A/N: I'm not sure why I titled this story after a Trainspotting quote... haha. Perhaps it was a combination of the fact that I recently sent the quote to someone and the fact that I constantly carry on an endless mental love affair with Ewan McGregor? Perhaps :)

Hope you enjoy this little one shot of hope, especially if you're currently reading my ongoing chapter story, "Thieves," which can't seem to dig itself out of utter despair, at the moment... :(

Love you all.

Choose Life

27th February 1997

They'd been arguing for quite some time now. Though, really, he'd mostly been shouting back the opposite of whatever she'd said most recently, bogged so deeply down into this that he was hardly able to comprehend the row at all now. Fighting back for the sake of the disagreement had never been so bloody annoying.

There had once been excitement, a thrill here. But then she'd been someone else altogether. And the thought of never being able to properly row with her again was a terrifying one.

Lavender screamed again and he winced, closing his eyes, gripping the back of the settee behind him with both hands. Here and now, it was Ron and Lavender, standing in the middle of the deserted common room. And the only girl he really wanted to fight with was too hacked off with him to give it a proper go.

He opened his eyes again and suppressed a grin at the off balance nature of his frustrated thoughts.

"Well? !" Lavender suddenly demanded, inches away from him. If only he had a bloody clue what she was waiting for him to say...

"I think it's rubbish?" he tried, quickly tiring of this whole thing now.

"Ah!" and she threw her arms up, scowling at him as she crossed her arms over her chest and puffed up, taking a large step back to look him straight in the eye. "Tell me, then, Ron. Do you think it's rubbish when Hermione Granger gets a load of points for Gryffindor without having to do a bloody thing to earn them?"

Well, now he was just lost. How had this row turned so solidly towards Hermione? Could Lavender read his thoughts, or see them running like that old Muggle ticker tape across his forehead?

"Lavender, I have no idea what you're on about..." and he swallowed, thickly, as he considered his next words, sighing them out... "Besides, I don't exactly spend time with Hermione anymore, do I."

She eyed him suspiciously, but finally shook her head.

"No, I suppose you don't," she admitted. But her scowl returned as Ron relaxed his hold on the back of the settee. "But she's such a swotty little know-it-all! Do you know she once corrected me on the spelling of your middle name... in the middle of a doodle? !"

Ron's eyes widened as he gawked across at Lavender.

"She did what?" he asked, half-whispering out his words.

"Look, I just don't like the way she thinks she knows you so much better than I do," Lavender huffed. "I'm your girlfriend! So... maybe you ought to teach me a bit more about these things so I can show her my place!"

Oh, but he didn't want Lavender to know. He'd never had to teach Hermione a sodding thing. And she did know more about him than anyone. He reckoned she probably knew him better even than Harry did, now that he thought about it. Well, but of course she must. She knew more about everything than anybody he could think of... and that wasn't even a sarcastic thought: it was simple truth.

So. Blimey, did she know how much he... fancied her?

Oh, sod it. How much he loved her?

He shook his head quickly and allowed his daydreams to burst as he focused in on the red-faced girl in front of him.

"I don't know what I'd teach you, Lavender. You already know... stuff about me. And anyway, this is ridiculous."

"Then figure it out."

He blinked at her, confused.

"Figure out what?" he asked, completely off of her page at this point.

"You want to spend your time with me, someone who cares about you and snogs you whenever you bloody well like-"

He winced again, small pangs of regret peppering his heart.

"-or... do you want to keep on being friends with a brat like Hermione?"

"She's not a brat," he defended, immediately, without pausing to think.

Lavender squeaked at him and narrowed her eyes.

"I'm going to pretend like you didn't say that!" she hissed.

"Go on..." he trailed off, slumping slightly against the back of the couch where he still stood, loosely gripping the gold and burgundy fabric.

"I'm asking for your loyalty, because I don't want her thinking she can stick her nose in our business or-or one-up me when I talk about you to Parvati-"

"When you what?" and he grimaced, because surely it was true. And he'd never stopped to think about it. Oh God, what did they say about him behind his back?

…and what did Hermione have to hear them say, being their bloody roommate?

He actually blushed, just thinking about the endless possibilities.

"Nevermind that!" Lavender shouted, glaring at him. "That's not the point."

"Then... what is?" he asked, cautiously. He wanted to be swallowed up through the carpet, to vanish now and not actually hear her answer to his enquiry, because he felt reasonably sure that he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it. Not at all. Defending Hermione in front of Lavender and trying to quell a row at the same time was like telling a currently erupting volcano that it needed to cool down...

"It's me or her, Ron. Choose."

Oh. Then it was slightly worse than he'd expected.

"What? !"

"You've got to. What's it going to be?" she demanded.

The answer was ringing in his ears.

An answer which he absolutely could not say. Not without waking the whole of Gryffindor tower... and possibly the rest of the castle as well.

"Can we talk about this later?" he begged.

"That's your answer? !" she shrieked.

"Please! I don't know how we got to this from... whatever started this bloody row in the first place..."

And he'd stumped Lavender for a moment too long. She uncrossed her arms and bit her lip... and suddenly, she was laughing.

"I don't know either," she grinned, moving closer to him.

He was dumbfounded. And caught completely off guard as she linked her arms around his neck.

"What the h-" but she kissed him before he could complete his sentence.

As she pulled back again, mere seconds later, she shrugged and sighed in one.

"Just don't go around her, okay? I really don't like her," and she wrinkled her nose before dropping back away from Ron and adjusting her clothing. "Goodnight," she giggled, and she ran off up the stairs towards her side of the dormitories.

Ron blinked after her, absolutely lost.

How... the hell... had he gone from shouting across a room at Lavender, actually wondering if maybe, possibly, he'd have the bollocks to break things off with her at the end of this... to her kissing him goodnight and dashing off up the stairs to... probably tell Parvati what had just happened?

He sat atop the back of the couch now, tilting his head back to relax his tense muscles.

And Hermione? She was most likely tucked in her bed, and what would it do for her to hear tale of this particular row? What would Lavender say? How much would she embellish?

Of course he hadn't agreed to one sodding bit of it. He hadn't! But... but what if by saying nothing, she'd tell it like he had? !

He panicked, suddenly terrified that Hermione would think he could possibly choose Lavender over her.

But then, he realised. He'd already done exactly that, in a passive way. He'd been going out with Lavender, watching as it tore Hermione apart. But it was his right to be with Lavender! He was his own person and could do this! It's what he'd proven when he'd first kissed her. It's why he'd let things happen the way they had, when he'd seen how far behind he truly was...

Groaning, he let gravity pull him down and backwards, falling onto his back atop the cushions of the settee, legs bent over the back as he stared up at the ceiling.

He'd always choose Hermione. If he had to choose now. But no one had ever asked him to choose before. And he'd never thought-

He was suddenly desperate for Lavender to know the truth. But what could he do? This feeling would pass, like it always did. He'd go to bed tonight and see her tomorrow and not be able to find the courage he'd thought he'd possessed when she hadn't even been there for him to direct it towards in the first place. So was it really courage, when he felt like he could do something, like he could really do it, when he didn't have a way to actually do it to begin with?

How much longer could he really do this? How much more until he'd disappear?

5th March 1997

He was feigning sleep, like he always did when she came to see him since his poisoning. He felt guilty for it, but he really just could not bring himself to deal with it, at the moment. He knew what he wanted, but he knew how hard that was going to be to get. He'd gotten in too deep, and wished he could erase his mistakes as easily as a tergeo could fix an essay...

But he'd been having these dreams... They were surreal and full of odd visions, spots of light amidst blurry faces. He wanted to find Hermione, in all the chaos. It was a desire that preceded his fear and confusion, throughout the dreams. And he'd wake and be nearly out of breath. He was sure it was the potions, whatever combination Madame Pomfrey had him on. But it made him that much more resentful of Lavender's presence.

But at last, he felt Lavender moving away from him. She was going to leave.

He opened his eyes. What the hell was he doing? His mind raced as he waited for her to turn around. And he knew, if she did, he'd tell her something profound. Something he should have admitted to several days ago, when she'd first asked him point blank.

She paused, mid-step. And his heart raced as she looked back over her shoulder...

...and met his eyes.

"Ron?" she questioned, puzzled for half a second as she studied him. And then, she smiled, dashing back over to his bed.

"I'd choose Hermione," he blurted, as she took her seat next to his bed again, excitedly.

Her expression morphed from sickening delight to confused anger.

"What do you mean?" and she glared, confused.

"You asked me... You told me I had to choose," he explained, stomach twisting into a knot. "But I can't do that. I can't choose you over her, no matter how much you want me to. Lavender, it isn't fair for you to ask me to never see her again. She's my best friend!"

"What the hell does it matter?" Lavender shouted, shrilly. "You never see her anyway! Oh, or is it just because now that you're ill, she's taking more of an interest?'

"It's not like that!" he cut in, ribs aching as he clamped a fist around his sheets. "It... it doesn't matter if she's hacked off with me. I'd still... still choose her."

Lavender huffed indignantly and stared down at him, disbelieving.

"And it's not just because I nearly died that she's seeing me again," he pressed on, against better judgement. "I was a prat to her, and we were being really selfish and stupid and unfair to each other. We're... working it out."

"Oh my God, Ron," Lavender squealed. "You really think she cares about you?"

"Yes," he admitted, heart warming at the thought. At knowing it to be true.

But, without warning, Lavender burst into a fit of laughter, holding her sides and buckling over.

"That's-" Lavender choked out, between giggles, "that's why... you choose her? ! Because... you're... working it out? !"

"Not at all," he said, flatly. And Lavender's laughter ceased abruptly as she stared, unblinking, down at him.

"Last week, when I asked you..." she began, flatly, "if I'd stayed around and made you answer..."

Terror filled him, but he was going to hold on. He'd come this far...

"...you would have... chosen her?"

"...Yes."

"She... She's awful!" Lavender screamed, jarring Ron's nerves at the sudden volume. "You'd choose a-a bitch like her-"

"Don't you dare call her that!" Ron shouted back, sitting up a little straighter against his stack of pillows.

"I'll call her whatever I like!"

"Not around me, you won't," and Ron paused to take in a much needed breath, face oddly hot all of a sudden. Surely he shouldn't be getting so worked up in his current state. But sod it.

"Fine!" she screeched. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow. And you'd better be awake this time!"

And with a final huff, she lowered herself suddenly over him, kissed him on the mouth and straightened up again, shaking her head.

"You'll come around," she said, "once the potions wear off. Just get better, Won-Won."

And she flipped around, stomping off across the corridor towards the exit.

"Damn it," he breathed, as she flung open the doors and left him to the echoing sound of her footsteps, down the corridor beyond.

Hermione was reading, candlelight reflecting off her eyes as she flicked to the next page. She'd been sitting here for some time, by his bedside, and though the sun had set and the castle was quiet, she remained, some promise in her vigil next to him. He swallowed as he watched her, not even bothering to hide his near constant gaze.

"Lavender was here this afternoon," he said, and Hermione nodded without looking up from her book, though he was sure the tip of her nose had turned slightly more pink all of a sudden. "I pretended to be asleep again, but then right at the last second, I opened my eyes and she looked back at me and... we had a chat."

"Mmm," Hermione said, still focused in on her book.

He didn't know why he was telling her this. What could have possibly possessed him? He could blame the potions, as he'd been doing all day, or he could be honest with himself now...

"I really thought she was going to break it off with me, or that she'd... get the message."

"Do you want her to?" Hermione asked, voice calm and level and eyes still focused on that damn book.

"Yeah," he admitted, and he watched as Hermione's eyes finally stopped darting across her text. But she was really going to pretend to be engrossed enough in her book not to be affected. Ah, how wonderful that he now knew otherwise. And he grinned, ever so slightly, as her breathing grew just that much more rapid.

"Really?" she asked, hardly able to hide the small note of hope that leapt up through such a short word.

"Yeah, definitely."

And then, she looked up at him.

"Why?" she demanded, though her voice was still so calm. He wanted to see her react, to speak what she felt as she so often did. She was giving him less than what he wanted, and he had to wonder if it was all on purpose or if she was simply guarding herself from him still, subconsciously...

"Can't believe what she said," he started, not quite answering Hermione's question. Strategic, yes, because this way, his answer was hidden behind what looked like a subject change. "She asked me to choose between her and you." He scoffed and looked away from Hermione as he felt his face burn. But he simply ignored it and waited, feeling her eyes on his profile.

And finally, in a tiny voice, Hermione spoke, almost as if to herself, clutching her open book now to her own chest.

"She's been... talking about you a lot, in our dormitory," she said "I tried not to listen. I didn't want to get involved. But sometimes, it just really infuriated me, and I'd say things I shouldn't. She really hates me for it, I think. It... it wasn't because I wanted to show her I knew you better! It wasn't, I swear..."

And Ron's eyes flew back to Hermione's, wide and shocked.

"She said something to you about that row, last week? Damn it, I was afraid she might. Whatever she said, it's probably bollocks. Don't believe-"

"She told me you'd both laughed at me, in the common room, for being a know-it-all. And I know you think that about me, Ron. I've known for-"

"No!" he interrupted, sitting all the way up in his bed and leaning in closer to Hermione as she gasped. "I never laughed at you! I defended you when she went on about you to me."

"Ron, you shouldn't be-"

But he cut in over her again. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to be sitting up in his bed like this so soon after his near-death... He had much more important things to deal with right now.

"I know I've said that to you before. I know I've been a gigantic prat to you in the past. But Hermione, you know I think you're brilliant... don't you?"

She bit her lip as she watched him, clearly unable to speak.

"Please, just say you know that."

A long moment passed between them. And finally, she nodded, blinking back tears.

"Hermione..." and he watched as she squinted, lines carving deep along her forehead and over her nose as she tried not to cry.

He swallowed and moved closer still. Only an inch, but what felt like a mile.

"I chose you," he nearly whispered. "I told her I always would. I would have even when you weren't speaking to me, you know."

She breathed in through her parted lips, staring back into his eyes as her book fell back onto her lap from her chest. He'd never looked at her this closely before, never held her gaze for this long...

"You didn't..." she almost laughed, and he thought he might actually be able to hear the pounding her her heart.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head and actually laughing back, "I did. Mental."

She smiled then, so beautifully, resting a hand softly against his bedsheets, very close to him. And he ducked his head shyly to brush his fringe back with his right hand. He looked up once more to see that her eyes were still watering. But reality rang out as tears finally slipped down her face. He still had a bloody girlfriend. And he had a lot of work to do to clean this up.

"I know it's sort of immature," he began, and she grinned wider still at the mere beginning of his statement. And so, pausing mid-thought, he raised his eyebrows and swatted her arm away from his bed. "But," he pressed onward, and she giggled between his words, "I'm going to play dead for a while longer when she comes to see me. I don't know what else to say to her now. How the hell did me telling her I had your back before hers not make her run away? I don't understand her."

Hermione sighed deeply and sat back in her chair.

"If you really want to cut things off with her, you've got to figure it out for yourself," she said, lifting an eyebrow. "It's odd, yes, for her not to... catch a hint..."

Ron nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But Ron, decide what you really want and... just spell it out."

"I know what I really want," he said, before he could stop himself. He blushed in time with Hermione and they looked away from each other as he settled back into his bed, properly and against his pillows.

But before either of them could say another word or spend another awkwardly fantastic moment next to each other, skimming around the edge of new territory, Madame Pomfrey bustled in from her office and frowned sternly in Hermione's direction.

"Visiting hours are over, Ms. Granger," she said as she approached Ron's bed.

"Oh!" Hermione said, flustered as she bent to collect her things.

Ron watched her as Madame Pomfrey prepared his potions, disappointed in so many horrible failures when it came to conversation timing... It seemed a running theme now with him and Hermione, bad timing...

"Listen," he said, against his better judgement, as Hermione stood with her full book bag to look down at him, "I really am working this out. And I know, you're right. This is up to me. Can we just... go back to being friends while I... you know...?"

"You know?" she goaded, waiting for clarification. And he grinned up at her as Madame Pomfrey waited with his prepared potion in her hand, tapping her foot with impatience.

"You do know," he replied, and she grinned broadly as he locked eyes with her, sending her as many wordless confirmations as he could muster.

"Mr. Weasley," Madame Pomfrey huffed, waving the potion in front of his nose.

"Yeah, okay," he sighed, and Hermione laughed as she backed away from his bed. Ron opened his mouth, swallowed his potion, and gagged slightly. "Bloody disgusting," he grumbled, and Madame Pomfrey tsked at him as she cleaned up her potion bottles.

"Goodnight, Ron," Hermione mouthed, as he turned to look up at her, one last time.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered back. And she lingered for as long as she could, shuffling away from him until she'd slipped into a shadow between two splashes of lantern light. And at last, she turned away from him, shrinking out of sight towards the infirmary doors.

He felt lighter than he had in a very long time, as Madame Pomfrey bid him goodnight and closed the curtains around his bed. So much had been lifted from him through words he should have spoken so very long ago... and so many words he hadn't spoken, even now, but that he'd watched her understand.

He could see the other side of the rough patch. He could see, close by, an unlocked and open door, and all he had to do was walk through it. His skin tingled and things were actually possible now.

And it had nothing to do with his potions. Absolutely nothing.