Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the other dudes in this story. Kay?

Hermione shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself. It made no difference. She glanced down at her fingers; they were white. She bit her lip and looked around her, the Quidditch stands were completely empty and void of sound, and yet Hermione still peered into the dark night to check for signs of approaching figures. The rain came down hard and fast, Hermione had long been drenched, her hair stuck to her face and scalp, and she doubted whether she had ever been so cold in her life.

She had came to the Quidditch pitch earlier that evening, when the sun was still in the sky, and the grass was dry. Ron said he hated her. She'd waited and waited for Harry or someone to come…she longed for attention and someone to comfort her. He'd said she made him sick. Hermione was unsure if she was crying or not; the rain drops spilled down her cheeks like newly spilt tears, or were they tears? Ron hated her.

Hermione breathed in deeply, she was numb with cold, with pain, with fear. She was being ridiculous, nobody knew she was here, and why would they think to search here? And anyway, nothing good was going to come of sitting in the rain all night, she should go back to the castle put everybody's' minds at rest, stop them worrying. Ron won't worry.

Why had he said that? What could she possibly have done? She'd just been telling him to stop swearing so much and he'd blown up at her. But he hadn't done it while they were alone, or even just in front of Harry. No, he'd screamed that she was the most disgusting piece of filth he'd ever laid eyes upon at dinner in front of the whole school. And of course the whole room had gone silent. At first she'd thought he was joking, but what sort of joke was that? And besides she'd seen the look in his eyes, the look of pure loathing.

This time Hermione knew she was crying. Her whole body shook as each sob escaped her. "I hate you Ron," she whispered, digging her fingers so hard into her hands she thought she'd broken the skin. But that was a lie, and she knew it. She didn't hate Ron, she could never hate Ron, she loved Ron…

"I did what!" Ron screeched falling back, onto the couch.

"You said you hated her, called her the most disgusting piece of filth you'd ever seen, told her to get the fuck away from you, and pushed her over," Harry repeated, not taking his eyes off Ron for a second. He couldn't understand how his best friend could say such terrible things, such awful things, to Hermione, when Harry knew full well how he felt about her.

"Well where is she?" Ron demanded standing up abruptly,

"In the hospital wing," Harry replied as calmly as he could, resisting the temptation to throttle Ron and hide the body, no not even hide the body, he couldn't be arsed.

"WHY!"

"She's got pneumonia."

"WHAT!"

"She ran outside and stayed all night in the rain Ron, shit, how the fuck could you do that to her? Do you know how much she loves you?"

"She…what? She loves me?"

"It's pretty obvious Ron. And you broke her fucking heart, and now well, now you might have killed her too!"

"I didn't mean to! I…I don't even remember…I…Harry I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't, I couldn't," Ron collapsed back onto the sofa, fighting back tears, How could he have done such a thing? Why the hell didn't he remember doing it? He felt sick.

Harry searched Ron's face for any signs of insincerity; he found none. He could see pain though, pain and confusion, and anxiety. He didn't know what had happened to Ron the previous night, but it was obvious it wasn't done consciously. Harry wasn't sure how that was possible, but he decided to give Ron the benefit of the doubt.

"I know you couldn't Ron…I just don't understand how it happened then,"

"Me neither. I love her Harry, I can't believe what I've done…the whole night's just a blank. I don't remember anything up until we went into the great hall. I remember getting there, and then nothing. My memory starts up again in the middle of the night, I woke up…but that's it,"

"Well I don't get it, but we'll figure it out ok?"

"I have to see her,"

Harry doubted whether Madam Pomfrey would let Ron see her, as she'd heard from an appalled Ginny what had happened, but he went with Ron to the hospital wing anyway. The walk there was silent. Ron was preoccupied with thoughts of Hermione, and Harry just didn't know what the hell he was supposed to say. It wasn't the easiest of situations.

As they approached the hospital wing, there was a distinct tension in in the air and Harry was extremely relieved when Ron broke into a run to find Madam Pomfrey. Harry dawdled behind, reluctant to hear what Madam Pomfrey was going to say Ron.

"Where's Hermione?"

Madam Pomfrey sniffed, "I'm not sure whether you deserve to know. Feeling guilty are we?"

But Ron had already spotted Hermione and has sped off towards her, "Excuse me!" Madam Pomfrey called after him, "I didn't say you could!"

But Ron barely heard her, he could see Hermione's face now and the closer he got to her the sicker he felt. Eventually he was knelt beside her bed and almost threw up. Her face was white, her eyes were closed and her usually bushy mane of hair was thin and straggly, but worst of all she just seemed lifeless. He tried to imagine how she must have felt when he'd yelled at her. How she must have been alone all night, crying probably. I am such a bastard. He wished he could swap places with her. He wished he was dead, anything but cause Hermione any pain.

Ron took her limp hand in his, "I'm so, so, sorry Hermione. I love you so much,"

Madam Pomfrey who had just appeared behind Ron, stopped herself from demanding he leave immediately, and watched as Ron kissed Hermione's hand and stroked her forehead. He glanced around him, and spotted Madam Pomfrey, "Will…will she be ok?" he asked tentatively, afraid of the answer.

"She's stable," Madam Pomfrey replied briskly.

"That's not what I asked,"

"I don't know, now if you don't mind could you please leave? Miss Granger's already had quite enough visitors for today."

Ron did as he was told, although he didn't want to leave Hermione, he didn't have the strength to argue.

Ron sat on his bed, it was about 1 o'clock…ish who cared about the fucking time? His hands shook; he held his wand tightly between his fingers. His head was clouded with images of Hermione's still body and the memory his mind had created of the incident in the great hall, Hermione could die. He rolled up his pyjama sleeves, she could die thinking I hate her. "Diffindo," he whispered pointing the wand at his arm, he winced in pain, but he was no longer thinking of Hermione, blood trickled down his wrist. "Diffindo," he whispered again, relishing the hurt, hoping the pain in his arm would replace the excruciating pain in his mind.