AN: Hi! So, as you know, I'm new to this fic-writing business, and I'm still learning how to pace my writing. Originally, I had planned to make this chapter + the following two into one chapter and knocking it out in one go, but as it turns out, I got carried away and it just got way too big. It's why this first update is taking so long.

Realizing that, I thought it'd be better to split it up into three smaller chapters which will be posted as this week goes along, so I don't fatigue people two chapters into my fanfic. That said, I'll be working on future chapters during this time as well, so don't expect future updates to take as long (unless college gets in the way, which it will).

Thanks for reading and reviews of any kind (even the simpler ones that just say I'm rubbish) are appreciated!

It was already late into the evening, but Ron was still unconscious, and my panic wasn't subsiding. Earlier, Mrs. Weasley had healed most of his superficial wounds and spread some weird-smelling cream on his arms, which she proceeded to cover up with two layers of bandages. Even so, the bandages were reddened, showing that his cuts were still open and more serious than I expected it.

I had taken a very detailed book on the Unforgivable Curses, their history, usage and effects with me in our beaded handbag, and I now had it on my lap. It was a way to try and lessen my fears – knowing more about things that threatened me always made my panic subside, even if it proved to be more serious than expected – but this time I couldn't even manage to read the words on the page. The start of the section about Crucio lay open on top of my knees, but I couldn't ever read past the second line without my thoughts getting blurry and focusing back on the bed in front of me.

Ron was really hurt, even after Mrs. Weasley's initial treatment. His face, previously bloodied, was full of claw marks and small cuts from the chandelier that had fallen on him. His arms were initially so covered in blood that I didn't get to see the depth or shape of his wounds, but the scars from our assault on the Ministry in 5th year were still visible above the bandages, shining brightly against the dirty pale white of his skin. His clothes were completely torn and he had had small gashes throughout his exposed skin, though thankfully most were healed by now. However, despite all of that, the main thing that worried me wasn't his body, but his mind.

The Crucio curse was an Unforgivable not only because of the immediate aspects – though those were horrifying, as I was able to hear first-hand – but due to the long-term damage too. For some, it was considered a fate worth than death. I can't help but remember our visit to St. Mungo's at Christmas, so long ago, where we saw a glimpse of the current state of Neville's parents. How long were they tortured for? What if Ron woke up like them, unable to truly smile at me with those sparkling eyes or joke like he used to anymore. What would be of our petty bickering, that I now miss so? Would he be the same Ron? Would he even remember me?

He stirred in front of me, groaning painfully at something in his mind and convulsing slightly. That had been going on for hours now and showed no signs of stopping. Mrs. Weasley had told me to call her whenever he spoke, even in his sleep, or showed any signs of waking up. She had stayed by his side for a few hours after Fred had carried him in, as had Ginny, Fred and George. For some reason, Harry and Dobby stayed outside, as had Mr. Weasley, and they hadn't come up to Ron's room yet. Luna and Dean Thomas had shown up to check on him but stayed by the door silently, eventually leaving as stealthily as they'd arrived. As time went on, the crowd around Ron dispersed, leaving me and his mother on our own, and then only me. Mrs. Weasley had a fuller house than ever now, aside from Bill's wedding, and the current commotion downstairs indicated that there was a lot being taken care of regarding accommodations and maybe healing of other injuries.

Another rattle from Ron and I can't help but clutch his hand tighter to me and get even closer to him. His face was contorted into a painful grimace and his right hand clawed at his bed softly, while I held the other one. I try to take my mind away from what his condition would be once he got out of this stupor by looking around the bright orange walls of his room, now looking more of a shadow of brown due to the light coming in from the window. I've been a lot here over the years, sometimes only with Ron – though, never in a way close to what I'd desire to be doing in his room with him – but a lot of times on my own, doing chores like changing his bedsheets or fetching something. Sometimes, when I felt more daring and as my feelings grew for him, I couldn't help myself but hug his pillow and drown how much it smelled like his hair. Once I even did the same with some of his t-shirts, until I heard some floorboards creaking in the stairs before his room and hastily put everything where it belonged. But now everything wasn't where it belonged. He was lost in a painful haze, trying to navigate the path back to the real world after having taken my place, instead of being where he belongs…with me.

He stirred again in front of me, his groan now sounding like a vague "no", though I can't tell for sure.

"Ron?" I ask in a weak voice, stuck in a moment where I'm unsure if I want to hear the answer, or if there even is one. Come on Hermione, aren't you a Gryffindor?

The same "no" sound comes from his throat, now a bit more prolonged, and I'm even more doubtful. If I could accept that that's a no, the tone would be similar to the one he used when asking to swap places with me. The thought that he might be reliving the events of a few hours ago horrifies me, so I just get closer together to him and ask again.

"Ron?"

"Her-Her-…" The response, raspy and panicked, sends a shiver through my body.

Both his shifting and breathing quickens in pace, and I feel that although he just made a sound, he's no closer to this reality than before.

"Ron? Please say something."

His head shifts from side to side, struggling. He releases some more raspy "No!"'s before speaking again, more panicked than ever.

"Hermione!" Although spoken at a very low volume, the tone in which it is said makes it sound like a scream.

Of all words to be using when in pain, my name? He must be re-living it, oh Ron, this is the worst way to answer my fears…A wave of sadness and terror goes through me, until it hits me that I need to call for Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione! No! Hermione!" The new outburst comes as I was getting up and it glues me to the floor. My instinct is to hold is hand closer and tell him everything is going to be okay, but I need to call his…

"Hermione! Hermione!" His voice grows louder, and his eyelids briefly flash open, revealing two completely white eyes below them. He closes them just as quickly, convulsing violently.

"Hermione!"

I unglue myself from the floor and from his hand and force myself to go to the door and call for help.

"Mrs. Weasley! Please come quick! Anyone, please! It's Ron, help!" The words escape from my mouth with a cry. Tears are running down my face, I can't take seeing him like this, and hearing my name from his lips makes it even worse. How could someone so good, so brave, be put through this much pain?

"Hermione! HERMIONE! PLEASE NO!" His shout as grown and now I'm sure anyone below would've heard him even without my call. His eyes are closed in strain and his painful expression grows deeper, and I can't help but start sobbing. I heard the rumbling of feet running up the stairs and grab his hand, an attempt at providing some level of comfort before the real help comes. Please, please, come quick…

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" His voice is now so loud that it takes me back to the Malfoy's as well, and I can't help but let out a scream of my own.

"RON! I'm here Ron, I'm here!"

The rumbling is now at the top of the stairs leading to his room, and by the noise it makes on the creaky steps I'm sure that it isn't just his mother.

"HERMIONE!" His voice grows hoarse and his convulsing slows down, but he opens his lips and this time Ron's words come softly, to the point where I'm sure no one else would hear. "I love you"

My heart stops.

Then his convulsing resumes, and before I can react, I'm dragged out of the room in a frenzy. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley go in on their own and close the door behind them as they start to mutter incantations.

Outside of his room, I lean back against the wall closer to his bed and break down further. I feel the wall shake behind me and quite a few pairs of eyes on me, but the tears burn through my eyes and my chest heaves, desperate for air between my sobs. Slowly, a pair of hands – one small and one large – rest on either of my shoulders, and I glance up to see George and Ginny on their knees in front of me, with Fred behind them against the opposite wall.

"Ron and making you cry, tsk tsk" George starts, jokingly.

"That bloody bastard! He needs a stern talking to, he does." Fred follows up, and the two of them get into a familiar rhythm, trying to comfort me.

"What did he say this time?"

"Was ickle Ronniekins jealous again?"

"Even spending a year alone in a tent with you wasn't enough!"

"I'd reckon he ended up snogging Harry to try and make her jealous."

"Only Ron could've cocked it up like that!" They finished, nodding to each other with a smirk.

I stammer between another sob and a giggle, but the tears overpower me. Still, I try to speak.

"It-It-It's my fau-ult he's like this" Hearing this, Ginny comes closer in a hug. I put my head up and can see both twins lying against the back wall now with an apprehensive look, while Dean Thomas and Luna peak from the stairs. Behind them, I hear another set of footsteps sprinting up.

"He sacrificed him-himself for me" I say, still stammering but now calmer, trying to wipe the tears as more come to replace the ones I cleaned. "That idiot! He took on Lestrange and to-told her to take him instead of me. It's all my fault!" I hide my head in my arms again and let the sobs take me over again.

"I know my brother's an idiot, but I bet he'd say that's the smartest thing he's ever done." Says Ginny, patting me on the back still. The rumbling stops as Harry pushed past Dean and Luna, apologetically, reaching me and enveloping me in a hug. Ginny stepped back, her expression crooked between a soft smile and a frown, and leaned against the door.

"Mum and Dad went in a while ago" she said to Harry, glaring at him.

"He's going to be fine Hermione" Harry's hands now replaced Ginny's on my back, and I found myself calming down. "It's not your fault, there was nothing you could do." His eyes locked on mine and I saw he understood my pain, having been there with me. I was glad no other words had to be shared, I wouldn't want to have to give everyone else a detailed description of what happened so soon. Thankfully, they didn't seem to expect one, and slowly started walking out on us, leaving me alone with Harry. Once everyone else had left, I felt safe enough to let it all out.

"But it is my fault Harry. He wouldn't be…like this if it wasn't for me, I should be the one suffering like he is right now. And if I didn't give him the cold shoulder for so long, maybe-" Harry interrupted my outpour by shaking his head.

"He's always been the first to jump in front of danger to protect us, Hermione. More than anyone with you, you should know that. His gaze and soft smile seemed to imply extra meaning to those words, which took me back to moments before when I heard Ron's voice for the last time. Would it be the last time? I had wanted to say that so many times over the years, and now there's a chance he won't get to hear them, at least not as the real Ron. My dark thoughts were interrupted by Harry, who continued.

"I hate it, I absolutely hate it. I'd take his place in an instant, especially knowing that more than everyone this is my fault." He shushed me before I could protest. "Ron's just…Ron. He's mental, he doesn't seem to think he does enough, so then he goes and gives his life for us, again and again."

He said this with a frown and a guilty tone, so I tried to change the subject.

"So…what took you so long? I haven't seen you since we arrived." I immediately regretted my choice of words, but Harry seemed to pay no mind to it.

"It's Dobby…He's dead."

A pang of guilt took over once more and my mind twisted into itself, a whirlwind of memories and feelings taking over my thoughts. Dobby, the sweet elf who was tortured by the Malfoy's like us, who Harry freed, who took care of all the cleaning in Gryffindor tower because all of the other elves were offended at my doing. The free elf, who still only wanted to help. And now he was gone for good, all to save us.

Harry's tears matched my own, and I couldn't help but stutter before speaking.

"It-it's our fault, isn't it?"

A melancholic expression set on his face, unsure of what else to say, before shooting me a knowing look.

Harry held my hand and gripped it tightly. We've been through enough that words weren't needed to convey what we were both feeling.

Everything would get much worse before it got better.