Chapter Seventeen

Hermione

What an unfathomable thing it is to look at someone you once loved and feel no affection at all. As I look at Ron, this thought floats through my mind. Anything that used to be there has completely vanished, no matter what he said yesterday; he doesn't remember that, anyway. What has broken between us cannot be fixed.

It's now Monday, and this marks the second day of Draco's unconsciousness. I am sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Aberforth drones on and on in a monotonous, uninterested voice about advanced protection spells.

"- the very spells used to defend the castle in the Battle of Hogwarts."

Rather than listening to things I already know, I sit with my head propped on my arm scribbling in the corners of my paper, thinking about the very things that haven't left my mind for a while.

Last night I went to visit Draco again. His health seems to have plateaued; his condition hasn't gotten any worse, but it also hasn't gotten any better. Besides the smile he gave me yesterday, there have been no other signs that he can detect anything. Madam Pomfrey hasn't had any developments in his condition, either. I stayed for quite a long time. On the verge of the third hour, she said, "Dear, you need some rest. Go back to your common room and try to get a good night's sleep." She must have noticed my frequent yawns. I may have been tired, but I still didn't want to leave him.

"But-" I tried to argue, but she cut me off. I should have known she wouldn't let me finish.

"He'll be alright. Try not to think about it, okay?" She asked, and I reluctantly nodded my head. With one last stroke of Draco's hand, I walked out of the room. But I did not return to the Gryffindor common room as she had instructed. Instead, I went to the Head common room. Draco's presence seemed to linger like a scent upon the air.

Even though they tugged at the back of my mind, I didn't read the rest of the letters he had written. My eyes would steal a quick glance at the barely-open drawer occasionally, but I resisted the urge. It felt like an invasion of privacy. I forced myself to fall asleep, wrapped snugly in his jacket.

I've lately found myself wholeheartedly longing for his return. These two days have felt like two years. I'd do anything to have him back. Even if he woke up and didn't love me anymore, it would be okay: he'd be alive and well, and I wouldn't have to worry about him. Not that it would be easy, maybe even possible, to push away my feelings toward him. Even though it seems to have worked with Ron.

Harry nudges my arm and slips a note under my fingers. A smile creeps onto my face as I unfold and read it.

I grab my quill, write the same thing, and discreetly give it back to him. Aberforth doesn't notice, but Ron eyes us suspiciously from Harry's other side.

Thankfully, I have a valid excuse to decline his offer.

Pursing my lips, I slide the parchment back to Harry. Aberforth coughs from the front of the class, and I abruptly look up. Thankfully, it was not directed at us, but at Seamus Finnigan, who was motioning something to Neville from across the room. I prop my head on my hands and look at the board, pretending to pay attention. Harry catches on and does the same thing. He disguises the motion so well that even I didn't realize he had returned the note.

He had written,

I don't know the answer to this myself.

I write with a trembling hand, You can almost feel my anxiousness simply by my handwriting. I slide it back to Harry, and I notice the solemn look on his face. He looks up to make sure the professor isn't looking and begins to write back.

When I read it, I give him a smile that is barely noticeable and tuck the note in my bag.

Ten minutes later, Aberforth dismisses the class. It's three minutes before we're actually supposed to leave, but everybody knows that he doesn't abide by the rules. People leave the classroom in a herd. Everybody turns to the right after they exit to head to the Great Hall for lunch, but I turn to the left: I am going to stop by the hospital wing.

On my way, I hear footsteps following me. No one should be in this part of the castle; the Great Hall is on the other side. I look behind me, but there's no one there. I continue to walk, but the footsteps still resound. Just as I start to believe I'm imagining it, someone calls my name.

"Hermione!" The voice- which I instantly recognize as Ron's- calls from behind me. With a deep breath, I turn around.

"What?" I ask in the strongest, most confident voice I can muster. He comes to a stop right in front of me.

"Can I talk to you?" He inquires.

"You are."

He huffs and adds, "No, can I- uh- ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Please, Hermione. This is hard enough without the fighting." Finally, I nod. We start walking down the corridor together. He doesn't speak until a minute later. What does he have to say?

"We... haven't t-talked in a while," He begins awkwardly, rubbing his neck. I nod again, agreeing, even though we just talked last night. Not that he remembers it. "I don't really know how to say this." I'm guessing he expects me to respond, but the only answer I give him is silence. Something about him now is different from the Ron I talked to yesterday. This Ron carries himself with an air of insecurity, and nervousness seems to radiate off of him in waves. His shoulders are slouched, and his hair is tousled. This Ron is more approachable.

"I miss the way things used to be," He sighs, "when you, Harry, and I were inseparable. I was thinking about it last night, thinking about what I could do to regain that closeness, when I realized how idiotic I was. My overreaction ruined our friendship, the only stable thing we've had throughout all of these years. I've been so foolish, and I can understand if you could never even of forgiving me, but I just-" He makes a frustrated noise. I look at him, waiting for more, taking in every word he speaks. He stops and looks toward the ceiling, putting his hands in his pockets.

"I may not approve of your decision, but I will support it." Finally, he looks straight into my eyes and breathes the words I've been waiting to hear: "I'm sorry." By the look he's giving me, I can tell his apology is sincere. Memories play over in my head. The common room, the Quidditch pitch, the corridor. For the briefest of moments, I'm not sure I can forgive him. But then I realized all that I've forgiven Draco for.

"Your actions were quite... impetuous." I say simply, avoiding his eyes.

"Please use plainer vocabulary," He implores, "Something on my level." At this, I can't help but smile for a second.

"What I mean was that your actions were fairly unnecessary and hasty. Even with the circumstances, I wouldn't have acted that way," I admitted, and he looks disappointed. "But our friendship means too much to just abandon it." He looks up, his eyes filling with hope.

"You'll forgive me?"

"Yes," I say. He smiles fully and hugs me awkwardly. "But," I continue. His euphoria seems to fade a bit. "I can't be friends with you if you don't change the way you treat Draco," His shoulders slump. "He's really a nice guy. He's changed. Can't you tell? I wouldn't be in love with him if he hadn't," I continue, and Ron inhales a sharp breath, probably at my use of the 'l-word'. We had barely used it while we were dating. "Come on, Ron. I know it might be difficult, but please give him a chance. After the way you treated him, he deserves it." I expect him to argue, but he just nods his head.

"Okay," He says, and he pulls me into another hug. This one is softer, full of relief.

Just then, the room behind us erupts in a series of noises. We break apart and I look back. I didn't even realize we had reached the hospital wing. The door bursts open, revealing a frazzled-looking Madam Pomfrey. Upon seeing me, she relaxes a bit.

"He's waking up."