Chapter Two
-We All Fall Down-
So forgive me
Cause I don't know what to do
When you look at me
There can be no hesitation
There cannot be a close second to you
-Copeland
Hermione's headaches, it would turn out, did not get any better. In fact, as weeks passed and August faded quickly into September, they only became more frequent and more painful.
"Don't you think you should at least let the Healers look you over?" Harry asked, his patience running out one night toward the end of the month.
"No," she insisted, not looking up from her book, "I don't."
"Well, I do," Ron argued from his place across the room.
She rolled her eyes, "Well thought, Ronald. Gripping argument."
"We both think it would be a good idea, Hermione," Harry put in, reaching down to untie his shoes.
"Do you?" Hermione got up from her place on the couch and went into the kitchen. "Harry, Ron," she softened, leaning against the doorway, "I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But I'm fine."
Her roommates exchanged looks, "Yeah, okay," Ron relented with a shrug. "You're fine."
"I am fine," she insisted, turning back to the kitchen and breaking a banana off of the bunch. Harry followed her and grabbed her elbow, turning her to face him. "What?" she asked, irritably.
"You'll tell me if they get worse, won't you?" he asked quietly.
"Harry, you're being ridiculous."
"Just promise me," he persisted.
"Fine," she conceded, "if they get worse-which they won't-I'll let you know."
He let go of her elbow, "Thanks."
"Harry, are we playing chess or what?" Ron called from the living room, sounding impatient. With one more look toward Hermione, Harry sighed, and left the room.
"More to the point," Hermione began, following him out into the room and dropping onto the couch, "Don't you two have more important things to worry about?"
"No," Ron answered honestly as Harry took a seat across from him.
"Nothing at school to trouble your mind?" she asked hopefully attempting to change the subject and opening her book again.
"Not that I can think of."
"Now that you mention it," Harry said thoughtfully, trying not to grin, "no, not a thing comes to mind."
Ron, catching on, smiled as well. "Yeah, for the next few weeks it's just…boring day after boring day. Nothing important at all."
"Well that's unfortunate," she said, turning her eyes downward.
Harry looked confused. "Haven't you got anything important coming up, Hermione?"
She glanced up at him, "No, I don't think. I've got a nasty exam on Thursday, but that's it."
"Nothing else on Thursday?" Ron prompted with raised eyebrows as a chess piece hollered, "Are you going to play or should I make the first move myself?!"
"Not that I know of…" Hermione offered a confused look. "You okay Ron? You look a little funny."
"Uh, no." He looked down at the chess board and began pondering a move.
She yawned and closed the medical text, "If you're just going to sit up and argue with your chess pieces, I think I'll go to bed."
"G'night, Hermione," Harry offered a little wave as she waved back and wandered into the bathroom.
"Night," Ron called after her. He lowered his voice, "She's not really forgotten about her birthday, has she?"
Harry shrugged. "Not sure. It's not like her to forget things like that."
"It's not like Hermione to forget anything, Harry." Ron shook his head, "I'm worried about her."
In the bathroom, Hermione locked the door and removed the prescription potion from its hiding place. Downing her dosage in one gulp, she winced as it burned her throat all the way down. Staring at herself in the mirror, she heard the Healer's voice in her ears.
"If these headaches persist, we're going to have to look into other forms of treatment, I hope you understand that," he'd told her gravely.
"What do you think is causing them?" she'd asked, trying to sound careless.
"Right now, I'm not sure. There's not a trace of Dark magic in your veins so we're ruling out curses. Anything you can think of?"
There hadn't been anything that she could think of and so the Healer had let her go with her new, stronger prescription.
It hadn't been helping. The headaches were still there, more painful than ever. Sometimes with blinding flashes of light to accompany them or waves of dizziness that washed over her when going down flights of stairs or reading too long.
She splashed some water on her face and left the bathroom, not noticing that all talking in the living room had ceased the moment she'd done so.
***
"Mum!" Ginny called through the Burrow, dropping her purse onto the sofa. "I'm home!"
"In here!" Molly called from the kitchen where she stood over the stove, stirring a pot of meat for shepherd's pie.
Ginny wandered in and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Smells good," she commented, automatically reaching into the cabinets for three plates.
"You've got mail, it's on the table."
She set the plates on the counter and picked up the two envelopes addressed to her. The first was a letter from Witch Weekly, which Ginny promptly crumpled up and tossed into the trash.
"What was that, dear?" Molly asked, turning from the stove.
"Just a stupid thing from Witch Weekly."
Her mother pointed her wand at the garbage can and summoned the crumpled letter to her, smoothing it out once it reached her hands. "Ginny, this is a job offer."
"I know what it is, Mum," she reached for the other letter.
"And you're just going to throw it away?"
"Obviously, that was my intention."
"Don't get smart with me, Ginerva," her daughter winced at the sound of her full name. "It says you'd have a bi-monthly column."
"Yes, I can read…all that education wasn't for nothing."
"All that education you seem perfectly all right with throwing away by working at your brothers' store for the rest of your life."
Ginny rolled her eyes. She didn't want to fight. "Mum, I'm not going to spend the rest of my life there. It's just until I…I don't know…until I figure out my next move."
Molly waved the letter, "And what do you call this?"
"A waste of talent!" Ginny shouted finally. "I don't want to write for Witch Weekly, follow around celebrities and talk about the best way to remove nasty potion stains and answer romance questions-it's not even close to what I want to do."
"You're not going to get a million chances, Ginny. You'd better start jumping at opportunities when they arise."
She rolled her eyes, "I don't have time for this. I'm going out." Without another word, she Disapparated out of the house and onto Diagon Alley.
The street was busy, but not overly crowded as Ginny made her way through a small group of people and into Quality Quidditch Supplies. There was a shiny new broom, called a Torpedo, which had everyone entranced at the front of the story. Ginny slipped past them and into the back to check the prices on a new pair of pants.
There was a terribly familiar head of white blond hair visible over the top of the rack at which she was looking. Ginny rolled her eyes and prayed that she was either wrong or would suddenly become invisible.
"Well if it isn't the runt of the Weasley litter," an overly bored voice drawled, pulling her out of the jersey rack she'd suddenly become fascinated with.
"Malfoy…"
He looked amused, "What?"
"Just…go away," Ginny sighed, not having the will to argue with him. She turned and pushed her way through the store and onto the street again.
"That's it?" He called, following her quickly.
"I don't feel like fighting with you."
"You usually don't get a choice. I insult you, you insult me…it's a lovely aspect of our trysts that I enjoy so much."
She stopped walking and allowed him to catch up with her before she turned around. "First of all, don't refer to our unfortunate meetings as `trysts'. Secondly, stop following me, I want to be alone."
"Fine," Draco shrugged carelessly. "But I'd warn you, nothing you're worrying about is worth that wrinkle you're giving yourself right in the middle of that pretty brow of yours." He tapped her forehead with his index finger and Disapparated before she could say another word.
She stood, confused for a moment, rubbing her brow where he'd touched her, before continuing into the Leaky Cauldron for a sandwich. As she ordered, she tried to shake off the odd feeling that had come over her.
Had Malfoy just called her pretty?
***
Hermione paused and scratched out a line on her essay, watching as the ink melted away her unneeded sentence and everything moved up a line on the parchment. She glanced over the last three paragraphs quickly and rolled up her parchments, dropping them onto the professor's desk on her way out of the class.
Feeling quite good about her exam, Hermione hitched her bag higher up on her shoulder and pushed through the double doors that led to the spiral staircase which would take her to the lounge for lunch.
She'd taken the first three steps down when her headache potion-which she'd carefully timed to get her through her exam-wore off. A bolt of throbbing pain shot through her skull, catching her off guard and sending her falling down the stairs. She lay at the bottom of the staircase for a long time before classes officially let out and someone came to her aid.
Hermione awoke at St. Mungo's feeling numb and tingly. Harry and Ron were seated on either side of her bed, each looking terribly upset. "Please don't start," she said, her head feeling as though it weighed a ton.
"No, Hermione, I think we should start-what the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ron asked angrily.
Harry motioned for him to calm down. "We deserve an explanation, at the very least."
"I don't know what happened," she heaved herself into a sitting position. "That's the truth!" she exclaimed upon seeing their faces. "I finished my exam early, left the class, and then I…don't know."
"You don't know?" Harry asked skeptically.
"No," she answered honestly, "I don't."
"Someone said you fell down the stairs at the Ministry…did you?" Ron prompted.
"I…I don't remember. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought," she rubbed the back of her head, feeling a lump beginning to form.
"Ron," Harry sighed, "why don't you go find a Healer-tell him she's awake."
"Yeah," Ron got to his feet, "sounds good."
Once they were alone, Harry gave her a pointed look. "What?" she asked, "I honestly don't know what happened!"
"Hermione, what's today?"
"Thursday," she answered automatically.
"What's the date?"
"It's the…" she pursed her lips, "it's the nineteenth."
"Yeah, Hermione. September nineteenth."
"I didn't forget my own birthday, Harry," she scoffed. "I've just been busy lately…besides, nineteen is hardly an important one. I can't do anything this year I couldn't do last year."
"I'm worried about you," he persisted, seeing through her excuses. "Something's not right with you-you'll have to admit that at some point."
"Harry, I'm perfectly-,"
"Don't tell me you're fine, Hermione. You're not fine. You're in the hospital." He offered a pleading look, "Please let them run some more tests."
"I don't need anymore tests," she crossed her arms stubbornly and turned her head away from him.
Gently, he turned her face back to his, "Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for a change?"
She tried to set her jaw, "Maybe it would."
"Please? For me? If there's nothing there…I won't bother you about it ever again."
Hermione sighed, "Liar."
"Please?" he asked again, fixing her with his emerald eyes.
Her resolve, which had been crumbling slowly, broke. "Fine, I'll let them do more tests. But I hope you know they won't find anything."
Harry leaned and kissed her forehead, "Thank you," he whispered, hoping that she was right.
A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback! You have no idea how great it feels to hear such wonderful things…unless you're an author…then I guess you would know…wouldn't you? Anyway, thank you.
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