Leaving Them: Part 2

by Stuffedolive92

Continuation of 'Leaving Them' (told from Ron's point of view). After saving Harry from drowning in the pool, Ron must face the difficult act of destroying the Horcrux and in turn battling his darkest and deepest insecurities- his regrets over leaving, envy of Harry and his true affections for Hermione. Includes the emotional reunion/fight scene in the tent, book 6. PLEASE REVIEW!

Leaving her: Part 2

He was hit by a frenzied attack as he plunged in, every cell of his body consumed by the fiery numbness of the frigid water. He'd never felt so cold in his life, not even the chill of a Dementor attack could compare. It was an iciness that seemed to creep through his skin right down to his soul.

His eyes stung as he scanned the darkened depth of the pool desperately, his lungs already screaming for air. And then he glimpsed it, the white face of the bespectacled man swaying amidst a patch of moonlight, his expression eerily vacant- he was dying or dead. Bubbles erupted from Ron's mouth as he shouted his Harry's name and thrashed forward, the water suddenly becoming the consistency of honey. Seizing him under the arms, he noticed the locket-the Horcrux- that wrapped around Harry's neck. It didn't hang loose as it normal had but was twisted tight, purple bruises blossoming from where it wrung his throat.

"Relashio!" Ron mouthed and he pointed his wand, the chain of the Horcrux severing. As it sunk down silently, he saw something glimmering on the floor of the lake, a shiny ruby hilt of a sword- the Gryffindor Sword.

Kicking up to the surface, Ron hastily shoved Harry's body onto the surrounding ice, his lungs raw as he took in a gasp of chilled air and dove in again. He kicked furiously down furiously, his fingers cramping as they closed around the sword and the Horcrux which has settled beside it. Pushing off the bottom, his muscles suddenly began to spasm, his chest clawing for air. He was familiar with this constriction from when he'd been swimming in the ocean at Shell Cottage, but this time it was different. Breaking the water, he took in a shuddered gasp as he hauled himself up onto the ice, casting the sword and horcrux into the damp grass. Next to him, Harry had began to stir, coughing and spluttering as he rolled on his side to expel water he'd inhaled. When it'd subsided, he raised his fingers to his throat and felt for the Horcrux that'd been cut away.

Ron didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the sight of this, his blood was still singing with adrenaline- all he could think was that his friend was alive, Harry was alive.

Staggering to his feet, he stooped to collect the two items.

"Why- the- hell," he panted, holding the Horcrux before Harry's pale face, "didn't you take this off before you dived?"

Harry didn't respond, but instead stared wordlessly up at him, his moss green eyes wide and searching. Under the moonlight Ron could observe him properly and what he saw made his stomach clench.

Since he'd left, Harry had lost weight, his ribs knifing out dangerously from beneath his milky skin. Across his chest were a tangle of blustered burn marks, one oval shaped and covering his heart. His black hair was matted and in need of a cut as was the patchy stubble which had established itself upon his thin face. Ron felt a pang of guilt- in two weeks of his absence Harry had gone from healthy to starved and gaunt. If he was like this, what did Hermione look like?

Pulling on his clothes, Harry finally spoke, his voice meek. "It was y-you?"

Ron frowned. "Well yeah."

"You cast the doe?"

The Doe. Now he remembered, the deer weaving through the forest, an elegant and luminous figure, as strange and beautiful as the Deluminator ball. Harry had seen it too.

"What?" he said. "No, of course not! I thought it was you doing it!"

Harry shook his head. "My patronus is a stag."

Ron felt his ears hear up. "Oh yeah. I thought it looked different. No antlers."

Harry kept his eyes trained on his as he pulled on the last of his clothing before picking up his wand nd turning to him.

"How come you're here?" he exclaimed sharply. Ron had been hoping to never answer this question, the response for him was painful. He was a coward, a coward making the ironically brave move of coming back.

"Well, I've-you know-I've come back-if," he stopped, seeming to choke on the last words. "You know. You still want me."

He averted his eyes, afraid of what he'd read in Harry's- anger, loathing, suspicion. How could he have come this far and not considered that he might not want him back?

Ron gazed down at the objects in his hands, the Gryffindor sword and the Horcrux that swung slightly in the cold air. If he was going to be rejected, at least these two objects would remind him that he'd tried.

"Oh yeah, I got it out," he muttered, holding them up. "That's why you jumped in, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry, looking distracted. "But I don't understand. How did you get here? How did you find us?"

He wants to know how I found him against all the protection charms, Ron thought, but now wasn't the time for full detail.

"Long story," he said, "I've been looking for you for hours, it's a big forest, isn't it? And I was just thinking I'd have a kip under the tree and wait for the morning when I saw that doe coming and you following."

"You didn't see anyone else?" Harry said abruptly. He seemed nervous now, his eyes scanning the ring of trees around them.

"No-I," he said but paused, remembering that he had seen someone of something before. It'd been when he was tramping through the undergrowth, close to the lake but prior to seeing Harry. He'd glimpsed the figure, the shape of a cloaked man no doubt, standing under the canopy of two trees.

"I did think I saw something move over there," he said pointing in the direction of them, "but I was running to the pool at the time, because you'd gone in and you hadn't come up, so I wasn't going to make a detour to-hey!"

Harry was off, sprinting towards the place he'd indicated. Looking closer, he could see that they were both oak and were strangely keeled over, their limbs entwining into a knotted arch. Harry paced around the base of them, searching probably for footprints. After a minute however, he returned, his faced disappointment.

"Anything there?" Ron asked, anyway.

"No."

"So how did the sword get in that pool?"

Harry hefted as sigh and raised his lit wand to the weapon.

"Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there," he said, studying the hilt under the light. It was encrusted with large scarlet rubies, which glistened like pools of wet blood.

"Do you think it's the real one?"

"One way to find out, isn't there?" Harry's face broke into a small smile and he suddenly snatched the Horcrux from Ron's grip. Striding forward, he began to search the surrounding forest, until he came to a flattened boulder which was bearded in ice.

"Come here," he called, brushing snow away the rocky flat. Ron hesitated but obeyed, walking over to where Harry stood positioning, the locket on top. When he stepped back, Ron assumed he was going to stab it at that moment, so he offered Harry the sword, only to be rebuffed.

His friend shook his head and as soon as it hit him, Ron refused.

"No, you should do it," Harry pressed, pushing the sword away.

"Me?" he said incredulously. "Why?"

The last word seemed to cut deep into him. Why him? Not for the obvious reason that it was just the two of them in the forest and either one had to do it. It was more the why specifically him?

All his life he'd been overshadowed by the achievements of his brothers, had been an average student at Hogwarts with no outstanding grades or awards to his name and had been viewed as the third wheel out of the three of them, Hermione matching equal to Harry with her brilliance and bravery. Sure, he'd helped Harry in battling the Dark Lord and his followers, but he'd never thought he was worthy enough of vanquishing a part of the Voldemort himself; performing an act of greatness that only Dumbledore and Harry had accomplished.

"Why?"

"Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you."

Harry's face was hard and solemn of which Ron knew he wasn't doing this out of sympathy or generosity. It was the same expression he wore when he was coming to terms with complex magic or some force that went beyond enchantments and the physical world. Ron had only seen it in the brief moments when Harry talked about the force that'd protected him from Voldermort as an infant, the mysterious death of Sirius and most recently the appearance of the silver Doe. Events that he couldn't fully comprehend but accepted. The fact that he wore it now was a little unsettling for Ron, but as usual wasn't for Harry.

"I'm going to open it," he instructed immediately, pacing back, "and you stab it. Straight away, Ok?"

Ron's heart was hammering in his chest. It was too soon, he wasn't ready for this, yet he didn't want to bring Harry down, he didn't want his fear to undercut the destruction of what had been their mission.

"Ok."

"Stab it," he urged, emphasizing the words. "Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me."

Kill me? Ron could taste the bitter and burning tang of vomit in his mouth, but swallowed back. He'd never felt so terrified and yet it was too late to back out now; Harry had only just accepted him back, but he had to prove that he was worthy of his return. He glanced wearily at the locket which lay curled like a strange golden snake upon the rock.

"How are you going to open it?"

"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue," Harry murmured, his eyes fixed intently on the Horcrux. As soon as he opened his mouth, Ron snapped.

"No!" he yelped, "no don't open it! I'm serious!"

Harry looked irritated. "Why not? Let's get rid of this damn thing, it's been months-"

"I can't, Harry, I'm serious-you do it-"

"But why?"

Ron could feel his ears heating up again. How could he explain it? The way the Horcrux made him feel and think, when it was so personal?

"Because that thing's bad for me!" he exclaimed, glancing at the locket. It glared back at him menacingly and he backed away, the sword catching on the frosted grass. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, Harry for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff, stuff I was thinking anyway, but made it everything worse, I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and I'd get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the effing thing back on-I can't do it Harry!"

There. He'd said it. He was too cowardly to do it, he didn't deserve to come back. All he had to do now was wait for Harry to become furious and tell him to leave. But his friend did neither.

"You can do it," he encouraged, "you can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, just get rid of it, Ron."

When he heard his name, Ron suddenly felt strangely empowered; his mind seeming to sharpen, his muscles prickling with drive. It was as if he'd taken Felix Felicis, except this time it was his doing; just pure adrenaline and anticipation. His grip on the sword hilt tightened and swallowing back, he paced towards the rock. The locket lay nested in the snow, trembling over so slightly. It knew what was coming.

Ron glanced at Harry, his throat dry. "Tell me when."

"On three," his friend nodded. "One…two…three…"

The last word he uttered escaped as a strangled hiss and the doors of the locket snapped open with a metallic click. Within the windows, a closed eye came into focus, fluttered awake as if from an ancient sleep. Ron let out a gasp and as if hearing, the eye began to flicker around, sweeping its surrounds for whoever had woken it from its slumber. It was nothing like he'd seen before; different to Mad Eye's magical one, it was so real, almost living, as if someone had gouged their eye out and placed it within the locket. This was magic far beyond what he knew.

"Stab!" Harry commanded, kneeling beside the rock, his hand gripping the locket chain.

Stab!Stab!Stab! Ron's mind parroted, Stab it and it'll be done!

It was simple, yet he could feel every muscle in his body seizing up as he stood there, sword brandished above his head. An icy hiss suddenly filled the air and he looked down; the eye which had been swiveling around, was now fixed upon, its coal black iris boring into his own.

"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

It was same voice cold and high voice that'd slid into his thoughts and snaked its way into his dreams when he'd worn the locket.

No, his mind implored. Not again. Not you!

"Don't listen to it!" Harry shouted, his voice strangely dull. "Stab it!"

The dark eye remained trained on his, pulsing as its words caressed his ears, soft and sweet.

'I have seen your dreams Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all you dread is also possible.'

"Stab!"

You don't know me, his mind deflected. Please. Leave me alone-you know nothing about me.

But the eye's gaze was so piercing, it seemed to be driving deep into his soul.

'Least loved always by the woman who craved a daughter, least loved by the girl who prefers your friend…second best, always, eternally overshadowed.'

They came surging back like a swarm of Dementors; horrible, distorted memories and thoughts, raking the inside of his head with their clawing and smoking whispers. At once, his consciousness was shrouded in black and he watched as they eddied and swirled before him…

Images of him watching his mother croon over a distressed five year old Ginny leaving him in doubt of the hug he needed…him covered in painful boils and hiding in the filth of the chicken cope to escape the awful pranks of the twins… being left out in a field alone, after his brothers had abandoned an unsuccessful game of Quidditch practice.

"Ron stab it now!" someone bellowed.

Then the scenes changed, morphing into the deep and dark thoughts he'd locked away for years.

No! Please, don't!

Harry and Hermione hurtled into his mind, this time not as friends. Flashes of the stolen glances between them and the brushing of hands over the years were some of the thoughts that crossed his mind. It then flickered to the more obscure; a tortured play of kisses touches and bared skin between them which continued, this time projected out by the Horcrux.

Two figures suddenly appeared, boiling and swelling like grotesque bubbles from the doors of the locket. Soon two faceless figures hovered before him, the features of a boy and girl slowly blistering through.

Ron yelled and stumbled back. Harry and Hermione stood before him, both of them fully formed and solid as the flesh on his very bones. It was so terrifying, that he felt a prickling chill of the urge to flee run down his spine. His feet however remained planted, seemingly transfixed by the figures that swayed above him.

"Ron!"

The Riddle-Harry, his scar glistening red, began to speak, his tongue flickering like a snake.

'Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence…we laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice-your presumption-'

'Presumption,' echoed the figure beside him and Ron gasped at the sight of Riddle-Hermione who was incredibly beautiful. Her hair was long and straight as it framed her flawless white face, her lips curling into a smile, as crimson as her eyes. He couldn't look away; everything about her commanded his attention.

'Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared to the Chosen One? What are you compared to the Boy Who Lived?'

Her words had an intoxicating warmth to them, seeping into his consciousness and melting his common sense and reasoning. She was right, he was nothing.

I'm nothing, his mind relented, I'm nothing compared to Harry.

"Ron, stab it, stab!"

'Your mother confessed,' chimed Riddle-Harry, his turn for torture having come, 'that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange.'

'Who wouldn't prefer him?' purred Riddle-Hermione, running her nose against Riddle-Harry's neck. She gazed down at Ron as she did this and smiled wickedly. 'What woman would take you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing compared to him.'

With that, she drew Riddle-Harry close, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him intensely. The sight of their intimacy was a blade in his side; he was in sheer agony. Voldemort's Horcrux was consuming his heart, turning it to ash. It was a heavy darkness that was evading every inch of him.

"Do it, Ron!" A voice shouted. It sounded so familiar and turning to the source of it he saw Harry, his friend, a sight which suddenly caused a violent surge of hate within him.

Kill him! Kill the chosen one! He's your enemy. It rang like a hiss in his ear, smothering all his logic, all that he knew. The hilt of the sword tightened within his hand and he glanced at the eye of Tom Riddle, which had turned scarlet, the pupil slitted.

His emotions were overwhelming, rising like a tide within him, his rational perception wrestling with the tainted one that blinded him. He stared at the real Harry, the darkened thoughts within his head swarming past his vision but for some reason they were being thrown back by something- something deep and strong.

Suddenly, his brain snapped.

No! his mind shouted. You've messed around with my mind enough! You turned me away from my friends and family. You broke Ginny once but you can't break me. I will never let you control me again. Get out of my head!

With that he threw his weight behind the sword and thrust it down, the force cleaving the locket in two. There was a metallic screech upon contact which wrung into a twisted human shriek, bringing Harry and himself to their knees. The noise clawed at his ears and he clamped his hands over them, watching through his lashes as the figures of Riddle Harry and Hermione released each other. The drawn out scream was theirs as they writhed in agony, their forms seeming to melt and bubble, before they exploded, evaporating into the cold still air.

Ron stumbled to his feet panting, the sword hanging slackly in his hand as he stared down at the smoky remains of the locket- the Horcrux which had exposed, tortured and invaded his soul.

He felt an overwhelming tide of emotions come to meet him; relief, confusion, shame and satisfaction, all of which he welcomed as friends. They were nothing compared to the inhuman sensations he'd experienced moments before- the consuming and paranoid thoughts he'd always had, which were amplified by the Horcrux. It was over, he was him again.

Hot tears began to fill his eyes and he turned away, his chest swelling with embarrassment as Harry approached him, locket in hand. Harry had witnessed everything, his thoughts, his fears and his insecurities. Ron had never wanted his friend to see him in this state; so weak and vulnerable, yet all he could do was drop to his knees again and let his body convulse as he wept, the emotional release too good to deny.

He felt Harry touch his shoulder lightly.

"After you left," his friend said in a low voice, "she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never ever spoke to each other, with you gone."

Ron buried his face into his hands. He felt relieved by this but the sting of humiliation was still there.

Harry paused for a moment. "She's like my sister. I love her like my sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that, I thought you knew."

Ron felt his ears go red. I'm so sorry, Harry, he thought, I'm so, so sorry that I could even think that. He thought of all the countless times the three of them had been together and how he'd studied the interaction between Harry and Hermione with jealousy. All his life he'd been left out of things in both family and friendship, so he'd lowered his expectations and trained himself for disappointment. So when it came to Hermione, he'd always struggled with the idea of how someone as intelligent, caring and beautiful could ever show an interest in him; the awkward goofy ginger haired slacker, when the brilliance of Harry Potter was thrown into the equation. But apparently miracles did happen and not all girls lusted over the obvious choice, nor did Harry for the pretty smart girl. He loved them both for that, for giving him a chance.

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Ron rose to his feet and faced his friend, swallowing back tears.

"I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I'm sorry I left. I know I was a-a-"

Prat. Idiot. Moron. Bastard. The words cycled through his head but not one seemed fitting and he hung his head, hoping that Harry would bestow one upon him, but he didn't.

Instead his friend grinned. "You've sort of made up for it tonight. Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life." He put extra emphasis on the last part and Ron felt a flicker of pride.

Squaring his shoulders, he scuffed his shoes in the snow.

"That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was," he admitted.

"Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was. I've been trying to tell you that for years."

Ron glanced up at him, and saw the honesty in his eyes. Harry Potter may be the Chosen One but it didn't mean he acted like it. Striding forward, Ron pulled his friend into an embrace and gripped him tight. Harry hugged him back, making a fist around the wet material of Ron's jacket. Something had changed; they'd been friends before but now they were more- they were brothers. Ron had nearly lost Harry tonight and from now on he'd do anything to make sure it was the last time.

"And now," Harry said, straightening his glasses as they pulled away. "All we've got to do is find the tent again."

The tent was perched up a rocky ledge of a small clearing, the forest thinning at the edges and the frosted grass glistened in the moonlight like the ocean by night. It glowed like a Chinese lantern as they approached, its small size a betrayal to the enormity inside. When the two of them reached it, Ron stopped at the entrance, the warmth of the interior washing over him as Harry entered before him.

"Hermione!" he heard him say in an elated whisper.

"What's wrong Harry? Are you alright?" replied a familiar voice. Ron's heart was skipping. This was it.

"It's Ok, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm great. There's someone here."

He stepped into the threshold, the anticipation mounting behind him.

"What do you mean?" Hermione replied from her bed, rubbing her face."Whos?"

She caught sight of Ron and stopped, her eyes fixed on him. Pushing her hair away, she slid out of bed and walked across the hearth towards him, her arms raised before her as if to embrace him. Ron grinned and lifted his too; all he could think of was pulling her into his chest and kissing her all over. He didn't care that Harry was there, all he wanted was her. This is what he'd waited for; this was finally going to be their perfect moment.

She came to stop centimeters from him, so close that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her dark eyes, the freckles that were lightly dusted over her nose and the way her perfect lips twitched into a slight smile. He'd never wanted her so bad and as he reached a hand to her face, she suddenly lunged at him and began to punch him furiously, hitting him in the stomach and ribs.

Her attack was so unexpected; he stumbled back, shielding his head.

"Ouch-ow-geroff," he yelled, as she pummeled him. "What the-Hermione-ow!"

"You-complete-arse-Ronald-Weasley," she growled, delivering each word with a blow. "You-crawl-back-here-after-weeks-and-weeks-oh, where's my wand?"

Stopping her assault, she looked around wildly, her eyes flickering to Harry, who was holding it.

"Protego," he exclaimed stepping back and Hermione was knocked off her feet, an Invisible shield erupting between Ron and her. He was grateful Harry had cast it, his ribs and stomach stinging from her hits.

Hermione however, scrabbled to her feet, her face livid as she started towards Harry again.

"Hermione!" he pleaded. "Calm-"

"I will not calm down!" she screamed, her fists clenched at her sides. "Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!"

Ron knew that Hermione could get angry, he'd seen it when she'd hit Malfoy in third year for laughing at Buckbeak's execution, but he'd never seen her like this, she was hysterical. After months of stress and organization the journey had put on her along with his overwhelming sudden appearance, she'd cracked under the strain. Just the thought of this made guilt sink in his stomach like a stone.

"Hermione," Harry croaked, the wand still pointed at her, "will you please-"

"Don't you tell me what to do, Harry Potter!" she spat. "Don't you dare! Give it back now! And you!"

She turned to Ron, viciously jabbing a finger at him.

"I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!"

The tears in her eyes made his stomach constrict and he knew his regret could never matchup to what Harry had described she'd been through. He said the first thing that jumped to his lips.

"I know," he replied softly. "Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really-"

"Oh, you're sorry!" she mocked and she suddenly let out a shrieking laugh that sounded worse than a choir of Mermen singing. Her reaction was so bizarre that Ron looked to Harry for help, only to see he mirrored his own expression of confusion.

"You come back after weeks-weeks- and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say sorry?"

He stared at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend what was happening. He knew what he'd done was selfish and hurtful, but it was also forgivable through apology, as Harry had done. Hermione, he could see, had stubbornly chosen to ignore the idea, a choice which made his blood boil.

"What else was I meant to say?"

"Oh I don't know!" she drawled with effortless sarcasm. "Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds-"

Her face although angered, also hinted desperation. She wanted him to admit something, something more.

"Hermione," Harry started, "he just saved my-"

But she continued, indifferently. "I don't care! I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been killed for all he knew-"

At this point, Ron had heard enough of her endless rant; he had to tell her his story- the truth.

"I knew you weren't dead!" he yelled and feeling strangely empowered, he strode towards her. "Harry's all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead, you don't know what it's been like-"

Hermione remained unconvinced. "What's it been like for you?"

"I wanted to come back, the minute I'd Disapparated," he said to her, ignoring her tone, "but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!"

"A gang of what?" Harry asked as Ron watched her walk way and collapse into a chair with apparent disinterest.

"Snatchers," he said distracted. "They're everywhere, gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I looked like I might be school age so they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry."

Harry's face was stricken. "What did you say to them?"

"Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of."

"And they believed that?"

"They weren't the brightest," Ron recalled with some pleasure. "One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of him…"

He thought the joke would light up the subject but it was like it'd fallen on deaf ears. Hermione remained stony faced sitting in her arm chair and even Harry hadn't managed a smile.

"Anyway," he said, frowning. "They had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there was still five of them and only one of me and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again-"

He raised his hand towards the two of them, showing the two red stubs where his nails had been.

"-and I came out miles from where we were. By the time I got back to that bit of the river bank, where we'd been…you'd gone."

"Gosh, what a gripping story," Hermione began with false praise. "You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile, we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there, Harry? Oh yes, You-Know-Who's snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second."

His brain froze, unable to comprehend. They'd been attacked, fought off and escaped an ambush from Voldemort already? It was unbelievable and again he felt immensely guilty.

He gaped at Harry. "What?"

Before his friend could explain, Hermione rounded on him again.

"Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our suffering into perspective, doesn't it?"

"Hermione, Ron saved my life."

As usual she disregarded this.

"One thing I would like to know, thought," she said, refusing to look at Ron. "How exactly did you find us tonight? That's important. Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."

She seemed to be enjoying serving up sarcasm tonight and he knew she wasn't one to give up either. She'd keep taunting him until she drove her point home.

Typical, he thought, glaring at her as he rummaged around in his pocket. She always knows how to get under my skin.

"This," he finally said, producing the small silver object which had bought him here. Both his friends stared at it, quietly for a moment, their expressions confused.

"The Deluminator?" she questioned, perplexed.

"It doesn't just turn on the lights on and off," he replied. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then or not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio, really early on Christmas morning, and I heard…I heard you."

He looked at Hermione earnestly.

"You heard me on the radio?"

He shook his head. "No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice," he held the device before her, "came out of this."

"And what did I say?" she tested.

"My name. 'Ron.' And you said…something about a wand…"

Hermione's face suddenly flushed red and she looked away, strangely embarrassed. Ron however couldn't stop himself.

"So I took it out," he continued, "and it didn't seem different, or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside my window."

He could see it now as his memory played out; the small bluish orb hovering before him, as if beckoning him. His hand stretched to touch it, but it glided out of reach, throbbing feverishly with a kind of excitement.

"It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Hermione in union.

"I knew this was it," he smiled, as it all came back to him. "I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went into the garden. The little blue ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbled along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it…well, it went inside me-"

"Sorry?" Harry interrupted.

Ron cleared his throat and looked at Hermione. "It kind of floated towards me, right to my chest, and then- it just went straight through. It was here," his touched his palm to his shirt, placing it over his heart, "I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Dispparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere…"

He wanted her to know that she was the reason he'd found them, that the Deluminator, however it worked, knew that she was the one thing that his heart desired. She stared at him in stunned silence, her eyes questioning for a moment, before glancing away with a frown.

"We were there," Harry remarked. "We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark."

Ron rubbed his neck. "Yeah, well, that would've been me. Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn't see you and I couldn't hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you'd have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent."

"No actually," Hermione replied, shifting in her chair. "We've been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because, as Harry says, we'd heard someone blundering around."

"Well, I stayed on that hill all day," he told her, "I kept hoping you'd appear. But when it started to get dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, and the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here, in these woods. I still couldn't see you, so I just had to hope that one of you would show yourselves in the end- and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously."

"You saw the what?" Hermione said abruptly.

Harry and Ron spent the next half hour recounting in detail what'd happened in the forest. From the graceful but anonymous Patronus to the chaos that occurred at the pool. The story was delayed by Hermione's constant questions and theories, especially when it came to who owned it the doe.

"Couldn't you see who was casting it?" she exclaimed, with a hint of irritation. "Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"

"I saw Harry, go and jump into the pool to get it," said Ron. "After he didn't surface, I knew he must've been in trouble, so I dumped my rucksack and went in after him. In the water, I could see that he was drowning- the Horcrux was crushing his neck and choking him. So I cut it free and grabbed the sword, before pulling Harry out onto the ice."

"You saved him," she stated, slightly impressed. "That was good of you."

Harry rolled his eyes and Ron smiled.

"Harry was Ok, so after that we decided it was the perfect place to get rid of the Horcrux; the forest was big and open. Harry found a rock to lay the Horcrux on and decided I should stab it. I got the sword and got ready, that's when Harry told it to open in Parseltongue and the locket-"

Ron stopped and looked helplessly at this friend. Recounting his torture under the Horcrux was on the tip of his tongue, yet he hesitated. A part of him that was aching to tell her, to explain all the feelings he'd had for her over the years and the uncertainties that'd lead him to leave her in the first place. But these were the deepest and darkest parts of him that he was ashamed of and what idea of him would she get from it? That he could be a jealous, weak and insecure man who'd always resented the close friendship that she and Harry had. He chose silence.

"- and Ron stabbed it with the sword," Harry quickly concluded, noting his friend's struggle.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And…it went? Just like that?"

"Well, it-it screamed," he explained and with a glance at him, Ron knew his friend had his back. "Here."

Harry produced the defeated locket and tossed it to Hermione. She recoiled when it landed on her lap as if it was poisoness, but after a moment cautiously picked it up to examine the remains.

As Harry removed the Shielding Charm, Ron contemplated approaching Hermione while she was calm and apologize yet again. But before he could move, Harry pulled him to the side.

"Did you just say you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?"

"What?" he said distracted his eyes still on her. "Oh-oh yeah."

He retrieved his rucksack and dug around; pulling out the dark stubby wand he'd wrestled from the troll like Snatcher.

"Here," he said, handing it to his friend. "I figured it's always handy to have a back-up."

"You were right," he said, studying the wand with distaste. "Mine broke."

Ron was dumbfound. Harry's wand; the one that had bonded to him when he was eleven, had made him the great wizard he was today and was the powerful twin of Voldemort's own wand- broken?

"You're kidding?"

Harry shook his head and pocketed the new wand, just as Hermione stowed the conquered Horcrux into her beaded bag and without a noise, settled down beneath the covers of her bed.

He wondered if he should bid her goodnight, but Harry's expression read otherwise.

"About the best you could hope for, I think," he said quietly, with a glance at Hermione.

"Yeah," Ron admitted. "Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?"

To his surprise, Hermione answered, her voice almost inaudible. "I still haven't ruled it out."

Ron smiled; like Harry mentioned it was the best he could hope for. It was comforting to know he was on speaking terms with her, he'd endured the silent treatment from her once and never wanted it again. For such a relationship that was uncharted and uneasy as their friendship, Ron was hopeful that any problems could be mended between Hermione and himself better than it had in the previous years. For she was the girl he thought was worth fighting for and that was fair in love and war.