Turn Back the Clock

Chapter 11: Never Liking Him

Ronald Weasley muttered incoherent things under his breath, as his frustration started to boil over. They had been searching for what seemed like hours, but no such luck. Or maybe there was luck and they had all left without him. He hadn't heard or seen anybody since they had split up. All he knew was that his eyes were sore from staring at the endless pile of junk in front of him and his right hand hurt from where he had cut it on a stray piece of glass a few minutes prior. At first inspection the cut hadn't been that deep and only a thin stream of blood poured out, but glancing at it now Ron realizes he was wrong with his initial assumptions. The cut was now overflowing with blood and had started to sting terribly. 

Sighing, Ron stood up and looked around the room for something to wrap his hand with. He wasn't good with any of the healing spells like his Mum and even if he was it wouldn't have mattered anyway, he still technically couldn't do magic since they were still on summer vacation.

"Brilliant." He said exasperated, not seeing anything that would be sufficient to wrap his hand in the surrounding piles. Heaving an angry breath, Ron began to wander up and down the piles, glancing at them for some sort of cloth or for Hermione. His feet carried him around the room, while his mind started to reply the over-played images of a certain bushy haired brunette. 

His mother had forced him and Hermione to work on nearly every cleaning project together, which only resulted in a few awkward conversations between them both. They really hadn't had a proper conversation since before Rose, Albus, and the others, popped up unexpectedly. Before they had come, they talked everyday, sometimes for hours. Now there is nothing, but awkward glances and the forbidden line that neither knew if they were allowed to cross. Despite all the awkwardness between them, he still needed to find her. If anyone could fix his cut, it would be her. 

He roamed around the overwhelming mounds of junk, in a desperate search for Hermione, as his hand continued to bleed. "Hermione!" He called sharply, his voice bouncing off the well acoustic walls. No reply. Biting back a curse, he continued walking, pressing tightly to his wound to stop it from bleeding anymore. It was really starting to sting now. Ron had to bite his cheek to keep back his colorful word choices that were just begging to roll off his tongue. 

"Ron?" A delicate voice said behind him. Ron let out a shriek of shock, but covered it up with a cough, upon realizing it was Hermione. "Did you find something?" She asks, her doe-brown eyes widening with hope. 

He shakes his head, holding up his hand. "Not exactly." 

Hermione's brows shoot up in concern, as she reaches for his hand. Bringing it closer to her face, she examines the cut. It was in the center of his hand and oozing deep red blood, that poured all the way down to his wrist. The cut itself was deep and ugly. Hermione had never really dealt with wounds before, but even she could tell he was going to need more than a band-aid to fix it. 

"How'd you manage this?" She requests, looking up into his blue eyes. 

"There was this piece of glass." He shrugs embarrassed.

"Oh Ronald." She says with a shake of her head. She drops his hand and gestures for him to follow her. He does so all to willingly.

"Where are we going?"

"I can't fix it, because I can't use magic, but Scorp-"

"No." Ron says doggedly before she even finished her sentence. "That scum is not touching my hand." 

Hermione rolls her eyes, puts her hands on her hips and whirls around to glare at the red head. "Then you can keep bleeding." 

Ron gulps fearfully and opens his mouth to make what he was sure was going to be jumbled up mess of an argument, but is cut off sharply by the appearance of the gangly boy who they had just been talking about.