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Big mistake, you broke the sweetest promise that you never should have made.
He couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t protect her.
He promised. And yet there she was, lifeless in his arms as he ran across the sand toward the cottage, desperate to help her. Desperate to save her.
She can’t be dead. Please don’t let her be dead. Please.
Ron watches in the doorway of the small guest bedroom as Fleur performs diagnostic spells over Hermione’s body. Tremors cause her limp form to shake uncontrollably every now and then. It’s the only sign that she’s alive.
Fleur gives nothing away as she continues to work. Bill’s eyes only knit with growing concern. At one point, Ron is vaguely aware of Fleur leaning over and whispering something to Bill. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Hermione. Not for one second. Because he’s afraid that if he does, the small yet rhythmic rise and fall of her chest will cease, and then he’ll never be able to forgive himself.
Then, Bill is by his side, gesturing to the hall behind him.
No. He can’t leave her. He won’t leave her. He begs his older brother to let him stay. Yet, somehow, he’s being ushered down the stairs to wait.
I’m here on the kitchen floor, you call but I won’t hear it.
“Ron. Ron!” Bill calls to him as he cradles his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, unable to get the sound of her screams out of his mind.
This is why he needs to be with her. Only the sight of her will calm the chaos in his head; only her touch can prevent him from reliving the scene over and over and over again.
“Ron,” Bill says again, now crouching down in front of him.
The third time his name sounds, he snaps to attention. “What’s wrong? Is Hermione okay? Bill, tell me she’s okay. I can’t lose her. I can’t—”
Bill’s hands on his shoulders stop him. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you she’s fine, but she’s alive. Fleur thinks you got her here just in time. She’s done everything she can to combat the pain and the internal injuries, but we won’t know if her mind is still intact until she wakes up.”
“Fuck.” Ron presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, forcing the unshed tears to stay put.
He knows what the Cruciatus is capable of. He remembers seeing Neville’s parents. Pure, unadulterated terror sweeps through him, paralyzing his limbs and his thoughts as the thought of life without her takes hold.
No, he can’t think like that.
“You can go see her now if you want. She’s resting.”
Ron nods, his body feels like jelly as he tries to stand.
“Maybe you should—”
“No.” He needs to be with her.
You really blew this. We ain’t gettin’ through this one.
Twenty four hours pass and Hermione still hasn’t woken. Ron remains at her bedside, leaving only when absolutely necessary. He holds her hand, rests his head against her arm and runs through countless scenarios of how things could have been different.
If only he’d tried harder to stop Harry from saying the name. What if Bellatrix had taken him instead? How could they have concealed the sword better? The questions never end.
He pays little attention to the people who come in and out, checking on Hermione, asking him how he’s doing, bringing him something to eat.
Until Luna brings in another meal he’ll barely touch.
When she’s on her way out the door, she turns back and offers a suggestion. “Have you tried talking to her?” Ron looks up at her, eyes blank as he shakes his head.
“It might help.” With a smile and a shrug, Luna bounces out of the room on her tiptoes.
It takes Ron a while to try Luna’s idea. He doesn’t know where to begin as the words continuously play on repeat in his mind. Finally, he’s able to stop them for a moment, if only to verbalize an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” he croaks out. “I couldn’t stop her from hurting you. I couldn’t get out of that damn cellar. I tried, Hermione. Believe me, I tried.”
He looks down at his hands, still raw, but scabbing over from clawing and punching at the wall. Reminders of how desperate he was to try and break free.
[His] lips on your neck, I can’t unsee it.
“Th-thank Merlin for Dobby. I don’t know how the elf knew, but he saved us. He saved all of us. But I’m so scared I got to you too late. Fleur says you’ll be okay, but she didn’t see you lying there. She didn’t see Greyback’s eyes when he looked at you. Fuck, no, I can’t unsee it. I can’t stop thinking about what he was going to do to you. Please, Hermione, please be okay. I can’t do this without you.”
He leans over and kisses her hand before squeezing it with his own.
“Please,” he whispers. “There’s so much more I want to say to you, but I want you to be awake. I need you to be awake.”
Ron looks at her face, and still nothing, though he’s not surprised. He’s ready to give up and call Luna’s plan mental, but then he decides to try one more time. Part of him knows it’s no use, so he takes a chance to say something he’s nowhere near ready to say to her face. Not until he knows she feels the same way.
“I—I always used to think it was gross when Mum and Dad would call each other by these ridiculous pet names. It was even so weird when I’d hear Fleur call Bill ‘darling.’ Not—not because I was jealous or anything. I wasn’t! But now, now I get it. And I just—I want that for us. Like babe or something, you know? Not that it—it doesn’t have to be that, but…nevermind. It’s not like you can hear me anyway. What a stupid idea.”
As he rambles, he stares at her hand, embarrassed for even saying it all out loud. He should have silenced the room first. He’ll never hear the end of it if someone overheard as they walked by.
Slumping back in the chair, Ron covers his face with his hands. He refuses to believe he’s losing her, but at the same time he can’t help but feel as though she’s slipping through his fingers. But then he hears the softest moan come from her bed. His head snaps up as his hands grasp the arms of the wooden chair, catching his weight before he falls over from the whiplash.
Her eyes flutter open as she grimaces in pain. It’s a fucking miracle.
“R-Ron?” Her voice is hoarse and breathy, but he’s sure he hears it.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” His hands find hers. “We made it. We’re safe.”
“Where are we?” Each word is labored but she pushes through it anyway.
“Shell Cottage. Bill and Fleur’s place.”
“How…?”
Ron recounts the entire tale and Hermione listens with rapt attention. When he gets to the end, he pauses. His mind is once again fresh with the shrieks and cackles of Bellatrix as Hermione screams in pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
What about your promises, promises, promises, no.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is! I—I made a promise.”
Hermione’s face scrunches in confusion. “To who?”
“To you. Well, to me. I swore I’d do whatever it took to protect you and—and I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from her and now you’re here.”
“Yes. I’m here . Ron, I should be dead. Worse, maybe because of Greyback.” She shakes her head. “But you saved me. You could have left me in the wreckage of that chandelier but you refused to leave without me.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Stop. Please,” she begs. “I know you’re trying to make up for—for leaving. Don’t. We’re past that. You’re here now. That’s what matters. You’re what matters.”
His eyes meet hers and both plead the other to understand. Ron feels as though he’s about to burst. They’ve had so many second chances over the years and with the war at its height, he can’t risk silence any longer.
“Hermione, I—”
Though it looks as though it takes all her energy, she lifts her hand to touch his face. Tears are in her eyes when she cuts him off. “I know. Me too.”
Ron turns his head, nuzzling into her hand and kisses her palm before he loses his nerve. If she won’t let him tell her how he feels, he can at least try to show her. Though he doesn’t want to leave her, he promised Bill and Fleur he’d tell them as soon as she woke up.
“I should get Fleur so she can see how you’re doing.” He stands reluctantly and heads for the door.
But Hermione stops him before he leaves. “Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“I, um, I don’t mind ‘babe.’” Her cheeks are bright red as she tries to hide a tiny smile by tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh. Uh, noted.”
He scrambles out the door as his own face burns and his ears have no doubt turned pink. He hadn’t realized—he thought she’d been asleep. She hadn’t shown any signs of stirring. But maybe it was better now that that was in the open. Maybe she truly does understand how he feels now.
And he hopes upon hope that the end is near, that they can finally be free and happy, and that this is one of the last times the war will risk their lives.
So they can be happy. So they can finally have the chance to call each other ‘babe.’
This is the last time, this is the last time.