He knew he couldn't love her.

Not because he didn't, no, he most certainly did. The loss of all thoughts but her when she came near him, the hypnotic beating of their hearts whenever they got close…he knew what it meant. He knew he loved her. But he knew he couldn't.

He tried to make all thoughts of her clear from his mind, but it never worked. He tried to tell himself he didn't live her, it was only a phase, it wasn't real. He couldn't lie to himself. He knew he would never be over it, but he couldn't stand the thought of finally admitting it and then losing her.

When she held his hand, he gently pushed it away. He tried not to look at her face. When she tried to kiss him, he turned away, and would not look at her face. When she told him she loved him, he did not answer. But he could not turn away, and he saw her face. He saw the tears falling over her cheeks. He watched her run away, but he did not follow.

She avoided him after that, as much as she could. He tried not to look at her face. He told himself it was better that way.

When Voldemort and the Death eaters found them, he knew the moment he had been dreading had come. But he had kept her safe; he had not told her he loved her. She would not miss him if he died. He told himself this, and he tried to believe it.

Curses were thrown from both sides, countless bodies dropped to the ground. Screams and cries pierced the air, swarms and seas of red blocking their view. Red fell in his face, and he was not sure if it was only his hair. And then it was over.

He saw her, slumped over the body of one of their schoolmates. He moved her away, and laid her down gently. "Oh, Hermione…" He whispered, smoothing out a lock of her curly auburn hair. She did not answer. He knew she never would again.

He had tried to save her from loving him. He knew he couldn't love her. He knew in the end, it would be harder that way. He told himself this as he held her broken body, and lay sobbing. Ron looked her in the face, and the truth he knew.

"I love you, Hermione."