Tell Us Again, Please!

For two weeks Hermione had been home in the Burrow, and for two weeks there had still been no new developments, no news, no word from St. Mungo's.

Hermione was surprised to find herself at St. Mungo's. She felt odd, as though something wasn't right, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She passed through the corridors, searching, and searching. It occurred to her, as if she should have known all along, that now was her chance to find Ron! She hadn't seen or heard from him in so long; she just wanted some assurance.

She ran from door to door down one corridor, then another. There was no sign of Ron. She ran up the stairs and checked the entire floor, but still found no Ron. She was running out of hope as she ascended the next flight of stairs. Maybe he had been sent home, or maybe... maybe...

She pushed the thought from her mind as she banged through the stairwell door out onto a corridor identical to all the others. It seemed to be getting dark outside, and the hospital was being lit with candles instead of normal lights. Hermione found this odd but continued her search. At the end of the corridor she found a Critical Healing Room, similar to the operating rooms in Muggle hospitals. For some reason, it didn't seem strange to her that this room was located on what would normally be a floor solely for recovering wizards and witches.

Regardless, she pushed her way through a set of double doors and found another set. She forced them open as a Healer passed in the opposite direction. The Healer seemed to realize that Hermione shouldn't be there and started shouting for her to leave. Hermione ignored his demands, for her eyes had spotted something.

There was a table in the room sounded by Healers in uniform outfits. And then, she spotted the red hair. She saw the backsides of Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey, whose gazes were fixed on the table before them. The room was getting ever darker and darker, but her eyes were locked on the red hair, and somewhere, a patch of black, messy hair. It was Ron, Harry, and the Weasleys!

Just as her mind filled with delight for finally finding Ron and Harry, she felt arms close around her, forcing her out of the room. She struggled and screamed, determined not to be dragged away when she was so close. The room was so dark, and she was too far away to see clearly what was happening. If she could just talk to them, or see them closer... But the Healers who had ahold of her were successfully forcing her from the room.

"I'm sorry," she heard an unfamiliar but sympathetic voice speak in the distance, "but, he's dead." Hermione's heart dropped, the wind was forced out of her, and her body fell limp in the arms of the St. Mungo's staff.

Dead. Dead. He can't be dead. But the sobs hidden behind the closed double doors confirmed her worst fears. He was dead.

"NO! No, it can't be! He can't be dead! He's not dead! No!" Hermione didn't realize she had been audibly crying out in her sleep until she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Suddenly the vision of St. Mungo's disappeared from her mind's eye. It now seemed odd to her that she had been seeing, or at least, she felt like she was seeing, everything. Her world was dark again, but she was not calmed by this. Her body was still racing with emotion, and even her mind struggled to push the thoughts away. Something wasn't right. She never dreamed things like this. Something was wrong. Something bad had happened. Maybe Ron really had...

"Hermione," a soft voice whispered. It was Ginny's voice, and her voice was thick with sleep, but gentle in sympathy.

"It was just a dream," Ginny's voice was the kindest and most compassionate Hermione thought she had ever heard. It soothed her, just a little bit, but still she felt that something was wrong.

"It wasn't just a dream, something's happened," Hermione insisted. Her voice sounded more panicked than Hermione thought it could.

"Everything's okay. You're here in the Burrow," Ginny tried to reassure her. Hermione felt Ginny's hand brushing her hair off her face and wiping the sweat from Hermione's brow. Ginny's other hand had taken a hold of Hermione's.

"It's okay, Hermione. Nothing's happened, we're all okay," Ginny insisted.

"No, we're not. What about Ron? Something's happened, I have to check on him!" Hermione was forcing herself not to go into hysterics, but she really didn't feel okay. She sat up, trying to figure out what she should do.

"Please, everything's okay. Someone would tell us if something had happened. Listen to me, Hermione." Ginny's voice became demanding, "You're okay. Everyone's okay. It was just a dream. Everything's fine." Ginny gently forced Hermione to lay back down, but still tenderly held her hand. She began stroking Hermione's hair.

"He's fine, it's okay, Ron's just fine-" Ginny spoke softly, but was interrupted.

"How do you know that? Have you seen him?" Hermione asked Ginny desperately.

"Well, no, but Mum and Dad have seen him-"

"Then you don't know that he's okay! He could be..." Hermione's voice trailed off, afraid to say it.

"It's okay, really, everything's okay." Ginny tried again.

"But my dream..." Hermione began again, feebly.

"It was just a dream," Ginny whispered. Hermione couldn't help herself as tears began to fall from her eyes. Her body had raced through so many emotions and trying to calm herself down again was nearly impossible. She sniffled and the tears slid silently down her face. Ginny began brushing a few of them away, and then she wrapped her arm around Hermione and began talking quietly. Hermione's mind was still racing, so she hadn't realized or noted what Ginny was talking about, nonetheless her voice had the desired effect, and eventually Hermione felt her eyes becoming heavy again. It had all been a dream, just a dream...

Hermione woke up and was greeted by darkness, as she was every morning. She had no indication as to what time it was, but she knew she was awake and there was no going back to sleep for her. Her body woke when it wanted to and slept when it wanted to; there was no forcing it.

She stretched, yawned, and her hand felt something out of place. She felt something warm, something like soft skin. Someone was in her bed. A gentle sniff of the air informed Hermione that it was Ginny - her shampoo was unmistakable. Hermione only wondered at Ginny sharing her bed for a moment, before she remembered her dream and her middle-of-the-night hysteria. Her fears came flooding back, and she crawled over Ginny with new determination. She had to find out if someone had seen Ron or if there was any news. Hermione hastily threw on some jeans and an old sweatshirt and exited Ginny's room as quietly as she could.

As she was descending the stairs, she heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's voices coming from the kitchen. Their voices were soft and low, and their speech indecipherable. The pleasant smell of Mrs. Weasley's breakfast cooking also wafted through the air.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley called out to her. She must have been seen. Hermione couldn't help thinking that Mrs. Weasley's voice sounded either tired or sad. Perhaps they had been at St. Mungo's that night or perhaps they had news.

"Do you want some breakfast, dear? It'll be ready in a little while," Mrs. Weasley's tired voice continued kindly.

"Have you been to St. Mungo's?" Hermione asked, coming straight to her desired topic of conversation. The kitchen was silent, and Hermione knew the answer.

"Something's happened," Hermione asserted.

"Now, Hermione..." Mr. Weasley's gentle voice began.

"What's happened to Ron? Is he okay?" Hemione asked, noticing the fear and desperation in her own voice.

"Hermione, we... we..." Mrs. Weasley began to answer

"Tell me the truth!" Hermione demanded angrily, fighting the urge to stomp her foot down as a child might do. She was tired of being led on; she wanted someone to be honest with her.

"I think it might be better if we talked to everyone all together," Mr. Weasley tried again.

"Something has happened! I knew it!" Hermione's heart sank. She didn't want to believe it. She wanted the truth, but she didn't want to believe what she had seen in her dream.

"Hermione, dear, you need to-" Mrs. Weasley began again.

"No! I don't want to hear it! Don't say it!" Hermione interrupted severely, bordering once again on hysteria.

"You need to know-" Mr. Weasley replied.

"No! Don't! And don't lie to me or pretend... or pretend... Don't!" Hermione yelled, becoming confused as to what she wanted. Hermione punctuated her desire to end the discussion by turning on her heel and bolting toward the front door. She had wandered through the Burrow enough now that she could easily make her way through the rooms, as long as nothing was lying out of place.

"Where are you going?!" Mrs. Weasley called after her, sounding nervous and worried.

"What are you going to do?" Mr. Weasley echoed, but his voice seemed less worried.

Hermione ignored them both, yanked the front door open and continued out the door. Her pace quickly turned into a flat-out run, which she thought was probably a little reckless, seeing as how she couldn't see where she was going, but she thought she had a pretty good idea. She was angry, frustrated, and what was she going to do? What could she do? Then, the thought hit her. She would Apparate to St. Mungo's and find out the truth for herself. She would demand that they let her see Ron and Harry, and then she would know everything. Now she merely needed to remember and visualize St. Mungo's...

But the image never came. Instead, Hermione found herself suddenly pitching forward, then rolling and tumbling down the hill that bordered the Weasley's home. She felt herself turning and turning, slamming into the hard ground, and falling even further down the hill. She began to wonder if it would never stop, when she put her arms and legs out and tried to slow the motion. In the end, she found herself sprawled out at the bottom of the hill, aching, and trying to catch her breath.

Hermione lay in the grass, moaning and clutching her ankle. Why had she been so stupid, running off across the whole wide world when she couldn't even see it? She wanted to swear, but something always kept her from doing so. Instead she tried to stop the tears that had sprung to her eyes, as she rocked herself and waited for the pain to subside. Her ankle was probably broken. Whatever was broken, it hurt. Now she had to figure out how to get back to the Burrow with a hurting ankle and her missing eyesight.

Hermione tossed her head back, still clutching her ankle but lost in thought. Why was everything so difficult? She couldn't even go for an angry walk without having some problem. Why couldn't she be with Harry and Ron? What if something really had happened? She felt so trapped.

Finally, she tried to stand on her own, but cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground. She heard a booming noise that made her literally jump, and she attempted to look around before she could stop herself. She knew the noise. Thunder. It would be raining soon.

And big rain drops did begin to fall, soaking the grass around her and pelting out a song in the forming mud puddles. Without the effort to fight, Hermione simply allowed herself to fall apart. She sat in her grassy mud puddle, crying like a lost and lonely little child. She had probably broken her ankle, which was easy enough to fix, except she had lost her wand in the tumble. She had no clue where she was, or how exactly to get back. She was alone, and now it was raining. And she had not seen Harry or Ron in nearly a month. She didn't even know if they were alive now. She cried, allowing the rain to wash over her and mix with her tears. Her exhausted body was shaking, and she started rocking herself for comfort.

She felt so alone.

How she missed hearing footsteps, Hermione never knew. Perhaps she had missed them because she was lost in her crying fit. Nonetheless, she was taken quite by surprise when she felt two strong arms wrap around her and lift her from the ground.

Instantly her body became tense, her cries stopped producing fresh tears, and her mind raced, trying to figure out what was happening. Who was carrying her? She stilled herself and paid attention to her senses. She couldn't smell the person, but she could easily guess that it wasn't a girl. She didn't know a female who could carry her so effortlessly, nor whose arms felt so sturdy. It was a man. But, who? He wasn't speaking to her, she couldn't smell him, and obviously she couldn't taste him. She listened to the breathing. No clues. Maybe it was Mr. Weasley. He was such a great fatherly figure. It could be him.

Hermione pulled her arms around the man's shoulders and neck. She didn't know what Mr. Weasley's shoulders or neck felt like, but something told her he wouldn't feel like this.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked tentatively. A seeing person could probably not properly understand her predicament. It was downright rude to not let a blind person know who you were, or that you were there.

But the man simply held her, wordlessly, and continued walking on in the pouring rain. Gradually the rain was beginning to slow, and it seemed not so threatening now. He was walking at a steady pace, and seemed to be holding her protectively against his chest.

"Harry?" Hermione ventured a guess. She hoped it was him; she wanted it to be him. She so dearly wanted to hear from him, to know that he was okay, and to know the honest truth about Ron. But this thought scared her too.

"Why won't you speak to me?" Hermione begged. Fear began to tease at her. Maybe something was wrong with him. Maybe Ron really had died. Hermione's heart almost stopped as that thought ran through her mind. But maybe he was angry or hurt or... Something was wrong, she knew it.

"Are you all right, Harry? What about Ron? Please talk to me," she pleaded. Tears were fighting at her eyes again. Her hands began to make their way up to Harry's face, wanting to see him. But he jerked his face away from her touch, and Hermione's hands recoiled, feeling rejected.

"Stop! Stop moving! Put me down!" Hermione spoke loudly and frantically. They were still moving.

"Put me down!" she screamed, slapping his chest. He stopped and began to let her down to her feet. Hermione's frustration prevented her memory from recalling her broken ankle. She collapsed under her own weight, but he easily caught her.

He cared for her; that was evident.

"Please tell me," she begged again, almost tearfully this time. "Who are you?"

"It's me, Hermione."