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It was a change in her breathing that made him realise she might be awake. He had been staring at the dark ceiling for hours, but as he turned he saw her stir, and gasp slightly, immediately shaking.
‘It’s all right,’ he said at once. ‘You’re in the hospital wing.’
‘I - Ron?’
‘It’s OK.’
‘What happened?’
He winced as he dragged himself out of bed - he still felt dizzy and his arms still stung horribly, but he made his way across the little gap between them and clambered onto the end of her bed, taking care to avoid sitting on her feet. It was very dark in the hospital wing, but moonlight was flooding through the window, illuminating them in soft grey.
‘You were cursed,’ he said, ‘by Dolohov. But Madam Pomfrey says you’re going to be OK. Does it hurt?’
‘My chest?’ she said, touching it as though only just realising. ‘Yeah… it hurts.’
Her voice was so small and confused that he felt a sudden urge to wrap his own painful arms around her. ‘You’ll be OK,’ he told her. ‘It’ll get better - I can go and get Madam Pomfrey if you want, see if she can-’
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said hurriedly. ‘What happened? Is everyone OK?’
‘The Order turned up, and Dumbledore,’ began Ron.
‘Oh, thank goodness-’ she said with a great sigh of relief.
‘But…’
She looked at him - even in the dim light he could see the sudden tenseness in her face, how utterly still she was. ‘But?’ she asked.
He swallowed. ‘Hermione,’ he said, his voice hoarse, ‘…Hermione, Sirius died.’
There was a silence. ‘What?’ she said faintly.
‘Sirius… Lupin said… Lupin said he went through that veil.’ He paused, still trying to stop his voice from breaking. ‘Harry was there.’
‘Harry,’ she gasped. ‘What’s he - how is-’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ Ron whispered. They stared at one another, pained grimaces in the low light, suspended in their shared horror.
‘Oh my God,’ Hermione said softly, and she buried her face in her hands. ‘You mean it?’ he heard her squeak. ‘He’s really…?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ron. It felt like some kind of terrible nightmare; he kept thinking about Pig, and about the butterbeers Sirius had given them when Dad was in hospital, and the great bark of laughter he used to do.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Hermione moaned. ‘Tell me I’m dreaming, Ron, tell me there’s been a misunderstanding.’
He could not tell her this, and she looked up at him and in the silver light her eyes were full of tears. He looked back, his teeth gritted together, his jaw aching with it.
He sniffed, and brushed the back of his hand against his mouth, trying to steady himself, trying to keep it together. ‘This is going to fucking ruin Harry,’ he said gruffly. He couldn’t help it. He always ended up telling Hermione what he felt.
She groaned, and buried her hands into her wild hair again. ‘Oh, God, Ron, he was going to live with him. He was so… he so wanted it…’
‘You know what he’s going to do, he’s going to blame himself,’ said Ron darkly. ‘You saw what he was like when he thought Sirius was there - he was frantic, beside himself-’
Hermione let out a sob, and he immediately hated himself.
‘I’m sorry-’
‘No, Ron - oh, Ron, it’s awful!’ She wiped impatiently at the tears on her face. ‘What do we say to him? How do we help him?’
‘Don’t push him,’ he said warningly to her, and part of him thought he should be gentler, kinder, but she was nodding attentively. ‘You know what he’s like, you know how he’s been this past year - he just lashes out if you push him, he has to come to us.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ she whispered, still nodding and sniffing and wiping at her tears. ‘And, oh, god, the prophecy - do you think-?’
‘That was smashed,’ he said quickly.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’
They sat there, in their worry and grief, until Hermione seemed to sink with exhaustion and he left her to fall back asleep.
***
Ron saw Harry the next morning. He arrived as Ron and Hermione were eating their breakfast, pale and stoic, as Ron had expected him to be.
‘We heard what happened, Harry,’ said Hermione. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Harry visibly tensed, but he did not react - simply stayed silent for a few seconds, and then, in a steady voice, asked, ‘how are you feeling, Hermione? That was a nasty curse.’
She looked taken aback. ‘I’m fine. Well, a bit sore. I’ll be all right.’ She hesitated, and Ron knew that despite what he had said, she couldn’t resist - she was too worried, too upset for him. For anyone else it would be a good thing.
‘Harry,’ he said suddenly, ‘d’you want the rest of this tea? Madam Pomfrey put sugar in it without asking me, it’s revolting.’
Harry blinked. ‘You’ve sold it so well, Ron,’ he said dully, but he reached out all the same and took it. As Harry drank it, Ron threw a brief warning look at Hermione, and she nodded at him, chewing her lip. Above them they could hear the rumble of the school moving, hundreds of feet walking the corridors and slamming doors. Harry did not rise to join them.
‘How are your arms, Ron?’ Harry asked, still in that monotone.
‘Gonna scar, I reckon,’ said Ron conversationally. ‘Nice, weird shaped scars with a long story behind them.’
‘Welcome to the club,’ said Harry and Ron grinned at him.
‘It’s fine, distracts from the freckles.’
Harry smiled weakly, and sank further into the chair, swinging his legs up onto the end of Hermione’s bed. Ron knew he probably wouldn’t talk about it. Maybe never. But he had clearly decided to stay, and that would do for now.