Mum," Ron murmured.

"She'll make it through," Molly answered him. "She wouldn't dare leave you two boys alone."

Ron smiled sadly. His mother's words sounded very much like something Hermione would say, hands on hips and huffing.

Gathering himself, he sipped at his hot chocolate. "Was Olivia good for you?"

Molly's entire demeanor softened. "She's a delight."

He said nothing, merely stared down into his cup broodingly. "Does it bother you that we don't know who the father is?" It was a question he'd asked several times since they'd discovered Hermione's pregnancy.

And it always received the same reply: "Don't be foolish. You're her father, as is Harry." Trust his mother to make him feel better, Ron thought.

When the three of them had come to the Weasley's several years before to explain that their relationship -- between all three of them -- had deepened to love and a sexual relationship, it had taken some time for the Weasley parents to adjust. But they had and Ron counted himself very lucky. Hermione's parents had disowned her.

"Will it be okay if Olivia stays here until..." Ron trailed off as if the possibility of Hermione's death was too much to verbalize.

Molly took pity upon her youngest son and, laying a hand on one arm, said, "Until you know. Yes, Olivia can stay here."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ron took a brief nap before Apparating back to St. Mungo's. It was the middle of the night and the staff tried to stop him, but a growl and baring of teeth cleared the rest of the way for him.

He pushed the door open slowly, half-afraid of what he might find. Harry was resting in a chair beside the bed, one hand on Hermione's arm. There appeared to be no change in her condition.

Ron moved into the room, trying desperately to ignore the smell of medicinal potions and the steady beeping of a monitoring spell. He laid a hand on Harry's back between his shoulder blades, murmuring soothing sounds when Harry sat straight up, startled.

Through the nonverbal communication perfected by years as friends, they each brushed a kiss over Hermione's cheeks then exited into the hallway.

It was disconcerting to watch Harry fall apart by degrees. First came the slump against the wall followed closely by the tears he tried to deny. But it always broke Ron's heart a little when Harry finally completely broke down because he was utterly silent when he did so. As always, the only indication something was off was the shaking of his shoulders.

When Harry reached that point, Ron gathered him in his arms, pulling Harry close. Harry seized Ron, wrapping his trembling arms around Ron's waist. Ron liked to think Harry was drawing strength from how solid, how alive Ron felt.

"She can't die, Ron," Harry mumbled earnestly, tangling his fingers into Ron's shirt and looking up at him imploringly.

Ron's mouth flattened into a determined line as he caressed Harry's cheeks, wiping them free of tears. "I know."

They stood in the hall outside Hermione's room holding onto each other for comfort and strength for several minutes. When Harry's tears had subsided, Ron pressed a kiss into Harry's hair and drew him back inside the room.

This was only the second time Hermione had been seriously injured, but the first as an Auror. Sitting by her bedside awaiting a change in her condition was new to Ron and Harry. They took chairs on each side of her bed, Harry taking her hand while Ron merely watched her.

"Do you remember the Department of Mysteries fight?" Harry asked suddenly.

Ron shifted his eyes from Hermione's face to Harry's. "Which one?"

One side of Harry's mouth turned upward into a smile. "The first one."

Ron leaned back, absently rubbing his forearms. The first battle of the Department of Mysteries had been the one in which Voldemort lured Harry and, by extension, Ron, Hermione, Ron's sister Ginny, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, to rescue Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, a wrongly imprisoned escaped convict. Only once the six schoolchildren were there did they discover it was a trap designed to lure Harry into finding the orb of prophecy that surrounded his birth.

They'd engaged in a running fight with Death Eaters. Ron himself had been incapacitated fairly early, attacked by semi-sentient brains. Even to this day the scars emerged on his arms in times of stress. Hermione had been taken down later by a curse that nearly killed her. Not that Ron or Harry knew it was that serious at the time -- Hermione prevented her Healers and the Hogwarts' mediwitch Madame Pomfrey from telling either of the boys of the seriousness of the curse until many years later.

"Yes, I remember," Ron answered, gazing once again at Hermione. She was pale, barely more color in her skin than the sheets.

"It was the first time I realized you two meant more to me than my own life," Harry admitted softly. He snorted, then added wryly, "Not that I had a clue what that meant at the time."

Ron leaned forward to brush the curls from Hermione's forehead. "Do you remember Olivia's birth?"

A full-blown smile spread Harry's mouth. "I remember being terrified."

Ron met his smile. "The things Hermione was threatening me with terrified me more."

Hermione had gone into labor at thirty-seven weeks. While not unusually early, it did cause her to panic -- labor at thirty-seven weeks did not fit into her carefully constructed timetable -- until Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, stopped into her office at the Ministry, where she'd been put on desk work at twenty weeks and chafed at the restriction, took one look at Hermione and summoned Molly.

From then on, Molly had taken charge. Arthur had used whatever influence he had to have Harry and Ron recalled from the field. They later agreed that facing a roomful of Death Eaters without their wands would have been less frightening than Hermione Granger in labor.

Ron's smile turned sentimental. "I'll never forget how she looked afterward with Olivia cradled against her, hair sweat-matted and face ashen from exhaustion."

"She still is beautiful," Harry sighed.

"Do...do you think she'd want another child?" Ron asked softly, drawing Harry's gaze.

"Do you want another child?" Harry retorted after a thoughtful silence.

"I might. Maybe a boy."

Harry's lips twitched upward briefly. "No seven children like your family?"

A startled bark of a laugh escaped. "Merlin, no."

Harry's eyes misted. "Yes, I think I'd like another child. Being an only child can be lonely."

Ron studied Harry as Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione. Harry was an only child but had been raised alongside his horrid cousin after his aunt and uncle took him in that fateful Halloween his parents had been killed by Voldemort.

Harry shifted in his seat, taking one of Hermione's hand and pressing a kiss to it. Manhood had settled better on him than boyhood, Ron concluded. Harry now had as much physical presence as magical, though he still had the same slight build that had made him such a good Seeker. Ron tried to ignore the fact he had that slight build almost certainly due to malnutrition at the hands of his aunt and uncle.

"Being part of a large family has its own problems," Ron said wryly. Harry said nothing, merely glanced over at Ron with a look that said, "I wish I had your problems."

Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. Her lips were the only color in her face other than the half-moons her lashes made on her cheeks. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, almost surprised when her skin was warm.

"She'll wake, right?" Ron asked softly.

"I can't...." Leaning forward, Harry lay his head on the bed beside Hermione's still hand. "She has to wake, Ron."

Ron didn't reply. Harry's raven hair was like a patch of night amidst the ocean of white that was Hermione's skin and bedding. He couldn't imagine life without Hermione; he didn't want to contemplate it.

Olivia needed her, Harry needed her, but Ron sometimes barely acknowledged the fact he needed her most of all. He loved Harry -- needy, troubled Harry who was his best friend and lover and filled parts of him he didn't know were empty. Olivia filled him with laughter. Their little girl was so full of life and sunshine that she brightened even Harry's darkest moments when he was depressed.

But Hermione felt like the other part of his soul. Hermione had been the object of his affections since he was thirteen. So long, in fact, that he couldn't remember a time he hadn't been in love with her.

He shifted his eyes from Hermione to Harry once again. Love had helped Harry defeat Voldemort -- Lily Evans Potter's sacrifice for the love of her son and the love shared between the three of them. Voldemort hadn't understood love and, in the end, it was his downfall.

But can love save Hermione? Ron didn't know, but he sincerely hoped so. He knew he, Olivia and Harry couldn't live without Hermione.