Chapter Text
"Try to be a bit gentler...like this."
Ron stared in wonder at Hermione's profile as she played the opening notes of Für Elise for the umpteenth time that day. He should have been following the intricate pattern of her fingers as they skimmed easily across the keys, but he was far too distracted by her completely relaxed expression. In the short time that he had known her, he had never seen her as content as she was now, her hair pulled back into a frizzy ponytail and her ink-stained fingers working her way across the ivory.
The thunder boomed outside and he winced as the noise distracted her, the delicate tune coming to an abrupt stop. She looked askance at him and he watched her eyes darken slightly when she met his gaze.
"Ron, you're never going to get any good at this if you don't concentrate," she admonished lightly and he sighed deeply.
"Sorry, can you show me again?" He tried his best to pay attention as she started playing anew.
They were supposed to be going to the seaside in Southend today with Harry, Ginny, and James, but the weather had other ideas, with a last minute forecast of thunderstorms coming to fruition. Instead, he and Hermione were stuck inside, and they had gone through his bucket list to find something they could attempt with just the two of them together. Hermione's eyes lit up when she saw Learn to play a musical instrument. She had raced to the old piano in the library and set about digging through the bookshelves she had claimed for herself to find some sheet music.
Ron was pleasantly surprised to find the piano still reasonably in tune, considering it hadn’t even been looked at since the death of his uncle Bilius, although some of the notes were marginally off, according to Hermione. She winced slightly every time he hit one, and he made a mental memo to look for a piano tuner who could come at short notice. "Look, how about we do some more work on the scales I showed you?" Hermione suggested, glaring once again at his inattention.
Ron fumbled his way through his exercises. They had been working away for the better part of three hours, and he was slowly getting used to the correct placement of his fingers on the keys, even if he did think that he just didn’t have enough time left to get as good as her. He was enjoying himself, though, even if Hermione thought that his attention was waning due to boredom. The truth of it, though, was that she was hopelessly distracting with her leg pressed against his on the narrow piano bench and her dainty hands adjusting his fingers into the proper position every so often.
He winced when he hit another bum note, and her eyes, which had been following his progress, shut with a grimace. “Sorry, honestly, that one wasn’t me…”
“I know. Even you’re not that hopeless.” She smiled. “In fact, you’re a quick study. A bit of daily practice and you could be passable.”
Ron scoffed. “Just passable? My, how encouraging you are, Ms. Granger.” He swallowed as she grinned a cheeky smile in his direction.
“I’m not a proper piano teacher, I can only take you so far…” Her eyes met his again and he shifted to face her.
“You take me further than you think, Hermione.” He watched the flush creep down her neck and she groaned.
“Gosh, what a terrible line, Ron! Which of your brothers taught you to flirt again?”
Ron scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Charlie, obviously. And this is the first time I’ve heard you complain, to be fair.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right, of course, and obviously the one who dishes out the advice is the last of the single Weasleys.” She glanced at her watch. “Shall we take a break? Do you want to maybe grab some lunch?”
Ron’s heart beat a little quicker when he realised what she had said. She had, even in a casual, offhand kind of way, acknowledged that he wasn’t single. He doubted that she had meant anything by it, but still, he thrilled inside at the thought that she may actually be happy to be spending time with him.
He blinked as her fingers snapped in front of his eyes. “Hey, where did you go?” He met her gaze and patted her other hand lightly.
“Sorry, I was miles away.” He looked into her deep brown eyes and felt himself being drawn to her. He wanted to plunge his hands into her beautiful mess of hair, see it tumble down around her shoulders, and carry her upstairs to bed. She leaned forward, their noses brushing. Remembering his promise to Dean, he sat back abruptly. He pulled himself to stand.
“What were you thinking so intensely about?” He could see her face had fallen, and she was nibbling on her bottom lip. He sighed, realising that he had hurt her feelings, and he hurriedly attempted to distract her. She gathered up her music sheets and arranged them into a neat pile, a bit more forcefully than was necessary.
“Just wondering how long you’ve been playing for?” He hoped that she wouldn’t catch the deflection. He stretched, and he caught her eyeing the exposed flesh of his stomach as his T-shirt rode up. He smirked.
“Oh, I took lessons in school. I’ve been playing since I was about five.” She coloured as she met his gaze, clearly caught out in her blatant staring.
“It shows. You’ve got excellent technique. Your fingering is second to none.” He watched her falter and his grin broadened.
“Oh, I know what you’re doing.” She poked him in the chest. “Save it for the wedding night, Weasley.”
It was Ron’s turn to falter and he cleared his throat. “Do you play anything else? The only one of us with any sort of musical talent is Bill, he was a bit of a grunge fan. He and some mates from the village had a band, he was the bassist, drove mum up the bloody wall when he refused to cut his hair.” He chuckled. Bill still insisted on keeping his hair in a ponytail, much to his mother’s constant chagrin. “He even had an earring for a while, a big, dangling fang.”
“Goodness!” She laughed. “No, I don’t play anything else, but we all had to learn something in school. I chose the piano, pretty standard.” She added with a wry chuckle, “Could always be worse, Dean plays the French horn, which Seamus still teases him mercilessly over.”
“Ah, let me guess, something about Dean blowing a French horn before he knew he was into that sort of thing?”
Hermione’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Obviously. I love Seamus to death, but you just have to roll with the constant innuendos.”
She sidestepped him and placed her sheet music back onto its place on her bookshelf. “What do you fancy? There’s some leftover beef stroganoff from yesterday?”
“Why don’t we go out? My treat.” He hoped she didn't see this as a ploy to placate her or romance her, but as an act of friendship he would extend to any of his inner circle of loved ones.
She looked across at him. “But it’s pouring rain?”
“There’s a really nice Italian café that does excellent comfort food right around the corner, we can just run over?”
She softened. “Alright, just let me grab a raincoat.”
Ron whistled Heart And Soul as he walked towards the hall, pulling a battered grey rain mac off of the coat hook. He could hear Hermione humming along with him as she descended the stairs. He laughed aloud and she glared at him. “Something funny?”
“Depends, does that coat have ducklings wearing wellington boots on it?”
She looked down at her raincoat and back up at him. “Yes, why is that funny?”
“Are you a four year old?” He bit back a further laugh at her expression.
“Oh, shut up. It’s a coat, isn’t it? It’ll keep me dry, ignore the pattern.”
He held open the front door and watched as she deftly locked it behind them. He took her hand in his and said, “Right, ready to run?”
She pulled her hood up, and he helped to adjust it, ensuring her hair was fully covered. “Ready.”
He pulled her out into the torrents of rain and she squealed. Before he started to run, he turned to her and laughed again. “Aren’t wellies on a duck a bit redundant? How are they meant to swim?”
Hermione muttered a curse under her breath and slapped him lightly on the back. “Oh, get a wriggle on, it’s bloody apocalyptic out here…”
*——————-*
Hermione sat back in her chair and admired the delicate crispness of her sfogliatella pastry, the creamy orange filling sitting pleasantly on her tastebuds as she swallowed her bite. “My god, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Ron grinned at her around a mouthful of his own pastry. “Told you, didn’t I?” He took a sip of his hot chocolate, which was so thick that a teaspoon could stand unsupported in its depths. “This is like drinking chocolate custard, though. Not really what I was expecting.”
“Have you ever been to Italy?” She grabbed her napkin and wiped a smudge of chocolate off the corner of his mouth. The waitress came over and cleared away their empty wine glasses. Hermione sipped her cappuccino, the dusting of cocoa powder on the frothy surface shaped like a heart. She had had a wonderful pasta dish with lots of crusty bread and olive oil, and the white wine had gone down a treat. When Ron had suggested treating her to lunch, she really hadn't expected to be treated to several courses, but she definitely wasn't going to complain.
Ron flashed a smile as the waitress left and reached across to take her hand. “Once, on a school trip. We went skiing in the Italian Alps, but Harry and I weren’t much good. It was a right laugh, though. Ginny, of course, was a bloody prodigy, the ski instructor nearly wet himself with excitement at how good she was.”
“My parents always took me skiing in Austria over Christmas break, but I never really enjoyed it either. I was always more inclined to sit around the chalet with a good book.” She thought for a moment. “I’ve been to Rome and Florence. We usually went to France in the summers, though. Nice or Bordeaux.”
“I’ve always wanted to see Paris, if I’m honest. Something about strolling through the streets, eating bread and drinking wine with every meal, with the lights and the accents.” She watched as he placed his cup down onto the saucer, with a blob of chocolate on the tip of his nose, giving him the look of a naughty schoolboy.
“Honestly, you’d think you were doing it on purpose…” She swiped the napkin across his nose and he caught her wrist.
“Is there anywhere you wanted to go or anything you would like to do? We’re kind of really focused on my bucket list, but I would love if we could make time for things you want to do, too.” He was looking at her so earnestly that she paused for a moment. She had been enjoying just being in his company today, sitting with him at the piano, her hand in his as they ran in the downpour to the restaurant, and the comfortable chat as they enjoyed their meal, his fingers entwined with hers, her heart skipping a beat when he laughed at her jokes. She had thought that he would kiss her earlier, but had felt a little foolish when he had pulled away. She was the one who had set the boundaries, could she really fault him for sticking to them and being a gentleman? But now, the melancholy she had been keeping at bay had come crashing down around her again. As much as she tried, on a day to day basis, when she hung his underpants on the washing line or watched him shouting at a match on the television, to forget the situation that had brought them together, she was snapped back to reality every time with an offhand comment from him. She knew what she was getting herself into, but Ron’s general good health often made her think the whole thing was ridiculous. Clearly this man couldn’t be dying, he was so full of energy and life and good humour. And yet, he was, and her heart ached when she was reminded of that simple fact.
She shrugged her shoulders, and attempted a smile. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. Properly, you know, like waltzing and such.” She took a sip of coffee to hide her expression, knowing her features were probably rather morose.
Ron’s eyebrows raised. “Dancing?” He squeezed her hand. “I could go for that. Being all squished up against you.” He winked, and she felt the blush rise to her cheeks. “Although, seeing as how you’re very uncoordinated, I imagine I’ll have to invest in some proper work boots to protect my toes.”
She barked out a laugh and swatted at him, almost upsetting her coffee in the process. Ron tutted and rolled his eyes and she could feel her own good humour returning. “So, will this camping trip still go ahead if it’s still bucketing down tomorrow?”
Ron nodded and was just about to reply when the sound of a throat clearing made Hermione freeze. She turned around in her seat and met the smooth skin of her mother’s face, her greying hair pulled back into a tight bun. “Darling, I thought that was you.”
Hermione stood from her chair and allowed herself to be enveloped in a hug. “Mum, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Her mother usually only came into town to go to the theatre or to bring her father to hospital appointments in St. Mary’s.
“I’m meeting Cissy for lunch, she just came from The National Gallery, she was donating one of their paintings.” She indicated with a nod of her head to a table in the corner, where Narcissa Malfoy raised a hand in greeting. Hermione waved tentatively back and felt Ron’s curious gaze on her back. “Are you on your lunch break? Is that what you wore to work? Bit casual, no?”
Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up a bit straighter. “Actually, mum, I’ve taken the summer off. I’m not back in the office until September.” Her mother’s eyes widened. “Ron and I were actually just grabbing some dinner.”
Ron stood at the mention of his name and wound an arm around her shoulders. She relaxed into his touch. “Hello, you must be Jean. It’s wonderful to meet you.” He extended his other hand out for her mother to shake. “Ronald Weasley.”
She could see her mother’s tight expression give a little at this information. “Oh, Weasley? Any relation to the politician who’s been in the news?”
Ron laughed lightly and squeezed Hermione’s shoulder. She patted his back lightly. “Yes, Percy’s my older brother.”
Narcissa had wound her way through the tables and reached out to hug Hermione, her bony frame feeling rather delicate, much thinner than usual. Hermione wondered if the stress of Lucius’ impending release from prison was taking its toll on the woman.
“Hello, Mio. So lovely to see you.” She nodded cooly at Ron, who visibly bristled at the nickname. “Ah, you must be the new squeeze. A teacher, did you say, Jeanie?”
“Narcissa, I must insist that you don’t call me Mio, it doesn't sit right with me anymore,” Hermione replied, stepping back into Ron’s chest. “And, yes, this is Ron, my…boyfriend.” She scolded herself mentally, she had almost called him her fiancé. Some secret wife she was going to be…
Ron shook Narcissa’s outstretched hand. “Yes, I’m the educator of the family. All the cool jobs had already been taken by my more impressive siblings, of course. Let's see, financial advisor for a top London bank, up-and-coming politician, zoologist specialising in large African mammals, successful toy inventor and entrepreneur, World Cup winning hockey player and sports journalist for a national newspaper.” He counted the professions off on his fingers. “Basically, it was either become a teacher or a doctor, and at least teachers get the summer off.”
Jean laughed lightly at his comment and Hermione visibly relaxed. Ron was extremely charming when he put his mind to it. “What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon? Can we persuade you to join us for a coffee?” Her mother directed this question at Ron, who towered over them both.
Ron laughed and pulled Hermione closer. “Well, ordinarily I’d love to join you, but we have a date with some holiday brochures. I keep insisting on France, but Hermione really has has her heart set on Italy.” Hermione wrinkled her nose, wondering what on earth he was up to. “But, maybe we can compromise and settle on Spain? We can book some tango lessons, drink sangria on the beach…in the shade, obviously,” he added, winking at Jean, “I’m rather too fair to be sunbathing.”
Hermione, flustered, gazed up at him. Her mother let out a girlish giggle, quite unlike herself, and Narcissa openly scowled. “Oh, that sounds wonderful. I can’t remember the last time you had a proper holiday, ‘Mione. Taking some time away from work will be wonderful, darling.” This point seemed to be directed at Narcissa, who glared daggers at her. She and Draco rarely went further than Wiltshire, to the manor, for holidays, due to work commitments on Draco’s end. He was a stockbroker, and worked the Asian markets, so rarely had any leisure time.
“I know, but I’ve realised that life’s far too short to be so caught up in work. I’m young, I need to be out seeing the world.” Ron chuckled lightly beside her. “And, I’ve let too many opportunities pass me by in the last few years. I need to start catching up, don’t I?”
“Wonderful. Your father will be so happy to hear that, my love. Why don’t the two of you come to dinner at the weekend?” Jean’s eyes had softened, and Hermione realised with a start that maybe she actually approved of this relationship.
“Ron’s going camping with Dean and Seamus and some mates, mum. But, I’ll pop ‘round on Sunday, for sure.” Hermione tapped a reminder into her phone to bring some of Dean’s mum’s tamarind balls for her dad.
“Oh God, is Dean really letting Seamus loose around a campfire? After what happened with the microwave in Magaluf?” Ron laughed as Jean launched into a story about Dean and Shay's joint stag in Spain that ended with a bill for €3000 in property damage after the microwave in their holiday apartment exploded, and one case of serious alcohol poisoning, with Tony needing to be hospitalised after the second night. Hermione’s eyes met Narcissa’s, her mouth curled up in a sneer eerily reminiscent of her son’s.
“Draco has said he’s been in contact with you. Will you allow him to apologise for his…actions?” Narcissa spoke quietly, so only Hermione could hear.
“No, I won’t. I’ve moved on, Narcissa. And…I’m happy.” Hermione felt her cheeks heat. “Honestly, Draco and I would have ended up bitter and divorced sooner or later. I’m just glad he showed his true colours before we both made a colossal mistake.” Narcissa reared back as though she had been slapped, but her eyes betrayed her. She knew that what her son had done was unforgivable, and she only knew half of the story, but she also knew what it was like to be trapped in a loveless marriage to someone with a temper. Hermione ran a finger over the scar at her collarbone and looked Narcissa straight in the eye. “Please, help him to move on, Cissy. It’s not healthy, this fixation he has. He's your son, please make him see sense, before he does something stupid...”
Narcissa nodded once and stalked back to her table in the corner.
Ron glanced between the two women, and waved as Jean followed Narcissa. He gently took Hermione’s elbow, steering her back into her seat. “Come on, let’s get home, I need to take my meds.” He waved down a passing waitress and asked for the bill. “It’ll be alright, you know. She’ll realise that it was for the best eventually. On the plus side, I think I’ve won over yet another Granger. Do you think your dad will take to me as quickly? I’ve never been very good with my girlfriend’s dads…” Hermione tried and failed to hide her smile when he called her his girlfriend. It felt good, even if it was just a slip of the tongue. After all, he had pulled away earlier, which meant he likely didn’t feel about her as she, as she now realised, was starting to feel about him.
*———————-*
"Shay, where did you put the matches?" Dean's voice carried up the stairs from the hallway, where he was re-checking their bags for the millionth time.
"They're here beside the bed!" Hermione called down from her seat, cross-legged on the mattress. She and Seamus were attempting to roll the sleeping bags so that they wouldn't take up so much room in the boot of the car.
"Why are they up there? I thought Shay had packed them last night." Dean was huffy, probably a mixture of exhaustion after a night of probable debauchery, if the mess in the bedroom was any indication, and dejection about having to spend the next couple of days in close quarters with Ron. Hermione sighed.
"I had," Seamus called down, "but then you insisted on ambience last night..." He gestured towards the scented candles placed haphazardly around the room. She winced when she saw how close some of them were to the curtains and the bedspread, but put it out of her mind. She didn't live here anymore, it was not her place to make judgements about their fire safety, or lack thereof.
Hermione stood and stretched and handed the perfectly rolled sleeping bag to Seamus. "Darling, why are your fingers green?" she asked, taking his hand in hers.
He grinned and extended his fingers, which were covered in splotches of neon paint. "Dean let me help with a commission," he declared, proudly.
She grinned at his goofy expression. "It wasn't anything erotic, was it? Because I definitely don't need to hear about anything like that."
He winked. "Noted for the future, but no. Basically, we cut open a bunch of glowsticks and fired the inky stuff inside at a canvas, it was great craic, and surprisingly cathartic. Although, sayin' that, this shit is hard to wash off." He grinned. "Should make trips to the loo very interestin' out there, seein' as how it's more than just mine and Dean's hands glowin'."
Hermione grimaced and thwacked him over the head with the sleeping bag. "No, that's revolting, please do not say another word!"
"What are you two fighting about?" Dean's form filled the doorway and he leaned against the frame, watching the chaos unfolding before him. Hermione's admonishment had turned into a full blown pillow fight, which Shay was winning. Dean reached out and grabbed the matches from the bedside cabinet, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans.
Hermione, seeing that Shay was momentarily distracted by Dean’s proximity, put her pillow down and called for a truce. She took Dean in, and saw that in the hustle and bustle of packing this morning, she had missed the faded green handprint on the side of his neck. She bit back a laugh and stood, pulling him into a hug. "Are you going to be alright stuck in a tent with a bunch of straight men?"
Dean laughed and squeezed her tightly. "Of course. It'll be like the Boy Scouts."
"You were never a Boy Scout!" Seamus joined them, throwing his arms around their waists.
"Well, it'll be what I always imagined the Boy Scouts would be like." He sighed. "Besides, I'm sure that some of these boys have been camping before..."
Hermione bit her lip. She knew that Ron and Harry had definitely never camped before, and by association, she could assume that Dudley never had either. "Well, I'm sure you'll have a great time regardless."
They were interrupted by the doorbell, and Dean dislodged himself from Seamus' grip. "Do me a favour and bring those sleeping bags down, and can you check to make sure that we have enough food packed for five large people and yourself?"
“Oh, fuck off. Why is it always the short jokes when you’re in a mood?” Shay’s voice echoed out across the landing.
Hermione followed Dean down the stairs and waited anxiously for him to open the door. "Do you promise to be nice to everyone? You're not likely to sulk for the whole weekend, are you? These are my new friends, and I need you to not do your usual thing."
"What usual thing?" Dean crossed his arms at the foot of the stairs and looked down at her. She climbed up a couple of steps so that she could look him in the eye and she poked him in the chest.
"That thing where you immediately decide to dislike someone without actually getting to know them properly." She pouted. "Please, just give these guys a chance. They're all really lovely, and like it or not, they're going to be a part of my life for the next while."
She blinked her eyes, and she could feel the tension melting from Dean. "Deal, but only because I trust that you know what you're doing, 'Mione."
The doorbell sounded again and Dean spun around and pulled it open. Hermione laughed as she was hoisted into the air, Ron pulling her to him for a quick kiss before setting her back on her feet. She whispered into his ear, "Why are you acting like we didn't see each other two hours ago?"
"Because Ginny and Harry think you still live here, love. Have to make it convincing, no?” He pecked her on the cheek and released her.
Dean reached over and shook Ron's hand, eyeing him up. "What, I don't get a kiss?" Dean pouted.
Harry barked out a laugh from behind him and as Ron made the introductions, Hermione felt herself relax. While she was initially reticent about the whole trip, she could see that Dean was willing to make an effort, and she knew that Shay wouldn't stand for any nonsense from him, either. Ginny floated through the front door, her bright red hair glowing like a beacon in the morning sunlight, and she stopped abruptly. Her eyes traveled up the length of Dean, and Hermione bit her cheek, smothering a laugh at Dean's expression when their eyes locked. A flush spread across Ginny's face and she looked away quickly, rushing to Hermione's side. Dean looked like he had been walloped over the back of the head. She watched him shake himself out of a daze and tried not to laugh again at the blush creeping over his cheeks as he watched Ginny walk away.
"Oh my God, how do you live with that gorgeous man and not try to jump him day after day?" Ginny breathed, and, taking a steadying breath, she turned to face Hermione fully.
Hermione smirked, and watched as Seamus bounded down the stairs, sleeping bags in tow. He hugged Ron and launched himself at Dean, pulling him down for a quick kiss. "That's why..."
Ginny's face fell momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure. "Damn, why are the ones that look like Greek gods always gay?"
Seamus, who was looking between Ginny and Dean with a knowing grimace, seemed to have overheard and sidled up to them, throwing an arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Because, that's the way the Greeks worked, darlin'. They were all mad for the cock." He paused, then added, "Except for Sappho, of course."
"I never did ask, how are you getting to Hertfordshire?" Hermione asked, and Seamus winked.
"It might be a bit of a tight squeeze, but we'll all fit in the car. Dean has agreed to drive there as long as one of the boys will drive back tomorrow." He indicated Dean's battered Toyota Corolla in the driveway, and Hermione snorted.
"You do realise that you're the only one going that's under 5'7", yeah?" Seamus' face fell slightly and he sighed.
"Guess I'm goin' to be thoroughly squashed between some strappin’ lads, so. However will I manage?"
A few minutes later, Dudley arrived, leading Cho by the hand, and Ginny immediately ran to her side, whispering furiously, probably about Dean. Hermione could see Dean was still glancing in Ginny’s direction when he thought nobody was looking. She had seen him like this with pretty girls all of her life, but rarely since he had met Shay. She knew she had nothing to worry about, Harry didn’t exactly seem to be the jealous type. Hermione settled down on the front doorstep and made a face at Mr. Bode next door, who was glaring through the fence at the sight of the group making a ruckus on the lawn.
"You'd want to be careful, the wind will change and you'll be stuck like that," Ron quipped, sitting down beside her, his legs thrown out lazily onto the grass in front of him. "What are you looking at over there?"
"Oh, just Mr. Bode. He's a bit of a shit and a bigger homophobe than you'd expect for this part of London. He doesn't really approve of the goings on with the boys. He really can't complain anymore, it's the 21st century, he needs to get over himself." She took his hand. "You'll be alright? If you feel ill at all, or show any sign of infection, you promise you'll come back home?"
Ron sighed. "Don't worry, I'm going to be fine. I won't even drink that much, I'll be Mr. Sensible," he reassured her. He looked over to where Mr. Bode was glaring at them. "That's the infamous next door neighbour?" His face turned thoughtful and Hermione frowned.
"Yeah, you met him the last time you were here, didn't you? The day you helped me move?" She could feel him tensing beside her, but before she could ask what the matter was, they were interrupted by the arrival of Neville, his arms laden with a sleeping bag, a rucksack and a huge cooler. Ron hopped up to help him, and Neville, after a round of introductions, collapsed onto the lawn, his face very red and sweaty.
"Nev, why didn't you just ring one of us, we could have given you a lift?" Harry sank down to sit next to him on the damp grass.
"Yeah, I didn't think of that. I had to drop Frankie off at his fencing lesson on the way, and by then I was right beside the station, so I just took the train." He wheezed. "I'll be alright in a mo, it's just very hot."
"Oh Nev, fencing? How do you control a bunch of three year olds with swords?" Ginny's face was taut with worry.
"They're called epées, Gin. His instructor says he's a natural dueler, Hannah's dead proud of him." Neville sat up and took a drink from the water bottle that Dudley offered, taking a large gulp. "I'd prefer if he pursued less dangerous hobbies, but you know what my kids are like." He rolled his eyes. "Bloody wild, I don't know what happened when my genes hit Han's, but they're so completely different to us both."
Ron shook with laughter. "Aggie's still the only child I've ever heard of who came home from a painting class with a black eye..."
Ginny, Cho and Neville were handing the various bags and supplies to Shay, who was trying his best to slot them into place in the car boot. Harry and Dudley were giving very unhelpful pointers, and Ron, Hermione and Dean stood back and left them all to it.
"Sure we can't persuade you to come along, love?" Dean put his arm around Hermione's shoulders.
"Absolutely not." Hermione shuddered. "I'm quite looking forward to not having the lot of you under my feet. You're all getting into your uncomfortably crowded car with no air conditioning and you're going to have a great time bonding without me."
Ron scoffed. "No air conditioning? Well, that’s just an excuse to make gigantic tits of ourselves while driving through the quaint English countryside with the windows open as we sing along to whatever's on Dean's driving playlist."
Hermione bit her lip as Dean threw his head back in a guffaw. "Oh, you're in for a real treat, Ronnie. Nothing but the best on my stereo, I assure you."
She snorted, and he pointed a finger at her. “Anything is better than bloody Dire Straits. Trust me, ‘Mione, you’re in no position to talk shit about other’s music tastes…”
*---------------*
"Haven't any of you ever pitched a tent before?" Neville glared around at the group of men who were watching him hammer in the last peg, securing the tent to the ground. After the thunderstorms yesterday, the earth was boggy, softer than they would have preferred, but that couldn’t be helped. Ron was not looking forward to the logistics of how they were going to fit all six of them into one tent later on, but he strongly suspected that he was going to get uncomfortably familiar with his best mates’ collective sleeping habits.
Ron looked askance at Harry, then Dudley, who shrugged. Dean was sitting in a shady spot, sketchbook in hand, with a blue colouring pencil tucked behind his ear. Shay was arranging a pile of rocks into a circle, getting the campfire ready for later. He picked up his beer, clearly unable to contain his giggles. "I dunno about you, Neville, but I assure you, I have definitely pitched a tent before, but maybe not the one you're thinkin' about..."
Ron grabbed the hammer from Neville before he could throw it at the Irishman and started to unload the bags of food and drinks from the boot. He took a moment to breathe deeply, the fresh country air fortifying him in a way that it never could in the bustle of central London. He was reminded of lazy summer afternoons in the orchard at home, where he would lie about with a book and a lemonade for hours. The warm sun was beaming down, and he pulled on his hat, trying to cover his ears. "Shay, serious question, do you have a ready supply of innuendos to hand, or does inspiration just strike you in the moment?"
Dean chuckled. "Trust me, it's raw talent. He can be very creative, and he's so quick he's lethal." He sighed and ran a hand through his curls. "I think he'd make a very good comedian, but he insists on writing advertisement copy for a living."
Seamus tossed him a beer with well-practiced ease, Dean swiping it out of the air without disrupting his drawing. "Only quick where it counts, love." He winked and Harry groaned.
"You two are going to be like this all bloody weekend, aren't you?"
Shay grinned as he sat down on the grass beside Dudley, who was handing round a box of sandwiches that had been packed by Ginny. “Oh, most definitely. But, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can rein it in.” Dean snorted in disbelief, shuffling closer to grab a banana and a handful of peanuts from the bag that Harry had just opened.
Dudley picked apart the sandwich in his hands, and looked relieved to see ham and cheese. “I’ll put money on that. Fancy a wager, Irish?”
As Shay and Dudley hammered out the terms of their bet, Ron lay back on the slightly spongy ground and closed his eyes. It was hard to believe that they were only an hour’s drive from London, everything was so peaceful. The car trip hadn’t been too bad, all told. Dean had been driving, and he had promised Hermione that Ron could sit in the front seat, in case he was sick on the way. The only thing that had nauseated Ron, though, was the thoughts of being squashed into the backseat between Dudley, who while not as large as he was when he was a child, was still wider than he was tall, and Neville, who was 6’3” and wiry, with sharp elbows and knees. He knew that Harry and Seamus had been feeling the effects, especially after they had happened upon a traffic jam, caused by a crash further along, and they were forced to sit idle in the stifling heat for more than an hour and a half. The only thing that had made up for it was Dean’s commitment to his truly awful taste in music, which Seamus assured them was entirely genuine after the fifth Shania Twain song in a row.
He had been worried that things would be strained with Dean after their little chat a few weeks ago, but there had been a significant thawing on Dean’s part, with him belting out the lyrics to Man! I Feel Like A Woman unselfconsciously as he tapped the rhythm on the steering wheel, accompanied enthusiastically by Ron himself, much to Dean’s approval.
“Ron, are you going to eat something?” Neville’s voice carried across the circle they found themselves sitting in, and he sat up, brushing a stray bit of dust from his jeans.
He reached a hand into the box of sandwiches and immediately withdrew it. “There isn’t any fucking corned beef in here, is there?” He gestured to Harry, who swallowed his bite.
“How the hell should I know? Gin made them, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s thrown in a couple of corned beef ones just to spite you.” Ron carefully examined the contents, and was satisfied that there was only cheese and pickle on his own before taking a bite.
“So, seriously, have none of you ever gone camping before?” Neville sipped his beer and looked around the group curiously.
“Nope, which is surprising, considering I’m from the middle of nowhere. We were always more of a beach trip family than a camping family.” Ron reached for an apple to go with his sandwich and took a huge bite.
“Dad wasn’t exactly the type for loving family holidays, we never went anywhere unless Aunt Marge invited us to her villa in Spain,” Dudley chimed in.
“And, I was always left behind when you did go. I just got acquainted with old Mrs. Figg’s many cats,” Harry said.
“What’s the story with you two? You’re not brothers, are ye?” Seamus asked. Dean’s eyes flicked up to look between Harry and Dudley.
“We’re first cousins. Only a few weeks between us, we’re practically twins,” Dudley replied. “Harry came to live with us when he was one.”
Seamus didn’t probe any further, which Ron was relieved about. Harry and Dudley’s childhood was too complicated for discussion as yet.
“I grew up in Bethnal Green, I’d never set foot further than Brighton until I went to university,” Dean spoke up, his deft fingers balancing a pencil and a beer simultaneously. “I have three girly younger sisters, and Hermione for a best friend, so nobody particularly outdoorsy I could do this with.”
“I’ve never camped in a tent,” Seamus piped up. “Just in a mobile home at the seaside.” He pulled himself to stand and reached into Neville’s cooler for a Coke. “Doesn’t really count unless you’re out under the stars.”
Dean shifted closer, and placed a comforting arm on the small of Shay’s back. “I think it counts plenty, love.”
Ron was struck by their easy gestures with each other, and smiled. He was beginning to see that ease forming between himself and Hermione of late, and he cherished it. Dean returned to his sketch, and Ron peered across to see what he was working on. He bit back a surprised laugh when he saw his own face on the page.
“Wow, that’s amazing!”
Harry looked over and smiled in Ron’s direction. “He’s made you handsome, and with no apparent difficulty.”
Ron tossed his apple core at Harry’s head, but he dodged at the last moment. It landed with a soft thud against the tent canvas. “Oi, I’m plenty handsome!”
“Hermione certainly thinks so…” Seamus muttered and Ron held his breath as Dean’s pencil stopped in its tracks.
“Yeah, she really does, goodness knows why, but she’s always had a thing for gingers…” Dean smiled, and Ron relaxed. Dudley and Neville were making kissy faces and Harry winked at him.
“Dean’s always had an eye for capturin’ someone’s beauty. He could make an ogre look like a Playboy model.” Seamus dragged his T-shirt up and wiped some sweat off of his brow with the hem. “Although it helps if he finds the subject drop dead gorgeous. Like a certain sister he had the pleasure of meetin’ today…”
Ron watched a blush spread across Dean’s face and he groaned. “Oh no, not again!” Why were these prats always falling for his little sister?
Dean hissed, “Shay, come on, you know it’s nothing…”
Seamus laughed aloud. “Yeah, you’re not foolin’ anyone with that! She’s a crackin’ bird, I’d give her a go meself if I was into that kinda thing.”
Dean winced and looked up at Harry, running a hand across his brow. “Sorry, mate, I swear he doesn’t mean any disrespect.”
Harry looked askance at Neville, and the two men collapsed into a fit of giggles, with Ron and Dudley joining in. When Neville caught his breath, he leaned across and patted Dean’s outstretched knee. “You and every other bloke on the planet, including me, Dean. Harry’s so used to blokes falling for his missus that it doesn’t even phase him anymore.”
Harry removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. “Honestly, I didn’t notice, but then, I wasn’t really expecting it from you, seeing as you’re married to Mr. Handsome over here.” He gestured at Seamus, who bent into a sweeping bow at the compliment. “Clearly, you have a thing for short and fiery. We have that in common.”
Dean paused and then laughed heartily, catching Shay’s eye. “Except I’m pretty sure you’re not in the least bit attracted to my husband.”
“Don’t tell the bloke how to feel, Deano. He’s a posh boardin’ school boy, fuck knows what these lads got up to in their dorms…” Seamus winked at Harry.
*————————*
The sun was just starting to set when Seamus fell on his arse, taking Dudley down with him. Ron breathed a sigh of relief from where he was doubled over, his hands stretched across opposite ends of the Twister mat. “Oh, thank God, I’m pretty sure I’ve been staring at your arse for so long, Seamus, that I’ll never be able to see you in the same light ever again,” Neville piped up from where he was bent backwards like a crab on Ron’s left.
Ron had laughed when he saw what games Neville had packed. Sometimes, working with small children had its benefits, and he knew that he and Nev were way more practiced at Twister than was probably appropriate for two men in their thirties. “Ron, left hand yellow,” Harry called out, and he squinted as Shay dusted himself off and went to help Dean get the campfire going.
Ron moved his left hand and called out, “Honestly, Nev, you really think you can beat me? I can keep this up all night. Best you capitulate now, mate, and bow down to the Weasley king!”
Neville, who was doing his best to stay balanced, was tiring. “We can’t keep playing all night, we’re losing the light. I can hardly see the colours as is.” He swayed slightly as Harry shouted at him to move his left foot to red. He shuffled and used his long legs to reach out and stay in the game.
“So, this is the sort of shit they get up to in posh private schools? Did ye do anythin’ like that at your one, Dean?” Seamus asked.
“Don’t lump me in with the rest of these guys, I went to the local secondary school in Leeds,” Neville protested.
“I assure you, before that night in your halls at uni, I’d never played Twister in my life.” Dean reached for the matches that Shay was shuffling from hand to hand and lit the twist of newspaper, watching as the logs underneath caught the flame with a crackle.
Ron giggled as he easily moved his right foot out, so that now he was holding himself in a plank position. Dudley chuckled, and sat beside Harry. “Sounds like there’s a story there…”
Dean smiled fondly at Seamus. “It’s how we met. Playing drunken strip Twister at a uni party.” He laughed lightly and moved Shay’s fringe out of his eyes. “I was bollock naked in a roomful of scantily clad women and I couldn’t take my eyes off the handsome, loud Irishman who was hyping me up. Quite the surprise for all involved, I should think.”
“I’m just a walkin’, smoulderin’ sex god, in fairness, ya just couldn’t help it!” Dudley groaned as Shay leaned in to kiss Dean fully, his hands in his hair.
“Looks like I just won fifty quid, Irish. I’ll expect full payment when we get back to London tomorrow!” He rubbed his hands together with glee.
“I think that’s very sweet. Like you didn’t know Shay was missing from your life until he appeared in it,” Neville sighed, and then toppled with a crash onto the mat. Ron whooped and lowered himself slowly to the ground. He would never admit it, but he had been close to collapsing, his arms mere moments away from buckling. He shook Neville’s hand and helped him to his feet, taking one corner of the mat and folding it towards the other man’s outstretched arms. “That’s kind of how I felt when I met Hannah. Just this instant connection.”
“Really? Like love at first sight?” Dean raised an eyebrow sceptically and sat back, pulling Shay back away from the flames.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Neville shrugged. “I mean, I did propose to her only hours after meeting her, and married her three weeks later.”
Seamus, who had been taking a swig of beer, choked out, “Seriously?” He coughed and cleared his throat. “How did you get around the waiting period? You need to give, like, a month’s notice?”
Harry laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “His great-uncle Algie is a vicar, he pulled some strings.” He flopped down next to Ron and elbowed him. “Nev’s the smoothest fucker in the world, only he could get away with proposing to a woman he barely knew and still end up with a ridiculously strong, stable, happy marriage years later.”
Dudley sat beside Dean and helped him to load trays with sausages, bacon and potatoes wrapped in foil. “So, who proposed to who? My money’s on Seamus…”
Shay barked out a laugh. “You’d lose that bet. The day they made civil unions legal, we were in the front room watchin’ it on the news, and Dean turned to me and said, I’ll go ring the registry office and see when they can fit us in, and I just nodded. There was no question to be asked, sure we already owned the house, and shared a life, ‘twas just nice to have it all proper and legal on paper in case anythin’ happened, like one of us dyin’.” He cut off abruptly with a wince in Ron’s direction, but thankfully the others didn’t seem to notice.
“Have you thought about having kids?” Neville enquired, concentrating on shoving the Twister mat back into its cardboard box.
Ron looked at the pair curiously and waited for their answer. This had never occurred to him, that maybe Hermione was so eager to move out because she felt her presence in the house was delaying the natural progression of their relationship.
“Yeah, we’ve discussed it. Still debating whether to use a surrogate, or just adopt,” Dean replied, and used a fork to turn the sausages carefully over the flames. “And if we did use a surrogate, whose genetics we’d use. I already have one hyper short-arse to deal with, can’t imagine a houseful of them.”
Shay tried to look offended, but just collapsed into giggles, almost spilling his open can of beer in the process. “Yeah, all of my nieces and nephews have ADHD and/or are just mental, can’t imagine any kids of mine would be any different. Although, sayin’ that, your sisters are a bit mad…”
Dean scoffed. “Chloe is a bit…eccentric, sure. But she’s a yoga instructor, it sort of comes with the territory. She had the A-levels to be a doctor, mum still thinks she’s barking for, and I quote, squandering her potential.”
Ron contemplated this. All his life, he had to put up with being compared to his older brothers, and it was still happening. His mum, up until she had met Hermione a few weeks ago, was constantly meddling, trying to fix him up with single girls from the village, all in the name of making sure he wasn’t frittering his life away. He understood why she did it, especially after he had lost Lavender to his own demons. He ran a finger along one of the burns on his arm and tuned back into the conversation. Harry was elbowing his side, and laughing.
“Of course, Ron and Hermione’ll be next, wouldn’t surprise me if we don’t hear wedding bells in the not-so-distant future.” Ron blushed, and then felt awful. Harry had no idea how true his statement was. He tried his best to laugh it off.
“I dunno, I think Dudley has his eye on a certain princess-cut diamond with a white gold band…” Dudley’s head whipped to him and he goggled, eyes bugging out.
“How the hell do you know that?” He wiped his hands on his trousers, and it was Harry’s turn to look stunned.
“Oh my God, are you proposing to Cho? When?”
Dudley wiped his brow and looked sheepishly around the group. “I was going to wait until her birthday. I see no point in waiting any longer. The whole thing with Dad has made me realise that I don’t know what I’d do without her, so I’m making it official.”
Harry’s face split into a huge grin. “That’s bloody fantastic.” He reached for his beer and held it aloft. “To Dud and Cho!”
Ron watched as the rest of the boys congratulated Dudley, and he followed suit. “Guys, I’ll have to bloody ask her first. She might turn me down…”
“That’s not bloody likely!” Neville was sitting forward eagerly. Ron imagined his big, soft romantic heart beating wildly at the excitement. “Cho is mad about you. You’d have to be as thick as Harry not to notice.”
“Hey, I notice plenty. I’m a bloody police officer, I’m trained to notice things!” Harry held his hands up.
“Mate, how far along was Gin before you twigged she was pregnant? We all knew before you did!” Neville interjected, and Ron laughed. He had been the first person Ginny had told, and the reason she hadn’t told Harry immediately was because she was worried how he was going to take the news, with his upbringing being on the forefront of her mind. She needn’t have worried, Harry had taken to fatherhood like he had taken to rugby, ready to muck in wherever he was needed.
“How did you know about the ring?” Dudley faced Ron, and he smiled.
“Well, I may have heard Ginny talking about it with your mum at your dad’s wake…”
“How the bloody hell does mum know?” Dudley looked appalled at the very notion.
“I’m sorry, are you asking how the nosiest suburban English housewife in the world could sniff out the hottest family gossip in years?” Harry looked appropriately offended on his aunt’s behalf.
“Well, anyway, here’s to a little more love in the world!” Shay held aloft his beer and they toasted again. “Is the dinner nearly ready, I’m starvin’.”
Dean assured him that it wouldn’t be long. “I’m goin’ to take a piss, where did we say we’d go?”
Harry and Neville stood up to help show Seamus where they had marked out as a makeshift loo, and Dudley crept inside the tent to dig out some blankets. Ron shuffled closer and helped Dean dish out the food onto the plates.
“Can I ask you something?” Dean busied himself with cutting open his baked potato, and adding a spoonful of baked beans and cheese to it.
Ron licked some bacon grease from his fingers and waited for him to continue.
“If your treatment goes well, and you do recover, what’s the plan?”
Ron picked up a fork and took a moment to compose an answer. He kept his voice low, so that Dudley wouldn’t overhear, and he replied, “In general, or with Hermione?”
“Either? Both?” Dean shoved a spoonful of beans into his mouth and chewed.
“Well, if things work out, I plan on living my life to its fullest. If that includes Hermione, whether as a friend or as my wife, then all the better.” He tapped his own fork against the plastic plate. “I’ve been enjoying myself so much in the last few weeks, she’s brought a breath of fresh air with her. It’s incredible, really, that despite how bleak my future seems, I’ve not really thought about it. I’m living in the moment, and living in her moments, and it’s been wonderful.”
Dean sighed. “I’m trying to be okay with all of this, you know.” Ron stopped his nervous tapping and gave the other man his full attention. “I know you’re not a bad person, and I’m worried that I may have jumped the gun before. It wasn’t my place to ask you to make promises you’re not going to be able to keep…”
“Hey, I’ve been keeping that promise, I’ve been a perfect gentleman!”
“Hermione’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time. She’s not stressing out about work, she’s eating better, she was buzzing this morning over breakfast when she was telling me about how you impressed Jean.” Dean paused, and took a drink. “What I’m saying is, I think you’re the reason. And, I dunno, what Nev said earlier really resonated with me. Maybe you’re her missing piece that she didn’t know about until she met you.” He smiled around a mouthful of food. “And, if your time together is finite, then far be it from me to stand in your way. I’ll happily walk her down the aisle to you in a couple of days. Even a relative stranger is better than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…especially one with an appreciation for Shania.”
Ron recalled his conversation with Hermione from that morning. “Dean, You-Know-Who, does he have blonde hair, and a face that looks like he’s permanently smelling shit?”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, that’s a pretty accurate description. You’ve met? Hermione didn’t say.”
Ron could hear the others coming back, laughing uproariously. He rushed to get the words out. “Not intentionally. He was hanging ‘round outside your house when I was helping ‘Mione with her stuff. She doesn’t know.”
Dean placed his fork down and put a hand to his head. “I’m going to fucking strangle the bastard…”
Seamus dropped down beside Dean and took a plate of food for himself. “Whoa, what’s got your knickers in a knot? You promised ‘Mione you’d try to get along. Ye’re not fuckin’ fightin’, are ye?”
Dean shook his head. “Malfoy’s been at our house. Did you know?”
Seamus’ face distorted into a frown. “Fuckin’ ferrety gobshite. No, of course I didn’t know, I’d have told ya!”
“Well, you might want to be careful, Ron. I doubt he knows where you live, which is good, but his family’s connected.” Dean wiped some sauce from Shay’s chin. “I don’t want him anywhere near her, not after everything. Not being in control makes him unpredictable.”
“You don’t have to worry, I’ll keep her safe.”
The other boys crowded around and accepted plates. They sat around the fire, talking and laughing and swapping embarrassing stories for hours. Ron felt lighter, and laughed along easily. He would remember this night. The growing camaraderie between his old friends and his new ones, and how easily they were now riffing and joking. like they had known each other for years, was comforting. Ron was content in the fact that all of these blokes would be there for one another should the worst happen, and they would be there for Hermione, too. After they had cleaned up, and Shay had finished telling a story about a prank gone wrong involving Hermione’s ex and a ferret, Neville produced his guitar and led them in a sing-along, with Dean getting really into teaching them a dance that Hermione’s dad had taught him as a teenager. At one point, when they were all pleasantly drunk, they had lapsed into truth or dare, like teenagers at a sleepover.
After Shay had done a striptease to a chorus of encouragement, he had had to explain to the others that the glowing handprints on his arse cheeks were part of the package of being an artist’s husband and muse. Dean had blushed and lifted his shirt to show a trail of glowing green paint snaking across his abdomen.
“Right, Dean, truth or dare?” Neville cried.
Dean looked wary for a moment before sighing. “Fuck it, truth.”
Nev thought for a moment and then asked, “So, Hermione’s been your best friend since forever, yeah? Had you ever thought about getting together with her yourself?”
Ron, who had been catching M&M’s that Harry was tossing at his mouth, listened closely.
“I’d be lying if I said that it never crossed my mind.” He looked askance at Ron. “When I was going through puberty, I’d have dirty thoughts and then immediately feel guilty, like I was caught perving. I look to my mum and stepdad when I think about healthy relationships, and I always thought that Hermione and I could have had that if we’d been inclined. But, it just never happened. I think all of our friends in school were kind of expecting it, but we just fell into the whole brotherly-sisterly kind of platonic, and it’s all worked out for the best. But, it could have happened, if life had taken a different turn, and I think we could have been happy together.”
Harry nodded. “I get that. I mean, before Gin and I started dating, she was my close friend. She was my best mate’s little sister who had an embarrassing crush on me right up until about Sixth Year. She had been dating someone else by then, and I was just struck by this wave of jealousy, like there was a lion roaring in my stomach. I couldn’t explain it now if I tried. The summer hols came, and by then she and the bloke had split up, and Ron was off doing God-knows-what, God-knows-where with Loony Lovegood all the time, so we spent more and more time hanging out on our own, and then we were just together.” He shrugged. “Thank God she picked up on my interest, I’m dense when it comes to all the romance stuff.”
Dudley giggled. “It’s nice to hear you admit that. I didn’t get to the Burrow until after you got together, and you were so busy trying to keep Ron from finding out, you were convinced he was going to batter you, and not creaming himself at the prospect of having you as an actual member of the family.” He took a swig of his beer. “I just want Cho and I to have what Arthur and Molly have.” He explained for Dean and Seamus. “Ron’s parents are still so in love, like they’re made for one another. It’s hard to imagine them not ever finding each other. Sure, they bicker like cats and dogs, Molly’s like Ginny but on steroids, and it’s mostly over the state of Arthur’s shed, but they never go to bed without talking stuff out.”
Ron nodded. “From what I understand, mum was due to marry somebody else of a higher social standing, everything was all arranged, and then she met my dad, who was brought up to not care about class divides, at some function, and they fell in love. Funny how that happens, isn’t it? Like the universe deliberately intervenes to throw people together who need to be together.”
Harry gaped. “I never knew that. What happened to the other bloke?”
“I dunno, mum never really talks about it.” Ron shrugged. “I think he married someone else and it all went a bit Charles and Diana. I can’t imagine mum being in that situation.”
As they were tidying up, Ron lingered over what Dean had said earlier. He imagined a future, with Hermione by his side, a couple of auburn-haired children running about playing with their cousins. A little cottage by the sea in Devon that they could escape to at weekends. Family outings to the fair, or the National Gallery, or IKEA. Then he imagined Hermione having that with anybody else, and Ron’s stomach ached. Was this how love felt? He knew that he certainly had feelings for his fiancée, ones that were growing stronger day by day, but was it a bit soon to be calling it love? And, more importantly, would he be able to contain these feelings until he was sure he could give her the future that she deserved?
As he settled into his sleeping bag later that night, uncomfortably close to Neville’s snoring face, he looked across to where Dean and Seamus were snuggled up together, the glowing paint helping to illuminate their sleeping forms, and realised with a pang that there was a chance he never would have what they had. In a couple of days, he would be a married man, and that thought, though exciting, brought a fresh wave of melancholia with it. How he wished he had the time to do this all the right way, with a proper proposal somewhere romantic like Seamus had imagined for them, and not wearing a gown in a hospital bed with a death sentence looming. He closed his eyes, but sleep was a long time coming.