Author's note: I was thinking about how often we saw evidence of Ron's insecurities throughout the series. While Hermione's were noted and implied at times, one of Ron's main characteristics that was really highlighted was his insecurity and self doubt. While I get why this was necessary, I feel like it makes a lot of people think badly of Ron and that Hermione is too good for him. I wanted to highlight some of her insecurities here, so I thought up some things that the locket might have been saying to her. I think that her insecurities in no way make her not good enough for Ron, just like his don't make him not good enough for her. Once again, I feel like I had to add some sexual tension in this, because there is no way there wouldn't have been some, as they were two 17-year-olds who were very attracted to each other and were confined to a tent.
Hermione darted through the tent flap after her watch, desperate to take a hot shower, throw herself down on her cot, and maybe sleep until this whole war was over. She felt Ron's eyes on her and turned, looking at him shrewdly from where he lay on the floor, messing about with the radio. His cheeks colored and he quickly looked away. He had been doing that a lot lately. Staring at her when he thought she didn't know; ogling her breasts, or scanning her side profile at she stood on a chair and stretched to get something off the top shelf. Admittedly, sometimes she would feed into it a bit, leaning over slightly and pushing her breasts together for just a second too long as they sat across from each other playing chess, acting as though she were deep in thought and contemplating her next move. She may have on occasion bent over more than she needed to when reaching for a spice on the top shelf, shaking her arse a bit too much, acting as though she was blindly groping for it when she knew exactly where it was.
She wasn't doing anything wrong by teasing Ron a bit, right? After all, she had come to the conclusion that she had perfectly natural sexual feelings towards him, and a bit of flirting here and there was a perfectly normal thing for a 17-year-old girl to do with a boy she was sexually attracted to. How was it fair that she was out here, freezing and starving half to death, having never gotten the chance to really whimsically flirt with a boy? To experience young love and have school ground trysts out by the lake and in the secluded corridors of Hogwarts? Fleetingly, Hermione wondered had they not been forced to go on this journey whether or not she and Ron would have gotten to do that in their 7th year.
She could picture it; had pictured it many times in fact. She and Ron holding hands as they walked down the hallway to dinner, amicably chatting with Harry. The first cold hogsmeade weekend where they would walk through the streets, she would shiver, and Ron would lovingly place an arm around her shoulders and hold her close to keep her warm. The two of them curled up on the couch in the common room afterwards, her reading a book and him challenging Harry to a game of chess. Ron sneaking up behind her in the halls between classes, wrapping his arms around her and twirling her around as she giggled and screamed. A beautiful spring day down by the lake, where they would have taken a blanket and laid out together, kissing and cuddling. And maybe, just maybe, they would have fallen so in love with each other by then that she would have felt like it was the right time to fully give into their desire for one another. They could have gone to her private room that she had as head girl and made love, and Ron would be so romantic, whispering in her ear about how much he loved her. Then the next day it wouldn't be awkward, it would feel so right, and they could walk around the school sharing this special thing that only the two of them knew about and did together.
She sighed and slammed the door of the loo shut, proceeding to strip off her clothes. Once she was naked, she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and really examined her reflection for the first time in months. She gasped. Her face was gaunt and pale, her hair sparse. Her body, which had lacked curves to begin with, now looked bone-thin, almost resembling a little girl's. Her hip bones jutted out in an unseemly manner, and she could see all of her ribs. Her breasts, which she hadn't thought too highly of to begin with, had shrunk down to look almost flat, just tiny little bumps on her chest. And right between them, she had just realized with a pang of discomfort, swung the locket. She sank down onto the floor and curled her knees up to her chest, unable to look at herself anymore.
Look at yourself, as if being a mudblood trying to be with a pureblood wasn't bad enough, now you don't even have the body to seduce him. How could he desire a skinny piece of filth like you?
Men don't desire women who look like you. You really thought that he would want to fuck you? You really thought he would want to be anywhere near a woman like you, who can't cook and who would give him children that would be tainted with your dirty blood? Why would he want to fuck you when he could go back to Lavender? With her pretty hair that didn't look like a mess and her curvaceous figure. Lavender didn't nag and bitch at him all the time, and because of that, he was never mean to her like he was to you.
You were kidding yourself when you thought he was looking at you. So vain, so self involved, mudblood. He doesn't care for you, doesn't desire you in that way. Any other girl could fill your place, be his whore, and he wouldn't care. He would have the same reaction. It's just because he's a man and you're the only woman here to look at.
So leave. Go live out your days in seclusion so know one will ever have to look at you. Or better yet, kill yourself. You don't belong here, with them, or with anyone. You're a mudblood. You don't belong with filthy muggles or with real witches and wizards. Always alone. Always never fitting in because you don't. You're useless, pathetic.
The voices in her head viciously degraded her until she couldn't take it anymore. Screaming, Hermione ripped the necklace from her throat and threw it against the wall. She took deep breaths to try and calm herself down and stop the cascade of tears that had begun to fall from her eyes.
"Hermione! What happened? Are you alright?" Suddenly, Ron was there, banging on the door.
She took a few seconds to compose herself a bit more.
"Hermione, if you don't answer me in the next three seconds I'm breaking down the door and coming in there," Ron shouted, sounding on the verge of hysterics.
"No!" She choked out. "No, Ron, I'm fine," she said in what she hoped was a more convincing voice.
"Are you sure? You screamed, and I know you're wearing the locket. Did it do anything to you? Are you sure you don't want me to come in?" Ron sounded calmer, but still concerned.
For a second, her mind jumped to a fantasy of her unlocking the door and telling him to come in. Maybe he would see her and in a moment of weakness decide that she was at least attractive enough for a pity shag on the loo floor. She quickly dismissed the thought. When had she become the type of girl who fantasised about losing her virginity to a guy giving her a pity shag on the floor? Even if the guy was Ron. Now that the locket had been off for a minute or so, she was starting to see things more clearly. The level headed Hermione emerged.
"Yes, Ron. I'm quite alright. Thank you for your concern."
"Okay then. If you need anything just give me a shout. I can help you with anything you need in there. I mean, not in the shower. I mean, if you wanted help in the shower I wouldn't hesitate to help you. Not that I'm expecting you to ask me in there. I just want you to know that you can ask me for help with anything." Ron's voice got higher and more flustered as he spoke.
She giggled. "Thanks Ron, I'll keep that in mind." Maybe he was attracted to her after all. Without the locket clouding her thoughts, she could remember all of the little things that had happened in the past few months to make her start thinking that maybe he felt the same way as her. The staring at her breasts, the comforting her when she was sad with just a little too much body contact, the hand holding. All signs pointed to it, but she could never be sure. This was one of the few areas that she didn't have much expertise in. She knew very little about how to tell if a boy liked you, or the right time to act on attraction.
As she stepped into the shower, letting the hot water hit her back, she tried to relax and let her mind go to a happy place. Maybe she would even play out one of her fantasies in her head. It had been a long time since she had given into her hormones and let herself relieve some of her tension. Maybe, in her head, Ron could be here in the shower too, bringing her to release with his fingers, or -she blushed, but made herself think it- his hard cock. She giggled again, and made a mental note to see if she could figure out a way to alter one of the Patented Daydream Charms she had nicked from Fred and George before they left and stolen away at the bottom of her beaded bag.
Hopefully, she would be able to get all of the horrible thoughts that Voldemort had been drilling into her head all day out before bed. She didn't want to be up all night thinking them again.