p I am trying to tell her that I love her. I am trying to sweep her up in my arms. I am trying to promise her my heart until the end of time…but what comes out of my mouth is, "Hermione, I…" over and over again. I'm like a 'Hermione, I…' machine. I take a few deep breaths, run my fingers through my hair and try to boost my courage while muttering "Hermione, I…" as if it's some sort of mantra. I must look like an idiot. No, I take that back. I iam/i an idiot. Here she is, standing right in front of me, waiting for me to say something useful, and the only thing I can come up with is "Hermione, I…" Please. This is pathetic.

p "Yes, Ron?" She asks now, starting to sound annoyed and impatient. I'm so tongue-tied, and I don't want to make her angry.

p "I was just wondering if you had seen my copy of iThe Standard Book of Spells, Grade Ten/i." I finish lamely. iChicken/i, I taunt myself. iLoser/i. And what I'm saying is right. What kind of wuss can't tell the girl of his dreams that he is madly in love with her? A wuss named Ron Weasley, it turns out.

p "No, Ron, I haven't seen it." She replies at last, a funny look on her face. Suddenly she says in this tight voice, "I'm going upstairs. I have a stomachache."

p Great. Now I've given her a stomachache. This is just getting better and better.

p I head up to my room, ready to lament my loss of bravery and lust after Hermione some more. As I lay on my bed, staring up at the blazing orange ceiling, I wonder what things would have been like if I hadn't lied about my book and instead confessed my love for her. The fantasy is so wonderful, so beautiful and so perfect that my heart literally wrenches. A horrible sort of hollowness spreads through my bones, eating away at my dream and reminding me that it's my own fault it isn't coming true. I can't face her at dinner. It would just break my heart. I turn over, attempt fruitlessly to push Hermione out of my mind, and fall into a restless sleep.

p ~

p "Ron! Wake up! Ron!" Someone is calling to me. Their voice is hazy and far away, but obviously urgent. "RON!" It fairly yells. I shake myself awake.

p "Whassamatter?" I manage to say. Groggily, I open my eyes, and Harry's face is inches from mine, terrified. Something is wrong.

p "Ron, Ron, it's Hermione, she—

p Instantly my sleepiness falls away. I jump out of bed, unpleasant adrenaline coursing through my veins. I snap back my head and look at the clock, 12:30. "What happened?" I ask, shoving myself into a dirty pair of jeans.

p Harry abandons all pretenses. "They took her to the hospital, Ron." He says, and by the light of the moon I can see that he is white. I feel the color draining from my face, my fingers slipping as they button my Levi's. My heart is thumping at what seems like a hundred beats a minute. "It's really bad, Ron," Harry says, and grabs my arm to keep me from falling back onto the bed in shock. "She was moaning when she woke up, complaining about her side. Your mum brought her some Pepto Bismal—that's a Muggle medicine—but it didn't help. It got so bad that she couldn't even speak. She couldn't even bspeak/b, Ron." Harry's voice cracks a little, and he continues shakily. "Your mum drove her to the closest hospital, because Hermione is too weak to Apparate." This time Harry can't help me from sinking onto my mattress after my knees buckle. iThis can't be happening/i, I think. Not to Hermione. Not to my Hermione.

p "Your dad's bringing the rest of us to the hospital. Quick, get dressed." I'm way ahead of him, jerking on a shirt and pushing my feet into sneakers. For a few seconds, while I was putting on clothes, my mind was occupied and my heart rate slowed a little. But as soon as my second sneaker was on, the shock hit me full blast. Hermione is sick. Hermione is in the hospital. It's one of the worst things I've ever felt. Harry doesn't look much better, his shoes are on the wrong feet and his face is pasted over with fear. We run down the stairs, taking them three at a time, both of us so livid with horror that our bodies seem to be lurching out of control.

p My father is sitting at the wheel of his car, staring straight ahead, his right eye twitching somewhat. Percy is in the front seat, and Fred and George are holding their heads in their hands in the back seat. Ginny is standing by the open door. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. "You two get in first," she croaks, and I realize that it is the only sound in the whole yard. Even the grasshoppers have stopped chirping, as though they know something is wrong.

p Harry slides down next to George, and before I can process what is happening, Ginny has sat in his lap so that there is room for me. The new car isn't bewitched yet, I think crazily. The backseat isn't long enough for all of us. Dumfounded, this is my only coherent thought. The new car isn't bewitched yet. The backseat isn't long enough for all of us. As I sit down, that pounds through my head: the new car isn't bewitched yet. The backseat isn't long enough for all of us. The new car isn't bewitched yet. It becomes a phrase to take my mind off of the fact that Hermione is in the hospital. The backseat isn't long enough for all of us.

p The streets are eerily empty at past midnight. (the new car isn't bewitched yet) No one says anything, all too lost in abhorrence that words fail them. (the backseat isn't long enough for all of us) Ginny is crying, and Harry reaches his arms around her to comfort her. (the new car isn't bewitched yet) Percy doesn't have the strength to be pompous, and the twins are so low that joking around is far from their minds. (the backseat isn't long enough for all of us)

p The ride to the hospital is the longest of my life. Hermione is in the emergency room at Robert Wood Johnson, a Muggle hospital in Ottery St. Catchpole. When I'm not mentally repeating ithe new car isn't bewitched yet, the backseat isn't long enough for all of us/i, I'm thinking about Hermione. She's in there right now, hooked up to machines and being poked and prodded. The worst part is knowing that I can't help her.

p We all run out of the car as soon as my dad parks; Ginny almost upheaved by Harry when he jumps up. We don't say anything as we run toward the hospital, our feet slapping against the pavement in an uncanny rhythm. Fred and George get there first, yanking open the doors with such force that the nurse inside looks up in surprise. We all quickly follow, streamlining into a virtually empty hospital waiting room and rushing up to a desk.

p "Yes?" A startled nurse greets us, obviously not used to seeing six flaming redheads burst into the waiting room at such an hour.

p "We're here for Hermione Granger," I say first, pushing aside George and coming face-to-face with the nurse.

p She consulted a computer, clicking a few keys with inch-long nails. "Are any of you blood relatives?" she asks. We all shake our heads dumbly. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait out here until the doctor comes back, then." I feel like someone has hit me over the head with a two-by-four. Wait? For how long? It could be hours!

p "Can't just one of us go see her?" I inquire in desperation.

p Shaking a head full of teased curls, the nurse replies, "She's in surgery right now. Only a direct family member can stay in the room with her." That's it, I think. My sentence: to wait interminably in a cramped, unhappy emergency waiting room until a doctor comes out to tell me if my true love is alive or not. My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I faint into the arms of Harry and my sister.

p ~

p For a moment, when I come to, I can't remember where I am. The hard plastic chairs, the stout coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines, and the small desk seating a woman wearing a candy striper uniform are in no way familiar. I look around, searching for a clue as to where I might be. Finally, a sign above the candy striper nurse's desk informs me: bRobert Wood Johnson Family Hospital/b. The memories come back like a ton of bricks. Hermione is sick. She's in surgery. She could be dying. I blank out that last thought, it's impossible. Or is it?

p I realize that I am alone, on the chair next to me is a hastily scribbled note. bRon/b, it says. bWe've gone to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Granger from the airport, they've only just flown in. We'll be gone a few hours but we'll be back, so don't worry. Love, Mom. /b Super, I think bitterly. I have no one to busy my mind with while I worry about Hermione.

p I pick up a few magazines, the first I see is called iEbony/i. Flipping through it, I see pictures of young African-Americans and tips on being African-American. I put that one down and peruse another, this one is iYM: Young & Modern/i. It isn't very interesting either, just a teen girl gossip magazine that is so loaded with advertisements, it's a wonder they fit in any articles at all.

p The wait seems inexplicably long. I watch a drab clock tick the hours; it's two o'clock, then three. My family isn't back yet. It's as boring as watching paint dry, but, lucky me, I have my sick soul mate to plague my sanity and make the wait appear even longer.

p Depressed, I turn my mind back to Hermione. I envision her now: laughing, or reading a thick book about some deadly dull topic that she'll for sure try and intrigue me with. The idea makes me smile for a half-second. It's the first time I've smiled since I found out that Hermione is in the hospital, and within a second I feel horrible because of it. How can I half-smile when Hermione is in the hospital? It feels wrong, so I go back to picturing her face, her bright eyes and mischievous nature. I imagine her lips on mine and that's even better, like flying through a universe of diamond stars. She's whispering in my ear that she loves me…that she's always loved me…my daydream is taking over my spasm of terror, I'm drifting on a cloud of love and happiness. My body is light and far away, there is only Hermione and me in the whole world, only Hermione and me and the diamond stars…

p "Excuse me?" A raven-haired doctor is leaning over my shoulder. I start, my fantasy vanishing like a wisp of smoke. "You're here for Hermione Granger?" He asks. I nod and take him in; he has deep blue eyes and a dashing figure, more like Dick Van Dyke than a hospital doctor. His tennis shoes are splayed with blood. Hermione's blood, I think, and shudder uncomfortably.

p "Yes," I say to the doctor.

p "I'm Doctor Greenhouse, I supervised Miss Granger's surgery. If you are a blood relative, you may come and see her." Doctor Greenhouse said.

p "No, I'm not a blood relative," I replied, and my heart commenced tearing in half at not being able to see Hermione. It ripped slowly, I could feel my arteries gushing and my veins popping, it began to tear, splitting itself gradually, it sped up, faster and faster the blood drained from me and my heart broke down the middle. "I'm her fiancé." I blurt out.

p Dr. Greenhouse smiles. "Follow me," he says. I can't believe what I've just done. iHer fiancé?/i The words mock me. I'm lucky to be her best friend.

p Dr. Greenhouse leads me down a tiled hallway while I reel at what I said. After a bit, though, the joy of seeing Hermione takes over. It feels like it's been a lifetime since I saw her pretty face.

p "Miss Granger's appendix burst earlier this evening," Dr. Greenhouse explains as we walk. "It's very dangerous, and if you don't get an appendicitis patient medical attention quick enough, they can die." I shudder very hard, willing myself not to think of life without Hermione. "We were able to save Miss Granger. She has to spend a few weeks in the hospital under intensive care, just so we can monitor her, but she'll be all right." Warm relief floods me. Hermione is okay! We reach the end of the hallway and Dr. Greenhouse opens a door and ushers me into a room stocked full of medical equipment.

p I have never seen so many odd-looking contraptions in my life. There are boxy machines, machines with innumerable arms, cavernous machines, miniscule machines, machines with buttons and knobs and dials. The only thing that each of the machines have in common, I surmised, is that they all smell strongly of disinfectant. It's slightly dizzying.

p Once I got over the machines, I noticed that something was wrong. Dr. Greenhouse had vanished from my side. He and dozens of other doctors were clustered around something in the center of the room, a bed with Hermione in it, I could only guess. Straining my ears to find out what happened, I overhead someone saying gravely, "She's comatose, Dr. Greenhouse."

p While I do not know the meaning of 'comatose', I understand that it is bad. Suddenly, each of the doctors was shouting at once, some saying things like, "Don't let her flat line! Dr. Bushnell, the resuscitators!" Doctors swarm around my Hermione, while I stand there, as helpful as a broken vacuum cleaner. My mood is not improved by the frantic tone of the doctors. They work fervently. My alarm is growing steadily now, I have no idea if Hermione will be all right or if she is lost to me forever. The very thought sends waves of nausea into my stomach. As the doctors scurry around and nothing changes, my dread heightens to a feverish pitch. What would I do without Hermione? What purpose would life have without Hermione? Nothing. None. I could not spend a second of any day without Hermione. I could not sleep knowing that I will never again see her vivacious smile.

p "Stop!" I cry out loud, without the faintest clue as to what I am doing. My words do nothing; there is such chaos in the room already that my prattle is drowned out. "STOP!" I endeavor again. Still nothing. I imagine a dead life away from Hermione and the cry pours from my lips. "iSTOP/i!"

p The doctors freeze. I run forward toward the bed, knocking doctors out of my way like bowling pins. I reach Hermione's side and waste no time in grabbing her hand and kneeling beside her. Seeing her pale skin, and almost lifeless body, I know what I have to do.

p "Hermione," I whisper into her ear. "Hermione, I love you." My voice is unnaturally high. "I love you with all of my heart, with every fiber of my being, with every particle of my slow-moving mind." I smile slightly to myself. "I love you with a love more intense than the world has ever seen. Hermione, if you were Eve and I were Adam, my love would be the whole world and you would be the shining sun that gives me nourishment. I love you so much that my heart aches. You are behind my eyelids when I wake up, you are in my dreams at night. Your face is the loveliest thing I can imagine. My heart still knocks against my ribs when I see you, Hermione; my knees still turn to jelly at your smile.

p "My love is so all-consuming that without you I would be but a shell, walking the Earth with no purpose. You are my everything, Hermione, and I need you to come back to me. I need you because I love you so truly, so fully, that there is nothing here for me but you. Die and I will die, live and I will live the happiest life ever seen. Please believe me, Hermione, when I say that I love you, because if I am not sure of anything else in my whole life I am sure that I love you." I paused for breath. Was her face coloring slightly? "If you must leave, Hermione, know that you have forced me to give up my family and my career to die and be with you. If you come back, Hermione, you can have the boundless love of a man who lives only to love you, the forever love of your true soul mate. And if you hear nothing else of my chatter, Hermione, hear this: I love you, and I could not live without you." Hermione's eyelid flutters. I clutch at her hand. She shifts. I hold back a yelp of triumph. Hermione's eyes open, and then—

p "Ron?"

p ~

p Hermione spent the next few weeks recuperating. After I spoke to her, she awoke from a deep coma that Dr. Greenhouse said could have lasted for years. Luckily, I was allowed to be with her all the time, even when she was in Intensive Care. Usually, they only let blood relatives into Intensive Care, but the day after Hermione awoke, something occurred that changed the system entirely.

p ~Flashback~

p "I wanted to talk to you, Ron," Hermione said to me. I looked up at her nervously. We hadn't talked about what I said to her in the ER, and I wasn't even sure that she had heard me. "Yesterday, when I came out of a coma…" She began. I held my breath. "One of the doctors said you were my fiancé." I laughed, as if to blow the whole thing off. She frowned.

p "It was just—

p "You don't want to be my fiancé?" Hermione sounded hurt. I was amazed. Surely, Hermione couldn't feel the same way about me that I did about her.

p "Well, I," I said, but Hermione was reaching up her arms and I bended down with intention to hug her in a friendly sort of way, when she kissed me full on the mouth.

p It was all I could want and more. Kissing Hermione just felt so iright/i. I wrapped my arms around her, sorry that I would have to break off the kiss because she was so frail.

p "I didn't hear what you said to me to wake me up," Hermione said when we moved apart, and my heart sank. "But I think I got the gist of it. Ron, do you love me?"

p Before she was hospitalized, I never could have given her the real answer. It would have stayed frozen on my tongue forever, just as my heart would have frozen. And yet, now that I had professed my undying love to Hermione several times over, and realized how lucky I was to be alive with her, my priorities had changed. "With everything I have," I said, and smiled. She kissed me again.

p "So, when did you propose to me?" Hermione asked a second later, and the promise in her eyes told me that she said yes.

p I looked down at her, knowing that I could not love anyone else if I lived until the end of time. I kissed her once more. "While you were sleeping."