Hermione's statement was met with a stunned, horrified silence.
Ron grappled with the sudden shift in everything he knew. Just a moment ago everything had been fine. They'd been laughing and having a grand time, and Hermione was safe there, with them. Now everything had changed. Now the situation was deadly serious. Now Hermione was…dying? The killing blow had been struck while he was right beside her, and he'd done nothing to prevent it. He hadn't stopped it; he hadn't protected her. He couldn't comprehend how this had happened so quickly. He couldn't get his mind around the difference between a few minutes ago, when his biggest problem was that he had six months to try and figure out how to tell Hermione he was in love with her, and now, when Hermione had no future at all.
He felt the same sense of disbelief that had hold of Hermione, but he shook his head, fighting it off. There was no time to be stunned, no time to come to grips with what had happened, or his own sudden, overwhelming feelings of guilt and loss. Hermione needed help, and she wasn't going to get it if Ron and Harry stood around scratching their heads and gaping at each other.
"A poison," he managed. "You said it's a poison. Is there a cure? A…a what-do-you-call-it, a - "
"An antidote," Harry interjected urgently, coming out of his own haze.
Hermione seemed to wake up a little at the questioning, as she was forced to think to come up with an answer. "Yes," she said finally, exhaling as she realized that it might still be all right. "Yes, there's an antidote. Several, actually. I remember reading about them in the book Hagrid lent me. The Hogwarts Infirmary should stock at least one of them."
Ron felt the vise around his chest loosen a bit, and both of his friends seemed to feel the same. Tentative relief kicked them back into action, reanimating them after the sudden stillness of their shock.
"All right," Harry said, taking charge. "Ron, get the rabbit. We'll apparate directly to the Infirmary. Madame Pomfrey will know what to do."
As Ron leaped to grab the cage, Hermione shook her head slowly. When she spoke, her words were uncommonly sluggish, as if she had to pick and choose them. "How many times must I tell you…you can't apparate - "
"…into, or out of Hogwarts," Harry finished with her, suddenly remembering her most common quote from 'Hogwarts: a History'. "Damn it!" he said, frustration welling up inside him.
Ron could sympathize. He'd forgotten, too. Remembering now did them no good, however, not when all they wanted to do was get Hermione back to the school as quickly as possible. Still, getting frustrated wasn't going to get her there any faster. "It's all right," he said, returning to Hermione's side and taking an arm to support her. "We'll just apparate to Hagrid's, dump the rabbit, and take her to the school."
Harry nodded tersely, and took hold of Hermione's other arm. She stood between the two boys, blinking furiously as if trying to keep her eyes open.
A moment passed. Then another. By the time another moment had slipped into the past, it was several moments too long. "What's going on?" Ron demanded.
"I don't know," Harry said, dropping Hermione's arm. "We're not apparating."
"You're not still aiming for the school, are you?" Ron asked.
"Of course not!" Harry said angrily. "Why isn't it working?"
Ron didn't know, and he was distracted from answering by Hermione, who was leaning more and more heavily on him, as if she had no strength of her own. Tendrils of fear snaked up and wrapped themselves around his heart. "Hermione?" he asked.
Hermione's head was drooping; with obvious effort she lifted it and met his troubled gaze. "It's the poison," she explained. "It's slow acting, but I can already feel it."
"What does it do?" Harry asked. He also tried to work through the fog of guilt and fear, and figure a way out of this. He had to know what they were up against.
Hermione yawned, causing Ron and Harry to look at each other in confusion. On the end of it she rested her head on Ron's shoulder, as if it were too heavy to hold up on her own, and said, "It's carried around the body through the bloodstream, and effects certain areas of the brain associated with sleep. It waits there until the body wears itself down, and then kills the person infected when they can no longer keep up their defenses." The juxtaposition between her apparent boredom and the terrifying picture her words painted was chilling, and Ron felt sick again. He couldn't believe this was happening.
"How long?" he asked, not wanting to know.
Hermione yawned again. "Until I fall asleep," she answered. "That's what the poison does…it causes the victim to feel tired, immediately. It can only be fought for so long, before you just…can't stay awake anymore."
Harry and Ron shared a meaningful look over her head. That explained the yawning, and the lack of strength. She was already feeling the effects of the poison; it was already pulling her down toward unconsciousness. They didn't have long.
"Right then," Harry said. "We'll try it again, separately."
He stepped a few paces away from Ron and Hermione, and then stopped. He turned around to face them, taking a deep breath.
"Well?" Ron asked, after waiting for a bit.
Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists. "Well, nothing," he snapped, angry with Ron for the stupid question, but realizing that he was mostly just angry with himself for not being able to apparate. For getting them into this, and for being the reason Hermione was in danger. "It's not working."
"What are we going to do?" Ron asked, still supporting Hermione.
"We'll have to walk back," Harry replied. Even as he said it, he knew it wouldn't work.
"Walk back?" Ron exclaimed. "Look at her, Harry. She's in no condition, she'll never make it."
"What choice do we have?" Harry wanted to know.
Ron thought furiously. No matter what they did, the delay in getting her to the Infirmary could very well cost Hermione her life. Why couldn't they bloody apparate?!
"You'll have to leave me here," Hermione said. She looked up at them, noting their surprise at her contribution to the conversation. "What?" she said. "I'm tired, not mentally defective. There's no other option. You'll have go to Hogwarts on foot, and bring the antidote back."
Ron shook his head. "Too long," he said. "It would take too long. By the time we got back you'd be…" He trailed off, unable to say aloud the thing that he feared most. "Besides," he added, "we can't leave you out here alone."
"You stay with her," Harry said decisively. "I'll go back. I'm the one who got us into this mess to begin with. It's my fault she was bitten."
Hermione watched his eyes; their usual clear green had gone dark with the weight of assumed responsibility. His self-blame distressed her; once Voldemort had been defeated she'd hoped to never see that expression on his face again. "Harry," Hermione protested, but he didn't let her finish.
"I'll go as fast as I can. And once I get the antidote, if I still can't apparate back here for some reason, I'll fly back on my broom. Just keep her awake!"
He said this last to Ron, and Ron nodded back, swallowing. "Hurry," he advised him.
Harry hesitated a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something to Hermione. Though he tried to hide it, the fear that he would never see her alive again was evident on his face. Ron didn't think he could stand to hear him give voice to it; luckily, Hermione didn't need him to. Understanding what he couldn't say, she stepped away from Ron and embraced Harry, feeling him tremble slightly. "It's all right," she whispered in his ear. "I love you, Harry."
Ron didn't know what Hermione had said, but over her shoulder he saw Harry's face contort as if he were about to cry. Oh, he couldn't bear this, he couldn't bear it.
Apparently, neither could Harry. He hugged Hermione back, hard; his face buried in her hair, and then stepped back. "Keep her awake," he said again to Ron. Then he turned and vanished into the forest, leaving them alone.
……….
As the shadows in the forest lengthened with the wane of the day, so the shadow of sleep grew longer over Hermione.
Ron had been watching it possess her, slowly laying more and more claim to her as the minutes stretched into hours. He was helpless to stop her slide into slumber, and - knowing that it was no ordinary sleep, but death itself that pulled her away from him – his impotence ate away at him.
He'd tried his best to keep her awake, engaging her in conversation and reminiscing about past adventures. When that hadn't worked, he'd argued with her, drawing upon his vast knowledge of how to provoke her into a row and using it to keep her too angry to fall asleep.
As she'd said, Hermione was tired, not mentally defective. She'd known what he was doing, but played along. Because really, what choice did she have? There was nothing they could do but wait for Harry, and so he tried to help her kill time, before time killed her.
Despite his best efforts, the poison was taking her. It and Ron were playing a dangerous game of tug-of-war, with Hermione as the rope, and the poison was stronger. When too long a silence had lasted in between his most recent question, and the answer that she should have given, Ron realized that she was slipping. Conversation alone was no longer enough. Ron stepped over to Hermione, who was sitting on the ground with her back up against the trunk of a tree, next to the cage that contained the Lotus Lepus, which was – like Hermione – dozing. He reached down, grabbed her hands, and hauled her up to him.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, jerking awake. It was only then that she realized how close she'd been to sleep.
"Trying to keep you alive," Ron answered, ducking his head under her right arm. He drew it across his shoulders, holding onto her hand to keep it there. His left arm went around her waist, supporting her as they started walking away from the tree.
Hermione was out on her feet, barely moving as he led her across the clearing. She knew that he was carrying most of her weight, but she couldn't seem to break through the murky drowsiness that surrounded her to help him.
Ron fought for balance and momentum. His desperation was growing proportionately to her lack of response. "Come on," he said, hitching her up again. "Come on, love. Stay with me."
Hermione blinked, his words like a splash of cold water to her face. She shook her head like a prizefighter after too many punches and looked up at him. Sensing her movement, Ron paused and looked down to meet her gaze.
"Did you just call me 'love'?" she asked.
Ron immediately blushed. He could feel it. First his ears went red, then his cheeks and neck. The next thing he knew, his whole head was burning like a light bulb. Not for the first time, he inwardly cursed the fair complexion he'd been born with. Still, if his embarrassment was the least he had to suffer to keep her awake, he'd suffer it gladly.
"Uh…um…y-yes. I did," he stammered. He'd meant that to come out without the stutter, but had just realized how close they were. Her arm was still around his shoulders, and his left arm encircled her waist. She was drawn up flush against his side, and he could feel the dips and curves of her body against him. He hadn't noticed before now, because he was too focused on trying to keep her awake. But now, with her looking at him, watching him…he was all too aware of her.
Hermione's face was only inches from his own as they looked into each other's eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch out into infinity. Hers were the liquid color of coffee, not quite dark enough to be called black, but dark enough for Ron to drown in. Just now there was a spark in her eyes as she searched his for the answer to some question he hadn't been asked yet.
Longer…longer, and still he couldn't look away. Her gaze held him captive. When she smiled, suddenly – a big, wide, sunny smile that lit up her face – he was lost. "No one's ever called me that before," she confessed, taking Ron's breath away when her smile grew softer. "I liked it."
Ron was standing on the edge of a precipice…there was nowhere left to go, and she was drawing him over the edge. There was no other choice for him but to kiss her. He had to; he needed to. He wanted to feel her in his arms when he brought his mouth to hers. Unable to control it, his gaze dropped to her lips.
It was then, heated by the image in his mind of the two of them kissing passionately, that Ron realized what he was doing. Reality came crashing back in, and he flushed again…this time from shame.
Hermione was poisoned. Poisoned! She could die at any moment, and here he was, thinking about kissing her! How selfish could a bloke get?
Practically choking on the gall, Ron tore his gaze away from Hermione and focused on the ground before them. He resumed walking, and after a startled moment's stumble from Hermione, she walked with him.
If nothing else, his slip had woken her up, momentarily. Though her head was still nodding, she kept up with him and was moving more or less on her own steam. Her arm didn't leave Ron's shoulders, however, and he told himself that he kept his arm around her waist to keep her balanced.
They walked back and forth across the clearing a few times, saying nothing. Then, out of nowhere, Hermione spoke. "Have you heard from Ginny?"
Her conversational tone and mundane topic were directly at odds with the heavy, somewhat guilty thoughts that plagued him, and he looked at her again, disconcerted. "What? Oh…no, just that last owl on Christmas."
Hermione nodded. "I'm glad she's having a good time at Neville's…after what they went through with the whole Voldemort situation, they needed some time together away."
"Yeah," Ron said noncommittally. He liked Neville, actually, but this was his little sister they were talking about.
Hermione followed his thoughts, a shadow of a smile on her lips. She squeezed him a little. "He's good for her, you know. He's one of the most painfully earnest people we've ever met; he won't hurt her."
Mentally, Ron agreed with her. They walked for another beat in silence, and then Hermione sobbed once.
"I may never see her again," she said disconsolately. "Or my parents, or - "
"Yes you will," Ron interrupted, never stopping his relentless pacing with her.
Hermione didn't see the ground in front of her; she just kept walking where Ron led, too caught up in her melancholy to care. "I don't want to die," she whispered, choking on the tears she tried to hide.
Ron's heart broke a little, listening to the despair in her voice, but he couldn't stop to comfort her. He had to keep her moving, keep her awake. "Why?" he asked her suddenly, attempting to draw her out of the cocoon of pain she was wrapped in. "Tell me why, Hermione."
"Why don't I want to die?" Hermione said, indignantly. "What kind of question is that?"
Ron smiled. There was the Hermione Granger he knew and loved. "It's the kind of question you ask someone when you want to keep them talking," he answered, throwing her trademark lofty, matter-of-fact tone of voice back at her. "The sort of question you ask when you want them to think about why they're fighting to stay alive."
"Oh," Hermione said, sniffing. Then, just as Ron had hoped, she was sucked into answering. Hermione never could resist answering a question. "I…my parents would be heartbroken," she finally said. "I'm their only child, and they've always been somewhat leery of the wizarding world. I can't die and leave them blaming themselves for letting me go to school to be a witch."
"What else?" Ron prodded.
Hermione thought about it for a moment, mindlessly walking wherever Ron led her. "And I'm afraid," she admitted. "I don't know what would come after this. And…and I'm too young to find out! That's probably the biggest thing…there's still so much for me to learn!"
"That's my Hermione," Ron said affectionately, heartened to see the spark of life in his friend as she thought of more and more reasons to fight to stay alive. "Thinking that the worst thing about dying would be missing out on sixty or seventy years' worth of books you haven't read yet."
"Not just books," Hermione said. "Everything! There's too much living I've got to do, still. There's so much that I haven't done and haven't seen, and - "
She glanced up at Ron, and her voice was tinged with regret. "There's so much I haven't said."
Just then, Hermione stumbled. She hadn't been paying attention to where she was going all along, and her last sentence had distracted Ron. So neither of them saw the rock she tripped over.
Hermione tumbled to the ground. Ron held on to her, kept her from falling all the way down, and both of them landed on their knees. Immediately, Ron took her by the elbows and prepared to drag her up again, but she put restraining hands on his chest and looked up at him. "Ron, stop," she said.
Ron regarded her, assessing. She looked awake enough, for now, and he decided it would probably be all right to allow her to rest for awhile. When she saw that he was going to let her stay fallen, for the moment, Hermione sat back on her heels. Earlier, Ron had performed a melting charm on the snow in the clearing, and the grass beneath her was dry and springy. With Hermione's help, he'd also managed a summer spell, creating their own little pocket of warmth amid the wintery forest.
Ron was glad for it now, as he sat next to Hermione and raised his knees up, resting his arms atop them, watching her still. The walk appeared to have done her good; though she was still obviously tired, her eyes were clear and she was nervously plucking at the grass next to her. Wait…why was she nervous?
In answer to his unspoken question, Hermione looked up at him again. "I don't want to die," she said again, quietly. "But if I do, I don't want to die having never said the things I should've."
"What do you mean?" Ron asked uneasily.
"I mean…" Hermione searched for words. "People just live, and tend to believe they'll always be alive, and always have time for the things they want to do, or say. But it's not true…there's not always time, and I don't want to die without ever having told you the truth."
Ron's unease grew. What hadn't she told him? What had been awful enough that she felt she couldn't tell him, except on her death bed?
Desperately hoping to avoid hearing that she and Viktor Krum really had been together since fourth year, and she'd kept the truth from him to avoid an argument, or some other horrible thing, Ron rushed to speak first. 'Hermione, wait. You don't…you don't have to tell me anything."
"Yes, I do," Hermione said urgently. "I realize now how stupid it was to keep waiting for the right moment. If the poison had been faster, I'd never have gotten to tell Harry, either."
"Tell Harry what?" Ron croaked, remembering the grief-stricken expression on Harry's face when Hermione whispered in his ear. He'd looked as if he'd just lost…well, his best friend. Ron was sure now that it must be a truly horrendous secret, if she'd kept it from him, and Harry too.
"That I loved him," Hermione said.
Ron was blindsided, and it wasn't pretty. All of the blood drained from his face, and he paled, noticeably. Oh, this hurt. He'd never suspected…but he should have known…hadn't he always thought Harry was more her type?
Ron felt like he'd been kicked by a Hippogriff; his chest hurt, but he was somehow numb all over. His breath hitched alarmingly, as if on the threshold of a sob. He didn't notice. He couldn't think past the emotional blow. "You…you love Harry?" he asked painfully.
Hermione appeared not to notice his distress, too focused on getting through her confession. "I'm glad I got the chance to tell him, and I don't want to miss the chance to tell you."
With her words, she looked up at him again, reaching a hand out to touch him hesitantly on the arm. "I wouldn't…I wouldn't be the person I am today, if it weren't for you and Harry. You changed me for the better, and together the three of us became something great. Something important, more than any of us could have been on our own. You've always been there for me; for the past seven years you and Harry have been my family, as well as my friends, and I love you both."
The tightness in his chest loosened with relief as he understood what she meant. She loved Harry, but she loved him too. As friends. Thank Merlin. He hadn't thought this already dire situation could get any worse, but – under the assumption that the girl he loved was in love with his best friend – he realized he'd been wrong. Now, delivered from the panic resulting from that erroneous deduction, he could breathe again.
When he took a couple deep breaths to steady himself, Hermione finally noticed his reaction. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Ron laughed, weakly. "I thought," he panted with giddy relief, "I thought you were trying to tell me you were in love with Harry."
Hermione smiled nervously. "No," she said, watching him. "Not Harry." She took a deep breath of her own, for courage. "I'm in love with you."
Ron stared at her, unable to breathe again. He tried to control the single, joyous leap his heart gave. Calm down, he told himself, sure he'd misunderstood. She doesn't mean it that way.
"Hermione," he started, aiming for a calm, rational tone. "You're not feeling well."
"What?" Hermione said, taken aback.
"I just mean that you don't know what you're saying when you're like this. Once Harry gets back with the antidote, you'll feel better."
Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Ron Weasley!" she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to tell you that? And all you can say is that maybe I'm not feeling well? Besides, I've been poisoned, not lobotomized. I'm in my right mind. I know what I'm saying, and I'm saying I love you!"
Whereas straight talk and simple declarations hadn't seemed to get through to him, the diatribe did…perhaps simply because he was more familiar with her tirades than expressions of devotion. "You…you love me?" he asked. For the second time that day Ron's whole world tilted…only this time it was amazing, it was wonderful. The look on his face was one of restrained longing, as if he couldn't truly believe it.
"I do," Hermione said, watching him avidly.
Ron's face broke into a big, goofy grin. "You mean it?"
Hermione smiled back, tears forgotten in the presence of his unmistakable elation. "I mean it," she answered, unable to keep herself from reaching out to brush a lock of his red hair back from his forehead tenderly.
Ron closed his eyes at the touch, feeling his heart trip. She loved him. And okay, it had taken the threat of death looming over her like a thundercloud to get her to admit it, but it was more than he'd managed to accomplish. He couldn't believe it. He opened his eyes again, searching her face. "Are you sure? Because…"
"I'm sure," Hermione said, clearly battling the urge to roll her eyes.
"…because I'm in love with you, too," Ron finished.
That stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. All thoughts of scolding Ron for not believing her scattered, as she suddenly found herself in the same position. In wonder, she said, "You are?"
Ron reached up and placed his hand over her own, which had slid down to trace lightly over his cheek. "I am," he said softly. His heart was beating so fast, he felt sure it would burst.
Hermione looked as if she knew the feeling. A pretty blush had risen on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled up at him with new, unshed tears. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath as she gasped for air. "I…I always wondered if you… I thought maybe you might; I mean I hoped that you did," she babbled, delighting him. "And I knew if there was ever to be any sort of possibility of…us, I'd have to be the one to tell you first, but…I was never sure," she admitted. "I couldn't be certain how you felt, and I was afraid of wrecking our friendship. I was too insecure."
"But we know now," Ron said, and Hermione melted when he took her hand from his cheek and held it in both of his own. "And hey," he said after a moment of gazing at each other. "I would have gotten around to telling you."
Hermione laughed, and Ron realized it was her first one since being bitten. "I cannot even express how much I don't believe you," she said.
"I would have," he contested, acting defensive for her benefit. "…one day."
"What were you waiting for, graduation?" she asked, mirthful. "Leave it to you to wait until the last possible moment."
Ron grinned, not surprised that she knew exactly what he'd been thinking earlier that day. With the possible exception of Harry, no one knew him better than Hermione did. He loved her all the more for it.
Ecstatic over this newfound knowledge, Ron did something he'd been aching to do for longer than he could remember. He reached up with one hand and stroked her cheek, tracing his fingertips over her smooth skin.
Hermione's breath snagged, caught in her throat. Ron watched, transfixed, as the laughter in her eyes transformed into yearning. He was held prisoner again by her stare, helpless to resist anything she might ask of him.
"Ron," she said seriously, but shyly. "Will you kiss me?"
Merlin, he'd wanted nothing else for the past three years. Why had he waited so long, when she'd been right there the whole time?
Never again, he swore. Never again would he hesitate to act on his feelings for her. Starting now.
Ron slid his hand back so that his outstretched fingers touched her hair, and her cheek was cupped in his palm. When she leaned forward he tilted her head up slightly to him, and brought his lips down on hers. Her lips were the softest satin against his, and slightly parted, and he lost himself in the sweetness of their first kiss.
It was perfect…the kind of perfect that isn't supposed to exist in real life. They forgot everything around them…the clearing, the forest, the poison. Life before now, and worries about the future faded away in the immeasurable space of time it took for that one pure, flawless kiss.
When it finally ended, they came back to themselves gradually. Hermione's eyes remained closed after Ron drew back from her, and he watched her, captivated, as she slowly opened them and smiled at him.
He smiled back, unable to contain the feelings welling up inside him. Remembering his oath to never hesitate, he kissed her again.
.