Love On The Rocks

Summary: Based on the events of DHP1 and inspired by the deleted scene, Ron and Hermione have a little heart to heart conversation at Shell Cottage.

Note for future reading: This is written in April 2010, BEFORE DH Part 2 is released. Actually, even before the DVD/BR is released for DH Part 1. So I'm writing from memory, not a recent viewing.

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She walked silently out of the small cottage covered in pink shells. The dishes done from the evening meal, Hermione felt the overwhelming need to be alone for a bit. Though it was never obvious, she could feel the eyes of her friends on her throughout the day and was uncomfortable at their analysis. Some solitary time might provide some much needed opportunity to think away from prying eyes. The sea beckoned to her and suddenly she found her feet were taking her towards the softly cascading waves. She stood a while and stared at the waves, listening to the soothing sound of the water. After a short walk, she found a large rock and sat down to watch the water tumble over itself, losing its formation as it quietly licked the beach to her right. So immersed in the beauty of it, she did not hear the footsteps approaching from her left.

He had been watching her all evening, but trying not to be noticed as he observed her odd behavior. He was concerned. She had been quiet most of the day, there in body, but her mind was elsewhere. She would seem to be listening, and then she would drift off somewhere, her eyes clouded and distant and even vacant at times. More than once he noticed a hand come up to wipe away a tear before she thought anyone saw. He couldn't blame her.

After what she had been through the night before, Ron was surprised she spoke as much as she did whenever there was conversation to be had. After sleeping until about 2pm, Ron, Harry and Hermione had slowly begun to appear in the sitting room or dining room where others were gathered. They were all free, yet somewhat imprisoned just the same. Were they being watched? Would Death Eaters strike at any moment? It was all too fresh; the capture and subsequent torture at Malfoy Manor the night before was an all too close encounter with their mortality.

Yet his own life didn't feel like it mattered when he watched his friends suffer. Ron was helpless, restrained as the girl of his dreams had been manhandled, they all had been. But to see Hermione grabbed, her hair pulled, a knee pressed into her back as her face was shoved into the dirt; it tore at him. He had suffered no less, but it killed him to listen to them do it to her. Sound…grunts face down in the dirt and leaves turned into tormenting agonized screams from above… "We have to do something!"

He shook his head quickly, trying to erase them from his ears, from his mind. Her screams…and he could do nothing for her. When he and Harry finally got out of the cellar, they had crept up to the hall where she laid on the floor, arms splayed out, legs curled protectively into the fetus position. His mind reworked the scene of her lying there. Suddenly, he realized there was blood on her arm, but he couldn't see why clearly. There must be some sort of cut. Then Lestrange had roughly pulled Hermione into a standing position and her sleeve had descended down to her wrist again, but his eyes were on the knife being held to her throat; all else faded in the terror of one false move and she would be dead.

Wait a minute! Did she have those wounds cleaned or taken care of? They had been so wrapped up in Dobby's death that everything else had paled. He felt sick to his stomach. She had been hurt and then she was running as desperately as he was to Harry and the dying Dobby. They had busied themselves burying the elf who had saved them. His face intensified as he digested the information. He stared out the kitchen window. She was beyond the drop off; he could just see her head sitting amongst the rocky area of the shoreline. His throat suddenly dry, his lips parted, he swallowed in agonized discomfort at their neglect. Truth be told, when inquired about her physical well-being, she had said she was fine other than aching all over and being very tired—nothing specific to tend to other than the cut at her throat. He had stayed with her at Fleur tended the cut, but she would not look at him. Actually, she had not looked anyone straight in the face. An uneasiness settled through him as he reflected.

Fleur had taken note of his attention to Hermione throughout the day. They were close, but not that close yet, though it was obvious to her that they both wanted to be. She took pity on her shy brother-in-law. "Ah, she will be cold out zere bientot. Ron, be a dear and bring 'ermione zat jacket will you?" she said with a knowing smile as she indicated the light blue jacket hanging on a hook beside the back door.

He stared at her a moment. It was an obvious set up, but he was glad to take the opportunity to talk to her alone. "Sure, no problem," he said as if this was nothing unusual. Then he caught her small smirk before she had turned around fully. Oh bloody hell, does everyone know? Who cares? He was grateful for the excuse to go out and talk to her, or at least just sit with her for a few minutes. But at that point, he wasn't going to wait for an excuse, he would have gone anyway.

He made his way over to her still form, watching as the breeze blew back her hair towards him. He buttoned his own plaid fleece jacket up to his chest, leaving the last two buttons open and loose at his neck. He hated anything tight around his neck. He noticed her neck as her hair blew sideways now, lovely, soft, and now scarred. Tightness gripped his stomach as he neared her, he jaw clenching to control the emotions that threatened him when he pictured Bellatrix Lestrange holding the knife to her throat. A throat he dreamed of lavishing with soft kisses on, listening to her sigh in contentment as her arms wound around him, urging him onwards to her ear, her cheek, her beautiful soft lips that held the hope of opening up to him in glorious reward. Lovely lips that would part and say I love you.

She did not turn as he approached her, but he could tell by the quirk of her head that she heard him. He licked his dry lips tentatively before speaking. "Hey."

"Hi," she said softly, with a small greeting smile.

"Uh, Fleur sent me out here to give you this," he said as he offered her the jacket. He had disturbed her concentration. He couldn't read her face if he was welcome or not. He tilted his head awkwardly, "Uh, I'll leave you to your thoughts if you'd prefer to be alone."

She took the jacket gratefully from him, smiling her appreciation as she began to put it on. "No, that's alright. You're welcome to stay. Free country…well, it used to be," she acquiesced, her eyes betraying the absurdity of what she just said. "Pull up a rock," she smiled as she moved over.

He sat down beside her to her left, looking back at the cottage as lights began to appear in the windows as dusk slowly settled in. He noted with satisfaction that no one else was outside. They sat in silence together for a few moments.

"Peaceful. Something mesmerizing about the water isn't there?" he said.

"Hmmm. I love looking at it. Like it just slowly washes away your worries."

"It would be nice if it were that easy," he commented wistfully.

"Yes. A bit naïve, I guess, but really it is just wishful thinking. It makes me feel better though."

"Yeah, me too. I always liked it when we camped with a river nearby, moreso than a lake. I guess the movement, the current…it seems to take your mind places, away from your troubles. I would watch a leaf, or a bubble along its path wherever it went," he sighed, his finger tracing an imaginary path in the air. "Sometimes, I wished I were that leaf or bubble. No real troubles to weigh it down."

Hermione smiled. "No, just popping, or decomposing," she said amused. "But I know what you mean. I've just been watching the pattern of the water, how it touches the rocks and sinks between them in this part here, but washes up softly in the sandy part over there. Over the sand, you can see its trace as it recedes, not so much here. It does not leave a scar."

They both jerked at the use of the term. She had not realized that was what she was actually contemplating—evidence. Ron turned to her and met her eyes before they descended to the scar at her throat. He stared at it a moment, before returning to her brown orbs that were threatening with tears, though they remained unshed. Her hair blew over it a moment and he reached to push it away. He would face it; face the nightmare that was between them.

She froze staring at him, his beautiful blue eyes had met hers and she could swear he was studying every feature of her face inside a second. Then his eyes descended to that horrible blemish that would remind him of everything, of her being inferior in their world, of her near death, of her status as nothing but a prop to be toyed with in this horrific aberration of a humanity created by Voldemort.

He reached out to trace the red line left by the knife as it pressed into her skin in silent warning of its lethal abilities. He had not needed Bellatrix' curdling voice telling him to drop his wand, the blade was loud enough. "It will be gone soon," he said softly. "Time will take away the redness and it will blend in and won't be noticed as anything different."

She stared at him. Was he still talking about the scar, or about her and other Muggle-borns in the magical world? Her head tilted to the side. He could say things without saying them at all. It was a gift that she had found annoying over the years while simultaneously amusing her. He could be so cryptic, demanding to know who she was going to the Yule Ball with when really he was upset about the fact that she had a date that wasn't him though he wouldn't admit it.

Tears slowly formed, she couldn't help it. She wiped at them impatiently, angry with herself for breaking. Her body shook slightly as she tried to keep control. Ron took hold of her hand, shaking his head. "Don't hold it in. Let it out." She collapsed into him and sobbed into the open collar, balling his jacket in her right fist. "Let it out," he whispered as his arms then came around her, holding her close. Soon he discovered he was stroking her hair and he didn't even remember moving his hand upward to do so.

Harry had exited the cottage and made his way to the shoreline where his friends were. He heard the sobs and broke into a run to get to Hermione. Arriving at the drop off of the grass towards the beach, he saw his friends in a tight embrace, Ron crooning to her to release her emotions. He considered joining them, but that would be counter-productive. She needed to emote, and she finally was. If he appeared she would straighten up and hide her feelings again. She was with the right person right now. His chest compressed at her pain, and he quietly turned around and walked back to the cottage, a sniffle escaping him as he controlled his own sadness for her.

Ron awkwardly held her shaking frame. He really did not know what to say, so he just remained silent for a time. He studied her position, her right hand at his chest, but her left arm was held protectively between them and not around his waist. To do so would put pressure on the inside of her left forearm. She is in pain and she is hiding it. Now, how do I deal with that? He sighed unsatisfied with himself and how to help her.

After a few moments a conversation he had with Professor McGonagall churned itself to the surface. She had called him aside to discuss Harry's emotional well being after Sirius'death. He had been non committal in the conversation, he knew. Exasperatedly, she had commented that sometimes a little more physical exertion helps get frustration out. She suggested some extra quidditch practice time now that Umbridge was gone from the school, as well as going down to the lake and throwing some rocks into Black Lake. "If you do it rather forcefully, it can alleviate a little stress," she had said. He thought about that and then his Mom's suggestion of just walking off anger came to mind too.

Hermione breathed in the comforting scent of him as she cried against his chest. She could feel his arms around her. She found consolation here. Merlin! How often have I dreamed of being in this position? Here it is and look at me; I've fallen apart. What must he think of me? I feel so absolutely pathetic right now, weak. But, if he could care when seeing me at my worst, then maybe… She slowly began to straighten, reluctantly giving up the closeness, but when she looked into his eyes, there was no denying the closeness, the connection was still there. Then, strangely, it broke. He looked as if his mind was elsewhere, anywhere but with her. She smiled self-consciously.

"I'm sorry."

"What on earth for?"

"For…" she rolled her eyes and gestured to her situation.

"For being human? I hardly see that as reason to apologize," he said.

She gazed at him a moment. "Thank you."

He shook his head at her. "Come on," he said as he got up and held out his hand to her. She looked at it, a sudden warmth spreading through her body, radiating from her heart. Slowly, she placed her hand in his and stood up to join him, their eyes never parting from each other's as she got to her feet. "Let's walk a bit."

"It'll be dark soon."

"Yeah, we won't be long. When things are bothering me, or were bothering me, I'd go for a walk in the orchard. It always helped clear my mind a bit. The scenery here is a helluva lot nicer, and usually what was bothering me was Fred and George. Maybe…it will help you too," he smiled at her. He let go of her hand. He didn't want to though and once he did so, he had the feeling that she had wanted to continue holding hands with him too. He shoved his into his pockets as he accompanied this lovely creature along the beach away from the rocky area that received the brunt of the current. They walked together in silence, shoulder to shoulder, strides matching each other.

"I would have done it."

"What?" Though instantly she knew what he meant and she felt like her heart stopped in that moment.

"I would have taken your place. If they would have let me," he whispered in shame.

"Why? They just wanted the mud…"

"Don't" He was suddenly near tears, trying to hide it as best he could. That she could even say the word in relation to herself scared him so much that she might start to believe such awful things about herself.

She reached up to caress his face and in so doing the cuff of her jacket gaped slightly and he saw the scar on her forearm. Their eyes kissed briefly. He covered her hand with his and savored the closeness with her a moment before he brought them down in between them. It had to be done, as much as he wanted the special moment with her, this was more important in the end. His eyes moved to her wrist and she followed and gasped as she pulled away quickly.

"No," he said softly as he reached for her hand again, cupping her elbow with the other. "Show me."

She stared at him a moment, shaking her head slightly before realizing she wasn't going to fool him. Slowly, carefully, she pulled back her sleeve. The mean looking, jagged remnants of the word mudblood carved into her arm as if she were a piece of wood stared back at her, cutting at her heart all over again. Her head bowed in shame, her lips slowly curved downwards and trembled.

"I didn't…want you…to see it," she panted, tears falling anew.

"Why?" he said, but would not release her hand when she pulled it to her. He had to know why she hid it from him, from them all. Was she starting to believe it, just because it was carved into her hand by a butcher?

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"No!" She almost screamed the word as she wrenched her hand from him.

"Yes!" he raised his voice to match her.

"Because!" she exploded at him. "I didn't want you to see it! I didn't want you to think that first whenever you looked at me." Her voice had become scratchy with the force of her outburst. "My neck is bad enough, but this…label…" She couldn't continue. She turned away from him, wiping angrily at her eyes.

"Look at me! Look at me, please!" He waited and wondered if she would face him. Finally, she turned to look at him with a defiant stance. He was pleased. There was still fight left in her, even though she doubted it at this moment. Her determination and strength were still there, if only she would recognize that they were getting her through, not letting her down.

"Describe Bellatrix Lestrange."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Don't be absurd," anger beginning to rise.

"Describe her," he said softly and he reached down and picked up a small rock, mildly annoyed that the area where they had been sitting earlier would suit him better than these little rocks.

"Madwoman!" she said in exasperation, not understanding what he wanted from her.

Ron flung a rock harshly out into the sea at the insult and when Hermione looked at him in confusion, he handed her one, gesturing her to follow suit.

"Full of hatred!" She looked at him a brief second before having a go. She hurled the small rock with all her force. The exertion felt oddly good, liberating. She looked for another rock only to find one offered to her by Ron immediately. He kept them coming, matching her comments. "Insane! Delusionsal! Sociopath! Doormat to You-Know-Who! Intolerant bitch! With horrible breath! And bad teeth!" With each descriptor she vented her fury, her hurt, and her helplessness to the sea and the one person she wanted to be able to open up to. Suddenly, she was smiling and a small laugh escaped her. She looked back at Ron, who was watching her with a look of…He looks... impressed!

"I agree with everything you just said. I'll take your word for the bad breath part."

She stared at him before she broke out laughing. He walked forward and put his arms around her and kissed her on the top of her head before reluctantly releasing her. Then he looked at her with such pride in his eyes that she was momentarily stunned.

"That's my girl. That, right there, is Hermione Granger. She can't take you from you unless you let her. You are the most determined, fair minded person with a heart of gold. Everything opposite of that nutcase.

"You really think so?" she said trying not to emphasize the you though she wanted to.

"Do you trust me?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I do."

"Then trust me when I say, the incredible person I see in front of me—caring, intelligent and beautiful, is what comes shining through in everything that you say and do. That is what people see and think when they meet you because that is who you are."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth dropping open slightly as he spoke of her, to her, with such sincerity. She could feel the heat rise in her face as he said the kind, lovely words. "Thank you," she said and walked the two steps it took to wrap her arms around him while protecting her arm. "Thank you, Ron." She was truly amazed at his words and just couldn't formulate her own at the shock she was in to hear him speak this way.

His arms came around her immediately, and he rested his head on hers. However, ever one to find a joke somewhere, he had to get one in. "Not bad for a guy with the emotional range of a teaspoon?"

He felt her stiffen and begin to laugh slightly, remembering the insult she said years ago. "You remember that?" He smirked. "Uh-oh. Well, right now I think you have the depth of the ocean." She said staring up at him with obvious affection.

Their eyes drank each other in, finally reflecting a merging of mind and hearts. His eyes moved to her lips and as his own began a descent towards them in anticipation of meeting, touching, and telling her with that one act how much he cared about her. She tilted her face up to his and parted her lips in a butterflies in stomach expectation, breathing in his rugged scent, staring longingly at his stubble covered jawline. There was no more boy here, not that it mattered. She had always cared for him, but now every sense of hers was awakening further to the man in front of her. Her heart began racing as his hands caressed her back, pulling her to him in a way that could not be mistaken for mere friendship.

Suddenly, a rogue wave was washing over their feet, making them jump at the unexpected cold wetness as they parted running further up to the dry shore. The moment gone, they awkwardly looked at each other, turning red.

Ron held out his hand to her. "Come on," he said invitingly. "Let's go take care of that arm."

She placed her hand in his and walked back to the cottage with him with her head held high.

A/N: I soooo wanted them to kiss here, but since it is based on the movie, that can't happen yet. Thought this would fit in nicer than the skipping stones scene that they rightfully deleted. I loved the scene as a stand alone though. It was cute.