Sleeping
Summary: Ron and Hermione have a talk while Harry sleeps.
A/N: Many of you are wondering why I used "supposement", a nonexistent word, while I could have used supposition in Suppose. Well, basically, I didn't like the word "supposition". It sounds so stiff and frigid. "Harry likes to make suppositions". Blah, I didn't like it. I thought "supposement" was cuter, and it fit when I heard it in my mind.
I'm not sure how you guys will react to this.
This one-shot is different from my others. A dream had inspired me and I had woken up, haunted. It was like I was watching a movie because unlike my other dreams, I wasn't in there. Harry and Hermione weren't in there but some people wore.
Anyways, I just wrote this one yesterday, and I want to hear your comments!
It had been a while since Ron had visited Hermione. With his booming career as a Quidditch player and incessant need from his wife Luna, he barely had time to talk to his best friend of ten years. But today was a special day.
Ron decided to hit Three Broomsticks before heading over to where Hermione was living. He asked Seamus Finnegan, a friend of his from Hogwarts, to share a few drinks with him, and he agreed.
As always, the place was packed, filled with drunken witches and witches, and there were even a few goblins in the corner looking for some relief from their heckling lives. The smell of the room was a pungent, a melange of unwashed bodies, Vampire vodka, and varieties of food. Chattering and laughs surrounded Ron, but he tried his best to ignore them.
He and Seamus were ensconced in a booth where it was less busy, and each cradled a mug of Firewhiskey in front of them. The two passed the time by chit-chatting about Ron's latest wins as Chaser for the Chudley Cannons. Seamus complained about his boss at the Daily Prophet, stopping once in a while to add in a comment about his girlfriend, Parvati Patil.
"...I mean I love her to death, but she has to keep Lavender away from me. If not, she'll burn a hole into my ears," Seamus grumbled as Ron laughed.
"Good thing Luna doesn't talk like that," Ron said. "She has no friends like Parvati; most of them are quiet people. I kind of like that."
"It's odd, you know," his friend commented, "you and Luna are the oddest couples ever!" Ron glanced at Seamus, confused. "I mean, yeah, I see you guys getting along, but you being a chatterbox and Luna being quiet, not to mention intelligent-"
Ron threw a couple of peanuts in the other man's direction, believing that he deserved every hit given to him. "Shut it. I have my moments."
Seamus took an obnoxiously loud slurp from his mug, "That's what you think." He raised an eyebrow when he saw his redheaded friend surreptitiously glance around. "What?"
Ron jumped in his seat. "Uh…nothing-"
"What?"
"It's just-mate, do you know the time?"
"Nine. What, does Luna want you home at a certain time?" Seamus teased, amused as Ron flicked him off.
"No…I-well, I have to visit Hermione today."
The two men exchanged uneasy glances before gulping down the whole contents of their drinks.
"You haven't talked to Hermione in months, right?"
Ron nodded.
"Is it because-"
"Yeah," Ron replied distractedly. He grabbed some remaining peanuts from a basket in front of him and threw down a handful of golden coins. "Alright, mate, see you some other time."
He rushed passed his friend, but before he could merge into the crowds of intoxicated people, Seamus called after him.
"Hey, Ron!"
Ron, who was putting on his light summer jacket, turned to his friend again. "Yeah?"
"Ask her how she's doing for me, alright?" Seamus said, nodding his head.
"Will do." Ron shot his friend, who raised a glass to him, a quick smile.
It was a perfunctory question; everyone knew how she was doing. Even so, courtesy tells a person, who hasn't seen a friend in a while, to ask their friend for new updates.
To be frank, Ron was nervous. He had failed to keep up his daily visits, and it had been three or four months since he had last seen Hermione. The only reason why he was going to visit her (and he felt quite guilty) was because it was Harry's birthday.
He was so distracted with rehearsing what he was going to say that he didn't realize that he had taken the lift to her place and that the door in front of him had opened. Someone must have rung him up and told Hermione of his presence.
"Ron!" His brunette friend exclaimed once seeing him. "You came here to say happy birthday, didn't you?"
"Yeah…" Ron smiled timidly at her.
Hermione glanced at his hands and then leaned against her door. "Where's his present?"
"I," Ron thought furiously of an excuse but couldn't find any, "forgot it. Sorry."
"Oh, Ron! Just come in then!" she ordered, laughing. Then she pointed at his feet and ordered with authority, "but take off you shoes! I don't want my newly installed white tiles to get dirty…and I don't want to wake up Harry.
He gently set his pair of shoes onto the ground. As he straightened up, he momentarily lost his balance and crashed against the closest wall. Hermione gave him concerned look then a scolding one. "Ron, be a little quiet. He's sleeping," Hermione scolded, pointing a slender finger down to the ground. "He's downstairs so we have to tiptoe."
"Right. Sorry." He regained his balance and rubbed his shoulder.
Sometimes, he just wished Hermione would stop.
"Mm-hmm," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Now, let's take a seat. We haven't finished moving so that's why the room looks so bare and white. Sorry. I have only have two chairs and a table right now, but Harry and I are thinking of ordering some more."
Ron glanced around the room to see that she was correct; it was as if Hermione didn't even live here. Two chairs and a table sat in the center of the room. Books lay on the ground, scattered sporadically. There were no pictures or paintings on the walls; only a window acted as a decorative piece. Even the window didn't have curtains. Her whole place lacked color.
"Ron, you're okay, right? I mean about me and Harry," Hermione asked unsurely, biting her lower lip.
Ron put on a smile, straightened up, and turned to face his friend. "Yeah, of course! In fact…me and Luna are together."
Hermione gasped and Ron quickly found himself in his friend's embrace. He forgot how strong she was.
"Ron, that's great!" Suddenly, she put a hand over her mouth and chuckled. "I shouldn't be so loud; we might wake up Harry."
Ron smiled in spite of his feelings.
"Anyways, Harry and I always thought you were suited for each other, right, Harry-" she turned her head to the right as if Harry was next to her. Then she stopped herself and let out a laugh. Ron watched uneasily.
He remembered how his two friends always finished each others' sentences and how they could have been in group but still have a conversation with just the two of them involved. Everyone except Hermione and Harry would feel like an intruder and they would sooner or later scatter away.
"I always forget that Harry is not always by my side. Through our years in Hogwarts, he was constantly…there! But since he's sleeping downstairs…" she trailed off with a smile. Then Hermione rolled her eyes again and gestured Ron to follow her.
Old friends sat across each other with a table separating the two. Ron draped his coat his chair and placed his hat onto the table. He felt Hermione's eyes move across his face and down his body, as if she was scanning for a fault.
"You look the same," she stated conciliatorily.
"You…do too," Ron answered automatically, but at the sight of Hermione's wry smile, he knew that she knew that he was lying.
Her uncontrollable hair was held up by a black clip that failed to keep it all in. Her skin was the color of the skin of a porcelain doll; she hadn't been outside for ages. Her clothes, a simple white night outfit, hung off her thin, bony body.
But even so, she looked happy, crazily happy.
"On to a new subject," Hermione said, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. "Now, how is Quidditch?"
"Do you really want me to talk Quidditch with you?" Ron knew that she wouldn't understand the technicality that revolved around his favorite sports game.
"Well, don't use any Quidditch terms; tell me in English." Hermione grinned.
Ron let out a quick laugh and updated her on his life. He recounted his wins and how much publicity came because of them. He told Hermione about his and Luna's relationship, how their days came with surprises. Hermione laughed when he told her about their playful banters.
"The two of you remind me of Harry and I," Hermione commented. She didn't notice that Ron's smile had left his face; she was too busy glancing out of the only window in the room.
"It came so sudden," Hermione said, eyes taking on a thoughtful look. "Of course, I knew I had feelings for him. It was only until that moment that I-" she stopped suddenly.
This was the woman Ron had loved and dated for a year at Hogwarts. It was only until five months after their breakup did he realize that the "love" he felt for her was only of the brotherly sorts. He remembered being so enamored by her. The sight of her warm smile and soul seeking brown eyes used to make his insides squirm. Now, he felt a pain.
The only reason why Hermione was so happy was because she was thinking of Harry.
"I love him," she said softly as a hand reached up to grab the locket around her neck. It was a gift from Harry, from four years ago when he had gone off to battle. The three of them were afraid to leave each other because it meant that they might never see each other again. Just as they were commanded to take stations, Harry grabbed a hold of Hermione's arm, holding her back.
His eyes had spoken to her in ways that Ron was still trying to decipher. Whatever message Harry had sent, Hermione launched herself into his arms, and the two kissed for the first time. It was a bittersweet moment; their love was finally revealed but needed to be put on hold (forever, possibly) because of the battle.
Harry gave her a locket-the locket that she was holding now. Hermione never let anyone but Harry touch it. Ron understood, of course; it was one of the most precious gifts that Harry had ever bestowed on her.
"I know you do," Ron whispered to her, tenderly, holding her hand. Hermione smiled and patted his hand with her other.
"I'm glad he loves me back-"
"-Why wouldn't he?"
"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said with only a hint of exasperation, "I wasn't a looker like Cho or-"
"So. You have other attributes."
Hermione crossed her arms. "Like?"
"Like that big brain of yours."
The table between them restrained Hermione from hitting him. But the two of them knew Ron's comments weren't insulting. It was part of his nature to tease her so.
"Thank you for your compliments, Ron; you always had a way with words," Hermione sarcastically said. Then, with her mood suddenly changing, she glanced over to her right. A soft smile formed as her head tilted. Ron felt as if she was listening to something that he could not hear. Like it was a conversation between her and someone else…
"…I ordered him a cake for tomorrow, though the person was a bit rude," she informed him, as if she never even stopped talking. "Want to see it then, Ron?"
All he could do was smile encouragingly.
"Come back tomorrow or something. He'll be awake by then," Hermione nodded, leaning over her chair to grab a book from a stack on the floor. She set to making herself comfortable in the chair. "I think he wants to talk to you about Quidditch strategies," she smiled and winked, "because he can't talk about that to me."
Ron managed a grin and gave a slight nod. "Of course, Hermione."
"Oh, and can you bring the chair so that it's next to me? I think Harry's going to be joining me later after he wakes up."
"Yes, Hermione."
After moving his chair, his hands shook as he picked up his jacket and cap-an old, worn cap-and they continued to tremble even as he traveled across the room. Just hearing her talk about Harry like that always caused a pang in his chest.
With a forlorn sigh, the redheaded man put on his shoes, stepped out of the room, and glanced to his left.
The security guard was always there.
"How are you, Mr. Weasley?" Will was a well-built man with a body fit for tackling or whatever was necessary in his line of work. He was completely bald, but not because of his age. He actually chose to shave his head went he first saw his hair growing thin. Will believed it was better to do away with it rather than watch each strand disappear until there was nothing more.
Ron sighed drearily. "I'm fine, Will. I haven't seen you in a while."
"Ah, you know how it is. I'm only called to Ms. Granger's room when you come, because everyone knows that I can deal with her if she ever…" Will didn't finish but rather shrugged, knowing that Ron would catch his meaning.
He frowned and glanced at the door which he was guarding. Then, as if telling a secret, he leaned towards Ron and said thoughtfully, "It's really sad, seeing Ms. Granger like this. The healers tell me that Ms. Granger behaves perfectly on other days, but her mood may change the next day. I tell you, it's almost as if she doesn't need this place. She reads, cries sometimes, and reads some more, every single day. Today, however, is different because of-"
"Yeah," Ron muttered lowly.
Will nodded and straightened up. "Anyways, Ms. Granger is treated with the upmost respect-which, as a matter of fact, is different for other people 'like' her. So don't you worry. She's the only person to have her own living space within here. She has freedom here."
"You know why you're here."
Will replied with knowing glance.
"It's his birthday that's why," Ron said gently.
The man nodded, and the conversation was finished.
Ron turned the corner, momentarily glancing up at the sign that said "Psychiatric Ward". He snorted; St. Mungo's was such an elaborate institution that many signs were needed at every corner.
The hallways were crowded with patients, patients' families, and worried healers. It took a while for Ron to make a path through all the people, but finally, he came to the elevator. Sighing, he stepped into the lift, pressed the appropriate button, and clasped his hands in front of him.
Suddenly, there was a commotion and every Healer in his sight sprinted to one direction, pulling out their wands along the way. Familiar screams that seemed to be sempiternal sounded hysterical as they rang through the air.
Ron quickly pressed the button that closed the doors. The screams became muffled in his ears, and he bowed his head down. It happened on this day. Always after his exit. Because he was the last check of reality for Hermione. It was as if a switch was turned on in Hermione and within walking minutes, she would snap. Her magic would release itself, becoming so uncontrollable that even Hermione wouldn't be able to stop it. She always had to be stunned into silence.
Ron was alone in one quiet moment as the lift slowly descended. His thoughts turned him to the image of Hermione's face, happy as she talked about Harry. He remembered the way she scolded him for talking too loudly. It was normal Hermione, yet Ron knew that she would never be sensible, sane Hermione again.
The elevator door opened at the sound of a sharp beep. It was another long corridor ahead of him, but unlike the upper floor, this one would let him walk in solitude.
"Sleep peacefully, mate," he whispered forlornly, glancing up at the ceiling.
Truth was: Harry Potter had been sleeping underground for four years with his only company being piles and piles of sediments and dirt.
No one seemed to know how to wake Hermione up.