A/N: This kind of follows on from my story In and Out, which is why I've published it separately from my Romione collection. This can still be a standalone one-shot, but it's in a similar style to In and Out, and if you'd like to read about Hermione's thoughts and feelings immediately after her torture, feel free to check that out. I obviously won't complain. ;)

Just a quick note that I've decided to adopt Hermione's Mudblood scar from movie!canon because, in a weird, sadistic sort of way, I kind of loved it. So apologies for that to all the purists out there. :D Written for Camp Potter for the Fireworks Show category. Sorry for the super-long A/N!

They're alone together, sitting at Bill's kitchen table. Everybody else has finished breakfast and left the room, but Hermione has a full and untouched plate of food in front of her, and Ron doesn't want to leave her by herself.

He's worried about her. She was so shaken yesterday, and she hasn't said more than a couple of sentences to him since then. He keeps catching her staring into space for long periods of time, and when he asks her if she's okay, all he gets is a short "Fine. Sorry." She's obviously not fine. Maybe it's a stupid question, considering she was tortured less than twenty-four hours ago, but he wishes she would be more open with him. Really, he just wishes he could do something.

"You should really eat something, you know," he says, unable to stop himself for any longer.

Hermione looks up abruptly; she'd apparently been miles away. She picks up her fork, half-heartedly pushes a piece of bacon around her plate a couple of times, then puts it down again. "I'm fine. I'm not hungry," she says, and Ron is anxious by how frail her voice sounds.

"But Hermione!" he protests. "It'll be good for you. You've had no proper nutrition in months."

All he receives at that is a glare, and Ron wants to kick himself; he didn't intend it to sound like a criticism of Hermione's cooking, but it certainly came out that way. It isn't her fault that there wasn't enough to eat while they were in the tent. But as far as she knows, he thinks it is. She's still angry with him for leaving - he knows it - but he doesn't think she's in the right state of mind to discuss anything like that, so he stays quiet for a while longer.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it. M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D, the word that she'll never now be able to escape, sliced into her arm, fresh blood oozing from the edges. And he can't help but blame himself for it. Maybe he could have said something to the Snatchers to throw them off, could have done something clever to hide the sword, found a way to get out of that dungeon and stop Bellatrix himself... that woman. Something burns inside him when he thinks of her, and he knows that if he ever gets the chance, he'll be the one to kill her.

The door opens, and Hermione almost jumps a mile. It's just Fleur, and she gives Hermione a look that's both worried and apologetic.

"Just putting on ze kettle," she says hurriedly, filling it with water and tapping it with her wand to switch it on before leaving the room.

Ron glances at Hermione's face; once the shock has subsided, it's emotionless. He sighs, deciding there's no point in continuing to try and persuade her to eat something, so he gets up and takes her plate from in front of her, scraping the leftover food into the bin (eating it might be insensitive) and adding the plate to the pile that is waiting to be washed. "You don't have to pretend you're okay, you know, Hermione," he tells her as he does this.

"What?"

He sits back down, pleasantly surprised that his words have elicited a reaction from her. "Hermione, you were tortured yesterday." She flinches, and Ron realises that this is probably the first time she's heard the word in reference to what happened. "There's no need to keep saying you're fine. I'm not fine, and it's not even me that it happened to."

She doesn't speak straight away, and he doesn't try to push her. "Okay, I suppose I'm not fine," she says eventually, looking at the floor. "But I will be."

"But you don't have to be right away," he urges her. "I thought you were going to die for a minute there, and I'm sure you probably did too." He has to try and stop himself from looking at her accusingly.

Looking more vulnerable than Ron has ever seen her, Hermione nods. "Yes, I did," she admits. "And it scared me. But I didn't, and it's in the past now."

"I just wish I could have done something," Ron says, putting his head in his hands hopelessly.

"Like what?" Hermione demands, and he isn't sure if he's just hallucinating, but he thinks he might have seen the ghost of a smile on her face for the briefest of seconds.

He shrugs. "I dunno. I could have said something to the Snatchers, or—"

"There's nothing you could have done, Ron," she interrupts, almost soothingly.

For the first time since before he ran away from them, she's looking right into his eyes, and he's looking right back at hers. Even though they're several feet away from each other, there's something incredibly intimate about it. Half of him wants to drag his eyes away from her gaze, before things get too weird. But the other half just can't get enough of it.

It's times like this that Ron wishes he was better with words. He finally looks away. "I know. It was just hard, being down there, listening to you scream, while... that was happening to you. I just felt so useless. There can't be a lot of things worse than hearing the girl you lo—"

No. He can't say it. Her head snaps up, and he knows that she knows exactly what he was about to say, but after all this time, he can't go through with it. He's not sure when he realised it, but he's loved Hermione for as long as he can remember, and if he says it, there's no going back. Things will change between them, whether she feels the same or not, and right now, he needs to be here for his friend. It's not the right time. (But maybe he's a coward. He's been putting it off for so long; maybe he'll never find a right time.)

He takes a deep breath. "I... I'm just glad you're going to be alright," he says lamely.

Hermione smiles weakly, and there's an emotion that Ron isn't sure he can identify in her face - relief? "Thanks. And I'm... glad you came back."

It may seem like a small concession, but Ron's heart soars. Hermione's forgiveness is something that he wasn't sure he'd ever get, and the guilt has barely stopped flooding through him ever since the night he left.

Fleur chooses that moment to re-enter the kitchen, and Ron catches Hermione looking regretfully at the pile of empty plates.

"Fleur? Do you have anything else for Hermione to eat?" Ron asks suddenly, without even making the conscious decision to. "She didn't feel like bacon."

"But of course!" she says, bustling enthusiastically over to the cupboard on the other side of the room. "You should 'ave asked! Moi, I 'ave never liked zese fatty Eenglish breakfasts zat Bill is so keen on. What would you like?"

Hermione looks at Ron gratefully, to his relief. "Er... toast would be good, if you have any."

Ron grins across the table at her, and she beams right back. They're in the middle of one of the biggest wars that Wizardkind has ever known, but right here and now, listening to the rhythm of the waves and basking in Hermione's forgiveness, Ron Weasley has never felt more at peace.