Brace yourselves.

Rather than return to work, Ron spent the better part of the next two days with Hermione at the hospital. Though she was still rather ill, she seemed to improve most when he was with her; she didn't ask for pain medicine, slept peacefully on her own, and even had it in her to drink a few sips of weak tea. Rose, Hugo, and even Minerva took it in turns to come by every couple of hours with food for Ron, a newspaper, and other small items. It lightened Ron's heart to hear Hermione tease him good-naturedly when Rose brought a shaving kit and a bar of soap for him.

"You…need it," she said slowly, wrinkling her nose a bit.

She even had energy enough at one point to read the newspaper, which was now filled with applause for Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry Potter, who had been "strong, unwavering voices in support of Mr. Weasley's innocence," and she asked Hugo to bring her the book she had left on her nightstand at home. "I'll…forget…where I was," she told Ron, who rolled his eyes. She swatted gently at him.

It was the first time since Hermione had been poisoned that Ron had felt she was going to get better without needing an antidote. He began arranging visits with his brothers and parents, who would be allowed to see Hermione if she could be moved from critical care. He should have realized, he thought later, that this was overly optimistic.

"Good afternoon," said Minerva's voice. Ron turned; she was leaning in the doorway, carrying a newspaper and a brown paper bag. She limped in the room, and Ron frowned. It seemed she was a bit sore today, and he felt yet another twinge of guilt for allowing her to remain away from her home for Hermione's sake. He got up and took the bag she offered him, thanking her for lunch.

"How is she?" Minerva asked, sinking down in a chair opposite Ron's.

"She's been asleep for a while," Ron said. "But I talked to her for a bit this morning."

Minerva frowned, looking closely at Hermione, who was soundly sleeping in the bed. "She looks pale."

Ron, however, was studying Minerva. "Are you all right?" he asked. "It's not that I don't want you here, but you've got to have things you'd rather be doing. I don't want to keep you from your life."

Minerva shook her head sharply, not removing her eyes from Hermione. "I know how quickly things like this can go wrong," she said firmly. "I'll stay and help, as long as I'm not in the way."

Ron's heart clenched; he remembered the first time he had ever heard the story of Minerva's ill-fated marriage all too clearly. Her husband's premature death had come from an accidental Venomous Tentacula bite. "No," he said softly. "N-never mind. I appreciate it."

Minerva seemed suddenly uncomfortable, as though she had guessed what Ron was thinking of. She got to her feet and picked up her walking stick. "I think I'll come back tomorrow. Will you tell her I stopped by?"

"Ron?" Hermione was stirring slightly. She opened her eyes, frowning, and saw Minerva. She tried to smile at her, but suddenly, her hand flew to her breastbone.

"Hermione," Ron said sharply, rising. "Hermione?"

"My—chest," Hermione gasped.

Minerva moved with surprising speed to fling open the door, just as two nurses and a Healer came barreling into the room, with Terry on their heels.

"Out of here, please, Mr. Weasley," said one of the nurses. "Ms. McGonagall, you as well."

Ron was panicking. "What's happening?" But Minerva was pulling him by the arm, and he could no longer see Hermione, obscured from his view by the many nurses crowded around her.

"She was talking," Ron kept saying. "She was fine, she's been getting better!"

"This is just what happened the other night," Minerva said in a low voice. She looked extremely nervous.

"It's all right," Ron said firmly, though this was like a knife in his heart. "It's—it's happened before." But a nasty, niggling memory of Terry was hanging in the back of his mind; another attack could finish her…it played as if on a loop in the forefront of his mind. He and Minerva stood in the waiting area outside the ward doors, waiting for a sign of a Healer for nearly ten minutes. Nurses and Healers, Terry among them, rushed in and out of the room, some carrying potions, others carrying blankets, and all looking extremely tense.

At long last, Terry emerged, approaching Ron and Minerva with a grave expression.

"Don't say it," Ron muttered to himself. Minerva gripped his arm for a moment.

"She's alive," Terry said, and Minerva let out a strangled gasp. "But she's unconscious, and not responding to us."

"What…what does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Before, we've been able to get her to react to us, even if she didn't wake." Terry shook his head. "I warned you of this. We can't wake her up. I'm sorry, Ron."

Ginny had not cried in front of Ron in a very long time; even Harry seemed taken aback when she gave a dry sob and left the sofa in their sitting room, striding over to stare out of the window.

"Have you told Rose and Hugo?" Harry asked gruffly, swallowing hard.

Ron rubbed his nose, looking away from him. "Yeah, I have. They're at the house with Minerva."

Ginny took a shuddering breath and faced them, fighting to regain control of herself. "We'll tell Mum and Dad, won't we, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "If you want us to, mate."

Ron stared down at the floor. "There's still a chance she'll be all right," he said quietly, looking up at Harry. "If we can get that poison, maybe…I don't know."

"You said Terry didn't think—"

"Shut up, Harry," Ginny said suddenly. Harry looked startled, but Ron actually gave a dismal snort of laughter. Ginny, however, had a rather manic look in her eye. "Go back to the Cauldron. You know Hannah and Neville will do anything for you. Tell them everything, talk to them, talk to the people in the bar—talk to the house-elves!" She hurried over. "Don't give up on Hermione, please, please."

Ron was taken aback by this; it was a foolish hope that he had voiced, nothing more. "Ginny, it's not a question of giving up."

"Like hell it isn't!" Ginny thundered.

"Maybe she's right, Ron," Harry said suddenly. "We could just stop over there…"

"We're not going anywhere," interrupted Ron harshly. "I'm going back to the hospital. No, it won't do much good," he added, when Ginny opened her mouth. "But I'm going to be there if—" He broke off and stood suddenly. He cleared his throat, and his voice was no longer shaking. "If my wife dies, I'm going to be there with her. I won't let her go alone."

"Ron," Harry said, trying to catch his arm, but Ron was too quick. He stormed from the house and Disapparated without a backward glance.

That night was agony. Ron stayed awake all night long, not knowing which of Hermione's shallow breaths would be her last. Healers and nurses came in every now and then, checking on her—Ron would experience a tiny flame of hope before they would invariably leave the room with grave expressions on their faces.

Around dawn, Terry came in. He was very gentle with Hermione, casting his charms and checking her over thoroughly. When he had finished, he looked at Ron, who sat up tensely.

"I think you should have your children come in, Ron," he said quietly.

Ron had the sudden sensation that he had just been struck over the head with something very heavy. He blinked, reeling…Terry wanted him to summon Rose and Hugo…to say goodbye…

The door swung open suddenly. Ron whirled around. Alexandra Morris, though it was not her turn at guard duty for Hermione, was standing there, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley, I think you're going to want to hear this!"

"Morris, outside, now," Ron growled, standing up and backing her out of the room. He forced her against the wall. "What d'you mean by that? I could have you written up!" It was a lie, but he was angry and did not care. He would write up any of his trainees at this point for just about anything.

Morris, however, was inexplicably beaming. "We—"

"We had a confession, Ron." Harry was jogging down the hall. "Thanks, Morris, but I've got it from here. Back to the Ministry and fill out a report." She nodded and hurried away. Harry was pale white, but beaming in an exhausted sort of way.

"Who?" Ron asked. All of the air had left his lungs. He leaned against the wall, unable to stand.

Harry's smile faded. "It was Abner."

Ron frowned. "Who?"

"One of the house-elves that Neville and Hannah took on," Harry said.

"I…what?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Harry was now rummaging in his pocket. "Give me some time. You need this." He seized Ron's hand and slapped a small bottle into it. "It's the poison. He gave it to us, it was part of the confession."

Terry had appeared in the doorway. "Harry?" he asked, confused. "What's going on?"

Ron turned and held out the bottle full of crystal clear poison. "A-antidote," he stammered.

"It's the poison," said Harry.

Terry looked stunned and took the bottle from Ron. Then he seized the nearest nurse by the arm. "Imelda, get me a treatment room and the Poisons and Anti-Venoms team—now."