Author's Notes: Okay, this is a shortish one. I hope you like it, though. In case you're wondering about my updating schedule - I've basically written the whole story already, but I'm posting it to a different site as well and on said site, each new chapter needs to be validated by the staff before it gets published. And as I want the story to be the exact same on both sites, I'm adding new chapters here as soon as they are accepted on the other site. This is currently happening rather quickly, but I'd normally estimate that one chapter per week is somewhat more realistic.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR.

"Luna?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"Yes?" came the answer.

"What happened to Harry? He stayed behind with Bill and I haven't seen him come in yet."

"Oh, he's in the garden. He's making a last home for the elf," Luna said and walked over to him. "His name was Dobby, wasn't it?"

"'Last home'...'"Elf'...'Was'..." Ron stuttered uncomprehendingly. His mouth was feeling dry. "What in the name of Merlin are you... Hang on," he added slowly as realization set in. "You're not... Are you saying that... that Dobby is... dead?"

"Yes," Luna said simply and sat next to him. "He's on his last great journey now."

A cold hollow feeling overcame him at these words and ate more and more on his insides as Luna explained to him what had happened to Dobby. Taking Bellatrix' dagger to his chest, the elf had given his life, sacrificed himself, to save them. He looked down at Hermione again and he shuddered to think of how she might react upon hearing this piece of news. Dobby had died. Dobby whom Hermione had always been attached to and supported, who, along with Winky was the reason why she had concerned herself with elf rights and launched SPEW in the first place. She had always despised the thought of elves giving themselves away to serve humans and now Dobby had given his life for their sake...

How much more did she have to suffer?

He felt a second person sit down on his other side and place a hand on his shoulder. At the sound of his voice, he realized that it was Dean.

"How are you, mate?"

Ron shrugged.

"Is she..." Dean indicated at Hermione. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"Fleur healed her bones," Ron said tonelessly.

"Right," Dean said in a flat voice.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Dean muttered awkwardly and clumsily patted Ron's back.

Ron swallowed. "How can you know?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on Hermione, his voice raspy. He agreed that physically, Hermione would probably make a full recovery. But what effect tonight's events may have on her psyche, he did not want to imagine. Subconsciously, he covered her freshly fixed hand with his and squeezed it lightly.

"Dean is right," Luna said softly. "The worst is over now, and here, it can only get better. Here, she has time to heal and friends by her side. You know, even in my darkest times, I've always found comfort in the knowledge that my friends and family are always with me, in my heart, so I'm never truly alone and knowing this makes everything better."

Ron said nothing. All that he was able to bring himself to was tightening his hold on Hermione's hand, so much that his knuckles turned white.

"You really like her, Ron," Luna noted.

Ron swallowed again, feeling fresh tears pool up in his eyes.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Luna turn towards Dean. She must have given him some sort of signal because the next moment, they both rose to their feet.

"We're going to give you some space," Luna explained. "If you ever need us, let us know. We'll always be there for you."

Not waiting for an answer, they both walked out of the room.

Ron did not know what to think. He had been grateful for their company, but part of him had wanted them to go away, as he had found discussing Hermione's state rather unsettling. Now that they had left, he wished they had not. He could not bear to be alone again. He wished that Hermione woke up. He wondered how long a person can remain unconscious.

He had heard stories of inhabitants of St. Mungo's who, after all sorts of magical accidents, had been spending long times in coma, not even to be aroused by magic. What if Hermione had to face a similar fate? What if she remained like this for years or even for the rest of her life? What if she woke up but would no longer be the Hermione he knew? His lips quivered as his thoughts drifted to Neville's parents whom Bellatrix' torture had driven into insanity. He was certain that she would never be the same again. Nothing would ever be the same. After everything that had happened tonight, that was just unthinkable.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be in her arms, ho hear her voice again, to look into her eyes. Memories of her with him flashed up in his mind, the good, the bad, the mournful, doing schoolwork in the common room, snooping around the school with Harry, relaxing at the Burrow, bickering with each other, and even the times when she had been cranky, smartassing or just plain annoying now seemed to him like jewels to be treasured. He would have sacrificed his entire future for just one moment of that.

He was at a loss of what to do. He wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her, to protect her, but he was afraid that he would hurt her if he did and he compromised by resting his forehead against her arm, careful not to put any weight on her, right next to his hand that was still holding hers.

Being so close to her was painful and comforting at the same time. The tears started to fall and he did nothing to stop them. Letting out all his sorrow, he cried, and even more tears flowed as, in a moment of awe, he realized that even in her unconscious state, Hermione was able to make him feel better. The warmth of her body, the smell of her skin, the light movements of hers as she breathed - all that gradually eased his mind into numbness.

He wanted to stay there forever. Nothing and no-one could ever make him leave her side.

That was when he felt Hermione's hand twitch under his.