Summary: "Right atrium, right ventricle, lungs, left atrium, left ventricle. And he hears it, hears the most blessed thing in the world: her heartbeat." RH, missing moment from Shell Cottage mixed with glimpses into their future life. An angsty, happy one-shot.

Disclaimer : I wish I owned Harry Potter. Sadly, my wand seems to not be working right now, so I resort to this. :)

AN (1) : Recommended listening : "Hazy" by Rosi Golan. (This song is the basic inspiration for this fic :D)

AN (2) : So, my little sis directed me to the absolutely beautiful song above, and she's a humongous HP fan, too, so this little one-shot is dedicated to her :). Some small notes... Shell Cottage flashback-type moments are in italics, and the future fic part starts about 2 years after the end of the war, I imagine. Also, the torture is combined book-movie.

Anyways, please review... they make my day! And keep the writing coming... Thanks :)

Hazy

"You stay safe, You love. You survive. You laugh and cry and struggle and sometimes you fail and sometimes you succeed. You Push."
- Carrie Ryan, The Dead-Tossed Waves

It's the biggest feeling of relief he's ever had, the sea and the sand and the salt meeting his knees with her in his arms.

But he looks down and she's not moving, and - just like the tide rolling out again - his relief vanishes.

He vaguely recognizes Bill shouting something at him. Barely realizes it's his own voice, answering that Hermione. Needs. Help.

He walks to the spare bedroom as quickly as he can. She hasn't opened her eyes. She hasn't moved. She's limp and cold and bruised and there's blood everywhere.

Fleur bustles around him, graceful, golden hair everywhere. A savior, because Hermione cannot be - (he forces himself to think the word, because he has to face it sometime) - dead.

Fleur says something soft, with a gentle arm against Ron's. She hurries out of the room, his brain processing some potions she'd said, some spells, trying to remember what they mean.

But nothing's really making any sense anymore, because he loves her and she's Hermione and he couldn't save her from what had just happened. But he brings his ear to her chest, to hear it. To keep him anchored and certain that things could be better.

That things would be better.

A weird moment of one of her muggle anatomy lessons pops into his head, her voice telling him - with a roll of her brown eyes - right atrium, right ventricle, lungs, left atrium, left ventricle. And he hears it, hears the most blessed thing in the world: her heartbeat.

She's alive.

Fleur sits down on the other side of the bed. She's very quiet, placing healing potions against numerous cuts. She doesn't ask and he doesn't answer, because what they're fighting now is beyond words.

After Fleur gets the cuts on the skin she can see healed, she looks at Ron gently.

"I'll be right outside," he nods, sensing her gaze: she needed to make sure everywhere on Hermione was okay.

He leans against the wall in the hallway, trying to listen to any sounds of confirmation that Hermione was waking up.

But soon Fleur comes out. There are tears in her eyes, and Ron's not ashamed that tears stream down his cheeks.

"Is... she?"

Fleur takes a deep breath. "'er left wrist..." Fleur shakes her head, looking down and brushing away tears. She looks back up at Ron, ending the previous thought. "She will be sore."

Ron wants to hug Fleur, because will be refers to the future.

"She was..." Ron pauses, not knowing how much he can say.

"Tortured," Fleur offers, her tone implying she knows that crucio is ringing in Ron's head.

"Will she be..." he stops, thinking of Neville's parents. "Will she still be Hermione?"

Fleur looks sad. Flinches. Shrugs. "I do not know."

…

He really can't process anything other than he'd already gotten her shirt off.

She's beautiful. And, although this isn't the first time it's happened, he can't help but savor her skin.

He tastes her, and she's warm and alive and lovely. He's shocked - immensely pleased, though - when her hands tug at his pants.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, with wide eyes. He's lost her enough times. Hurt her enough times. This (this) is not going to be one of them.

She smiles, a coy, know-it-all smile. "Ronald Weasely, I love you," she whispers like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He kisses her, full and complete. "I love you, too," he murmurs.

Her body fits his. Perfectly, she thinks.

And when he wakes up in the morning, after their first time, she's there. Sleeping, peacefully, her mouth quirked in a tiny half-smile.

For the first time since it happened, she hadn't had any nightmares. And neither had he.

…

"Hey," he tells her gently, even though he's absolutely panicking as her eyes creak open. She must be okay. She must be Hermione, all annoying and logical and clever and borderline genius and know-it-all and perfect.

She looks around the room quickly. He wants to tell her that she's safe, assure her, but there seems to be no excess air in his lungs.

"Hi," she whispers, her face scrunching in pain.

And he breathes. "Fleur made cookies," he says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can realize what's happening.

She looks at him, perplexed. But then she smiles a little, tears filling her eyes. "That's what you tell me?"

He tries not to laugh, but a tiny giggle escapes from her mouth, and he can't help but follow suit. He takes her into his arms gently, making sure she's real. Her giggle quickly turns into painful, wracking sobs, though, that he knew were completely unavoidable but are absolutely heartbreaking at the same time.

"You're safe now," he whispers. "You're safe, 'Mione." He says it over and over again, until they both believe it.

…

"Hermione?" He can tell she's not asleep by her breathing.

She rolls over in the darkness, reaching out her hand to trace his silvery features in the moonlight. She brushes aside hair from his forehead, and he kisses the word scarred into her left wrist. "Yeah?" she whispers.

"Did you want to die?"

She takes a deep breath, placing her hand - still - on his cheek. "Yes," she whispers. Because there's not point in lying to him anymore.

He swallows, quietly. "Why didn't you, do you think?"

"You," she states, tucking her head into his chest, comforting herself with the feel of his skin and strong muscles. And right atrium, right ventricle, lungs, left atrium, left ventricle: his heartbeat.

He kisses the top of her head, pulling her closer. She wraps her legs around his, needing to be connected to as much of him as possible. "My ability to never shut up paid off for once," he whispers, with a laugh full of tears.

She giggles through a sob. "I'm glad it did."

…

"It's dark magic," she whispers, pulling her wrist back from his hand. She tucks it against her chest. "It's never going to go away."

They're both silent, for once, as he just sits by her. She rests her head against his shoulder, and he tries to forget her scar, the word he's always detested because it had hurt her.

"It doesn't change that you're beautiful," he whispers after a while, looking at her finally. Her eyes are shiny with tears, but they're full of the same bright and brilliant light as before.

She smiles softly. "Thanks."

He shakes his head. "It's true, 'Mione. I wouldn't give you a false compliment, would I now?"

She laughs through her tears, shaking her head. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?" she whispers, and he notices how exhausted she looks.

"I don't have anything more exciting to do here anyways," he smiles, and she laughs gently.

He helps her limp to bed, her muscles protesting heavily at any movement - she's excruciatingly sore still.

She instantly dozes off, her hand wrapped in his as he sits in the small chair by her bed. He watches her, convincing himself that she's safe, until his eyes close peacefully, too.

Fleur comes to check on Hermione a little later, and - seeing their laced fingers and quiet faces - she places a blanket over Ron and, with a sad, knowing smile, turns out the light.

…

Hermione thinks he looks comically nervous, sitting on the couch in her parent's sitting room.

"Come on, Mum," she says, smiling at Ron encouragingly, standing and walking to the kitchen with her mother.

Ron folds his hands, trying to picture Hermione baking - the muggle way, patiently - with her mother, in the bright kitchen.

But he looks at her father, and he's instantly terrified. She looks exactly like him.

"Sir," Ron says.

Hermione's father gives him the same face she does when she thinks he's being ridiculous. "Ron."

Ron clears his throat, but before he gets a chance to stumble through his next sentence, Hermione's father begins. "I know that worse things than that scar happened to her," he says quietly. "Not exactly what, and I don't want to," he continues softly.

Ron nods.

"But I do know that Hermione loves you, and that's why she's here. Why she, why she survived."

Ron meets Hermione's father's eyes. Her eyes. "And you. She was strong because you taught her how to be."

Hermione's father smiles sadly. "That's more her mother, I think."

Ron laughs quietly, allowing her father to continue.

"But, Ron, without you, I'd be visiting her grave," he whispers.

Ron swipes a tear away, but not before Hermione's father notices.

"So, if you're going to ask if you can marry her, it's a yes."

Ron smiles. "She got her logic from you," he laughs.

Hermione's father chuckles, shaking Ron's hand. "Welcome to the family, son."

…

"Hermione?" Ron asks quietly, sitting down next to her slumped form on the beach.

Hermione doesn't turn to him, but she whispers. "It hurts."

Ron instantly can't breathe. But he waits.

She shakes her head at the sea, the world, the universe. "I mean, I've read, obviously." He wants to smile at that, but then she continues. "But no words can prepare anyone for that."

She takes a shaky breath, meeting his eyes. "It hurts so badly," she whispers.

He takes her into his arms. She sobs at the pain he'll never understand, the pain that will haunt both of them forever. But he holds her together. Because sometimes she falls apart.

…

"And then there was a, a dragon!" Rose says excitedly, her little hands fluttering and her eyes wide.

"Really?" Hermione pretends to be completely surprised and intrigued, though this is the ninth time she's heard this particular story from her three-year-old.

Rose nods adamantly. "But he was a good dragon."

Hermione grins, kissing Rose on the forehead, pulling her covers to her chin. "Was he a good dragon like Daddy, Rosie?"

Rose laughs. "Daddy's not a dragon, Mummy! Silly!"

Hermione giggles with her daughter, relishing the best thing in her entire world. The most beautiful thing she'd ever created.

Hermione brushes aside Rose's auburn curls, amazed every time she sees Ron's bright blue eyes peer back at her. "Sweet dreams."

Rose smiles, a mirror of Hermione's. "You're beautiful," she tells Hermione.

Hermione grins. "Did you learn that word from Daddy today?"

Rose nods, her eyelids sliding closed as she sleepily sighs. "He doesn't know as many words as you, though, Mummy."

Hermione laughs, kissing Rose's cheek. "Goodnight, my baby girl. I love you, Rosie."

Rose mumbles, "I love you, too," as she falls asleep.

…

"I'm fine, Ronald," she informs him emphatically as he tries to help her down the stairs. They smell breakfast - bacon and eggs and toast - and, for the first time in three days, she feels hungry.

He watches warily as her face contorts in pain - they both know she's still sore - though she doesn't want him to see. He steadies her with a gentle touch to her arm as she looks shaky by the fourth stair. He's terrified she's about to topple down them.

She grants him a small smile as a thank you.

He smiles back.

He makes sure she eats - two eggs, three pieces of bacon, and a piece of toast, along with some tea. She chats with Harry and Luna and Fleur and Bill and rolls her eyes and laughs and smiles and says some incredibly nerdy thing that makes him happier than he's been in a long time.

She takes his hand underneath the table with a gentle smile. He squeezes. He doesn't ever want to let go.

…

"That's my sister. She's brilliant," Hugo informs another young child in George's magic shop. Ron chats happily with George as he sees Hermione and Rose through the window, Rose already in her brand new Hogwarts robes.

"And my mum," Hugo continues. "My mum is the smartest wizard in the whole world. She's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Hugo," Ron chides. The other child looks moderately terrified. "You can't brag about Mum so scarily," he says.

Hugo has his same mischievous smirk as Ron leans down.

"Don't let her catch you, at least," Ron whispers, and Hugo laughs.

Hermione and Rose spot them and come up, Rose twirling around.

"Rosie, you look like you're already going to be a Gryffidor. And a head girl," Ron says, and Hermione nods, grinning as Ron tucks his arm around her waist.

Rose beams, taking Hugo's hand and following George to where he claims to have a very, very special surprise.

"She's going to be terrifying," Hermione laughs.

Ron nods, chuckling. "That's how I felt about you."

Hermione smiles, kissing him softly. "Your inabilities scared me, as well."

Ron rolls his eyes, but he smiles, meeting her lips again.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you, too, Mrs. Weasley," he grins.

"Gross!" Hugo shouts, effectively stopping their kissing. Hermione laughs, reaching to hold his hand. Hugo takes hers, smiling up at her.

"Mum has the most wicked scar ever!" he tells George excitedly, pointing towards Hermione's wrist.

Ron holds his breath for a moment, but he gives a relieved sigh when Hermione smiles gently.

Rose tugs at his hand. "Come on, Dad. We don't want to be late."

…

"You're so brave," he whispers.

"There are things worth fighting for," she murmurs.

Ron shakes his head. "No, 'Mione. You're wicked," he smiles gently.

She laughs a little, allowing him to pull the blankets over her.

He brushes aside a curl from her forehead. "Goodnight," he mumbles.

She smiles. "Goodnight."

He walks to her doorway, turning around once to make sure she was still okay. And real. And here. And more than he could've ever dreamed.

She's asleep, her left hand resting peacefully, thrown over her head. The mudblood is healing, as are her cells from the crucio, though he knows neither of them will completely go away.

But she murmurs something he can't really understand, accompanied by a smile and a sigh of his name.

He smiles sadly. He whispers, "I'll see you in the morning, 'Mione."

And he does.

AN : Please review! I'm still sort of new to HP fics so feedback is always welcome :)