Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Above the Wreckage ❯ Madhouse ( Chapter 3 )

Mmm, more Ron/Hermione goodness, taking place after the madness dies down from the torture scene in the Malfoy mansion. Everyone is in bed, and Ron finally has some alone time with his favorite girl.

 

It's probably going to be the worst one in this series, but honestly, I didn't put a lot of effort into this one. I just wanted to write it.

 

These two are just the cutest couple ever… And after that last story, I really needed a pick-me-up! So here we go… Mindless, fluffy goodness. Yummy.

 

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Madhouse

 

Before he had fallen for Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley had never known true terror. Fear? Yes. Confusion? Sure. Anger? Hell yes. But real, consuming, mind-numbing panic?

 

Never.

 

But now he had something to panic for, and damn if he didn't hate every single nanosecond of it.

 

So when he heard her pained and frightened screams above him as he sat, helpless, beneath them, his natural reaction was to fly into a towering rage and very nearly break the house in which they all currently resided.

 

And when they finally escaped, he was certain that he would never be able to forget the way she'd looked as she clung tightly to him for protection. She was absolutely white—like a ghost, but not with the pearly, translucent beauty. Her eyes are wide and refused to blink, and for the longest time, she acted as though she couldn't see him.

 

Maybe she couldn't. It was hard to tell.

 

Now, sitting by her bedside and watching her sleep, he felt that his world had been rocked in such a way that it would never be put right entirely.

 

It had been too close a call.

 

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It had been a long night for Ron, but he was sure it was an even longer one for Hermione, who hadn't had a moment's true rest up to this point; she had been too busy mourning Dobby, then helping Ron and Harry plan what to do next, even though she looked as though she was on the verge of collapse the entire time.

 

He hadn't ever experienced the kind of pain he knew she must be in, but he could imagine it—pain so agonizing and so prolonged that the tortured one felt it in every part of their body for days following the ordeal.

 

So he wasn't too surprised that she didn't sleep through the night. He was, however, surprised by the manner in which she awoke; she jerked into sitting position, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and then yelped at the sudden stab of pain in her still-aching muscles before giving the room a frantic sweep with wide, terrified eyes.

 

“Hermione?”

 

Her eyes finally came to a rest on him, then slowly went down to the hand that the redhead had grabbed in his panic. The sight calmed her immensely, and she smiled shakily at him. “Ron. You're…here.”

 

Ron smiled reassuringly at her and replied in a hushed voice, “Of course I'm here.”

 

“What time is it?” Her eyes now went around the room again, this time in search of a clock.

 

“Never mind that. Come on, lay back down…”

 

She blinked at the tone and volume of his voice and, uncharacteristically, did exactly as she was told. “Where is everybody?”

 

“Asleep. That's why I'm trying to keep quiet. I don't want to wake anyone up.”

 

“Oh… Well, you really should go to bed too, then, shouldn't you?”

 

Ron smiled slightly. “Yes, I probably should.” But he didn't move from the chair. Instead, he reached out to push a lock of hair out of her eyes. “How're you feeling?”

 

“Mmm… All right, I guess.” For once, she didn't have the energy to pretend she was fine. But she at least had the presence of mind to hide what she really wanted—that is, to curl up in the safety of Ron's arms and never leave them again, come Hell or high water.

 

Ron's brow furrowed, but he didn't reply. Instead, he simply reached out and began to stroke her hair in soothing, repetitive motions. “Go back to sleep, Hermione. I'll stay here until you fall asleep, okay?”

 

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words were lost on the way to her mouth as the gentle touch on her head began to lull her into a peaceful state.

 

Maybe he could stay for just a little longer…

 

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When she next awoke, it was that darkest hour just before dawn and Ron was no longer by her bedside. Her eyes widened in panic at this discovery…only to return to their normal size as they rested on the redhead, who was stretched out on a bed across the room that Hermione was certain hadn't been there before.

 

Sighing in relief, she returned to her horizontal position and tried to fall back to sleep. The effects of her nightmare lingered, however, and it was a relatively short time before she gave it up as a bad job and climbed slowly out of the bed, her aching muscles making their protests heard with a vengeance.

 

Ron stirred and blinked sleepily as he felt the covers being lifted off him and a warm body sliding underneath them to curl up beside him. “Hermione?” he asked groggily, sitting up halfway and rubbing his eyes. “Everything okay? You all right?”

 

She was silent, which worried him immensely; Hermione Granger was many things, but she was never silent.

 

“…Hermione?”

 

“I…had a bad dream.” God, even to her, the explanation was pathetic.

 

“Oh…” He blinked, not quite sure what to say. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

She shook her head mutely and hid her face in his shoulder.

 

“Oh…okay…” Then, as much to Ron's astonishment as Hermione's, he raised his arms and put them around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. And, surprisingly, it did not feel awkward in the slightest; on the contrary, it felt absolutely right. “Go back to sleep, all right? I'm right here. I'll stay right here for as long as you want me to.”

 

She opened her mouth to thank him, but snapped it shut; better not to say anything, in case he changed his mind. So she just snuggled closer…and tried to forget.

 

But she couldn't. Hermione had always had a disturbingly good memory, and this was one of those times when she cursed that fact with everything she had. She kept reliving that moment from her dream, over and over and over; she couldn't forget, even in sleep, the absolute agony that Bellatrix had laughingly subjected her to. Then Ron had been killed…then Harry… Everything she loved was gone, and only pain was left to take its place.

 

Ron must have felt her trembling, because he tightened his hold on her and said in an oddly constricted voice, “Hermione, it's okay…I'm right here…don't cry, please don't cry…”

 

That was when she realized that her cheeks were wet, and that she couldn't stop once she'd started.

 

But there, safe in someone's arms for the first time in her life, she let it all go. She lay there and cried; she cried for her parents, for lives lost, for herself, for her friends, for the world… And she cried because she didn't know how much longer she could stand to be strong.

 

And through it all, he stayed. He didn't have any words of comfort, because Ronald Weasley was far from being a wordsmith. So he simply kissed her forehead gently and rocked her comfortingly until her sobs subsided to half-hearted hiccups.

 

That was the night that Hermione Granger cried.

 

And she knew she couldn't forget.