You're My Best Friend

You're My Best Friend - Part I

Hermione sat up in her bed and peeked out the narrow slit between her maroon bed hangings. The dormitory was still somewhat dark, as the morning sunlight had not had time to make it around to that side of the tower. When her eyes had adjusted to the dimly-lit room, she could tell that the other sixth-year girls were still asleep, and for this, she was grateful. She had no desire or patience to face a barrage of questions from her silly roommates.

Her bare feet touched down on the chilly floor, causing her to shiver slightly and to wish she had worn socks to bed the night before. She proceeded to get ready so she could go visit her best friend, Ron. The poor boy was still in hospital after he'd been accidentally poisoned while accompanying Harry to Professor Slughorn's office. Although he was expected to make a full recovery, at present, he remained unconscious.

As far as she was concerned, none of her roommates could begin to understand the complicated feelings she had for Ron Weasley. Obviously, they knew that the two of them had been friends for years - even they weren't that obtuse. Still, she didn't want to have to justify herself to any of them, least of all, Ron's empty-headed girlfriend, Lavender Brown. Those blasted 'scarlet woman' rumors from her fourth year, however groundless, still hurt.

Besides, Hermione knew in her heart that her friendship with Ron went far deeper than any fleeting school romance, especially one that was sure to end the minute Ron realized what a ninny Lavender was. She was surprised that he had chosen her to be his girlfriend in the first place.

Pulling her hair back over her shoulders and brushing it in a feeble attempt to get the frizz out of it, she rolled her eyes and scoffed silently to herself. If Lavender wasn't such a flirt, he would never have given her the time of day. She practically threw herself into his arms!

Not that she was jealous or anything.

Hermione performed a Silencing Charm and stowed a few books and other items she would need into her rucksack. She flung the heavy pack over her shoulder then slipped across the hallway to brush her teeth. Ready to face her day, she went toward the stairs that led to the Gryffindor Common Room.

As she descended the darkened stairwell, she thought of things she would like to say to Ron if he were here right now.

Honestly, Ron - Lavender? her mind chided. Couldn't you have picked someone better? I mean, anyone who thinks that Professor Trelawney is 'the most gift instructor at Hogwarts' is obviously mental!

But, if the boy was really that dense, she thought a sniff, then maybe this will be a good lesson for him. She stepped out through the portrait hole, accidentally waking the Fat Lady when her bag thumped against the baroque frame. "Hmmph!" the portrait snorted at her. Hermione looked around and gave her an apologetic smile.

As she moved along the lonely corridor, she felt that thick lump slowly forming in her throat once more. She could still picture Ginny, her eyes swimming with tears and her voice cracking, when she first told her that Ron had been poisoned. It was all very surreal, like being in a dream she wanted to get out of - but even if she could, she knew that it wouldn't just fade away. She realized then, quite unexpectedly, that the prospect of losing him absolutely terrified her.

The idea of Ron ever being in any real danger - dangers the likes of which Harry constantly faced - had never crossed her mind before. Since Harry had no family who cared for him, she had always taken it upon herself to worry about him and for him.

But Ron did have family behind him. So she'd decided long ago that he already had enough people worrying about him. It had never occurred to her that Ron would ever . . well, naturally, she'd always assumed that he didn't . . need her as much as Harry did. Which was slightly off-putting, as she saw it, since Ron was more important to her than Harry was.

But when had that happened?

Never mind, she told herself. Instead, she focused on the poisoning and wondered how it could have happened. If it wasn't an accident, then who could have committed such a cruel act?

Who would ever want to hurt Ron, other than maybe McLaggen, or--

Her eyes narrowed and her strides picked up a bit. Well, I can think of one other person - or should I say 'ferret'? She scoffed to herself as she pictured a certain snotty, pointy-faced prat who was, incredibly, a school prefect.

Probably had one of his brainless lackies do it for him. That little worm wouldn't have the courage to do it himself!

After barely making it down the last staircase before it changed, she adjusted her bulky rucksack. When she finally reached the main corridor, Hermione thought about that stupid argument she'd had with Ron two days before the accident. He was being his normal, obnoxious self, which meant following a pattern of annoying her, teasing and infuriating her, laughing with her, and at her - and then, like always, he would make up and apologize, usually just in time to copy her notes for an important essay or for a crucial exam. His inattention to his studies was really starting to irritate her. "No, Ronald," she'd said flatly, "you can't have my notes," then walked away, ignoring him as he bellowed at her back.

But none of that school stuff mattered now. All she could think of as he lay languishing in a hospital bed was that he had to live. He just had to. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without him.

She wouldn't be the same without him - and neither would Harry.

They were three parts of one inseparable team, better together than they were alone, and each of them needed the other two. They understood each other, especially Ron and Hermione, for they knew something that most people did not: that being Harry Potter's best friend was not always easy. He was already a great wizard, capable of performing magic that should have been well beyond his years. But he was also moody, temperamental, and doggedly stubborn.

Like this Malfoy obsession, for instance. Or this so-called 'prince'.

The three of them had been through so much together and faced many battles, both physical and mental. Time and again, their friendship had been put under almost unbearable strain. How many times had they faced unspeakable danger, together? And in that time, when had Ron ever turned his back on her? Sure, he frustrated her, disappointed her . . disagreed vehemently with her. At times, he seemed to thrive on it. But give up on her?

Never, she thought as her heart swelled with pride and love.

At last, she reached her destination. She entered the hospital wing and quietly tip-toed over to where Ron lay, unmoving, just as she had left him late last night. Placing her rucksack on the floor beside her, she sat in his bedside chair. She looked down at him and wondered pensively if this was how Ginny had looked to Harry when he had found her, unconscious and very near death, in the Chamber of Secrets, all those years ago. Or during that same time, how she herself had looked to the boys when she had been petrified, her eyes completely devoid of life.

And if this horrible feeling that was ripping at her heart was what they had felt.

Her voice slightly shaky, Hermione greeted, "Good morning, Ron," as cheerfully as she could manage. Placing a hand on his, she gave it a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, she thought she felt a slight twitch. But then she decided it was just wishful thinking on her part. He hadn't really moved at all. She felt helpless; this was a problem that couldn't be solved by studying ancient runes or by reading a book, searching some long-forgotten spell or potion.

Slowly, she removed her hand and sighed in frustration. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't cry this morning. But she sniffed and wiped away the lone tear that betrayed her. Gathering her composure, she swallowed hard and tried to think positive thoughts.

Ron is going to live. How's that for a happy thought?

She smiled to herself. Just thinking it did make her feel a bit happier.

Hermione leaned to one side and fiddled with the drawstring of her pack. Opening it wide, she withdrew a large book and set it in her lap. She began speaking.

"Ron, I know you don't hold with many muggle psychology views - or for that matter, know what psychology even is - but some people believe that when we are unconscious or asleep, if something is read to us or played on a radio or tape, we can learn it, just as if we ourselves had actually read it. It's called subliminal or subconscious learning."

The room screamed with silence; she began to doubt herself.

It had sounded like such a good idea. But now that she said it out loud, the whole thing was starting to sound a little . . . well, bonkers. She chuckled softly to herself and said, "Pretty crazy, huh?"

Be that as it may, there was still no one else in the room. So she bravely decided to pursue her plan: for Ron to read - subconsciously, if need be - Hogwarts: A History.

~End of Part One~