He tries to talk to her, once.

"Her – Hermione?"

He stammers and his voice cracks and he's already messed everything up.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't even acknowledge his presence. Her silence wrenches something in his chest that twists it around and it hurts.

"Look, I'm… I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have… And maybe… maybe you don't want me here, but – but Harry needs me. I get that now. I was stupid before, I was reckless, I…" Ron clears his throat; there is no word bad enough to describe him. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

He stands there, shivering in the cold wind, part of him wanting to smother himself beneath the warm covers and part of him willing to stand there and wait for her reply until he freezes solid.

But none comes. Hermione's still as a statue.

Ron's almost back inside when –

"You left."

It's true, and it's quivering, and he wishes it wasn't.

"But I came back, Hermione," he says, turning back around to her. "I came back."

And she has to hear the mutter, because she doesn't say anything: "For you."

She looks at him, once.

They're exchanging watches after hours and it's just starting to get dark. He must be exhausted, really, she thinks; but their eyes meet for the first time in weeks and where she expects to see resentment, impatience with her resolute indifference, there is only guilt, a plea for forgiveness, and acceptance.

This is not the same boy who left. This is a man.

They've been separated for less than an hour when Hermione panics.

It's the middle of the night after trying to get to sleep on their own when she dashes up the stairs to the boys' dorm, and Ron's already halfway across the room to find her, and they run straight into each other in the darkness.

"You didn't come back," she whispers. "We didn't know if –"

"Shh," says Ron, stroking her hair as he guides her back to his bed (he's not sure how hard it'll be to break the habit of sleeping in the same room). "It's okay. It was just a dream."

Only it's not okay, it's not, and his brother's empty eyes are as real as Hermione's tears.

He wakes up again, later that night, falls out of bed from under her with his head on the floor by his knees and just tries to breathe. He can too-easily imagine the fire from the Room of Requirement wrapping around his wrists like blazing chains, curling along his arms and binding him, taking him and his ash-filled lungs prisoner…

No, no, it's just Hermione's hands, grasping for him, her lifeline, not realizing how she's making his burns sting.

"You came back, right?" she's whimpering, because for once she doesn't know. "You came back?" like a child asking the end to a fairy tale.

"Yeah," Ron pants, climbing back next to her. "I came back. I'll always come back, Hermione. I'll never leave again. I promise."

Hermione draws a great breath that shudders as much as her body does. "Good," she says into his chest. "I like it better when you come back."

::

A/N: a short series of drabbles that I wrote at midnight last night and decided to post and see what y'all thought of it. none of them are really connected, except that the last two occur one right after the other.

reviews are always appreciated, especially when favoriting. :)

~whispered touches

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.