Forbidden and Wrong

“Mr. And Mrs. Weasley? Come with me please.” I got up to follow. “I’m sorry, miss, but only fam-“

“I’m coming.” The Healer fell silent and led the way without another objection. I watched my bare feet rise and fall, sticking and unsticking from the cold tile floor. Ron had been revived before we’d left the house. It seemed as though we’d been waiting for years to hear about Ginny, but it had only been an hour or two. No one had spoken during that time. I was still wearing my soaked nightie, having refused several offers from nurses to clean it for me.

The Healer led us into a tiny office-like room, only a few doors away from the large waiting room we’d been in since our arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley took seats in front of the desk, where the Healer seated himself. I remained standing in the corner. As far as I knew, Ron was in some other wing of the hospital, answering questions.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I know you’ve been kept waiting and-“

“Tell us what’s going on! Tell us about Ginny, we’ve been out of our minds!" Mr. Weasley shouted. The Healer sighed, just barely.

“She’s alive,” the Healer stated simply. I heard Mrs. Wealsey begin to cry, relieved. “She’s alive, but I’m afraid we’ve been unable to revive her. She’s in a coma, and… well, frankly we don’t know how long it will take for her to recover. She’s suffered severe head trauma, and I suppose all I can tell you is that she’s stable, comfortable, and that we’re doing all that we can to bring her back as soon as we can.” With this, the Healer sighed again and stood up. “I can take you to see her now, if you like.”

The Weasleys stood and followed him out of the room. I felt myself do the same, my feet guiding me through the hallway behind them. I wish I could say I felt relief. Relief that Ginny was alive, anger that she was unconscious, rage at Ronald, remorse that I hadn’t been able to keep quiet enough for Ron to have just slept through the night. But no. I felt nothing.

The Healer led us into Ginny’s room, and then left us there at Molly’s request, to check on the status of Ron. I couldn’t move, it seemed. Every step that brought me closer to her took days, years, eons. By the time I’d reached her, Arthur was saying something I couldn’t quite understand. Was he speaking English? “Maaaaybeee… owl… otherrrrrs…” was all I could grasp.

They left the room then, Mrs. Weasley pausing to put a hand on my shoulder on her way out. She said something. I didn’t hear it. I was conscious of the door shutting after them. I reached out and touched Ginny’s face. The tiny cuts had been mended, and she looked almost as though she were sleeping. But there was something there; or maybe it was something missing, I wasn’t sure. She wasn’t just sleeping.

I was quiet for a few minutes, just sitting there, holding her hand. “Hi Gin,” I said finally. Talking felt reassuring somehow. Like I was reminding myself that she wasn’t really gone. “Some night, huh? I guess we’ll have to put running away on our list of things that we aren’t so good at.” I chuckled half-heartedly. “I brought some music to your house. I know you don’t speak French, but I brought French music anyway. There’s this one song…” I felt myself starting to cry. “It says ‘I want just one last dance…’” I stopped. “I guess it’s not the same is it?” I asked us both. As a tear started to roll down my cheek, I sang softly, “Je veux juste une dernière danse, avant l’ombre et l’indifférence, la vertige puis le silence…” my voice began to break. “Je veux juste une dernière danse.” I was crying freely now. “Ginny, come back, okay? I need you,” I said, standing up and running from the room, dodging the twins on my way out.

I excused myself to the washroom, where I continued to sob for at least a quarter of an hour. The thoughts circling through my head were unbearable. What if she never got to hear that song? I shook my head, wiping my eyes on a paper towel. Of course she’d hear it. I’d picked it out just for her. She would recover, we’d return to school together, where Ron couldn’t hurt us, and that would be our special song together. There was nothing to worry about.

I made my way back to Ginny’s room, getting lost twice. Finally, I rounded a corner, sure I’d found it. What I saw made my knees give out. I sank to the floor, as the screaming of the alarms began and Healers scrambled into and out of Ginny’s room, barking orders. And Ron’s footsteps resounded through the hall, running away from the room as fast as he could, an expression of horror on his face.

What was going on? Why were all those Healers in Ginny's room? I dragged myself up, clinging to the wall for support. I made my way to the Weasleys, all of whom were staring into Ginny's room, in various stages of panic as they tried to keep out of the way of the rushing Healers. "What happened?" I asked.

"It's Gin," George said. "Ron was talking to her, and the alarms went off. Hermione, I think she's stopped breathing." What? My brain was racing. Ron was... not breathing? How could- but then it all made sense. Ron running away, looking so... horrified. He must have...
Abruptly the alarms stopped blaring, and the silence filled me with dread. The Healer that had brought us there looked at us sadly, and the truth was written on his face. Mrs. Weasley broke down crying. The next thing I knew, my feet were taking me away; I was flying down the hall. My mind kept telling me over and over and over: he killed her... he killed her... he killed her...