We know the way by heart now but the nurse still led us anyway. I think she's got a thing for Ron, or maybe its just pity I don't know; the wonderful thing about it is that he doesn't even notice her flirtation. He just holds my hand and gives me a smile as I let out an audible sigh without realising it.

Harry's room is in a secure area, too many well-wishers and reporters wanting a scoop or a photograph with the boy who defeated Voldemort.

Voldemort.

It makes me queasy just to think of the name. After making a point of calling You-Know-Who by his name I would become annoyed whenever Ron would continue to cringe whenever anyone said it. I would scowl at him, tease him or just get frustrated by it. I kept telling him to get over it and call him by his name; now I shudder when I hear it. I hear it the way it sounded when Ron had eventually said it. It was the first and last time he ever did and that hateful man's name now sends me flinching and wincing in the same way it used to with Ron. Funnily enough, Ron's completely over that now and has been trying to get me to go back to my nonchalant 'It's only a name' state of mind.

I never will.

"I know this isn't you, this isn't your fault Harry. Whatever happens, I forgive you okay? This isn't you: it's Voldemort..."

I shudder as the nurse, who let her hand linger on Ron’s arm for a little longer than was absolutely necessary if you ask me, left us alone. It's this whole myth of the strong and silent type that gets all the girls going I know but it still doesn't make it any easier to watch. I just want to scream at them all, 'He's my boyfriend. Back off!’, of course I don't do that at all. That's not Hermione Granger. That’s Lavender Brown and I will never become that kind of girlfriend.

Ron holds the door open for me and I walk in ahead of him. Harry is sitting at the table in the centre of the room. His bed is on the left, not made as ever, and bathed in sunlight from the large open window on that side of the room. The curtains billow in the gentle breeze in an almost ghostly manner. Apart from these features the room is mostly empty.

The two chairs across from Harry have been put there for us. Harry always seems to make more of an effort when he knows Ron's coming. When the other Weasleys come, especially Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, he draws the curtains around his bed and refuses to face them. The guilt gets on top of him sometimes. Even the twins have tried to explain to him over and over again that nobody blames him or hates him, especially Ron. He of all people would be the one to have a problem with Harry if he really did deserve punishment for that awful day.

"Hello, Harry. How are you today?" I smile as I cross the room in fewer steps than usual and embrace him in a warm hug.

Harry had a bad night last night, or so the nurse told Ron, while she stared at his scar in that infuriatingly un-subtle way people do when they meet him. Harry put his fist through the bathroom mirror. The doctors at St Mungo's all knew that when Harry was really suffering or withdrawn, Ron was the best person to come and visit him. Ron and I visit together once a week and once each separately. Ordinarily, the other Weasleys and Neville take the other visiting hours, but George gave up his visit today so we could come in his place to help him get through his latest bout of destructive guilt.

Harry hugs me back and smiles a slight, but genuine, smile before looking over my shoulder and pointing towards the chairs for Ron to sit down. Ron moves forward and pulls out one for me; I sit and watch the routine begin.

Ron summons the chess set from Harry's bedside table without a word. The two of them have become stunningly proficient at non-verbal magic, but of course they would have to be wouldn't they? Every time we see Moody, he tells Ron and Harry their childhood dreams of becoming Aurors could be fulfilled in an instant simply for that ability alone. Neither of them is interested in that anymore though. I have to say I'm relieved.

Ron sets up the board and Harry watches with a sad smile. He enjoys Ron's company but it also reminds him of what he did. What he was made to do. Harry looks over at me and waggles his fingers in that way that had become the signal for 'I want to write something down' and I pull out the pad and quill for him. Ron's eyes watch him write for a second before completing the set-up of the pieces. Harry is scribbling frantically before sliding the pad over to Ron who takes it and reads. He smiles and shakes his head before taking the quill and writing something himself.

I lean in to read over Ron's shoulder.

Is that nurse still making eyes at you? Hermione looked a bit jealous when she came in.

I don't know where you lot are getting this from. I'm not picking up any signals from her at all. She’s just being friendly you dirty minded sod!

Ron slides the pad back to Harry who reads it and laughs out loud. That's the difference between Ron and Harry; you can hear Harry when he laughs. I can feel my throat constrict and my eyes well-up as I struggle to stop myself getting emotional; it doesn't help Harry and it annoys Ron. I can't help the way I feel though. I miss his laughter so much.

Harry plays with the quill between his fingers and seems to be thinking of something else to write to wind him up but Ron's ready to play, banging his hand on the table. Harry jumps and pushes the pad and quill aside when Ron points down at the board. Harry makes his first move and Ron scans the entire board with a great deal of thought before smirking and looking back at Harry. I know exactly what he's doing; it's his new thing to challenge himself seeing as there's no suspense over who will win, and Harry knows, too. He sits back in his chair and folds his arms, feigning annoyance. He raises his eyebrows as if asking Ron 'What?’

Ron holds up both his hands, fingers splayed, then lowers one and splays the remaining one again before lowering three fingers and looking smug.

"Seventeen moves, are you kidding?" I ask him while tearing off a scrap of paper from the pad and grabbing the quill.

Ron nods and points at the paper. He's so bossy these days, making sure I'm ready to start counting the moves before he defeats Harry. That's the challenge. Not to beat him at chess, but to try and make more moves than Ron predicts. The rule changed to more moves than the prediction after Harry decided to start losing on purpose just to be defeated in fewer moves and Ron accused him of cheating. They had quite an argument about the ethics of deliberately throwing one game in order to win another. It had been the funniest thing I had ever seen and Harry had laughed until he cried. Then he had cried and cried and cried from the guilt of finding so much amusement in their situation. Finding something funny about Ron having to argue without making a sound.

You see, Harry can talk. He can, but he won't; it's his self-imposed penance, I think. He won't talk because Ron won't ever talk again. He blames himself and not even Ron can get him to let the guilt go. I think the main reason Ron tries so hard to make him laugh is because that's the one sound Harry can not suppress. He can't laugh silently as Ron has to; when he's amused the sound pours out of him and it reminds us all that Harry is still Harry.

Not that Ron is no longer Ron, but he is silent because of the irreversible damage done to his vocal chords. Harry is silent because he forces himself to be. It is a psychological problem and Ron and I won't rest until we get him to let the guilt go and let himself speak again. It's not as if Ron hates him for still having that ability.

They play on and I record the moves. I can see Ron's strategy now and can also see that Harry is playing right into his hands. I smile as I write down Ron's sixteenth move on the scrap of paper. He's got him and Harry knows it.

Harry drums his fingers on the table as he spends nearly ten minutes desperately searching the board for a way to delay the inevitable. As I stare at the board, waiting for the move, I jump as Ron's watch lands in the middle of the board. Harry looks up with a start and Ron pretends to yawn. I giggle.

"I think he wants you to hurry up."

Harry rolls his eyes while Ron strokes his chin and looks over to the bathroom before taking the pad, slipping the quill from between my fingers, and writing:

Mind if I use your razor, Harry? I think I'm growing a beard.

Ron tosses the pad back to Harry who reads it and laughs aloud again before giving Ron a two fingered salute and making the only move he can. Ron leans over the board before tapping his knight on the head. It turns to receive its instructions and Ron signs the letter 'G' and then holds up three fingers. The knight salutes and proceeds; Ron is the victor...in seventeen moves.

Ron grins as his pieces jump up and down, victorious. They are always so enthusiastic when Ron wins these games. I never felt more proud of myself then when I taught every chess set in the Weasley family to learn how to finger spell so Ron could still instruct them himself rather than have to move them the Muggle way. The pieces also had grown quite fond of their speechless owner. When he had been playing against Ginny a few weeks back, one of her pawns kept cupping its hand to its ear and asking Ron to speak up. Ginny had been so disgusted at the behaviour of the new set she just bought for herself that she deliberately sacrificed the pawn to Ron's queen who promptly gave the nastiest beating I had ever witnessed on a chess board since Ron was taken out by McGonagall's back in our first year.

The pieces are gathered up and put away as I pour the three of us a drink from Harry's jug of water.

"So I hear you got yourself all upset again last night," I say, never one to beat around the bush.

Harry shrugs and Ron slams his hand on the table again. Harry jumps and looks up at him. Ron points at me with a stern look penetrating Harry and making him feel ashamed of himself for avoiding the question. Harry looks back at me and nods.

"I see they healed your hand nicely," I say as I take Harry's hand and examine his knuckles. I would never have been able to tell he had been hurt if they hadn't told me what he'd done. "So was it attention seeking, frustration or something else?"

Sometimes I hate being the only one who speaks. Times like these I really hate the sound of my own voice.

Harry takes his hand back from me and looks down at the table. Ron tosses the pad and the quill under Harry’s nose and points at it firmly with his index finger and then points at me. I told you he was bossier, didn't I?

Harry picks up the quill and writes. He writes for quite some time before handing the pad to me, and then stares at Ron across the table who gives him a curious smile. I start to read.

I knew I wouldn't see Ron for another four days and I knew that if I did something like that they'd ask him to come sooner. I just missed him that's all. He's the only person who doesn't seem to blame me.

"Oh, Harry, this is getting silly. None of us blame you. None of us hold you at fault for what that evil man made you do that night." I was sick of giving the same old speech every single visit.

Harry huffs and takes the pad back. He writes something down again and thrusts the pad back at me with a hard look in his eyes. 

I could throw off the curse when it was Barty Crouch Jr. telling me to jump onto a desk, but when it's Voldemort telling me to kill my best mate I just went right ahead and did it. I didn't even put up a fight. I fought not to jump on a desk but I let myself slash my best friend's throat. What kind of a person does that make me, Hermione?

Ron has been watching my face as I read and my eyes leave the paper to meet his. He points to Harry and then back to his own head and twirls his finger in small circles at his temple.

"Yes, Ron, he is being mental again. He's being a stupid bloody idiot!" I have recently taken it upon myself to become Ron's designated swearer.

Harry growls under his breath and folds his arms. Ron leans forward and cups his hand to his ear, much in the same way the spiteful pawn of Ginny's had done, and I know exactly what he's getting at.

"You can laugh and groan at us so why can't you talk to us?" I say as I sit beside Ron who sits back and nods.

Harry drops his head into his hands and sighs. Ron slams his palm onto the table again, very hard this time, and he is obviously angry with him. Harry picks up the quill and Ron tears it out of his hand and throws it aside. He begins to do that thing that almost makes me forget, the thing that makes me feel that I've gone deaf rather than Ron having gone quiet; he begins to mouth what he wants to say and gesticulate with his hands to illustrate his point. He only does that when he gets really angry. I think it's his substitute for shouting, and we both know that Ron is livid with his best friend.

'What is your problem?' Ron mouths while shrugging, pointing at Harry and then pointing at his own head again.

Harry sniffs and wipes his face. He obviously started to cry while turned away from us, and Ron gets up from his seat with a huff before beginning to pace back and forth. His ears are bright red and his shoulders are tense.

Ron and I have had this same discussion several times over the past weeks and again today on our way to St. Mungo’s, with his side always scribbled down onto a pad.  I know how frustrating it is for him not to be able to express what he wants whenever he is in a mood much like this.  I decide to risk Ron’s anger and speak for him, relief washing over Ron’s face as I do.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating this is for Ron? Of course you do because you're doing it to yourself aren't you? Punishing yourself for taking his voice. But you're not doing this thing right, Harry. If you really wanted to go through exactly what he's going through, then you would want to talk so desperately, want to scream and shout and explain yourself so badly, that the last thing you would ever need is to have to try to explain that feeling to somebody who can do all those things that you would love to do but chooses not to.” I find myself screeching at my tormented best friend as he bows his head so as not to look me in the eye. “ You don't just choose to though do you Harry? This isn’t making him feel better about his own frustrations; this is just reminding him of them. You are making it ten times worse!"

Ron grabs the pad from the floor and flicks back several pages to the conversation we had in the cab on the way, and slams it before Harry in fury and points down at the top of the page. Harry swallows and reads.

But this is selfish Hermione. This is worse than if he had slit my throat of his own free will. He’s making me feel bloody guilty because I can’t talk to him any more. I didn't do anything bloody wrong and neither did he and we're both making each other feel guilty. I HATE THIS SHIT!

Sorry. This isn't your fault babe. I'm really sorry. Doesn't he get that as painful as it is for him not to hear me, it's just as bad for me not to hear him? I just want to talk to him, for Merlin's sake. Maybe this is my fault after all. Maybe visiting so frequently is just a reminder that he couldn't do as much as he wanted to stop himself in time.

He did stop himself though; I could've died if he had put the full pressure on that blade but he fought it and I only lost my voice. My voice for crying out loud! Not my life, my vocal chords, big deal. Is that all I was to him, a never-ending source of chatter?

Yeah, well, you can say that but he's not making me think anything otherwise is he? Unless he tells me it's not my fault that he's not getting any better then I'm going to have to stop going. I can't keep making him feel guilty. I've tried everything and he's just the same as he was when they first admitted him.

I'll try, but I mean it, Hermione. If we can't get through to him this time, I'm going to stop visiting altogether.

Harry's eyes look frantic and he stares up at Ron, shaking his head desperately.

Ron sighs a silent sigh and grabs his cloak from the back of his chair and turns to leave. Harry's chair scrapes on the hard floor and he slams his own palm onto the top of the table. Ron doesn't stop walking for the exit. Harry bangs the table again. I can't take this; Harry looks so devastated. If he could have his way he would have Ron visit him every single day and now he convinced Ron that the halt in his progress was because of his visits being too regular.

I see Harry grab his chair from behind him and throw it after Ron. I scream and Ron spins around to see the chair hit the floor several feet away from him and skid another few inches further. He stares at Harry for a moment. Harry's eyes are shining with tears and he begins to open and close his mouth but no sound comes out. He looks down at the pad and grabs the quill to begin writing. Ron scowls and turns away again, pushing the doors open and storming out with a face like thunder.

Harry lets out a sound that is similar to that of an animal caught in a trap and starts to punch the tabletop repeatedly. I feel myself getting tearful again and run out after Ron. That hadn't gone well at all. As I push the doors I hear more crashes as Harry attempts to make as much noise as possible so Ron can hear wherever he is in the hospital right now and come back to hear Harry's side of things...or at least read it.

I know Harry can't bear to think he has been upsetting Ron all this time, I also know that Ron is probably right about his visits doing more harm than good. I let the doors close behind me and run after Ron, who is a little way down the corridor by now.

*****

"Imperio!" Voldemort's twisted voice had snarled as he hit Harry with the Unforgivable Curse.

Harry stood between me and Ron. We were about to enact the plan we had been working on for months. Harry suddenly went blank and Ron leaned forward to look into his eyes.

"Harry what's...? No, come on mate; this is nothing for you is it? You can shake this off like it's nothing. I've seen you do it," Ron began to plead with him.

"He's right, Harry. Don't let him do this to you; you're stronger than he is. You know you are," I said as I tried to ignore the evil laugh from Voldemort across the other side of the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

"You know, I have had the most wonderful idea, Mr Potter. Why don't we let you rid me of these pests before I finish you off for good?"

Ron and I stared at the snake-like wizard with dread before looking back at Harry, his eyes cloudy, and I heard Voldemort bellowing.

"Harry, kill the blood-traitor first."

I screamed as Harry grabbed Ron's hair and pulled him back, exposing his long pale neck to the enchanted ceiling above.

"Harry, don't! You know you can fight this; I've seen you beat this mate! Please don't," Ron gasped.

"Harry, don't do it!" I cried. "Let him go. Please let him go."

Harry reached out for a knife from one of the dining tables and lifted it to Ron's exposed throat. I began to tug at Harry's arm and try to pull Ron free from his grip but Harry's hold on him was incredible. He jerked Ron's head back even further, his fist tugging Ron's red hair with a vice like grip and the knife rising to rest upon the pale skin beneath Ron's jaw line.

I was sobbing and pleading with Harry, begging him to overcome the Imperius curse, and Ron tried in vain to wriggle out of his grip. Harry began to apply pressure on the blade as Ron struggled and he broke the skin in several places.

"Hold him still boy! One deep slice should do the trick," Voldemort demanded with sickening amusement.

The blade began to cut deeper and Ron yelped with pain before the pressure decreased.

"That's it, Harry, you can beat it,” I pleaded. “You don't want to hurt him, you don't. It's Ron. Let him go, Harry, please. Drop the knife."

"End it now!" Voldemort demanded with furious blood lust.

"Harry, can you hear me?" Ron, his voice strained by the angle of his neck and the pressure of the blade against his throat, began. "I know this isn't you. This isn't your fault Harry. Whatever happens I forgive you okay? This isn't you: it's Voldemort..."

"Kill him!" Voldemort commanded just as Ron spoke his name for the very first time.

Harry sliced across Ron's throat and I screamed until I felt as if my own throat was ripped open. As Harry cut and Ron made the most awful gurgling sound and went limp, Harry screamed and dropped the knife to the floor.

"No!" he had shaken the curse just as the knife was about to sever major arteries in Ron's neck. "Ron, no, I'm so sorry! Please don't be dead."

Harry fell to his knees and looked at Ron's unconscious bleeding body. He thought he had killed him. That was all the hate he had needed to pull off the string of powerful curses that eventually killed Voldemort that day. We were rid of him forever.

Harry fell exhausted at Ron's side and passed out. When he woke, he was told that his fight had been enough to save Ron's life but not in time to save his voice. Ron would never speak again. Harry never said a word. He shoved his way through the concerned friends and Weasleys at his bedside to Ron who was still unconscious and recovering with me at his bedside.

"Harry, thank you so much," I managed to say through the tears. "You saved him. You fought back and saved his life just in time. Thank you so much."

Harry had a total breakdown right then and there and hadn't spoken since. I heard neither of them speak since that day.

*****

"Come back."

The voice is so familiar, but so raw. I turn and see Harry standing at the end of the corridor, just outside the doors to his room. I gasp and look back at Ron who is still walking away.

"Come back!" Harry yells after him.

Ron turns around and stares at his best friend in shock.

"Please come back, Ron."

Harry's eyes are streaming with tears now and his voice is ragged and shaky but it's there and it makes my heart do a little dance inside my chest.

Ron takes a step back toward Harry, but only one, and holds out his arms and shrugs...the universal language of 'why'.

"I want to talk to you," Harry barely whispers the words and I can't be sure that I had really heard it.

Ron blinks and puts his hand to his ear again.

"I want to talk to you," he says loud and clear the second time around.

Ron smiles and takes another step back down the corridor towards Harry. I begin to cry like a baby as I throw myself at Harry and give him a great big hug. Ron is watching us and signing something to Harry. Harry isn't very good at sign language, so I ask him to repeat himself for me. Ron looks stern and signs a warning for me to pass on to Harry. I chuckle and turn to face my anxious looking friend.

"Ron wants me to tell you not to go enjoying that hug too much and remind you that I'm spoken for."

Harry lets out a grateful shuddering laugh and calls back down to Ron.

"I'll keep my hands to myself if you come back and talk to me."

Ron signs again. This time there doesn't need to be any translation provided. He points at Harry and then makes a talking gesture with his hand followed by his finger pointing at himself and cupping his hand to his ear again.

Harry nods.

"I talk and you listen."

Ron walks back down the corridor toward us. We go into Harry's room and I close the doors behind us. We have a lot to talk about.