DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

He was lost, adrift in a sea of nothingness. There was no sense of time and place in this strange dimension; all he knew was that he was floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep. It was pitch black and the darkness stretched endlessly. This vast unknown frightened him, yet calmed him at the same time.

He knew he wasn't alone. It was very faint, but he could hear low, incessant buzzing; the noise was a sure indication of other signs of life. Were they voices? If so, whose were they and why couldn't he understand what they were saying? He struggled through the void, hoping to hear clearly. Maybe the voices can guide him and tell him why he was stuck in this suspended existence.

He only grew more frustrated when the buzzing continued, offering no answers. Then, like a beam of light cutting through the dark that threatened to swallow him, a single voice distinguished itself from the droning mass, enabling him to experience a brief moment of absolute clarity.

It lasted only seconds, but it was enough to bolster his spirits. That voice could only belong to one person; the only person who could evoke complicated emotions in him.

"Er-my-nee," he croaked in response. He sounded so feeble and fragile. What was wrong with him?

Saying her name—or attempting to, anyway—exhausted him and he felt himself gravitating away from the noise, away from her. Without any energy to put up a fight to stay awake, he succumbed to sleep.

Hermione flipped through her book without paying attention to what was written on the pages. It was unusual behavior for her, but then again, being stationed at Ron's bedside in the hospital wing was not a typical situation.

The previous day had begun ordinarily enough. It had been Ron's seventeenth birthday, meaning he had officially come of age. Over the past few days, she had been debating whether or not she should melt her icy demeanor towards him. She certainly didn't miss his company, or so she tried to convince herself. She merely wanted to extend a birthday greeting, nothing more, especially since he had reached a milestone.

By the time she had gone down to the Great Hall for breakfast, she still hadn't decided what to do. Neither Harry nor Ron was there, which didn't surprise her; they were probably chattering over the presents Ron had received. Harry would most likely come to breakfast alone, since Ron was usually found attached to Lavender nowadays.

What did surprise her, however, was seeing Lavender arrive at the Great Hall a few minutes later not only without Ron by her side, but also looking extremely annoyed. Hermione observed as Lavender made a beeline for Parvati and they immediately put their heads together in a heated discussion, with Lavender speaking rather animatedly as Parvati listened intently, her eyes growing wide.

Hermione wasn't one to gossip but even she was curious about this turn of events. Did Ron and Lavender break up? Not that she particularly cared...oh, who was she fooling? Of course she cared; if anything, she cared too much, which was why her relationship with Ron had suffered greatly once he started dating Lavender.

Well, she simply had too much to do that day to find room in her mind to speculate over other people's love lives. She ate breakfast quickly, hoping to fit in a solid hour of studying and homework before that day's Apparition lesson. She hurried off to the library and retreated to the back of the room. It was her favorite spot, the corner by the window, and she began to work as the rain pounded a steady rhythm against the glass, quickly becoming absorbed in her assignments.

"Miss Granger! I should have known you would be here. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Hermione whipped around at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. "Professor! Oh, am I late for the Apparition lesson? I could have sworn I haven't been here that long, but it's not hard to lose track of time—"

"It's not about the lesson."

Professor McGonagall's grave tone made Hermione feel uneasy. "What is it?"

"Mr. Weasley is in the hospital wing. He's been poisoned."

She felt her heart plummeting to her feet. Without another word, she raced out of the library, forcing herself not to dwell on Ron's condition since she had no information to base any theories on. Tears started to form in her eyes and she battled them back as she drew closer to her destination. Poisoned...but why? And how?

She spotted Harry and Ginny outside the hospital wing. Panting, she hurled herself at him, clutching his arm tightly as she demanded, "What happened?"

She listened carefully as Harry told her about Ron mistakenly consuming a box of chocolates spiked with love potion, which led to an untimely visit to Professor Slughorn's office for an antidote and drinking of the poisoned aged mead. It had been Harry who'd saved Ron, giving him the bezoar that had annoyed her so greatly when he had cheekily used it as an easy answer in their Potions lesson. She could clearly see how this is affecting him, knowing that he was trying not to think of what could have happened if he hadn't been so quick on his feet.

She kept to herself once she learned what she needed to know, barely paying attention as Harry and Ginny exchanged ideas and suspicions. Hours later, Madam Pomfrey let them inside to visit Ron, informing them that he was going to make a full recovery and that he would be hospitalized for about a week. She should have rejoiced at this news, but it was hard to drum up any enthusiasm when she was staring at his pale, lifeless form on the bed. Again Hermione's eyes filled with unshed tears.

She couldn't bring herself to talk—it was difficult to form words when there was a lump in her throat—and only spoke to address the poisoner's lack of knowledge about Professor Slughorn's fondness for keeping tasty treats to himself. Suddenly Ron mumbled in his sleep. The single word he'd uttered was unmistakable, even if his weak state prevented him from saying it correctly. Her name. He had said her name.

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Fred, and George all waited on bated breath, hoping that he would awaken or perhaps speak more coherently, but Ron instead promptly continued his slumber. Hearing him talk, albeit for a very brief moment, was enough to boost her sagging spirits, and the fact that it was her name he whispered filled her heart with hope.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur and she didn't give in to the tears until she was finally back in her dormitory, muffling her sobs with her pillow so as not to draw any attention or wake up the other girls. He was going to be okay, she kept reassuring herself even as the tears flowed faster. She had cried herself to sleep, exhausted from the day's events.

She currently was functioning on very little rest, but it was important to her to be by Ron's side. She'd been told by Ginny when they came down for breakfast that morning that Ron was awake for a few minutes while the twins and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were visiting him earlier, pacifying the worried parents and siblings with proof of consciousness. This, of course, was good news; it meant that Madam Pomfrey's prognosis was indeed correct and it was a sign of better things to come. But Hermione wasn't satisfied with true predictions and second-hand accounts. She needed to see for herself that Ron would be all right.

She was grateful to be have this time alone with him instead of sharing the moment with other visitors. She had no idea if Fred and George had returned to the joke shop in Diagon Alley or if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had headed back to the Burrow, but they were nowhere in sight. Hermione sensed that Ginny knew how vital this was for her and was extremely grateful when Ginny told her that she would visit Ron later that evening instead of after breakfast. She had no doubt that Ginny dropped a hint to Harry—or perhaps even told him straight out—about when he should stop by the hospital wing. Between private lessons with Dumbledore, worrying about the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff and trying to figure out what Draco Malfoy was up to, Hermione was sure that Harry would have no trouble complying.

Sighing heavily, she gave up on the pretense of reading her book, setting it on the small table next to the bed. How could she possibly concentrate? She stared at Ron's sleeping form. He looked so peaceful, though the peace came at a heavy cost. Unable to resist, she rose from her chair to sit on the bed next to him and brushed at the hair that lay on his forehead. He felt cool to the touch, no signs of a fever. She rested her other hand on top of his, needing the comfort of physical contact. She couldn't stifle her gasp of surprise when she felt his hand stirring under hers. It was almost as if she had willed him to wake up.

Ron struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids felt so heavy and it was requiring a good amount of effort to keep them from closing again. There was a blurry figure in front of him, one he recognized based on scent alone. "Am I dreaming?" he wondered, unaware that he had asked the question aloud.

Hermione frantically shook her head. "No. Ron, you're okay! You're—you're alive."

"You can't be real..." But her perfume—was it the one he gave her last Christmas?—was clouding his senses. And the voice...it was the same voice that pierced through his veil of unconsciousness. His vision grew clearer the more he blinked and the blurry shape slowly began to take form. "Hermione."

"Yes, it's me."

But it can't be. He wanted to touch her face, her hair, but his arm weighed like a ton of bricks. He felt slow and sluggish, as if he was moving his limbs while trapped in a thick pool of mud. He could feel her hand tightly gripping his and it was all the proof he needed. It wasn't a dream.

Why was she here? Didn't she hate him? Hadn't their relationship suffered irreparable damage? Ron was too tired at the moment to puzzle over her presence at his side. Why question it when he can simply be grateful that she was with him? "This is nice," he whispered.

She gaped at him, unable to believe his remark. Perhaps he had forgotten yesterday's events; was that a side effect of the poison? Or was it a sarcastic statement, which clearly indicated that he, though weakened, was back to his usual self? "Ron, you're in the hospital."

"No, I meant..." It was even difficult to string sentences together. "It's nice that you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Any place I'm not."

So he thought she was still angry with him. How could he possibly think that she would continue to hold a grudge after the gravity of what had just happened? "I think some things are more important, don't you? Let me tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake—"

"No," Ron objected. He was afraid of what would happen if she left, that she would end her obligatory visit and go back to ignoring him again now that she knew he would be fine. "Don't go. I want...just you and me."

Her heart fluttered foolishly at his words. Hermione stroked his hand soothingly as she reassured him, "Okay. I'm not going anywhere. You saw your parents earlier?"

He nodded. "And Fred and George. They gave me my present. Some birthday, huh?"

Ron had taken up so much of her attention that Hermione had failed to notice the large wrapped box on the table by the bed. She had even placed her book next to it. "Do you want me to open it for you?"

"No." He turned his hand upward so that his fingers linked with hers. "I think some things are more important, don't you?"

Why was he acting like this? He clearly knew who he was speaking to, so it's not as if he'd mistaken her for Lavender, especially when he'd used her own words back at her. Didn't he realize how callous it was of him to get her hopes up? Shaken by the way he made her feel, she quickly withdrew her hand from his. "I—I think I'll go to the kitchens and get you some food."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need your strength, Ron. I'll be right back." She hurried off before he could protest, thankful for the opportunity to clear her head.

He sighed as he sank further into his pillow. Perhaps it was best that she was gone for a while. He needed the time to think, to reflect on what had brought him and Hermione to this point in their relationship so he could figure out what to do to make amends.

In hindsight, it was foolish to be envious of Harry. After all, it was hardly Harry's fault that he'd grown several inches over the summer (a foot, if Ron recalled Hermione's estimation correctly), been picked as Quidditch captain (a well-deserved honor, no one could argue with that) and been anointed as The Chosen One by most of the wizarding world. But the fact that Hermione had claimed that his best mate had never been more fanciable brought back the feelings of resentment that Ron hadn't felt towards Harry since their fourth year. Obviously she would consider Harry fanciable, nearly all the girls did. To add fuel to the fire, she and Harry had been spending more time together, courtesy of the stupid Slug Club, which undoubtedly gave her even more chances to see how much better he is compared to the most ordinary member of the Weasley family.

Yes, it was probably silly to be jealous. But the feeling still lingered.

The omnipresent shadow that Viktor Krum cast over any romantic aspect of Ron and Hermione's turbulent relationship was like rubbing salt on an old, persistent wound. Learning that she had kissed Krum had been a severe blow to Ron's already low self-esteem. The knowledge had hurt him terribly and pushed his jealousy over the edge. He instinctively reacted by hurting her back, fighting fire with fire.

It was nothing short of a miracle that there was a girl at Hogwarts who, for reasons unknown, was interested in him rather than The Chosen One or a better player on the Quidditch team. Being with Lavender was enjoyable, at first. She was a lot of fun and she always appreciated his jokes. She wasn't always nagging at him to study or complete his assignments. The physical aspect of their relationship definitely wasn't something to complain about; if anything, she taught him a thing or two about snogging—not that he had a lot of experience to begin with. Never mind that his feelings for her were lukewarm, at best; the point was, she liked him, so that should be enough to keep him happy. But it wasn't.

Suddenly she started laughing at his jokes a little too much, her seemingly endless giggling becoming annoying rather than amusing. She would ask his opinion on things that he couldn't care less about. What did he know about dress robes and how they made her look? Then she wanted to talk about her feelings and the state of their relationship. Were they serious? If so, how serious were they? What did he like most about her? Did he ever think of her when she wasn't around? He couldn't declare that he had grown dissatisfied when he was never content to begin with.

Of course, Lavender wasn't to blame for his miserable love life. She seemed needy, but that was only because he never could give her what she was looking for. It hardly mattered if he saw her as a balm for his bruised ego or a weapon to hurt Hermione; the bottom line was he had used her, a fact that he hadn't realized at the time, but now was plain as day. She deserved someone much better. It would be best, for the both of them, if he ended it. But the mere thought of the inevitable confrontation made his palms sweaty.

There was only one girl who ever truly mattered, one who had been within reach until he had shoved her away. It was completely mental for him to even think it, but he was somewhat grateful for the ghastly turn of events since the circumstances brought them together, at least momentarily. While the poisoning gave him the opportunity he needed to bridge the chasm he had created, he still had to fix what he had stupidly and single-handedly destroyed. He wasn't going to waste this chance to say what needed to be said. He had to make sure that she would again be his best friend (or hopefully more than that) once he was released from the hospital and she would no longer be forced to spend time with him.

Hermione had been berating herself during her brief trip to the kitchens for placing any significance to Ron's sudden tenderness towards her. There was simply no need to take his words or actions to heart, especially since he was still dating Lavender. She should have told him that he shouldn't be acting this way towards someone he considers only as a friend, but it felt too good to finally be on the receiving end of his affections. The way her defenses crumbled when she was around him was quite pathetic, and it was very unlike her to settle for scraps when she knew she deserved much more than that. She made a promise that she would no longer allow herself to be affected by him, no matter what he said or did.

She tentatively stepped inside the hospital wing with a plate full of food and a guarded expression. She and Ron locked gazes from across the room and, upon seeing his weak yet warm smile and the unabashed glee written all over his face at her return, she felt her carefully restored resolve slipping.

Ron struggled to sit up on the bed and Hermione immediately rushed over, setting the plate down so she could assist him. She fussed over the arrangement of his pillows so that he could lean comfortably on them. Unaware of what she was doing, she gently brushed the hair off his forehead. It wasn't until he placed his fingers around her wrist that she realized she could no longer take such liberties now that he was wide-awake.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered.

He continued to hold her wrist in his hand, feeling immense satisfaction at the erratic pounding of her pulse beneath his fingers. "You're good at this."

"I...at what?" she inquired blankly. She had no clue what he was going on about, though his intense gaze and the way he continued to hold on to her was driving her to distraction.

"Taking care of me."

Don't get used to it, she wanted to retort, knowing that a slight jab was needed to break up the uncertainty between them. Instead, she asked, "Are you saying I'm like your mum now?"

"No. Definitely not."

"A sister, then."

Ron shook his head.

"So what is it? What am I to you?" she asked softly. Her pulse was hammering wildly now as she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

Everything. The word, which echoed clearly in his mind, was stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth to tell her, but no sound came out.

Stung by his lack of a response, Hermione removed her hand from his and moved away from the bed. You're so stupid, she rebuked herself silently. She certainly set herself up for that latest disappointment, just minutes after she had vowed not to let his actions influence her. What was she hoping he'd do, declare his undying love for her?

"Hermione—"

"Your food is getting cold," she interrupted tersely as she put the plate on a tray. "You should eat."

"Only if you'll share it with me." He could care less about the food, but if forcing himself to eat was going to convince her to stay, then so be it.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Ron." She remained standing, her back towards him, poised to make a hasty retreat.

"Why not?" he asked her, even though he knew the answer. Now that he was awake and on the mend, he knew that she believed her obligation to be over and she can go back to hating him again. Panic quickly set in. He had to make sure that she wouldn't leave, that she would give him the chance that he surely didn't deserve.

There was no easy way to tell him that he made her feel so vulnerable, that her heart still wasn't healed from the last time he broke it. "If you don't know, then perhaps your girlfriend can tell you."

He knew then that she was ready to walk out of the room and perhaps out of his life. He needed to make the moment count. "Hermione, I owe you an apology."

"What are you..." It dawned on her that he was referring to their disagreement, which, upon reflection, was such a mild term to describe the event that caused her to stop speaking to him for months. "I don't need to hear it."

"Well, maybe I need to say it," Ron insisted, suddenly feeling angry by how casually she was regarding the whole situation. It wasn't every day that he had his heart on his sleeve! His irritation energized him, causing him to sit up straighter on the bed and making his voice clearer and sharper. "And you're going to listen."

Hermione turned around then, arms folded across her chest. "Is that so? When are you going to get it through your thick head, Ronald Weasley, that I don't care about your stupid apology!"

"Stupid?"

"Do you honestly believe that I would be so—so—uncaring that I would continue to stay mad at you after what just happened? Do you really think I'm that cold?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione—"

"Because I'm not," she barged on, her tone growing shriller. "How can you, under any circumstances, be so convinced that anything else mattered when I—" Her voice broke.

"When you what?" he asked solemnly.

Hermione made sure to regain her composure before she replied, her tone barely above a whisper, "When I could have lost you."

Tension hung heavily in the air as the weight of her words settled in. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere," Ron said at last. "Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it's important to me that I say I'm sorry. I'm an idiot for—"

"It's okay, Ron." Hermione suddenly felt weary, the lack of sleep catching up to her in addition to the emotional toll of the past several hours. "It's not really your fault that my feelings were hurt. You had every right to change your mind about—I mean, it wasn't as if you and I were..." She shrugged and kept her eyes focused on her hands. "I've accepted the fact that you're with who want to be with and that you don't think of me...in that way."

"Are you mental?"

Her head snapped up at his question and she saw that he was staring at her in pure disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to that stupid party?"

"No, but—" As much as she couldn't handle another disappointment or heartbreak, his revelations left her feeling like she was feasting after a long period of starvation. "You shouldn't be saying such things," she objected unconvincingly.

"Even if I mean it? You're smart, Hermione. Tell me, why else would I agree to go with you? Because I sure as hell didn't do it so I could hang out with McLaggen or keep hearing Slughorn call me by the wrong name over and over again!" Ron exclaimed.

Was it really true? Before Hermione could ask him why he started dating Lavender in the first place, Madam Pomfrey made her way over to them, her hands on her hips.

"Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley! The hospital wing is not the place for a shouting match!" she admonished. "Miss Granger, you should have called me right away when my patient woke up!"

"I'm sorry—"

"It wasn't her fault—"

"And you, Mr. Weasley, you should know better than to overexert yourself! Your well-being is no trivial matter! Do you want to stay here longer than you're supposed to?"

"No," Ron grumbled.

"Well, then. Miss Granger, perhaps you should leave. My patient needs his rest."

"But all I've done is rest!" The stern look she aimed his way prevented Ron from arguing further.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'll see you tomorrow, Ron."

She left quickly, dazed by the turn of events. There was plenty that she and Ron needed to talk about and whatever will be said between them could conceivably change everything. She allowed herself to consider the possibilities, though she knew that she couldn't afford to indulge in a dreamy outlook when there were still complications ahead.

Hermione smiled as she headed back to the Gryffindor common room, her spirits suddenly soaring. Now wasn't the time to think of obstacles, not when she had her best friend back, along with the genuine possibility of something even more. She was positive that the route of their relationship will never be completely smooth, but there was no one she'd rather take this journey with than Ron, no matter how bumpy the road.