Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling (the most awesome writer in the whole world) owns all characters.
The color on Ron's face had drained, and he couldn't think nor feel anything as he pulled an unconscious Hermione out of the wrecked chandelier that crashed on top of her. There were traces of blood on her neck where Bellatrix had prodded her knife. Her face was pale, with dark circles underneath her eyes, and cuts and bruises from her fall. Ron's lower lip trembled as he clutched Hermione to his chest, cursing himself for not having been there to protect her, and hoping with all his might that she would be okay. . . that, and he dreaded the very thought of it, she were not dead.
"No," Ron whispered, as the thought occurred to him. He looked at Hermione's pale face and closed eyelids, "no, you can't—Hermione. . ."
"Ron!" he heard Harry bellow. Ron turned around to face him before he could check for Hermione's pulse—or any sign that she was still alive. "Catch!" Harry threw a wand at him, which he caught. "AND GO!"
Ron nodded and closed his eyes, holding Hermione, thinking of Bill and Fleur's. Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage, he whispered to himself as he felt himself vanish into darkness, his arms wrapped around Hermione, and the wand secured in his fist.
They hit solid earth and Ron heard the splash of the waves around him. He opened his eyes. Hermione was still unconscious in his arms. He took her wrist in his hand and felt her pulse—she was still very much alive. A small amount of hope sparked inside him and he lifted her up and ran towards the cottage. He tried to scream for Bill or for Fleur, but he couldn't—his throat had gone dry and rough from screaming Hermione's name repeatedly at the mansion.
The door flew open as Ron neared it, and Bill rushed outside. "Let's get her inside," he said. Bill and Fleur led Ron to one of the bedrooms and he placed Hermione down on the bed. Fleur placed a hand on Hermione's forehead.
"Cruciatus curse," Ron managed, voice cracking, as he knelt down beside the bed, taking Hermione's hand. "They—they tortured her."
Bill shook his head as Fleur frowned. "We have a few potions ready in the kitchen," Bill said, nodding to Fleur, "she'll need to take something." Fleur nodded once and left the room.
Bill placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.
Ron looked up at him, his eyes glistening. He grasped Hermione's hand tight in his, refusing to let go.
Bill smiled weakly. "She'll be fine, Ron, don't worry."
Ron nodded and sniffed.
Bill exited the room to check if Harry and the others have arrived while Fleur re-entered the room with a tray of potions. "She weel need to drink some of zeese," she said placing the tray at the foot of the bed. "Ron, you 'ave to dab dittany on 'er wounds," she added, handing Ron a bottle.
Fleur gave Hermione the potions they had, while Ron dabbed dittany on Hermione's bruises and cuts. After having tended to her, Fleur left the room.
Ron summoned one of the chairs across the room and sat on Hermione's bedside. He sighed and closed both his hands on hers. He now knew that she was going to be okay, as he trusted both Bill and Fleur. However, as he stared down on her closed eyelids, the memory of listening to her painful screams as she suffered under the hands of Bellatrix couldn't seem to leave him. Her screams had stabbed him, making him angry, desolate, and weak, all at the same time. The thought of her in pain—the thought of losing her—made his stomach clench, and his eyes well with tears. He can't lose her. He can't let the events at the Malfoy mansion happen again. It was just too painful to bear.
He fought the tears that were beginning to choke him, and let his forehead rest on both his hands, which still held Hermione's. He had never felt this way before towards anyone. He had never dreaded something so great. This emotion was something new to him—so new, that he didn't know how to handle it.
Just as he was contemplating his feelings, he felt Hermione's hand stir. He immediately looked up and saw her slowly opening her eyes.
Ron felt his heart beat faster as happiness coursed through him. He smiled at her as she tilted her head slightly to look up at him. She managed to smile back.
"Hermione," Ron whispered, sniffing back his tears. He stood up and sat down right beside her on the bed and took her in his arms. She might think this strange, as he never really was the type to hug or cuddle, but he figured that he no longer cared. All he wanted right now was to hold her and know that she was fine and safe in his arms. "I was so scared," he said truthfully in her hair, as he held her even tighter.
Hermione wrapped her arms around him in turn and rested her head on his chest. "Me too," she whispered.
Ron rested his cheek on top of her head and closed his eyes. This, he thought, this is perfect. He realized that at that moment, all he ever wanted was this—to be holding Hermione in his arms, and to be feeling Hermione's arms around him. He smiled. Suddenly, he found himself apathetic towards the Horcruxes, or the Hallows or even Voldemort. All he could think of was Hermione and how much he cared about her.
He pulled away from the hug, holding both Hermione's hands in his. He stared into her eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. He cared about her; so much, it was unbearable. He stroked her cheek with one of his hands and Hermione stared back at him. Even when she was pale and her face spotted with bruises and cuts, she was still the most beautiful thing to him. He grinned as he felt a certain warmth spread inside him—the kind that he always felt when he was in close proximity to Hermione.
But there was something different this time. It wasn't just the same excitement that was brought on about the fact that he fancied her—which he was certain that he did, although it took a few years for him to finally admit it to himself—it was something more.
Hermione averted her eyes to her blanket, turning faintly pink. We must have been staring at each other for too long, Ron thought, but he still couldn't stop staring at her. What was it that he was feeling now? It was something that felt so much deeper. He furrowed his eyebrows.
When he was faced with the possibility of losing her forever, it was definitely the most desperate he had ever been. It was as if he could not even bear the thought of having to live without her. All he wanted was to protect her, to see her safe—even if it meant his own death. He had rushed in that commotion in the Malfoy mansion, with only the thought of protecting and saving Hermione, not caring a bit about his own safety. He was willing to do anything for her. Anything.
He gazed back down at Hermione, who was now fiddling with the bedspread. This thing that was burning inside him, it wasn't just because of him fancying her. It was—he gulped, his heart beating loudly in his chest—"...love," he whispered, almost inaudibly, as he stared, quite dumbstruck, at Hermione.
Hermione looked back up at him with raised eyebrows. "Huh?"
He loved her. It was so clear to him that he did. Sure, he has told her that he loved her once. . . maybe twice, even. . . but he certainly didn't mean it in that way. But now he was sure that he did love her in that way. It seemed to be the most obvious thing now, and he felt quite stupid that he hadn't realized that sooner. He blinked and licked his dry lips, letting his gaze tread on every part of Hermione's face—all of which he loved. He loved every single thing about her. "I love you," he sighed.
Ron's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.
Hermione gaped at him, her face burning crimson. She looked at her fingers, nervously picking at her nails. "Oh, um," she stammered, looking back up at him, patting his hands awkwardly. "I love you too, Ron, of course," she said, smiling.
Ron's felt as if his heart stopped beating and his lungs stopped working. Did she—could she have meant it the way he had? He pressed his lips together. She couldn't have, he thought. She wouldn't have just said that as casually, like it was something normal to say, if she had meant it like that. She probably hadn't understood what he had meant, then. He cleared his throat. He needed to let her know. "Hermione, when I said that—"
"Ron," Hermione said abruptly, her expression changing to that of concern. "Where's Harry?"
It was as if Ron was slapped back into reality. The color in his face drained and he felt terrible for not even thinking of Harry, Dobby, and the others. "He should've apparated with Dobby and Griphook right after us."
"We better check if they're here," Hermione said, pushing off her covers.
"No," Ron said, stopping Hermione. "I'll check. You get your rest."
Hermione hesitated, but nodded in assent.
Ron stood up and strode over to the door. He mentally cursed himself for not having been able to say what he had wanted and needed to say to Hermione. He stopped in his tracks just before he reached the door and turned to face Hermione. She looked back at him, looking worried.
He sighed and forced a smile. "I'm sure Harry and the others are fine, Hermione, don't worry."
She managed a weak smile and nodded.
Ron opened the door and walked out. He resigned to the fact that this wasn't the time to think about his feelings for Hermione. This was a very crucial time in the wizarding world, and he should be focusing on more pressing matters. At least he was sure of one thing—that he loved her, really, truly, loved her—and the rest, he trusted, would have to unfold soon after—when the right time comes.
A/N: I've been writing DH missing moments for a while now, so it would be nice if you could check out my other stories too. :) I'm staying as canon as I can to the book, so Ron and Hermione haven't kissed nor confessed their feelings in any of my stories yet, but I'm going to write my last missing moment soon, and that will definitely have all that, so please wait for it! :) Sorry if you've been wanting a confession/kiss! I don't want to ruin how J.K. wrote their first kiss. Lol.