Author's Note: Last chapter, guys, thanks so much for staying with me, and for being such faithful reviewers!

Real quick, though, I just wanted to touch on the Pensieve thing: quite a few people helpfully suggested it as the solution to Hermione's dilemma, but I didn't want to go that way for four reasons. 1) It's bloody obvious, and I hate not being original. 2) A story is more interesting when there's conflict and / or drama…and there wouldn't have been much of either if Hermione just went and solved all of their problems by calmly suggesting the Pensieve to Ron, who would then quite cooperatively agree that it was a smashing idea, pip pip, and then everyone's happy when she can view the whole encounter through his eyes. Sound boring to you? It sure sounds boring to me. 3) As far as I know…there's only one or two Pensieves at Hogwarts. We've seen one (the same one?) in the possession of Dumbledore and then Professor Snape. Neither, I'll wager, are very accessible. 4) When stories come to me, they spring pretty much fully-grown from my head, like Athena. And I usually very quickly become attached to the idea, and am reluctant to change it. So, even though the Pensieve is probably something that could have been worked into the story, I probably would have never incorporated it just because I'm ornery that way. So there's my logic. Thanks to everyone who was only trying to help, though. ;)

Also, Astroeal…couple things. Firstly, I'm sorry, I know it's confusing, but "chapter one" is actually just the title page of the fic, not an actual chapter. So what I'm posting now is chapter 8, even though Fanfiction.net thinks it's chapter 9. Secondly, you suggested that Ron and Hermione fight more, to liven up the fic…well, again, I have my reasons why that's not happening: 1) I've always felt that Ron and Hermione's arguments are a little overreactionary (heh…if that's not a word, it should be). Now, it's been awhile since I was a kid, but I'm pretty sure that I was never that excitable, so I have a hard time writing people being absolute gits to each other for no good reason, and feeling as if I've done a good job with it. 2) One of the reasons they fight all the time, I think many people will agree, is because of the unspoken thing between them that they're (and in particular Ron is) denying. In "Excido", Ron has admitted his feelings to himself, and only feels the need to fight with her out of habit and for fun, now, as was portrayed in chapter one. 3) With the minor snerking of chapter one and the deliberate provocation on Ron's part in chapter two aside, this is year seven, and one would hope they'd grown up a little by now, yes?

Anyhoo, sorry. See…this is why I don't let myself do Author's Notes, because I ramble. Bah, I'm done.

And now, the conclusion of "Excido":

………

Though he was in dire need of oxygen, Harry used the dash to the infirmary to fill Ron in on the key points.

For his part, Ron never fell behind once, despite the emotional hurdles Harry kept tossing out in front of him.

Hermione knew that she and Ron had gotten together that day in the woods, even though she couldn't remember it. She'd come up with an insane scheme to get bitten by the Lotus Lepus for the second time so that she could remember it. Then Harry had actually helped her with said insane scheme, and now she remembered. Only the second antidote they'd been counting on to fix everything hadn't worked, and Hermione had refused to take the Excido Remedy because she wouldn't give her memories up again. And now, she was risking everything on a long-shot…an antidote that might kill her itself. And even if it left her alive, if it didn't cure her she was still doomed to fall asleep and die from the poison of the Lotus Lepus, because she could never take the Excido Remedy again.

Ron didn't even know what to feel by this point. He'd been shocked to learn that Harry told Hermione the truth. Then he'd been sort of relieved, and tentatively hopeful when he learned that she wanted to remember. Then he was shocked again by Hermione's lunatic plan, and the fact that Harry had actually helped her with it. Since then it had all gone downhill, as things got worse, and he was left now with a sickening mixture of anxious fear and urgency. There was also quite a fair bit of impending despair that he was holding back by sheer force of will, because he couldn't allow himself to hope that she succeeded. He just couldn't. It meant nearly certain death for her, and so he had to do everything in his power to stop her. Everything he could to make her forget all about him, again. But he wouldn't think about it just yet…he couldn't.

And so he just ran, keeping up with Harry.

When they skidded into the infirmary a few minutes later they found it deserted, save for one small boy in one of the beds. Ron recognized him as a Second year Hufflepuff. His name was Robert, or Robin, or some such, and Harry pinned him with an urgent look. "Where's Madame Pomfrey?" he demanded.

Robert or Robin looked back at Harry with wide, awestruck eyes, and managed a squeak in response.

Woefully familiar with the effect Harry sometimes had on people (younger students in particular), Ron rolled his eyes and tried it himself. Maybe the kid would be able to reply if it was just the sidekick, and not the Harry Potter asking him the question.

"Look, Robert," he said, hoping he'd chosen correctly, "Help us out, will you? Where's Pomfrey?"

If Robert wasn't the kid's name, he was still too overcome by the presence of the boy who lived to mind being misaddressed, because he didn't correct Ron. "She…she's not here," he answered. "Someone broke into the greenhouses last night and got knocked out by a Prizefighting Spanish Rosebush. Professor Sprout only just found him, and Madame Pomfrey went to help. She said she'd be right back," he added helpfully.

"No good," Harry answered, and pulled Ron into the supply room. He immediately began searching the ingredients on the shelves, still talking. "Hermione's already mixing the Phlogiston Cure, we've no time to prepare this here," he said, picking three bottles out of the lineup and thrusting them at Ron to hold. "We've got to get down there and stop her from drinking it before it's too late. Your job is to get that door open. I'll prepare the Excido Remedy." He grabbed a vial of another liquid and held it clenched in his fist while he searched for an empty container.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ron asked dubiously.

"I've seen it done twice in the past week," Harry said, discovering an empty beaker in one of the cabinets. "I can do it."

As he and Ron turned to race back down to the dungeons, Harry could only hope it would be enough.

………

The door to the Potions classroom was still forbiddingly shut when they came running up to it, and they could hear nothing from inside.

"Talk to her," Harry urged, crouching on the floor with his supplies. "Try to get her to open the door."

Easier said than done, mate, Ron mused. He had no idea what to say. He'd played so many roles this week – friend, boyfriend, lover, back to friend, stranger – he didn't know which to be, now. He didn't know how to talk to whichever version of Hermione it was on the other side of that door.

Harry helped him out by shouting, "Hermione, open the door!"

From within, they heard her distinct reply. "No! I'm not going to change my mind, Harry."

Both boys breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was still awake and alive, in there. "Come on, Hermione," Harry shouted back, keeping her engaged as he set all of his ingredients down, "you know this isn't the way. You're too smart to take this kind of a risk over just a memory."

"Just a memory?!" she screeched back, sounding scandalized. "It's more than that, Harry! It's seven years' worth of friendship. It's over three years' worth of fear and uncertainty of hope. It's the possibility of a future. It's something I need…can't you understand that?"

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. That despair was back, ominously weighing down the ceiling he'd hastily constructed in his mind to keep it from swooping down and crushing him. Because Merlin, he understood what she meant. He wanted what she wanted. Almost more than anything.

The only thing he wanted more was for her to live.

Clearing his throat, he stepped up to the door. "Hermione?"

There were several beats of stunned silence. Then he heard her tentative reply. "Ron?"

"It's me," he confirmed.

He thought he heard footsteps, and when she spoke again a moment later, his guess was confirmed. She'd come to stand on the other side of the door. It's thick weight was all that divided them now, and yet he felt as if he'd never be able to reach her again. "I'm sorry, Ron," she said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to have to go through this."

"Don't you think I should've been given some kind of say?" he asked, surprised at the hurt that jumped up and bit him when he was reminded of how his two best friends had initiated this plan without consulting him. "Besides," he said, trying to focus, "did you think if you ended up dead, I wouldn't notice, or something?

"I'm not going to end up dead," Hermione said, trying to sound certain. But Ron heard the nerves in her voice. "It's going to work," she claimed, as if trying to convince them both.

Ron rested his forehead against the door and sighed, hearing the clink of glass behind him as Harry continued to frantically mix his potion. "I don't know, 'Mione," he said, uttering a hollow sound that was too depressed to be a laugh. "We haven't had much luck this week."

"Don't go through with this," he pleaded, when she didn't answer him. "The only thing that could possibly hurt worse than you not remembering, is you dying over it. Do you think I could bear it if this thing kills you? Please don't take the chance over a memory."

Perhaps surprised to find herself defending this particular memory from Ron, in addition to Harry, Hermione's voice was small when she spoke next. "Isn't it important to you? That memory?"

Ron closed his eyes. He couldn't lie to her. And he couldn't keep all of the pain of the last week out of his voice when he answered her. "It was the best day of my life," he said truthfully.

"Me too," Hermione said.

He could tell from the thickness in her voice that she was crying. He felt like joining her. The loss of her was already swamping him again, leaving his edges dull, but he tried to get through to her. "Please, 'Mione. I don't want to lose you."

On the other side of the door, Hermione battled exhaustion. One of the reasons she was leaning up against the door that separated her from Ron was because she could scarcely hold herself upright any longer. Now, even though he couldn't see her, she tenderly placed a hand on the door, right around where she thought his heart would be, were there no barrier between them. "I'm sorry, Ron. This is something I have to do," she said.

"Why?"

Hermione closed her eyes, remembering. "Because I don't want to lose you again."

Ron cursed. If he'd hidden his depression better, she would never have caught on that anything had happened. She'd never have known they'd lost each other. "Hermione," he said helplessly, but there was no reply.

Worried now, Ron tried again. "Hermione?"

There was no response from behind the door, and Ron's pulse spiked. "I think she's falling asleep!" he said over his shoulder, panicked.

Suddenly there was a shout of triumph behind him, and he turned to see Harry standing up, holding the Excido Remedy. It fizzed and bubbled a beautiful green in his hands. "Get her out of there," Harry said, "It's ready."

"Hermione," Ron called for the third time, "open the door. Harry's got the potion ready for you."

He was more surprised than anyone when she obeyed. The door swung open, and the next thing he knew, she was falling into his arms.

Harry immediately advanced with the potion, but then he paused. Something was wrong.

Hermione appeared to be in some sort of distress. She clung to Ron, hyperventilating. Her eyes were huge, and she seemed to stare without seeing. Her skin was flushed, and she plucked at his jumper as if trying to climb up, pull herself away from whatever it was that was hurting her.

Ron sank to the floor with her, cradling her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face and called her name, peering into her eyes. Her pupils were enormous, he could see. They were dilated so fully that he could see only a thin ring of brown around them.

"What's wrong with her?!" Ron cried.

They were both surprised to hear Hermione's voice in answer. Neither had thought that she was aware of her surroundings. Yet somehow, despite what was happening to her, she found a way to laugh.

It was eerie, broken apart by gasps and shudders. It was more like a death rattle than the fun, quicksilver laugh they were used to. "I'm…quite impressed, Harry," she panted, "that you conjured it correctly…without the directions."

She let her head fall to the side, fixing those sightless eyes on Harry. "But did you really think…that I wouldn't finish mine first?"

Harry let the beaker containing the Excido Remedy fall to the floor, where it smashed on the stone, useless. "She's already ingested hers," he realized, dismayed.

Hermione was burning up, and Ron tried to hold her, to anchor her, as she twitched and jerked in response to the Phlogiston Cure. Her spasms were violent, and she couldn't catch her breath. He tried to touch her, to comfort her, but she couldn't hold still. The Cure was burning her up from the inside, and she couldn't escape it. Little whimpers of pain escaped her lips, and they were the worst part because she was obviously holding most of it back. It was silent, otherwise, save for Ron's futile murmurs that he was there with her, that it would be okay, and Harry thought it was all perhaps the worst combination of sounds he'd ever heard.

On the cold floor, in the bowels of a castle built of stone whose massive weight loomed oppressively over them, Hermione fought for her life, and they could do nothing but watch.

Ron broke, giving in to the hot tears that had been threatening in his eyes. "This is all my fault," he cried, trying to hold her to him. "I should have just told you the truth. We could have started over," he said into her shoulder.

Hermione was once again striving for speech, shaking her head against him. "It's mine," she argued, "…I just…wanted to remember…being with you."

Harry felt tears on his own cheeks as he forced himself to watch her exhibit the same symptoms as the patient in the illustration from the library book. Watching it was one of the most painful things he'd ever done, but he couldn't cheapen what she was going through by turning away.

And so it was that he was looking right at her when she jerkily pulled one arm out of Ron's embrace, and stretched it out to him. He was kneeling right beside them, and when he reached out to take her seeking hand, it wrapped around his at the contact. "Harry," she wheezed, knowing better than anyone that he'd be blaming himself, "don't…don't feel bad. This isn't…your fault."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He absolutely could not handle her trying to comfort him when she was the one dying. Not trusting himself to speak, he squeezed her hand.

Hermione managed to bring her other hand up from Ron's shoulder so that she could touch his face. She spasmed, but he held on to her. "I…love you," she gasped.

Ron sobbed. "I love you," he whispered back, and then he was pulling her up to him. One hand supported her back; the other he kept at the base of her neck as he embraced her. He felt her own free arm go around his shoulders to hold him tightly. Harry still held her other hand, and they both waited with her for death.

Only…death was taking an awfully long time.

Harry felt the memory of that illustration intruding again, and remembered the way the man had just finally shuddered and died, as if he his body couldn't handle it any longer.

But Hermione, Harry realized in a moment of hope, was slowing down. Ron was still holding on to her as she bucked and twitched, but her spasms were becoming less frequent. Her breathing had evened out, and while her eyes were still fixed open and staring at the ceiling, Harry thought she could actually see it, now. It was like the Phlogiston Cure had sent her body into overdrive, but now it was allowing her to downshift.

With a chill, he realized that that was exactly what it had done. "It's working," Harry breathed.

Ron's head whipped up, his intense blue eyes meeting Harry's briefly before he looked back down at Hermione. She did, indeed, seem to be breathing easier, and her color was no longer quite so alarming. Best of all, she was aware that he was looking at her, and she returned his gaze. "He's right," she said, still breathing a bit heavily. "It doesn't hurt as much."

Ron was afraid to hope, but he couldn't stop it. "How…?"

"It's what the Phlogiston Cure does," Harry said, still watching Hermione intently, monitoring her progress. "It 'burns' the poison out of you, the same way your body will give you a fever to burn out infection. Now…it's stopping, so that must mean…"

"The poison is gone," Hermione whispered.

She smiled tentatively, feeling the last of the Cure's effects slow down and stop. Though she was a bit dizzy from all of the hyperventilating she'd done, and she felt a bit weak, otherwise she was suddenly fine.

Because one never fully appreciated the ability to breathe until they hadn't been able to for awhile, Hermione closed her eyes and took one long, slow breath, exhaling it gradually. Ron watched her, concerned.

When she opened her eyes and smiled up at him, he smiled back.