“’Mione?”
”Fred?” The brunette asked kindly.
”Well, I was wondering…see…you’re Head Girl...and well-“
”The password is Cannons.”
“Cannons? As in, Chuddley Cannons?”

Hermione wanted nothing more than to laugh, but she just couldn’t at the look Fred was giving her. A blush, light as it was, did creep up onto her cheeks, the young woman tucking a strand of her unwashed hair behind her ear.

“Yes, as in Chuddley Cannons. Anymore questions?”
”No. Thanks ‘Mione.”
”Anytime, Fred. Enjoy.”

The elder, and a bit taller red head than her nodded his head in appreciation, as with a worried glance to the bed he was standing at the foot of strode off out of the infirmary. Hermione couldn’t help but shake her head; it had to be in some twisted world that she as Head Girl would be giving out the password to her private room, and bathroom to one of the infamous Weasley twins.

But as the soft breeze from the open window blew Fred’s lingering presence away, so was the smile that graced her lips. It felt so odd to sit there in-between the beds of her two closest friends and remember this was her life. And it was indeed a twisted life.

Her lips parted in a sigh, looking across the room to the beds, many more than were commonly in the infirmary, overflowing with people. Most slept soundly thanks to the sleeping draught Madame Pomfrey gave out, and others just lay still, their breathing mixing and mingling in with those of everyone else.

And it was the latter category in which Harry and Ron fit into, Hermione’s eyes gazing between the two for a second. They looked so peaceful, so utterly content: almost as if both knew that the world was a better place because of what they had done.

What they had done, Hermione wasn’t sure of. No one seemed to know exactly how much both men had sacrificed for the freedom and peace of the world. Many muttered quietly in the hallways that they still might make the ultimate sacrifice, which was what Hermione had come here to escape from.

She was a member of the Golden Trio, but she didn’t lie motionless in a bed fighting for her life. No, she was protected as she had made them promise they wouldn’t do. Well, almost. She was protected, and protected them with the fierce loyalty they showed, up until the moment Harry ran off. And it was in that split second memory that made Hermione close her eyes.

Harry’s dash across the castle grounds towards the screams of a brilliant red head, who above all orders put herself in danger to do what she felt was her duty. And all within a fraction second of time, Ron’s eyes turned from the man he was throwing curses at to meet Hermione’s chocolate ones, silently reassuring her of the future they were fighting for, before letting his own long legs take off in the direction of Harry.

Hermione’s head shook, the brown curly locks cascading down around her shoulders as she reached to the night table beside Ron and plucked up her quill and parchment, resting the yellowing paper against the book balancing upon her crossed legs in the chair. There were so many thoughts she was consumed by, glancing from Ron’s face to Harry’s before once more settling upon the red head, as a pained frown appeared on her face as the quill began to scribble.


Ronald Weasley! I can’t believe what you- oh Ron! You’re such a prat! Going off running into that forest after Harry? When you wake up I’m going to throttle you! Absolutely throttle you!

You might have been killed, you know that?

No. You probably didn’t even give a thought to that TINY DETAIL as you ran off. Ignorant fool. And I’m sure you didn’t give a thought either to what anyone still alive would do if you died. What would your family do without you Ron? What would Harry do without you, his very best mate in the world?

What would I do without you?


The last words on the page stared back aptly at Hermione as her chocolate eyes ran over them again and again, pressing them into her brain. What would she do without Ron? It felt like two entirely different things to write it, and then actually think about it, looking up to the bed.

His red hair was as red as ever, shining vibrantly in some places from the lamp that sat lit on the bed table, fighting with the coming darkness of night. Yet there was something impeccably different about the Ron lying there on the bed, and the Ron that Hermione knew and cherished so much. For a moment she thought it might be that he had aged, but after looking at Harry and finding he didn’t look any older, Hermione looked back at Ron, and her parchment.


You’re a prat. A great bloody prat, you know that Ron? But I want you to wake up. I want my best friend back. I even promise not to yell, if that makes any difference. I swear I won’t. I just want you to wake up, and be okay. Please? Madame Pomfrey says she can’t be sure you even will, but I have faith in you.

I have more faith in you Ron than you’ll ever know.

….You have to wake up Ron! You just have to. I mean, we’ve been through the worst. You can’t just go now, not when for the first time we might get to live life. Live a proper life, whatever that means. You have so much to live for Ron, you have to wake up. I need you to wake up. I really, really need you here, Ron. I’m scared.


It had been the first time in four days that Hermione had allowed herself to admit that she was scared, that the emotions of everything were breaking her down. And that she needed someone to be there with her. She needed help getting through all of this.

She suddenly felt like a small child, surrounded by a huge world that was going to eat her the moment it could. Without Harry, and without Ron there beside her, the world felt strangely daunting, and even more terrifying, felt cold. Like she would never smile again, or truly feel happiness. And just the thought of having her joy and happiness taken away from her was enough to make Hermione set the letter down on the bed side table and skid her chair in a bit closer to Ron.

What it accomplished she didn’t know, but it made her feel calmer, one hand carefully brushing his hair out of his eyes, closed shut tightly as they had been now for two days. Part of the brunette felt guilty for not paying attention to Harry, but there wasn’t the energy in her to care much more than that, fingertips gliding down over Ron’s skin, freckles pale with the lurking shadows of what he had been through.


I mean, Harry’s practically dead in the bed beside you, and everything is destroyed, save for most of the castle, and we still haven’t found Neville, or your Dad, or- please don’t be mad, Ron- Ginny, and I just…I need you to wake up Ron. I need someone here to make me smile, the way only you can seem to do. And, I’d even take one of our stupid fights if it meant you’d wake up!

I don’t know how I’m going to get through this without you, Ron. We both knew that Harry was the one risking most in this, and that we needed to be strong for him together, but I can’t be strong for both of you. I’m not strong enough, Ron. I want to be, but I’m just not. I feel so helpless right now, and there’s nothing I can do, and no one here I can talk to, or sit with, or even- I don’t know, Ron!

I just want to curl up in someone’s arms and have them love me and never leave. I want you to wake up and hold me like you held me the day before the battle, by the lake. I want to rest my head on your shoulder, and have you hold my hands and tell me that it’ll be okay! Because I don’t feel like it’s okay, Ron. I don’t. I feel like everything is so wrong, and so ruined that I can’t… I can’t even think about what’s supposed to be right anymore.


Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, Hermione using the rough end of her wool sweater to wipe them away, ducking her head. She wasn’t supposed to cry, she was supposed to be strong, be strong for Ron, and Harry, and everyone else missing.

But she couldn’t.

It was the awful truth that Hermione found she had written; she wasn’t strong enough to do this without Ron. She needed his warmth, and his reassurance to get through this. To make sure everyone else got through this. The clicking heels of Madame Pomfrey made the young witch, who felt as old as a grandmother cringe slightly.

“Miss. Granger, are you crying?”
“No, Madame Pomfrey. “
“Miss. Granger, please do not lie.” The nurse’s tone softened, “I should suggest that maybe you go back to your common room for a sleep. Neither Mr. Weasley nor Mr. Potter’s condition shall change just by your stubborn might to stay here with them.”
“I’m not tired.”
”Dear, you are. You look tired, and you look worn out. Neither Misters Potter, nor Weasley especially, would want you to work yourself into such a state over them. Go have a rest Miss. Granger, and return when you’re feeling better.”

The request played over in her head a thousand times, Hermione finally nodding slowly at the matron who smiled in return.

“I will. Just, may I have a few more moments?”
“A few.” The familiar tone resurfaced, “Don’t make me ask you to leave, dear. It’s for your own good.”


I don’t know anymore Ron. I don’t. I think that right is you and Harry and I being friends again, and not having to worry about who’s living and who’s dead and these stupid feelings for great bloody prats like you, who have to be noble and run off after your best friend. Harry told you to stay with me, Ron! With me! But you can’t listen to save your life can you? And now you’re going to go and die, and Harry’ll die probably too, and they’ll never find Ginny and I’ll be all along here on this bloody planet with no one! So there goes every idea I just thought I had of a right, normal life!


The quill stopped for a moment, pausing in thought, as Hermione didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears, just let them fall solidly down her face. She was fighting yet another losing battle in her life, and she hated that she couldn’t seem to win anything anymore.


I hate you.

I hate you so much right now Ron for doing this to me!

You should have thought! You know what thinking is! I know you do! But why didn’t you!?! If you had thought maybe just for ten seconds about everything, maybe you would have thought about me! And I know that’s selfish, but it’s true! Did I even come into your frame of thinking when you ran off!?

Maybe think about the fact that I’m never going to get to ask you if what you wrote in that bloody letter was true?! If you actually saw yourself with me in the future, if you actually thought I was beautiful, and you wanted to know how it feels to wake up next to me in the morning? Do you, Ron?! Were you actually sane of mind when you wrote you always wanted to ask me to a Hogsmead trip? That you think me being a bloody know it all is a good thing?

Bloody hell Ronald Weasley! You’re not supposed to leave me with all these questions! You’re supposed to be awake and alive and telling me not to cry instead of dead in the hospital wing! I need you Ron! You will never know how much I need you right now; wake up!

I need you. Please.