Author's Note: I know I shouldn't be starting anything else, but I just watched the Deathly Hallows trailer (how amazing was that!) and I couldn't help it! Plus, I've hit a bit of a block in the middle of chapter 32, so I wanted to take a bit of a break.

I've actually wanted to do story like this for a while. It'll be a bunch of "missing moments" between Ron and Hermione while they were at Shell Cottage. I always thought that there were so many hints J.K. Rowling wrote that an avid Ron and Hermione fan could build off of

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Chapter One: Safe

Ron's feet hit the ground hard as he twisted out of Disapparation, his knees buckling under the force of it. Swaying dangerously, he felt his legs collapse and he fell, with a wince, to the sandy gravel beneath him. He grimaced, cursing under his breath. But he did not care about the pain. It was not real to him. The only two things in the world that mattered to him were the glittering lights swimming above him, which meant that he had reached his destination, and the girl in his arms.

When he had fallen, he had taken Hermione with him, so that she was now lying across his lap, her hair trailing behind her onto the ground. At any other time, this situation would have been cause for blushing and saying "I'm sorry," to one another until they didn't have enough breath. Now, everything was different. Her white face, so devoid of color, stood out in the darkness, her eyes closed. She looked peaceful, which scared Ron. She looked…he didn't say it. He couldn't even think it. To even consider the word made the possibility seem…possible. He lowered his ear to her chest. He heard – however faintly – a very, very soft beat. So she wasn't…but he still could not say it, could let the words flash across his mind. Because even though she was alive, she had been so close.

Ron held her close in his arms as he stood up, the side of her face pressing against his sweater. She felt impossibly light as he held her, like the shell of a person. He held her closer to his body, as if this could somehow help her. As if he could press some of his strength into her.

The night was silent, but Ron heard screams. He heard her screams. Over and over in his head, playing on some terrible, nightmare-ish loop. He could hear in his mind her long, high-pitched cries as that woman – another thing Ron refused to say – tortured her. He looked down at Hermione, whose face was just as pale and free of emotion as it had been before. He felt a pressure build up behind his eyes, but he refused to cry. What right did he have, crying? How could he cry when she had been tortured, and he had just stood there, locked up, unhelpful? He wanted to be sick.

He struggled to stay standing, though he cared even more that Hermione was still securely in his arms. The world spun in front of him, the cliff spiraling around him. And all at once, Ron realized how small the world was. How unsafe they were. He looked down again, and felt another urge to cry out, to relieve some of what he was feeling. But he didn't. He couldn't.

Someone was calling his name. He registered this very slowly, as if the voice was coming out of reality, and he was beginning to wake up from a dream. He looked around, blinking into the darkness. Bill was running toward him, his scarred face set and white. Behind him, dark shapes moved behind the illuminated windows. Ron made no movement toward his brother, but stood their dazedly, Hermione still limp in his arms.

"Ron!" He heard Bill shout, his brother's eyes wide in shock as they traveled from Ron to Hermione and back again. "Ron what happened?" he asked, pleading for information.

Ron stood there unhelpfully, Hermione's face pressed against his sweater. He wondered if he could talk. His throat felt raw from screaming. From calling for her. "She's hurt," he managed to get out. "I need to help her," he said, wondering if he was making any sense at all, if Bill understood.

But Bill, thankfully, seemed to accept this. He nodded firmly then put a hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron did not know if this was for support physically or mentally, but he did not mind that it was there. "Fleur can help her," Bill said in a low voice.

Ron felt as if he had swallowed something very large; his throat felt tight so that he could not speak. He nodded instead, and began to walk up to the house, Bill right beside him.

Fleur met them in the doorway, her blue eyes round with shock. Wordlessly, she pushed the door open to let the three of them enter. Distantly, Ron noticed that Dean and Luna were sitting in the kitchen, both holding steaming mugs of something and clutching at quilts that had been draped around their shoulders.

"Set 'er down 'ere," Fleur said, her voice trembling as she tossed pillows off of the sofa. Ron stood in the doorway, still holding Hermione in his arms. She had not stirred yet.

"No," he said, his voice stronger than it had been since he had landed at Shell Cottage.

Bill gave him a strange look and took a step closer to Ron. "Come on, Ron," he said, his voice quiet and light. "Fleur can help her, but she needs to see her," he said, with that same forced calm voice.

Ron shook his head. All he knew was that the last time he had let go of her, the last time he had let the two of them part, she had been hurt. He wasn't going to let that happen again. He was not going to let them take her from him.

"No," he said again, his voice louder this time. He was shouting, though he did not know why, exactly. "I can't…I can't let her g-go," he said, and his voice was shaking once more. "N-not again," he added, looking at his brother.

Bill held such sadness, such realization in his eyes that Ron was taken aback. He did not think that anyone would understand. Instead, his brother nodded, and he put an arm around Ron's shoulders.

"You don't have to, Ron. But please, she needs help. You don't have to let her go," he said, his voice deep and comforting.

It seemed to take all of his strength, all of the emotional courage he had left, to place her gently on the sofa. She lay there, unmoving, on the cushions, her curtains of hair falling into her face so that it was completely obstructed. Lowering himself to his knees, Ron knelt by her head, and gently brushed her hair away. Then, he took her hands in his and nodded at Fleur who began to bustle around Hermione.

He watched his brother's wife care to Hermione as though he was looking at her through a misty glass. He wondered how he could have ever fancied her, for now all he could see was how different Fleur was from the girl she was caring for. The entire time Fleur worked, Ron held Hermione's hands in his, the warmth of his own slowly spreading to hers.

When Fleur had finished, she stood back, perhaps to give Ron privacy, though he did not know what for. Hermione looked slightly better; her cuts had been healed and there was a very, very dull pink in her cheeks. Ron thought it might have been the most beautiful color in the world. He tilted his head to look up at Fleur, for she was standing and he was still kneeling. With a jolt of embarrassment, he realized that his eyes were wet.

"Thank you," he said in a hoarse whisper. Something flickered behind Fleur's face, but she said nothing. Perhaps she – like Ron had been – could not bring herself to speak. Instead, she patted Ron on the shoulder rather clumsily before rushing off to take care of the others.

Many things happened around Ron, though he did not know what they were, nor, curiously, did he care. He knew that Harry was back, and he knew that someone was hurt. He knew that Harry had not yet come inside. He knew that Ollivander was going to be alright, and that Fleur was in the kitchen, making something for Luna, who had not eaten in a very long time. But these things did not matter to him. All that he cared about was waiting for Hermione's eyes to finally open, for that final reassurance that she was okay. He had sworn to himself that he would not move, even though his knees grew sore as he knelt on the wood floor and his nose itched, though he could not scratch it because his hands were holding Hermione's.

Finally, after what seemed like days – though according to his watch had only been ten minutes – Hermione began to stir. He watched as her forehead wrinkled in concern and her eyelids flickered. He leaned closer to her, his breath caught in his chest, waiting. Her eyes finally opened, and Ron truly appreciated how lovely they were for the first time in his life.

She sat bolt upright, the blanket Fleur had placed over her falling to the ground. She looked around the small cottage, her eyes wide as they traveled around the unfamiliar room. And then she opened her mouth and screamed, the sound of it reverberating around the tiny sitting room. She let go of Ron's hands and began thrashing around, her hands drawn into fists, tears running down her cheeks. It occurred to Ron that she did not know where she was; she thought she was still at Malfoy Manor.

Ron jumped to his feet and tried to collect her hands, to calm her. One of her fists connected with his arm, making him gasp in pain, though he did not give it another thought. She was still screaming, her eyes wide with fear, her sobs mixed in with her shouts.

"Hermione!" he cried, trying to drown out her terrible sounds that had still been caught in his head. "Hermione, it's me! It's me!" he said over and over again as she tried to fight against invisible attackers.

He finally managed to grab hold of her shoulders, and at his touch, she stopped screaming. There was a moment, a space in between two heartbeats, where they said nothing. Ron had lowered himself onto the sofa and they sat, inches apart, staring at each other. And then, before he could think about what he was doing, Ron let go of Hermione's shoulders and held her face in his hands instead. He could feel her shaking with fear. And then, he brought her close to him, tucking her head under his chin and holding her. She fit perfectly. He felt her body shaking with sobs now, and the front of his shirt grew wet. He put his arms around her waist, rocking her back and forth as she cried. She could feel her arms around him too as they sat together.

He knew Bill and Fleur had rushed in at the sound of her screaming, though he knew that they were gone now. There was something inherently private and solitary about the two of them as they sat on the sofa, Hermione quietly crying into his shirt. This was not simply an arm around her shoulder; a halfhearted attempt to cheer her up. This was something different. It felt whole and real, it was deep and powerful. He held her tenderly in his arms, aware that he was holding all that he ever needed.

When her tears stopped, Hermione pulled away from Ron so that they were sitting facing each other on the sofa again. Her eyes were glassy from crying, her nose was pink, and her hair haloed around her. Ron thought she looked beautiful. He watched wordlessly as she hid her face from him, embarrassed, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.

He was suddenly overcome by her modesty, this embarrassment. And, although his brain was screaming for him not to do what he was about to do, he leaned over and wiped the rest of the tears from her face. Hermione watched him, her lips parted in surprise.

A familiar sense of awkwardness spread between them now after he had dried her face. The act in itself had been so unusual, so unlike them. Ron didn't know what to say next. He wasn't sure if he should run from the room, and hope that Hermione thought she had imagined what he had just done.

He watched her as her eyes traveled around the room once more; though this time they held curiosity, not fear. And he knew, before she opened her mouth to speak, what to say.

"It's Bill and Fleur's place. I brought you here because it's where I went last time," he told her, and she nodded to show that she understood.

"Oh," she said softly, the unsaid conversations weighing heavily between the two of them, for their actions had not yet caught up to their words.

Ron looked down and saw that her hand was barely an inch from his. Thinking that they had already traveled so far in one night, he leaned over and took it in his. She looked down, surprised by his touch.

"We're okay," he told her, as her eyes filled with tears again. "We're okay here. We're safe."

…

Author's Note: Next up will be Dobby's funeral, I think. But then I plan on something a little fluffier after that, because I don't like doing two dark chapters in a row. Please review if you can!