The Sugar Quill
Author: Anione Graton  Story: Confessions  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

Ron pushed the door open to the hospital wing and looked around uneasily

A/N: Nothing is mine, it is all the genius of JK Rowling. I really needed to write this story, because I always felt that Ron and Hermione really started to like each other in their second year… I mean, does a guy go around burping up slugs for just any girl? Didn’t think so. This is my version of why we saw an ‘almost hug’ in the movie… tee hee. My favorite scene above all scenes in the Harry Potter movies… anyway… on with the story.



Ron pushed the door open to the hospital wing and looked around uneasily. The last thing he needed right now was to get caught. It was bad enough that Harry had dragged him into the middle of the Forbidden Forest that night to face down something that was three thousand times the size of his worst fear. All he needed was for Snape to grab him by the scruff of the neck, carry him to McGonagall, and smirk as he got expelled.


Didn’t his mother say ‘one more toe?’ He shuddered as he remembered the awful Howler.


The room was dark and eerie. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he closed the door quietly and tiptoed over to the bed he knew Hermione was in. Craning his neck to look around again, he slipped behind the large posters that had been put up to block her from view.


Ron had come to visit her every day since she had been petrified, but it still didn’t stop him from gasping when he saw her hollow, lifeless face. It was not the Hermione he knew. It was not his Hermione.


His heart pounded like crazy in his chest. His Hermione? Who am I kidding?


He sat down quietly next to her and stared at her for a few minutes. All he could think about was how under-appreciated she truly was. Harry had been grateful for his friends’ help, but Ron was his true best friend. Hermione… they never knew how much they needed her until she was gone.


Blinking back tears, Ron leaned forward and with a shaking hand, touched her shoulder. Hidden beneath the robes was her skin. Her cold, icy skin. He shuddered.


“H-Hermione,” he croaked out hoarsely. He was sure the entire castle could hear him. He lowered his voice even deeper as he leaned in to Hermione’s deaf ear. “I… I know you can’t hear me,” he said, rolling his eyes. He sounded so idiotic. It was like talking to a brick wall.


He sat back, frustrated. Harry wouldn’t have understood his reasoning for escaping in the middle of the night to talk to Hermione’s frigid body.


She can’t hear you, Ron. It’s useless.


It wasn’t. It was the only time that Ronald Weasley was able to work up the courage to talk to Hermione Granger’s face. Even if she couldn’t hear him.


He picked up his trembling hand and slowly let it drift from her shoulder to her face. He brushed the brown, frizzy hair away from her cheek. It too, was as cold as ice. He shivered but felt some kind of strange joy to be able to see her eyes again.


“H-Hermione,” he said, regaining some confidence now that he could see her face. Her face. It stayed unnaturally still, as if etched in stone. Tears teased his eyes as he quickly blinked them away.


“I’m… I’m just… I’m so sorry… about… about everything,” he said, looking away from her, letting his hand slowly slide back to his lap. It was now cold and clammy. “I’m so sorry about everything I’ve said to you…” he wiped at his eyes quickly. Sighing, Ron looked up at the ceiling in hopes to convince the tears to stay put.


“I mean… I never meant to be so nasty about things. Sometimes you just seem… I guess you sometimes make me feel like you’re better than me. That bothers me. You’re insufferable.”


He stopped and remembered himself. Slowly, he leaned over and suddenly he didn’t care about the volume of his voice. “I can’t believe that I came down here to apologize and what am I doing? Calling you names. Good one, Weasley.”


Putting his hands over his face and running them through his thin red hair, he looked upright again at Hermione. She was still unblinking and cold.


“Why?” he whispered, looking around. “Why did she have to be taken now? Why did she have to be Muggle-born? Why was she petrified? Why is she gone?” he asked the questions to no one in a very frustrated tone. “Oh, Hermione,” he moaned.


“I came up here tonight… to apologize mostly…” he frowned, looking at the bed. He wanted to fixate on a spot so that he wouldn’t be caught under a spell. Even if Hermione was petrified, she still had the ability to entrance him. “I guess I just… lost myself. You really are insufferable, Hermione. Sometimes I just lose my temper with you. You are sometimes just so hard to deal with,” he paused and bit his lip, closing his eyes tightly together. “But that’s what makes you all the more charming,” he half grinned, not looking up from his designated spot. “It’s really a challenge to be friends with you. Sometimes… sometimes…”


Ron jumped as he thought he heard a noise in the distance. There was nothing after a few seconds of silence. If it was this hard to talk to a petrified girl, how hard was it going to be when he had to talk to her for real?


His head pounded and his hair was a mess. “I um… sometimes wonder… if it’s so challenging to be your friend…” he frowned, rediscovering his spot. “I wonder what kind of a challenge it would be to be more than that.”


His face flushed a deep red as he half expected Hermione to roll over and smack him across the face. When nothing happened and he had reassured himself that nothing was going to happen, he found his confidence once again and began to slowly talk.


“Sometimes when you’re sitting there, Hermione, quiet and studying… I just get the chance to stare at you. I mean… sure you’re my best friend, but you’re still really p-p-pretty. You have big brown eyes and the cutest curly hair… it’s always in your face and it’s funny,” he chuckled lightly to himself. “And sometimes… I just want to hit you, I get so furious. But that’s not a real feeling… I love fighting with you, as stupid as that sounds.”


He felt a cold wind run down his back and he straightened up. He pulled his hand away from Hermione’s robes, which he had been unconsciously playing with. “I… well… Hermione, um… I wish I could tell you this to your face, but I don’t even know what it is.”


He stood up quickly, as if someone was going to walk in and catch him. He could have sworn he heard footsteps. Maybe he was just paranoid.


“Hermione, I just… wanted to tell you that… I am sorry for being such a prat and that um… well, I guess… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say, even though I know you can’t hear me. I like you, Hermione. You’re a great f-friend. We need you. Harry needs you.”


He gulped, clutching the insides of his robes tightly. “I need you.”


Without another word, he looked around quickly and bustled out. His heart was pounding, his mind was reeling, and he was on the alert.


But the best thing of all was, he felt like he had finally removed the large weight on his shoulders. Unfortunately, all he would be able to think about the next time he saw her blinking and talking… was the last three words he spoke to her.


I need you.

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