Awakenings

romulus lupin

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Ron & Luna
Book: Ron & Luna, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/10/2003
Last Updated: 16/10/2003
Status: completed

A companion fic to “Apologies.” Ron opens his eyes in the Hospital Wing after Dumbledore leaves, his mind focused on a fragment of the conversation between the Headmaster and Hermione – a conversation which leaves him in doubt about his own worth and his friendship with Harry and Hermione. Will Luna Lovegood be able to change his mind? (R/LL)

Chapters

1. Awakenings

1. Awakenings

Awakenings

Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Drama / Angst
Sub Category: Romance
Keywords: Ron Luna Hermione Harry
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers:SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: A companion fic to “Apologies.” Ron opens his eyes in the Hospital Wing after Dumbledore leaves, his mind focused on a fragment of the conversation between the Headmaster and Hermione – a conversation which leaves him in doubt about his own worth and his friendship with Harry and Hermione. Will Luna Lovegood be able to change his mind? (R/LL)

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: I am dedicating this fic/chapter to Shazzia (midnight_arrow), whose wonderful fic “A Chance Encounter” provided the needed insight to set the Muses loose and a plot bunny to start running. Thank you also to the shippers of the HMS Red Moon as well as the visitors to the forum, especially those who responded to a thread I started there. And also to jackryan, who kept reminding me that I had this fic on hold while I was off Dream Chasing ;).

Awakenings

The Hospital Wing was silent as Madam Pomfrey made another round to check on her patients.

Hermione Granger was finally asleep after choking down the last of the potions prescribed and the school’s nurse shook her head at the Headmaster’s parting gift to the sleeping girl.

“Sugar-free lemon drops, indeed! What will those Muggles think of next?” She’d wanted to protest but the look in the Headmaster’s eyes -- as well as the pleading, stricken look in Hermione’s eyes -- made her relent. Besides, she’d heard something about it from the Muggle Studies professor and assumed, knowing that Hermione’s parents were dentists, that they would have access to such things.

She sighed as she checked on the other patient beside Hermione Granger.

Ron Weasley. Next to youngest of the Weasley clan -- and he’d been here often enough for her to become familiar with him. But not, she reflected, as a patient (unlike his other brothers who were here often enough for Quidditch-related injuries or -- in the case of the Twins -- “accidents” caused by their experiments). He’d been here often enough visiting his mate Harry Potter -- or Hermione Granger. But, she reflected, this would be the first time that he was here without Harry.

Still asleep, she saw. Well, why not? She’d heard all about the battle in the Ministry of Magic from the members of the Order and the other children when she’d patched them up, and she could only shake her head at what had happened. Thoughts, she’d said then, were apt to leave deeper scarring than most anything else, but they never were able to find out whose brains it was that had wrapped itself around Ron.

On the other hand, he was still affected with whatever curse it was that hit him before the brain latched on to him -- some variant of the Rictustempra curse, she thought. He’d been crazy as a loon, according to his sister and Luna Lovegood and had been laughing his head off when they’d met up again with the others, going on and on about the planet Uranus …

She shook her head. It had taken her some time to understand what it was that was so funny about Uranus. She’d finally connected it with Sybil Trelawney’s fuming one night at the teacher’s Common Room, ranting on and on about Weasley and his disrespect for Divination while the other teachers either kept a stone face or showed polite smiles.

Anyway, she sighed, that may have kept some of the effects of the brain off him … Merlin knows what happened to the brain when it encountered the magically-induced hilarity that was Ronald Weasley!

One final check of the other patient in the room -- but there would be no real need. She’d given that … that thing a Sleeping Draught strong enough to knock over a horse -- and she paused at the thought, a corner of her mouth curling up into a snarl that turned her kindly face into something that a troll would have cowered away from. Too bad she didn’t have one when she encountered the Centaurs, Madam Pomfrey thought. Served her right for causing such havoc to the school!

With that, she turned away and walked back to her office, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the Hospital Wing.

A pair of eyes in a red-headed face popped open the moment her footsteps were gone.

* * *

He stared up at the blank ceiling over his head: memories, thoughts and recriminations roiling through his fevered brain. Anger at himself for what had happened in the Ministry of Magic, humiliation at what he’d heard the others say about his actions, mortification at how little he’d been able to help his friends.

And through it all, a fragment of an overheard conversation kept running through his mind:

“Why did you have to make him a Prefect, Professor? He doesn’t have the right attitude to be a Prefect … he wouldn’t even help me discipline the Twins … he would just let them be, let them experiment on the first years …”

Dumbledore’s response to Hermione’s impassioned question made its way through his mind in a constant counterpoint: “I thought it was for the best, Miss Granger. Like so many things that have happened to Harry … to this school … I thought it was for the best.”

Dumbledore thought it was for the best.

Best for who?

Certainly not for one Ron Weasley.

Much as he hated it, he could not block the memory of receiving the Prefect’s Badge from his mind: his utter shock at the contents of the Hogwarts letter, the sheer incredulity of Fred and George at what happened as well as the sheer tactlessness of their remarks, passing the badge to Harry in a daze, mutely asking him to make sure that this was no joke …

And Hermione barging into their room, letting out a shriek of delight as she saw the badge in Harry’s hand, nearly dancing around the room with her letter, saying, “Me too, Harry, me too!” -- her jaw dropping to the floor when Harry told her that he wasn’t the Prefect, but Ron was.

He rolled to his side as the memory assailed him.

It was their reactions more than anything else that had made him defiant.

For a brief moment, he’d thought of writing Dumbledore right there and then to tell the Headmaster that he didn’t deserve the badge, that he wasn’t Prefect material, that Harry deserved the badge, after everything that he had done and gone through--

But no.

Oh, no.

The looks on their faces had steeled his determination, the disappointment on Hermione’s face had made him defiant, and his mother’s joy and blubbering about his achievement -- such as it was -- made him reject the thought of giving back the badge. He’d show them, he thought; he’d show them that he had what it took to be a Prefect -- not one in the mold of Percy, that stupid, pompous git with his holier-than-thou attitude and his nose stuck so far up Fudge’s backside that he --

He pushed the thought away, wondering now whether following in Pompous Percy’s footsteps would have been the better option. At the least he should have been a bit firmer with his brothers, he reflected … weathered the scorn and raised eyebrows they would have cast at him for performing his duties. But then again, and he realized this with a pang, the Twins had never been outrightly defiant of authority. Sure they’d twist and squirm to get around the restrictions but they knew when to bend -- whether it was to Pompous Percy -- or to Hermione Granger.

Hermione.

He resisted the urge to turn around and glance at his sleeping friend, knowing that it would be useless, knowing that there was nothing he could do or say now that would change things between them.

He would always be Ron Weasley to her -- friend and companion, fellow Prefect and Gryffindor, brother of Ginny Weasley … but he would always come second to Harry Potter.

He forced down the wave of envy and jealousy that boiled up in his throat and shuddered at the effort it took … one would think that he should have accepted it by now: he was doomed to be second to Harry in everything.

Lucky git, he thought. He’d had more than enough of spending hours on hours with Hermione in Grimmauld Place over the summer, hearing nothing except her constant worrying and concern about Harry -- interspersed with her bossy voice telling him how to clean things properly without the use of magic! He’d been utterly grateful that Ginny and Tonks were there to distract Hermione and draw her into their endless discussions about whatever it is that girls discussed.

He gritted his teeth as a sudden memory assailed him: of Hermione running towards their room to ‘help’ get Harry moving, Hedwig on her shoulder and Crookshanks in her arms -- and he wondered why she had borrowed Hedwig rather than Pig, if she’d wanted to send a letter to her parents.

Even with owls, he thought to himself, Harry will always come first.

He rolled over on his back, still staring at the ceiling. Famous Harry Potter, he mused … first in everything. The Boy-Who-Lived, youngest Seeker in a generation, youngest Tri-Wizard Champion in how many generations, the first in their group to experience the joys of kissing (somehow he doubted that Hermione had even let Krum kiss her), first in the heart of their mutual best friend --

And he? Second in everything -- hand-me-down clothes and books from his brothers, second-hand dress robes (he still shuddered at the memory of the dress that he’d worn to the Yule Ball), a second-rate Cleansweep rather than a Nimbus or a Firebolt and apparently … second choice as Prefect.

He’d been so focused on the ceiling and his thoughts that he didn’t notice anyone entering the Hospital Wing. It was the scraping of a chair near his bed that made him snap his head up, hands automatically searching for his wand -- and his eyes met protuberant eyes underneath very pale eyebrows in a face framed by scraggly dirty-blonde hair.

“Hello, Ronald,” Luna Lovegood said in a soft voice.

* * *

She didn’t know what she was doing here.

Or rather, she was not sure what she was doing here. She’d been sent back to her room in the Ravenclaw wing after a quick check-up by Madam Pomfrey (nothing more serious than a major bump on the head) and had collapsed into her bed after throwing off her clothes.

The bustling of her roommates had awakened her, and she listened quietly as they went about preparing for another normal day: chattering about schoolwork, tests and their upcoming O.W.L.s, making plans for the coming vacation, wondering which boy will notice them during the summer or the coming year.

She felt detached from it all.

But then, she had always been “detached” from it all, as anyone who thought they knew her could attest. On the other hand, most people never looked beyond surface appearances in any case. They would look at her sitting placidly at the Ravenclaw table with her upside-down copy of the Quibbler -- and wonder whether the Sorting Hat was having a bad hair day or if the planets were in mystical misalignment the night she’d been sorted.

She snorted to herself, softly. If learning was all it took to be a Ravenclaw, then she was in the right house -- she’d been consistently among the top 20 students academically in her year and her marks in some subjects could well cause Hermione Granger to have a heart attack …

And that thought made her pause. If Hermione was so gifted intellectually, what was she doing in Gryffindor, of all places? Reckless courage -- as exemplified by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley -- was the mark of Gryffindor; there was no doubt that Hermione was as brave and courageous as her best friends were, but recklessness was not part of her make-up.

Or wasn’t it?

The way she’d manipulated that Skeeter woman into writing Harry’s story struck her as Slytherinish … well, it came a close second to her enchanting the Defence Association’s list so that anyone who broke their trust would be marked for all the world to see.

She snickered softly, remembering Cho ranting in their Common Room at the lowdown, sneaky thing that Hermione had done as they tried spell after spell to rid Marietta Edgecombe of the purple pustules that formed the word “SNEAK,” the night that she’d told Umbridge about the DA’s meetings.

She’d spoken up then, suggesting that perhaps the best thing to do was to ask Hermione Granger how to remove the jinx. That was the first time she learned what real fear was -- and in her own Common Room at that! -- as baleful eyes turned on her from all sides of the room.

She’d hunkered down behind her Quibbler and kept quiet as a mouse as the others went on trying to cure Marietta’s condition until they finally gave it up as a lost cause.

On the other hand, she’d been surprised when the other members of the DA (aside from Cho) had gripped her shoulder tightly as they passed her on their way up to their dormitories. She’d felt comforted by the gesture of support -- and understood why no one had spoken up in her behalf earlier.

Ravenclaw may be the House of the Learned, but that didn’t mean they were any less human than the other Houses -- they could be as vicious in their pettiness as any group of people could be.

She started when she realized that she was munching on a piece of toast. She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t realized that she’d taken a bath, dressed, walked out of their Common Room and down to the Great Hall for breakfast, all without thinking of what she was doing. She shrugged to herself. There were times like this when being known as “Loony” Lovegood had its advantages -- no one bothered her or disturbed her most of the time and it left her free with her thoughts.

She lifted her eyes to look at the Gryffindor table, and felt a pang of loneliness as she realized that there were no red-heads there. Ginny would probably be still asleep in her dormitory, she thought -- as was Neville, who was also missing. Ronald and Hermione would still be in the Hospital Wing, recovering from their injuries.

And as for Harry Potter…

Now there was a walking mass of contradictions! He seemed to be a nice enough sort, when he, Ginny and Neville joined her on the Hogwarts Express, although apparently nervous at sharing a compartment with her … and she snickered again as she remembered Cho walking into their compartment to find Harry covered in Stinksap.

Talk about awkward coincidences! It was obvious that there was something going on between those two -- her first thought was that Cho had wanted to ask Harry about Cedric, but the tension in the air was different. It was much later in the school year that Ginny told her that Harry had a major crush on Cho since their third year (second year to them) and had even asked Cho to the Yule Ball during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but that Cedric had asked Cho first.

Her thoughts about Harry were interrupted, however, as the face of Ronald Weasley swam into her mind, face screwed in pained concentration, miming writing in the air, “I ... must ... not ... look ... like ... a ... baboon’s ... backside.”

She felt her face redden as she remembered the laughter she had let loose then -- and the looks of surprise and consternation on the faces of the others. She had to admit that the joke wasn’t that funny but then again, it was a better class of joke than what she’d had to endure with her Housemates, for whom intellectual puns, double entendres, and hard to understand witticisms were de rigeur.

In a word, it was … refreshing.

And that, she’d realized, was a major factor in her seeming attraction to the Gryfinndors. It wasn’t, as she knew some of her Housemates snickered behind her back, that she had joined the Harry Potter Fan’s Club. It was simply that the company of the Gryffindors was … stimulating.

They’d accepted her for what she was and, although she knew that they sometimes laughed at her, they’d never given her a hard time -- except when Hermione had told her off for believing in the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

But that was understandable.

People like Hermione wouldn’t believe anything unless they held it in their hands and could feel and touch it … and she shook her head. Such people were often the most blind to the things around them -- and too often, oblivious to the things right under their noses -- or within their hearts.

She looked up with a start and realized that she was standing in front of the doors of the Hospital Wing, having finished her breakfast alone and in silence and had walked out of the Great Hall, her thoughts still assailing her.

What would she be doing here, she wondered? She didn’t need any further medication or treatment; she didn’t even have her copy of the Quibbler or any books with her; Ginny would probably still be in her dormitory …

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Some things, she reflected to herself, you just followed on blind trust or instinct. Her mother had always said that, telling her again and again that there were more things in the universe than she would ever understand in her lifetime --

And the biggest mistake that anyone can make is not to see what one could find behind any door that your heart led you through.

* * *

“Hello, Ronald.”

If there was anyone in the world he would rather not have sitting on a chair looking at him, it was Luna Lovegood.

Harry, he could deal with. His mum -- no problem. Professor McGonagall, he could transfigure his pillow into a swan. Draco Malfoy -- he’d be rolling around on the floor, beating the snot out of the overgrown piece of slime. You-Know-Who? He’d challenge the git to a game of Wizard’s Chess.

But Luna Lovegood?

He blinked.

And was rescued from the need to say something as Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, saying in a concerned voice, “Miss Lovegood? Is there anything wrong? Any more aches and pains?”

“Oh no, ma’am,” Luna replied. “I’m feeling fine … just had breakfast and all. I … uhm … just, uhm, thought that I should drop by and see how everyone else is doing.”

“Well, you can just drop out and let my patients rest. Besides, visiting hours--”

“Just started, ma’am. It is Saturday.”

Ron gave Madam Pomfrey what he hoped was a hopeful smile, praying that she’d picked up on his hint and run the loon out the room. And released it in an explosive sigh as she replied, “Oh, all right. It is visiting hours, after all … but one wrong move, girl, and you’d be flying back to your dormitory without a broom.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.” Now why’d he have to answer her? The statement was not addressed to him; he wasn’t a girl the last time he’d checked -- and he shut his mouth and closed down his brain when he saw a glint of amusement flash in Luna’s protuberant eyes.

“So, how are you feeling, Ronald?” His head snapped back to look at her, the snarl on his lips at her use of his name dying before it could even start its journey from his throat.

It was the way she said his name: softly, quietly, matter-of-factly. No one had ever called him Ronald in that way for as long as he could remember: his Mum or Dad would, but their voices would be underlined with reproach or anger; his brothers and sister would -- but these will be underscored with laughter, humor or hilarity.

Or, in the case of the Twins, with an intonation that stopped just short of being an insult -- and sometimes, even crossed the line.

But Luna’s use of his name …

“Fine,” he croaked, and he found he had to swallow several times to try and wet his dry throat. The next thing he knew, he was holding a goblet of water and drinking from it, wondering how Luna could have moved from her chair to his bed to hand him the goblet from his bedside drawer without seeming to move.

“Fine,” he said again and his voice now sounded normal to his ears. “And you?”

She smiled and bowed her head as she sat down in her chair. “I’m fine, too. Nothing except a bump on the head …”

“You’re lucky.”

He saw her eyes under their pale eyebrows staring at him, but there was a twinkle in them as she replied in her dreamy voice, “There’s a Muggle saying, ‘God takes care of fools and drunks—‘ ”

“I didn’t know you were a drunk,” and he was cursing himself under his breath for that inane remark -- and then heard her soft chuckling at his feeble joke.

“You’re cute, Ronald.”

His ears were burning and he knew his face was not far behind as he responded. “I’m not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

They both heard a small cough and looked over at Hermione -- but she had merely turned over on her side. Madam Pomfrey was out in a flash and checking her over, giving the other two a fierce glare before walking back to her office, shaking her head.

“Do you always have to put yourself down?”

“Huh?” It took him a moment to connect that statement with the exchange they had just moments before. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said,” she responded in the same dreamy voice. “Do you always have to think of yourself as lesser than others?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Why then do you hang around with Harry and Hermione? They’re the perfect poster couple: The Boy Who Lived and the Smartest Witch in A Generation …”

“And me?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re my friends.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“What is?”

“Are you there because they’re your friends, or are you there because there’s no one else?”

This was getting loony, Ron thought. His mind couldn’t follow the convolutions of her logic … if there was logic behind her madness. He decided to humor her and answered, “Because they’re my friends.”

Before she could respond with something else that would make his brain ache, he turned the tables on her -- “What about you? What are you doing here?”

She kept her eyes on him as she answered, “Maybe because there’s no one else.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have any siblings, Ronald. And ever since my mum … died, it’s just been me and my dad.”

He didn’t know what to say at that revelation, except to mumble, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” A sudden thought struck him: “Is that why you could see the thestrals?”

She didn’t reply, just turned away to look at something else while she nodded in assent, and turned back to him when he exploded, “Then why didn’t you tell Harry that? He’d been worried for months because he thought he was seeing things …”

“I told him that I saw the same things he did, Ronald.”

“Yeah, right … but you didn’t even explain why …” And he stopped suddenly at the reproachful look on her face. “Yeah … we didn’t even think to ask you why you saw them.”

A gentle smile met his apologetic face and she answered, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is sorry the most commonly used word in your vocabulary, Ronald?”

He shook his head at the sudden change in topic, but before he could answer her, she’s shifted the conversation once again: “But you haven’t answered my question, Ronald.”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked you whether you always think of yourself as lesser than others.”

He blinked at her, unsure of how to answer the question -- and realized, with a pang in his heart, that she had somehow focused on the one thing that had always bothered him about his friendship with Harry and Hermione. He was startled as he heard a strange voice answering Luna Lovegood -- and realized that it was his voice: “I never thought of it that way but … yes, I guess I have always thought of myself as being lesser than others.”

He glared at the ceiling as he sought to explain why. “I guess you had it easier than I did. You have no brothers or sisters … and there are no expectations of you except to do well at school …”

From the depths of his memories came the words that he’d said to Harry, the first time they’d met, all those many years ago: “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left -- Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

“Are you the same person you were when you met Harry, Ronald?”

He blinked, unaware that he’d spoken -- but then again, those words had been eating at him for years, buried deep within his consciousness and sometimes he never knew where they ended -- or where they began. He was about to reply but Luna’s soft, dreamy voice broke through his mind: “If there is one thing that is a true constant in this galaxy, Ronald … it is that people change. You’re not the same person you were when you met Harry Potter five years ago … you’ve been through too much together to be the same person you were then.”

He frowned at her words, and she continued in a dreamy voice that somehow seemed to have sharpened in their tone: “You were there with him when he saved the Sorcerer’s Stone in your first year. You were with him when Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. You were beside him when he fought off the Dementors in your third year. You helped train him last year during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“And it was all Harry, Luna! Don’t you see that? It was all Harry, Harry, Harry … I got knocked out during the chess game in first year, I was digging out the tunnel in second year, I was unconscious when he and Hermione went to rescue Sirius in third and …” His voice dropped to a whisper, “I wasn’t there to help him during the First Task last year.”

“Could you have done what Harry did, Ronald?”

The softly spoken question cut his ranting and he turned his eyes to her -- and felt himself slumping on the bed, all the tension and anger dissipating, leaving him in a state of befuddled embarrassment.

“No,” he said softly. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

Not only could he not have done it as well as Harry did … he’d probably be dead by now. He didn’t have the protection that Lily Potter imbued Harry with in first year; he had a dysfunctional wand in second year; it was his pet, and his blind loyalty to that rat, which had caused all the havoc in third year and--

He shuddered in sudden fear as he imagined himself a Tri-Wizard Champion instead of Cedric Diggory -- he’d have been dragon’s bait during the First Task. He didn’t even have a broomstick worthy of the name at the time -- Harry’s Firebolt gave him an advantage that he didn’t have. He’d likely have peed his pants at facing a dragon -- and would have left the school in complete humiliation to live out the remainder of his long years as a Muggle, slinking away in shame at presuming to be better at that game than anyone else.

And as for the MoM … they’d never have been able to join Harry and Hermione if Luna hadn’t been there.

His mind flashed to Umbridge’s office where he, Ginny, Luna, and Neville had been left to the tender mercies of the ferret and his gang -- three of them struggling against their captors while Malfoy led the sneering and taunting while Luna stood placidly by, looking out the windows as if bored by what was going on …

The next thing any of them knew, Luna’s captor was hurled back into Warrington, thrown off by a Reductor hex cast by Luna --

And the next moments were a jumbled memory of flying fists and hexes as they scrambled for their wands or the Inquisitorial Squad’s wands -- Stupefys and other hexes blasting around, Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hex hitting Malfoy’s face, an Impedimenta! throwing Malfoy’s goons into the wall … and the four of them stood there triumphant over the fallen bodies of their enemies.

From out of nowhere came George’s voice, “Yeah, size is no guarantee of power -- look at Ginny.”

Or Hermione.

Or Luna.

Especially Luna, he thought, looking at her now with suddenly new eyes.

And caught her looking at him, but her eyes weren’t dreamy or defocused … they were looking straight into his soul, and he couldn’t turn away for a long moment.

It was another cough from Hermione’s bed that made them break off their stares, and glance over at the still-sleeping girl, whose back was turned to them. They’d been so involved in their stares, however, that they never even noticed that she’d actually turned on her back -- and had just turned back to her side, which movement had caused her to cough at the pain in her still-healing chest.

“Why did you shake her hand?”

“Huh?” He blinked, and realized that she was looking at Hermione, her eyes dreamy once again – and apparently thinking back on something that he had totally forgotten, after so many years and how many adventures with his best friends …

“Second Year -- actually, my first year?”

And the memory clicked … of a Ron Weasley so full of himself, not from the wonderful food at the feast but of being proclaimed a hero and garnering 200 points plus the Special Award for Services to the school … noticing a wooden Harry Potter whose smile and laughter sounded forced to his ears … Neville’s voice breaking in on the hubbub at their table: “Harry, look! It’s Hermione!”

He’d leaned back in his chair to see her standing in the corridor, looking for them … feeling Harry also leaning back behind him and realizing, as Harry scrambled out of his seat, that Hermione was walking towards them … no, she was running … no, she was sprinting towards them -- and no, she wasn’t looking at him.

Her eyes were on Harry, only on Harry.

He’d gotten up to stand beside Harry and he stood there like a lunk, watching her slam into Harry’s open arms with such force that Harry was almost knocked back, both of them wrapping their arms around each other in a hug that looked as if it lasted for ages, but was actually minutes -- or seconds -- while he stood there, unsure of what to do, uncertain of what to say, torn between happiness and a fugitive fear …

They’d finally broken apart … flushed, blushed or embarrassed he couldn’t say, and Hermione turned to him and was about to hug him, but he’d stuck out his hand in an unconscious echo or foreshadowing of Pompous Percy in their third year as Head Boy (or Humongous Bighead), saying “Welcome back, Hermione,” as if he were the mayor or something …

He blinked, and looked at Luna, who was now looking at him with her patented Luna Lovegood stare – and he blurted, “Were you watching us then?”

“Rather hard to miss, wouldn’t you say?”

He frowned at that response, wondering what Luna was getting at and she responded with a sigh, “The Ravenclaw table is right beside yours, Ronald.”

Of course, he thought. For a moment, he wondered why that simple fact had escaped him – especially after he’d spent most of his waking hours in the Great Hall, sitting right across from the Ravenclaws.

And he wondered what other things he had missed … how many other small, infinitesimally obvious things he had overlooked in his five years in Hogwarts.

‘Was it that obvious even then?’ he thought. For a brief moment, he felt a stab of remembered resentment at Neville – Hermione had two best friends, didn’t she? So why would Neville be telling Harry and not the two of them, about Hermione’s entrance into the Great Hall?

And again, the spectacle of Hermione running towards Harry, and slamming into him, and that hug which lasted for all of he could no longer remember how long, came to his mind. And he realized, with a stitch in his heart, that the reason why he’d held back from hugging her was simply because … even then, he’d wanted something different from Hermione.

Hermione had hugged Harry first in front of all the world to see; he’d wanted something different, to make the said world see that he was someone other than Harry Potter, that he was not just another friend to be hugged after Harry …

Even then, he thought, his envy of his best friend was already rearing its ugly head.

“Oh, Ronald!” He blinked at the exasperated tone in Luna’s voice and he started, belatedly realizing that he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. Before he could say anything, she continued, “When will you realize that comparing yourself to Harry or anyone else is an exercise in futility?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Luna continued in her seemingly normal, dreamy voice which had an underlying current of steel: “‘If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself’.”

He closed his mouth at that, and contented himself with staring at Luna, who continued as if she were talking to herself, “‘Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

“’Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

“Be yourself.”

“Luna?” She blinked and stared, as if she wasn’t aware of what she had been saying or even where she was for that matter. Before she could say a word, Ron reached out and gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

The small girl sitting by his bed bowed her head, her long blonde hair covering her suddenly blushing face – and she looked up with a smile as Ron said, in a voice full of surprise and wonder, “How come you’re so smart about such things?”

Neither one noticed a sigh escaping from the other bed where Hermione lay ostensibly asleep, as Luna replied with a small laugh but with a hint of affection, “I’m a Ravenclaw, Ronald.”

“Of course,” he replied with a blush at having forgotten that singularly surprising fact.

For a long moment, silence fell on the Hospital Wing, punctuated only by the suddenly deep breaths that came from Hermione’s bed – something which neither one of those awake even noticed.

Ron’s mind kept playing the lines that Luna had intoned over and over again … and he closed his eyes against the tears he could feel forming as the words played over and over in his head: “…you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself’.”

He’d never been vain, he realized … simply because he had allowed himself to grow bitter over the years. And again, the weeks of his estrangement from his best friends during their fourth year played back over his mind – and he shook his head, willing those memories away.

But he’d made up for it, he thought, remembering the moments after the conclusion of the First Task, when he had gone to the champions’ tent with Hermione to apologize for his stupidly prattish behavior … and felt a wave of recriminations flow over him as he remembered Hermione’s words to Dumbledore: “I was hoping that Ron would help me … that he will support me when I was trying to make Harry listen to reason … he was a bloody Prefect, for crying out loud! But no, oh no … he always supported Harry … or he would leave me hanging, wouldn’t even support me …”

In his effort to make up for his stupidity during Fourth Year, had he gone to the other extreme? Had he allowed his guilt over abandoning Harry to guide him, make him believe that he should simply support Harry in whatever it was that he wanted to do – rather than, like the chess master that he was supposed to be, figure out his opponent’s intentions, and help guide Harry along the proper path?

Had he been a friend to Harry … or simply a willing accomplice because of what had happened between them last year?

But if that were so, he thought … what about Hermione? She saw through the trap that Voldemort had set but she still followed Harry in what he wanted to do … and almost losing her life in the process. But then again, he thought, that was Hermione for you … ever loyal, ever faithful and yes – ever forgiving of Harry Potter.

And of himself, as he remembered their third year when he had pushed her out of the way because of his blind loyalty to a faithless rat. And his anger at her interference over Harry’s Firebolt …

“ ‘…I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all’.” Hagrid’s words during their Third Year when Harry and he had been snubbing Hermione cruelly.

Or rather, as another wave of regret coursed through him, he had been the one who’d been so mean, and vicious, and petty, and cruel to Hermione. Harry had tried, he knew; he’d seen Harry talking to Hermione during the party after their victory over Slytherin, and he’d had to come out with that viciously cruel statement, “If Scabbers hadn’t just been eaten, he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to really like them --”

He could remember the smirk of satisfaction that he’d felt as he saw Hermione packing up her book and hightailing it out of the Common Room – and felt a twinge of remorse now as Harry asked him to cut her some slack …

He pushed the thought away. If he’d hurt Harry through his stupid envy in Fourth Year, how much hurt had he caused Hermione during their Third Year?

He’d never even apologized to her properly, he thought. It was Hermione who’d apologized to him about Scabbers, during that emotional moment when she told them that Buckbeak had lost the case, and she’d flung her arms around him, sobbing when he said that he would help her in the appeal …

In the same way that he had never apologized properly to Harry after the First Task during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He’d tried to, but Harry had brushed it off … the same way that he’d thought of apologizing to Hermione, but she had brushed it off … and he finally realized the reasons behind her disappointment in him.

He’d never been able to do the right thing by his friends … simply because he’d allowed the burdens of his bitterness to rule him. Sure, he’d been with them in all the major events of their lives … but he’d not been able to do the right things at the moments which truly mattered.

He’d been there when they needed him, but at the same time, he’d also not been there when there was a need to reaffirm the friendship they’d forged.

From a distance, he could hear someone singing softly … and he realized that Luna was singing something under her breath. For a moment, he froze, wondering if she would break out into a chorus of “Weasley is Our King” – something that he could not accept or abide at this point in his life.

As he listened, however, he realized that the tune was familiar … something that he’d heard in the Burrow … a song by some Muggle entertainer on a record that his father had somehow found and brought home:

“Whenever I call you ‘Friend’,

I begin to think I understand

Anywhere we are, you and I have always been,

-- ever and ever

I see myself within your eyes,

and that's all I need to show me why

Everything I do always takes me home

to you, ever and ever …

'N now I know my life has given me more than memories,

day by day, we can see

In every moment there's a reason to carry on --”

And his mind quickly provided the chorus:

“Sweet love's showin' us a heavenly light,

I never seen such a beautiful sight

See love glowin' on us every night,

I know forever we'll be doin' it, –

The song abruptly stopped, however, as both heard Madam Pomfrey moving – and she burst out of her office in a rush, the glare in her eyes sufficient to frighten a herd of centaurs back into the depths of the Forbidden Forest -- and they both feigned a look of innocence (in the case of Luna, she quickly dropped back into her ‘normal’ look of bemusement) as the nurse approached them, demanding, “Did I just hear you two singing in here?”

Luna and Ron looked at each other in surprise, and simultaneously raised an inquiring eyebrow at the nurse, who glared back at them owlishly. Before Ron could open his mouth to respond, Luna said, “It must have been a silver-winged Betorkle, ma’am.”

If there was a look that could have stopped Peeves in his tracks, Ron reflected, Madam Pomfrey had it down cold – fortunately, Luna was not Peeves, for she looked back at Madam Pomfrey steadily, without even blinking an eye. Madam Pomfrey was distracted, however, when they heard a strangled sob coming from Hermione – rushing over to the sleeping girl, she eased her into a more comfortable position.

Ron took the opportunity presented to raise an inquiring eyebrow at Luna, who merely shrugged and looked dreamily into the distance. They turned back to Madam Pomfrey who tried another death-glare at them but Ron interrupted her: “How is Hermione, Madam Pomfrey?”

The nurse glared at him for a long moment before replying, “She needs to rest … and she cannot get it if you two keep on disturbing her.”

Luna and Ron both opened their mouths to protest, but were stopped by her upraised hand. “If I hear another disturbance from either one of you” – her baleful eyes fixed on Ron – “your girlfriend will be out of here before either one of you can say ‘Nox’.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Ron’s words were out of his mouth before he could even think – and for a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he saw disappointment pass over Luna’s face. That thought quickly disappeared however, as Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue in disbelief – and all three heard a loud moan of fear coming from the curtained hospital bed where the erstwhile High Inquisitor of Hogwarts lay.

Madam Pomfrey walked swiftly to Umbridge’s bed as Ron and Luna stared at each other in surprise. Moments later, the nurse was back – barely controlled fury evident in her features as she asked, “And what did you do to disturb my patient?”

“Me?” Ron replied in disbelief. “I didn’t do anything … you just started making that sound” – and he started clucking his tongue, at which point they could hear thrashing from the other bed.

Madam Pomfrey stared at Ron for a moment before rushing back to her patient, saying, “Will you stop that, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron and Luna looked at each other for a moment before shrugging their shoulders at the same time. They sat together quietly until Madam Pomfrey returned to her office before Ron spoke up: “ I didn’t know you liked muggle music, Luna.”

She looked at him, puzzled, and smiled when he started humming a few bars of the song they’d both been singing. She blushed as she confessed, “That was one of Mum’s favorite songs … I don’t know where she found it.”

“Oh.”

“It seems to say everything that needs to be said, doesn’t it?” Not knowing how to respond, Ron kept silent until he – who was never comfortable with silence – asked, “Luna? What you said earlier … was that a poem or something?”

Luna smiled at him in her dreamy manner. “ ‘Desiderata’. My mum always recited it to me when I was growing up.”

“I see.” Ron’s face, however, looked puzzled at why anyone would have been reciting poetry to such an extent that Luna seemed to have memorized it.

“Especially do not feign affection,”Luna recited in her soft, wistful voice. “Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass’.”

Before she could continue, however, a rattling sound distracted them – and they saw Madam Pomfrey emerging from her office with a gleam in her eye and a tray bearing a bottle of Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction in her hands. Ron felt a tug at his hand as he felt Luna standing up – and realized with a start that he was still holding her hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lovegood, but it is time for Mr. Weasley’s treatment – and it is lunch time.” Ron’s stomach chose that very moment to make its presence known, which caused Ron to cringe in embarrassment and Luna to give a small, musical laugh.

“I’ll come back after lunch and bring you some pumpkin pie if you want, Ronald,” she offered, seemingly oblivious to the hand that was still holding on to her own.

Madam Pomfrey interrupted her, however. “I’m sorry, Miss Lovegood, but you will have to come back tomorrow. I think it would be best if Mr. Weasley takes a break for the rest of the day.”

“Oh.” Luna’s disappointment cleared, however, as she felt Ron give her hand another small squeeze, and she gave him a small smile. “All right, then. I’ll be off.”

“See you, Luna.” Ron said, with a smile. “Don’t let the Nargles bite.”

Luna smiled and leaned down close to him -- Ron pushed himself back into his pillows in fear but stopped as Luna whispered, “ … be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.”

Before he could protest, she gave him a kiss on his forehead and whispered, “Strive to be happy.”

She stepped back from the fiery-faced Ron and, with a nod to Madam Pomfrey, slipped out of the hospital wing as quietly as she had entered.

The nurse and the student stared after her for a moment before turning to regard each other with bemused expressions. With a slight snicker, the nurse said, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

Ron merely nodded and relaxed in his bed, mentally preparing himself for Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations. Neither one heard Hermione whispering to herself: “Neither will I. Thanks, Luna.”