A/N Thank you all for your patience and support! Life's been hectic, but hopefully I can get back into regular(ish) posting.

Thank you to ReallyBeth for betaing!

~Dot

"Hi," Hermione whispered. It was a weak start but she couldn't think of how else to greet him.

Ron's body stayed unnaturally still, without flicking his eyelashes or twitching his toes to let Hermione know that he could hear her.

"I'm sorry," she started, but then her throat went dry and she stopped herself.

She tried to get her words together—to get herself together. This was the first time she had been alone with him since he'd been injured, and she didn't know when it would happen again. She didn't want to mess it up.

"I'm not sure that you can hear me," she said. "In fact, part of me wants to think that you can't. I couldn't imagine how bored you would be," she said with a slight laugh. "You can only hear me read an advert about Gilbert's Extra-Strong Grip Gel so many times before going mad." Her small laugh turned slightly manic— Ron going mad was something she very much did not want to think about.

She gripped the ring that was hanging from a chain around her neck, stroking it softly as she tried to regain her composure. At first, she hadn't known what to do about the ring. She felt that it was uncouth to wear it, especially since Ron hadn't officially given it to her. But it felt too precious to be unchaperoned, and she also didn't want to leave it in the dusty old attic room. Finally, Hermione decided that she would weave it through an old chain necklace she had lying around. It felt right, not only to have a part of him with her but to have it so near her heart.

"I…," she stumbled, "I don't know where to start."

The hospital room's door swung open and a nurse walked in. It was a familiar nurse, Nurse Derrick, who'd been on Ron's ward since he'd been injured. Hermione greeted him with the best fake smile she could produce. They exchanged niceties as Derrick checked Ron over and refilled various vials filled with healing potions.

As soon as Derrick left, Hermione heaved a sigh. It wasn't from relief, more like the opposite. She looked down at Ron's stiff body and suddenly wished she was anywhere but at St. Mungos. Though, she wished that Ron wasn't here either. She'd do anything for him to be somewhere else; for him to be okay.

In fact, she'd take him being on a month-long mission that felt like it was never-ending, or a training session where he wasn't allowed to write or floo. She'd take anything over where he was right now.

"I found out you quit your job. Why did you do it?" her voice became shrill as she recounted the last few weeks. "Was it because of me? Because of the baby? Ron, I don't understand."

She sighed as tears rolled down her cheeks. This wasn't what she wanted to do; to get upset and let all of her pent-up frustration out at Ron. She wasn't mad at him, he wasn't the one to blame. That was the problem–no one was to blame. Perhaps if there was, she could turn all of her anger from this extremely unfair situation on them.

But yelling at Ron wouldn't help anything. In fact, it would likely make things worse. Especially if he could hear her. She rubbed the smooth interior of the ring around her neck and tried to soothe herself.

"I know this isn't what we planned," she said as soon as she felt sufficiently calm. "We were going to get married; move into a cottage with a few extra bedrooms. Then, after you made it high enough in the ranks at the Aurors, and me at the Ministry, we'd adopt. We knew it wouldn't be easy, there aren't too many magical children to be adopted. But we'd make it work, it's not like we were in a rush."

They knew they wanted children, that had always been the plan. It was one of the reasons that the news of Hermione's infertility had hit so hard. After weeks of mourning the life she thought she'd have, Ron had come to her with loads of books and papers. He had been researching alternatives. After loads of discussions, they decided that adoption would be the right choice for them. They would have to take classes and learn how to parent a child who'd experienced trauma, but they could do it–they could love and care for any child who wanted to be adopted.

"Everything would fall into place. That's what I was sure of, what I thought I knew. But now here we are; with me like this" she pointed to her belly, "and you—," her voice cracked before she could finish her sentence.

"Your mum knows," she said abruptly, "and so do Harry and Ginny. I'm so sorry Ron, I know you would want to tell them. With your mum, she just knew, I didn't have to say a thing. You're right, she can be a bit scary at times," she added with a chuckle.

"Harry found out when you were injured. I was having some pain—I'm okay and the baby's okay," she reassured. "We couldn't keep the secret from Ginny long, though, you know how persuasive she is."

"There's another thing I need to apologise for. I went through your things. Davies gave me a box of your office stuff and I found, well you know what I found." For some reason, Hermione couldn't bring herself to say engagement ring. "I have it with me, around my neck. I know you would want to give it to me. And you will, I know you will. It won't be any less special. Even if you…propose," the word felt nearly impossible to say, "from that hospital bed. It would be amazing, a miracle really."

She felt the tears racing down her face and the familiar ache in her gut when she thought about life without Ron.

"I miss you so much, Ron," she sobbed. "I love you and I miss you and I don't want to spend another day without you. I can't! You've got to be around for this baby, for our future. Please, Ron, please wake up."

Hermione woke to a loud shriek. Without thinking, she ran down the stairs of the Burrow. Her heart was thumping incessantly in her ears, her mind racing with every possible, terrible, reason that Molly would scream. She felt nauseous— hot and cold at the same time, and a bit like she was going to faint.

But, before she could make it to the bottom of the stairs, she heard the familiar ping of apparition.

They had gone, but she knew–and feared–where they went.

Without thinking to grab a coat, Hermione set off for the fireplace in her too-thin nightie. At times like these, she desperately missed the ability to apparate, to go right away to the exact place she needed to be. Instead, she had to floo to the main fireplace on the ground floor of the hospital and take the achingly slow lift up to Ron's room.

Her surroundings were a blur as she went through the familiar path across the main floor of St Mungos. Her quick steps echoed the rapid pace of her heart.

She stood, leant over with her hands on her knees, trying to slow her breathing as the elevator slowly ticked up to the fourth floor. The agonizing wait made her brain flurry faster. The images of Ron's limp body–grey and deceased–held strong in her mind as she panted and gasped for air, out of shape from not having run or exercised since she found out she was pregnant.

Finally, the doors opened and she sped off towards Ron's room.

She was terrified to find not only Molly and Arthur waiting outside Ron's door, but also Harry, Ginny, and George. She hadn't overreacted—something was truly wrong.

"Oh, good," Arthur said calmly, "you got our Patronus."

Not feeling steady on her feet, Hermione shook her head as she reached for the arm of a chair pushed next to the wall.

"Oh," Molly said. "The healers are with him now, but as soon as they check him over, we can see him."

Hermione shut her eyes, trying not to burst into tears—see his body—that's what Molly meant. She collapsed into the chair.

Molly rushed over to Hermione and took her hand.

"Hermione, dear," Molly said as she stroked Hermione's hair. "I know we don't know exactly how he'll be, but I'm sure he'll be alright. Try not to worry."

"What?" Hermione asked in shock, trying to piece Molly's words together.

"Oh," Molly said, her face dropping. "You don't know. Of course, you didn't hear Arthur's Patronus."

"Ron, he's…," Molly started.

"He's?" Hermione asked.

"He's awake."