a/n: This was originally written for MNFF's monthly challenge of using choice or betrayal as a theme, but I missed the deadline, so why waste the story? Enjoy!

I'm just gonna make a small warning here. I've been told this is really sad, and when I re-read it, I agreed with tears in my eyes.

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The dust settled as the winds began to die down. Ron’s heart raced as he peered nervously through the clouds of sand billowing around him. Bodies were strewn across the ground, only a few remained standing now, but he was only looking for one.

“Hermione?” he called out with fear, “Hermione, where are you?”

There was no answer as he stared hopefully at the blank faces nearest to him and his heart began to beat even faster. He couldn’t bare the thought of losing her. Not just losing her, losing her before he had the chance to tell her how he felt.

“Hermione?” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran.

He didn’t know where he was running; he just knew he had to move, he had to find her. Ron ran without direction, his feet beating their own path, and he followed. It was as though something was pulling him on this unknown course.

They hadn’t been looking for war, but the war found them. The people that were seemingly unharmed, were on their knees aiding those that hadn’t been so lucky. Ron’s feet guided him through the mass of bodies and fear continued to course through his veins.

He looked around searchingly, until he saw it. Of all the people who were left standing, those who were now facilitating the rescue of the unfortunate, only one silhouette was still and motionless. As he neared the immobile shadow, a faint line of curly hair sharpened into focus.

He willed his body to move faster and his heart skipped a beat. He knew it had to be her. The closer he got, the more he wondered why she wasn’t helping the fallen as so many others were. The figure in his midst finally came into view and reality set in.

Her eyes were glazed and she looked as though she had been petrified.

“Hermione!” he cried out.

She was only a few steps away now, and it would be seconds before she was in his arms. His eyes fell on her lips as they slowly parted, “Rrro-...”

Before she could finish, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell. He screamed her name as he watched her hit the ground with a muffled thud, not being able to reach her in time. He ran to her, tears falling freely from his eyes, as he lifted her from the ground into his arms.

He didn’t know what to do. He rocked her gently in his arms, and wiped the stray tresses from her soft face. She was always the one that knew what to do at a time like this, and this time she was the one in need.

“Hermione,” he pleaded, “what do I do? How can I help you?”

She didn’t open her eyes and he cried harder. As all hope began to leave him, and thoughts of her flashed through his mind, he thought he heard something. He focused on the sound, a voice only he could hear. You know what to do Ron, you’ve always known. Just listen to your heart.

Subconsciously he knew it was her, not the Hermione in his arms, but the one he held onto so tightly in his mind. Knowing she was there with him, if only a figment of his imagination, gave him hope. He wouldn’t let her down- in body, or in spirit. Listening to his heart, Ron forced his eyes shut. He tightened his grip around Hermione and Apparated to St. Mungo’s.

The wizarding hospital was busier than usual and every available inch of space was being used. People were scattered everywhere and the healers were rushing in a hundred directions at once. Ron spun around wildly, still carrying her in his arms. He looked desperately around him for help, lost in a sea of empty faces.

“Somebody...” he said with an exasperated whisper, “help...”

Just then, a tall, stocky Healer bumped into him. As the Healer turned to mutter a quick apology, his eyes fell upon the limp woman in Ron’s arms. He yelled to the others as he motioned Ron to a less crowded area. “We’ve got another,” quickly adding, “and she’s the worst so far.”

The Healer looked in several rooms for a place to examine Hermione. Opening door after door, the healer searched endlessly. On his fifth inspection, he grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled his into the surprisingly empty room. Ron hesitantly laid her unresponsive body on the single bed and was roughly pushed aside by many Healers rushing in the room.

Many of the Healers shouted out questions he couldn’t answer, like “Did you see what happened?” and “Who did this?” and “Where?” He slumped against the wall behind him, realizing that he couldn’t help them. A small, stout Healer noticed his dejected face and took him aside into the hall.

“We’ll do everything we can for her,” she said sympathetically.

He looked down the long hall to the several people that were spread across the many areas of St. Mungo’s. The small Healer seemed to understand his thoughts and she carefully touched him forearm.

“Most were lucky. We expected more.”

He looked into her eyes, and then abruptly to the floor, as his own eyes filled with tears. She leaned back to look in on Hermione’s condition, and then back to the red-haired man hunched in front of her.

“I’ll be honest with you, because you deserve that,” she said reassuringly, “If she truly is like the other cases, we won’t know what’s wrong for a while, but as soon as she is stable, you can go in and be with her.”

Ron looked back up with a questioning glance.

“We don’t think it’s life threatening,” she added before heading back in the room to help the other healers.

He stooped over again, and as the time passed, he found himself sitting on the floor, head hung low. He didn’t know the circumstances of anyone he knew and loved, and as much as he worried, he couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her side. He had to tell her how he felt, before it was too late, if it wasn’t already.

As the hours passed, more and more Healers began to leave her room to help the other victims. Realizing he still had not seen the short, stout woman who had spoken to him, he looked around perplexed. As he braced himself to stand, she emerged from the room.

“You can go in now, she’s stable.”

He followed her into the small room, and he sat in a chair she had placed beside Hermione’s bed.

“We still don’t know what’s wrong, but we’re hopeful this is the worst of it,” she stated, placing her hand on his shoulder for comfort.

Before turning, the Healer patted his shoulder lightly with sadness and understanding, and then left the room. When Ron heard the door click closed, he slowly and uncertainly, shifted his hand towards hers. He grasped her hand lightly in his and began to sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said through stiff sobs.

He rested his head on the bed as pain and heartache flowed through his body. He reminded himself continually of why he had stayed at her side through the night. Squeezing her hand, he raised his head and looked at her peaceful features.

“The choice was mine to make, and I didn’t make it,” he began, struggling to find the right words. “I betrayed my love for you, I neglected my feelings...” he trailed off briefly, taking a deep breath, “and...I failed miserably at making you mine.”

His tears fell hard on the sheets she was laying upon. He fought hard to say the most precious words of all, the words he had waited what seemed like a lifetime to say. Reaching for all the strength he could find in his heart, he took a deep breath, and continued.

“I love you Hermione,” he said, “I always have. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

He let out a loud sigh as he felt a huge weight lift from his chest. The choice was mine, he said to himself, and I finally made it. I just hope it wasn’t too late. He heard a knock at the door, and sniffing back his tears, he sat back in his chair.

Quiet footsteps approached, and he again felt a hand on his shoulder, but this time it was heavier. He looked above him into emerald green eyes behind a face of grime and filth. Harry nodded with a small smirk and Ron stood, embracing his friend.

“We’re all okay,” Harry said with a raspy voice that sounded worn out from yelling various spells. “The threat is over.”

Harry looked over to the bed and saw the tear-stained sheets. He looked back to his friend who still taking it all in. Another weight had been lifted from his mind, and he no longer felt guilty devoting himself to his true love.

“All that’s left is picking up the pieces...” Harry whispered to his friend, looking between Ron and Hermione.

Ron sat dropped back down into the chair, and again grasped Hermione’s limp hand. “I told her,” he stated aloud, his eyes not leaving her strewn tresses.

Harry patted his friend's back gently, and turned to leave the room. He placed his hand on the door, and turned back to say one last thing.

“She knows you’re with her Ron,” he said sympathetically and added, “I’ll tell everyone you’re okay, and we’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Ron nodded, and with that, Harry opened the door and left the room. The door clicked shut and the room was again silent. He listened to her relaxed breaths as his mind lingered on Harry’s words.

“Hermione,” he began softly, “If you do know I’m here, please know I’ll never leave your side. I’ll never betray my love for you ever again.”

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a/n: I know this is a sad ending. I just keep telling myself she can hear him. I am debating on writing a second chapter (from Hermione’s point of view only), but it’s just an idea.

Thanks so much to my amazing beta, chances. You are the best!