The Battles Within

His heart, hours later, was just now starting to quiet down.

A few hours before, Ron had had the scare of his life -- again. His sister Ginny had been captured by a basilisk and taken down into the Chamber of Secrets to die. Thanks to Hermione, Ron and Harry were able to figure out where the Chamber was hidden, and rescue his younger sib.

Well, Harry had, anyway. Ron had found himself babysitting Gilderoy Lockhart, after the great ruddy gimp had caused half the ceiling to collapse. Ron had also spent the time trying to move the rubble, so they could get back topside. Harry had bravely gone on alone to face a basilisk and Lord Voldemort (well, a sort of ghost of him, anyway.)

And now, the relief at having Ginny back no longer fresh in his mind, and the glow of Dumbledore’s praise starting to fade, it literally made Ron sick to think of just how close he had come to losing his sister and his best friend this night to a literally petrifying monster. But such terrible thoughts, while they weighed heavily on his mind, were not the only dark things to occupy his mind. Now Ron wrestled with his own monsters -- ones of the psychological variety, which , if Dumbledore knew of them, the old man would most certainly assure him were just as devastating as the tangible kind. But no one would ever hear of this struggle -- certainly not the way the whole of Hogwarts would hear about Harry's, before the night was out. In fact, Harry's own battles had created some of Ron's inner demons in the first place.

His whole life, Ron had always felt unnoticed. He wasn't the eldest, like Bill, or even the eldest of those still in school, like Percy. He wasn't the youngest or the only daughter, like Ginny. He wasn't a twin, like Fred and George. He wasn't witty or charming, as the twins were. He wasn't likely to become a prefect, like Bill, Charlie, or Percy, which meant he was even less likely to become Head Boy, like Bill had or Percy was likely to. He was an unremarkable magician, unlike Hermione. He wasn't a champion Seeker, like Charlie and Harry. And he was no hero, as Harry was.

Given the chance to be a hero tonight, he hadn’t even tried. He'd let his friend go off alone to fight a dreadful, dangerous beast. He didn't save his sister. True, he had only been doing as Harry asked; he'd told himself that over and over as he worked at moving the fallen stones about. They needed the way back clear, after all, in case they needed a hasty retreat. But it gnawed at him, the fear. Fear of the basilisk. And fear that he was really just making excuses, that he hadn't followed Harry simply because he didn't want to die. That he wouldn't risk his life for his best friend or his sister, even if he was right there with them, even if he had to watch them perish because of his own inability to act. If he were to step back and look at himself, he would say his greatest fear wasn't spiders or Voldemort or some other unspeakable horror, but himself, in all his petty, inadequate glory. He feared that there was some part of him that secretly resented Harry's success, because it pointed out his own failures, a part that in turn feared that Harry would get all the attention, yet again.

Oh sure, Dumbledore had said they would both get awards for service to the school. But everyone would know better, once they heard the tale. How Harry had fought the basilisk alone, and nearly died. How Ron had stayed behind, to "clear the rubble" and babysit the memory-wiped Lockhart.

With great effort, he managed to push his morbid thoughts aside as he reached the infirmary door. He was on his way to meet Harry, but he wanted to check on Hermione first, and see how the potion to cure her (and the others who'd been petrified) was coming along. Hair washed of the grime of the Chamber and wearing a clean robe, he tried to put on a smile, make himself more presentable. Because even with the slime gone, he still felt filthy, like it had reached down into his soul, and he could never be clean.

Madame Pomfrey smiled warmly at him, oblivious to his mental anguish. She was only a healer of the body, after all. "Oh, young Weasley! I just heard the news!" She rushed forward and put her hands to either side of his face, kissing him on the forehead. "Bless you, you and young Potter, for what you've done for us all!"

He flushed, partly from pride, partly from disgust at having been kissed by a teacher, but largely from shame. As much as he enjoyed the attention, he felt he didn't really deserve it. He looked away, and caught sight of Hermione in her bed, her arm raised stiffly in the air.

Noticing his discomfort, Pomfrey stepped back and smoothed her dress, but was still beaming. Then she noticed where he was staring. Her smile grew sad. "It will probably still be a day or so yet before the potion is ready. But she'll be up and about before you know it!" she added hastily, seeing the tears in his eyes. "In fact, I better go find Professor Sprout and check on the status of those mandrakes!" She hurried off.

Ron slowly walked over to Hermione. Even though she was unconscious, and Madame Pomfrey had insisted that she was quite unaware of her surroundings, Ron couldn't help but feel Hermione could see him now, see right through the supposed hero, right to the darkness inside him. He might be showered and in fresh robes, but he felt dirtier than ever under her unblinking gaze.

He came around to the other side of the bed, with the arm that lay prone on the crisp white sheet. He sat beside her and tentatively put his hand over hers, gently grasping her fingers. He was silent for long moments, just gazing at her face. It made his stomach twist in knots; seeing her like this, still as death. Yet he couldn't help but think what a lovely statue she made, all the same. He could never watch her like this under normal circumstances; he always felt terribly self conscious whenever their eyes met. But now ...

He grimaced at himself in disgust. How could he enjoy this?! They could have lost her, forever! That thought made the tears that were brewing in his eyes finally fall freely.

"H-hullo, Hermione ..." he managed to croak. "Madame Pomfrey says you'll be up and about soon. H-Harry and I, we've had a hard time of it, trying to get along without you ..." He choked on his tears.

He didn't notice Harry stop short at the door, uncertain of what to make of his friend's obvious distress. For a moment he feared something was wrong, that perhaps Ron had been told Hermione couldn't be saved. The idea hit his gut like a rock, but he remained immobile, unwilling somehow to intrude on this obviously private moment, no matter his concern for the both of them.

Ron went on, oblivious of his audience. "Don't you ever leave us like that again, Hermione! Not ever! I know you don't really think much of me, but if not for me, then for Harry's sake! I ... I know you … you like him best ..." he paused, the lump in his throat too great to allow speech. This was another of his inner demons, the certainty that Harry was destined to be more than a friend to Hermione. The belief that, as they grew older, he would have to watch his best friends fall deeper in love, and while he got left behind.

For his part, Harry had to bite back a gasp. Did Hermione think he felt that way about her? Did she really feel that way? Harry had suspected there was something more to Ron and Hermione's frequent spats for a long while, but had never brought it up, not wanting to embarrass them. How much of what Ron was saying now was true, and how much was just the boy's own insecurities?

"Madame Pomfrey says you can't hear us, petrified like this," Ron said slowly. "I suppose I'll never have a chance like this to tell you how I feel again. And it's cowardly for me to do this, I know, but I wouldn't ever want things to be awkward between us, or between me and Harry. I need to say this, just once, and better now when it can do no harm ..." He took a deep breath, part of him fearing Pomfrey was wrong, and that his words weren't falling on deaf ears. "I … I think I love you, Hermione. Maybe I’m not old enough to know, but … I know I couldn’t see my life without you in it."

He let out a sigh, his heart feeling a little lighter, now that he'd said the words. Then he started a moment. Had ... had she squeezed his hand? He grasped hers, gently. Even if she hadn't responded to him, maybe she could feel his touch, and take comfort from it. He looked back to her face, his tears and the candlelight giving her face an ethereal glow. It made his heart ache.

Harry, for his own part, found himself wiping away a tear or two. But still he stayed hidden, wanting to give Ron a chance to compose himself.

"I love you," Ron told the sleeping beauty again, softly. "I don't know when it happened. Maybe the moment I first saw you, storming into our car on the train like you owned it. You can boss me around for the rest of my life, so long as it means you're in it."

He half laughed. "So I don't know why I'm always arguing with you. I don't mean to. I can't seem to stop from putting my foot in my mouth, can I? I don't blame you for wanting Harry. He does a better job at showing you how much he cares, how he needs you. I'm sorry I'm not like that. Not brave, like he is. Not smart, or charming, or handsome. You know I envy him, but I can't hate him, and I wouldn’t begrudge him happiness with you. I can't think of anyone else who would be better for you than he would. And he'd be the luckiest guy in the world to have you." He actually smiled. "I'm pretty lucky too then, I guess, to have you both as my best friends."

Harry's stomach turned, hearing his friend's words. He'd had no idea Ron felt that way about himself! He certainly didn't agree with him! Ron was brave, and smart, and charming. He certainly wasn't ugly! And he was funny too, in a way that Harry had always envied himself. He couldn't ask for a more loyal companion! He vowed, in that moment, to make sure he let Ron know every day just how much their friendship meant to him.

Ron sat there, studying Hermione's features, committing the curve of her jaw, the arch of her brow, the gold of her hair to memory; who knew if he would ever get a chance like this again. Hell, he didn't want another chance, if it meant she would be hurt or worse!

Once again struggling to chase such thoughts from his mind, he released her hand and stood, more than ready to leave. And yet he paused, as an afterthought, reaching out to gently brushed her stray locks from her brow. His fingers trailed down the side of her face, and he cupped her cheek tenderly in farewell. Before he could think about it, or stop himself, he was leaning over her, brushing his lips lightly against hers. Just a gentle, chaste kiss goodbye, the kind done with fondness between dear friends.

She didn't wake up, of course. After all, she might be a sleeping beauty, but he was certainly no prince charming.

And now he felt horrified over what he'd done, kissing her when she wasn't awake, and couldn't protest. Oh, yeah, he was definitely scum. Disgusted with himself, he got up and went to the door.

Harry quickly hid down a hall, and waited for Ron to pass. When his friend was gone, he went into the infirmary and sat where Ron had been.

"What are we going to do with him?"

***

In celebration of the danger being ended and Hogwarts being able to remain open, Dumbledore had ordered a great feast. Harry and Ron sat with their fellow Griffindors, each cheered by the happy smiles of their friends and the knowledge that they would see them all again -- and alive -- in just a few months, when the summer holiday was over. They exchanged hearty greetings with students from other houses. Passing teachers jovially patted them on the back in thanks for ensuring that they could still call Hogwarts "home".

Still, even with all the merrymaking, deep within each of the boys sat a place where the smiles couldn't reach. A place that only their friend Hermione could touch. So they both sat there, forcing themselves to enjoy the feats and trying not to think of the empty seat beside them.

That is, they did until the person who owned it came into the room.

Harry, unable to contain his joy at seeing Hermione back to her old self, threw his arms around her. For most of his life growing up, he hadn't known the joys of a hug or a loving touch, and he reveled in the physical presence of his life at Hogwarts. Hugging Hermione was much like hugging the sister he'd never had. And although Hermione hadn't been love-starved in her formative years, she too enjoyed a great hug from her friend, whom she loved in turn like a brother.

When the hug was over, she turned to Ron. This was a whole other kettle of fish entirely.

There was no question Ron was happy to see her, nor did their fellow students wonder of she was happy to see him. The answer was written in the tears of joy sparkling in their eyes as they regarded one another. But there was a pronounced hesitation on both their parts, one that Harry marked with both humor and a touch of sadness. What was he to do -- with the both of them?

Harry couldn't have known, nor could Ron, that Madame Pomfrey had been wrong about the awareness of the petrified. Hermione had heard what Ron said -- every word. She didn't know what to make of it -- mostly because she now realised she felt the same way. She thought about him kissing her, and it both filled her with warmth and a sudden shyness she had never felt around him before. A hug with him wouldn't be the same as one with Harry. She felt funny about doing it in front of all those people.

Ron no doubt felt the same. He flushed nearly read as his hair. He stood there awkwardly, like he wanted to hold her close but had no idea how to go about it.

Thinking his thoughts were still on the kiss he'd given her (which they were), and that he was still mortified, Hermione did the only thing that came to mind that would save them both from embarrassment. She held out her hand.

Ron took it, after a moment of shock, feeling a queasy mix of great relief and disappointment.

Hermione, too, suddenly wished she had hugged him after all. She was just going to have to find another time to show him he cared. Without letting on that she'd been aware when he'd kissed her, that was, or he'd probably never speak to her again, out of sheer embarrassment. Boys could be so complicated!

Harry shook his head silently at them as, the awkward moment past, they sat down to eat. Harry didn't even ask Ron to switch his seat with Hermione, so that she would be in the middle and he could sit next to her too. As much as he was happy to have her back, he knew Ron needed her company even more.

Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had each kept an eye on the despondent Ron and Harry before Hermione's arrival, now gave their undivided attention -- albeit from afar -- to the three friends. Well, undivided save for the times they shared knowing glances with each other.

And when Hagrid finally came home to find his three young friends waiting with a warm, loving welcome, as happy as he was, he didn't fail to notice something had changed. There was a difference in the bond between Ron and Hermione that hadn't been there before he'd been taken away. He noted sadly that it seemed to shift the dynamic among the three friends. He thought Harry would always be somewhat on the outside now. But then he got a good look at Harry, and saw his young friend looked a bit older, wiser. Harry saw what was happening too, and was truly happy for his two friends. And when Ron and Hermione exchanged gleeful smiles with Harry, Hargrid knew what Harry had already guessed: that they would always be the best of friends. The bonds may have changed, but that didn't make them any weaker.

Now if only Ron and Hermione could see what was so clear to everyone else ...