Live Again- Better than Ezra

Don't fear,
Even though you're at a loss.
I'm numb,
A shell of empty thoughts.
But you glow,
You stretch and pull me out.
Does that trouble you?
Does that trouble you?
Love me
Hate me
Make me live again
I need you around
Heal me
Hurt me
Make me live again
I want you around
So long,
I never had experienced
This bliss.
So how could I resist?
And i'm fine
A little light-headed.
Does that worry you?
I didn't mean to worry you.
Now, retreating from the light
I love it when we fight
It makes me think
At least you still care
Give up, you're not going anywhere
Moonlight, illuminates your stare
And it's great, captivating you
Does that trouble you?
I didn't mean to trouble you

Chapter One: Just To Be Near Her

Hermione followed Ron's cue and dropped herself down next to him on the sofa. "They're all right, they're all right!" she whispered with excited relief. The silver Patronus was now completely dissolved, leaving only the stale, still air of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in its wake. She had placed her hands on his arm instantly when she sat beside him, needing to feel his warmth and connect herself to him. A small chuckle escaped his lips as relief washed over him. His family was safe. They were safe. He felt like he could finally breathe again and sitting there, letting the moment sink in, he grew more aware of the heat generating from Hermione's hands. It filled him up with such a wonderful feeling he couldn't help but pull her into him, in a tight embrace, amplifying the sensation. Thoughts ran through his mind: of his family, the wedding, the death Eaters, but none so much as the citrusy smell of Hermione's shampoo or the feel of her body pressed to his, as he held her to him. He refused to release her as he began his apology to Harry, savoring the moment. Hermione did the same, taking refuge in Ron's arms. The vibration of Ron's words tickled her ear, teasingly, and she had to stifle a moan that threatened to escape her lips.

As Ron released her, Hermione instantly felt a sense of loss. Uncertainty and frightful thoughts began to subtly attack her mind, and as embarrassed as she was to ask, she knew she would not get a wink of sleep in this dingy old house, filled with its ancient hatred, alone. "I don't want to be on my own tonight. Could we use the sleeping bags I've brought and camp in here tonight?" she said as blasé as possible, not wanting the boys to already regret bringing along a silly girl, who couldn't even sleep on her own.

To her great relief Ron didn't seem a touch annoyed with her question, smiling as he told her, "Course we can." She was, however, caught by surprise, her smile slipping into an anxious frown, as Harry muttered something about a bathroom and ran out trying to hide a pained look on his face.

"It's his scar again," she said unhappily, her brow furrowing. It wasn't a question or a guess. She moved to go investigate.

Ron caught her arm lightly and said, "Why don't you give him a minute, just in case it really is just the bathroom he was looking for?" Hermione blushed and adverted her eyes from his gaze. She noticed that there had been a hint of unease in Ron's eyes as he spoke, though he seemed to be teasing her. He was probably just concerned about Harry like myself, she ventured.

"Right," she said dumbly, letting it drop. Ron watched her carefully. She always fretted over Harry. Perhaps her feelings for him were simply stronger and deeper. Did she ever get so worked up over me? he wondered morosely. But his mind instantly traced back to the night they retrieved Harry. How she had lunged at him so desperately. The panic in her voice and the tightness of her hold were not something he could have misunderstood. The way her body seemed to tremble beneath his as he swallowed her up in his arms, he fought to remember now, casting away doubt of her nonexistent feelings. Maybe I still looked like him; the potion probably hadn't faded just yet. It was just her feelings for Harry transferred onto me, briefly, Ron thought bitterly, growing more deflated by the second. Ron stared off, pondering Hermione's heart, when suddenly her voice snapped him back to reality.

"Er—what?"

"Take a seat. I want to examine your legs," she told him in a very businesslike manner. Ron, flustered at first, looked down to see what she was going on about.

"I'm really sorry," she said apologetically, pulling at the rip in his jeans to get a better look at the damage. She hoped he didn't see her hands shaking.

"It's not so bad. We were lucky. How those guys found us..." he trailed off, mystified. He leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes, and she watched him take a couple deep breathes, and wondered what he was thinking about. Remembering herself, she went into her bag and pulled out a little blue bottle. She began dabbing very gently over the cuts. His leg burned at the touch and he winced, sitting forward.

"Sorry," she said again, regretfully and, without thinking, bent forward blowing gently against the cut, like her mother did to her when she was a child and scrapped her knee. But Hermione was not his mother and Ron was not a child. Her actions sent an electric current through his entire body, arousing every part of him. She seemed to catch herself and clumsily finished dabbing the potion as quickly as she could. He sat very still as she finished, afraid that he would not be able to control himself. For a brief second he thought of sitting on his hands to keep him from attacking her with kisses. But the idea of what she would do if he ever tried something like that was enough to stop him; the horror and shock he would see on her face, the way her arms and body would pull away from him- recoiling from him like he was no better than McLaggen.

"I'm going to see how Harry is doing," she said as soon as she was done with his leg.

See, he thought, as soon as she can she rushes to Harry's side. She only stayed as long as she did because she left sorry for cutting me up. Why do I let my imagination run wild, like this? he wondered hopelessly, the feel of her breath against his skin still very fresh in his mind. Maybe I can make her see; if she could just see I'm not that same little first year, hell, same sixth year for that matter, who took for granted the fortune of her presence. He got up then and began fixing the sleeping bags, purposely, but inconspicuously, putting Harry's just a tad further from theirs. Then he began rearranging the cushions onto the floor, to construct a bed for Hermione to sleep on.

"What are you doing?" a bemused Hermione asked, as Hermione and Harry reentered.

"I'm making your bed," he replied pointedly, continuing his work, unfazed.

"You don't need to go to all that trouble, really Ron."

"No trouble," He said, trying to sound as offhand about it as possible.

"All right, then." A curious smile played at her lips. "I'll just go change, then," she said and began to walk away. She paused, and turned back saying,"Thank you." Her smile more prominent now. Ron just nodded, but Harry could see him smiling as he smoothed out the blankets once more.

Ron heard the bathroom door open and moved to take his turn getting ready for bed. He met her in the hallway where they exchanged awkward smiles upon seeing each other. Ron's eyes, of their own according, or perhaps working for another appendage, glided downward, taking in every inch of her. He hoped she hadn't noticed, as he quickly pulled them back up to meet her soft brown eyes. They both moved to slide past each other, turning their bodies to allow them both to fit through the narrow corridor. Ever so slightly, as they passed, Ron felt a certain part of Hermione brush up against him and it seemed as though time itself slowed. Bloody Hell, he thought madly, as the image of him suddenly pinning her up against the wall and capturing her mouth in a fervent kiss overwhelmed him.

Coming back from the bathroom, Ron found Hermione already in bed, but not asleep. It would just the two of them for a few minutes until Harry returned, and he wanted to make the most of it, but words could not escape him. Finally, he spoke, saying the only thing he could think of. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you," she said softly. "I just can't see sleep coming over me anytime soon. Everything that happened today..."

"Try to concentrate on the good parts, maybe it will help," he replied thoughtfully. They began to recount the early events before the madness. Harry rejoined them, listening along. His own thoughts quickly traveled to a certain redheaded girl in a beautiful and, as Aunt Muriel put it, low cut dress.

In the darkness Hermione concentrated on Ron's voice as he admitted the fear he felt—hearing the panic-filled screams and disturbing shouts— as chaos erupted before his eyes. "I just had to get to you. That's all I could think about. Getting to you—and harry," he amended, feeling too honest in the safety of the dark night.

"I called out your name," she added with tenderness in her voice.

"I saw you. I could see you from across the way. All those people running about, obscured my view, blocked my path to you. It felt like forever before I finally made it..."

"And then you were there. You took my hand…" she said, bravely reaching for his hand now, "…and I felt like, in that instant, I knew everything was going to be all right." Ron gripped her hand in his. He whispered, so low that Hermione wasn't sure he said it or she imaged it in the darkness, "I'll never let anything happen to you, Hermione."

*** *** ***

Two Nights Later-

It was her first night sleeping alone in Grimmauld Place, and for all her effort to rearrange and tidy up the room, it still creeped her out. The image of Mrs. Black made her shudder and she snapped her eyes open, trying to adjust them to the darkness.

"Lumos," she whispered, flicking her wand and then picked up a book that sat on the table next to her bed. She read for a few pages, but grew tired of it quickly. Even Hermione Granger gets tired of reading sometimes. She looked at the clock. It was past one. Her eyes felt heavy, but as soon as she closed them the dark images crept back in. It had a lot to do with what Remus told them on his surprise visit earlier that night. They were going after Mudbloods, rubbing them out, like stains on a shirt. If they got their hands on her, what would they do? If she had gone to Hogwarts this year, where would she be right now? It made her head spin to think of all the dreadful possibilities.

"Oh. Darn," she sighed, frustrated as her book slipped away for her onto the floor. She got up to retrieve it before the pages got permanent lines in them from being folded over. She carried it over to the dresser and placed it down. She peered up at the wall, something there catching her eye. Even in the dimness of the room she could just make out a picture hanging there of herself, Ron, and Harry that she recognized was just taken on Harry's birthday. In it, she had her arms strung around both Ron and Harry's shoulders. They were smiling happily. She pulled out her wand to examine it closely, her eyes focusing mostly on Ron. She couldn't help but admire how much he'd grown over the years. His piercing blue eyes stared back at her devastatingly, his boyish grin playing with her heart. She wondered if it was him or Harry who had placed the picture there. "It must have been him," she said out loud, as if it would make it truer by doing so. But it made sense that it had been Ron who placed it there. It was him, more-so, then Harry who helped her clean this place up, made it tolerable to sleep in.

He seemed to sense her reservations, saying, "Don't worry, I'll be right down the hall," as he walked her to her room for the night. It was a comfort to know, but not as great as it had been those last few days, having him right there with her, inches from her, hearing him breathe beside her. It filled her with an ease, a peace, which she was now lacking.

Oh, pull yourself together, Hermione. You're not a child. He would think I was being ridiculous if he heard me now, she thought, angry with herself. Or would he? She remembered the tender, yet vehement look in his eyes.

"I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin…" he had said, and then with a fierceness, cutting her off, added, "…You won't have a choice." The words, even in her mind now, sent a deep shiver down her spine, but not one out of fear, no this was something all together different.

"I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin." The words sounded again in her mind and she thought of something which caused her to frown. Cousin, she thought, is that how he sees me, like family, a little sister type, barely a girl in his eyes... she wondered miserably. She dropped herself back on the bed, tossing and turning, her brain unable to shut off.

"Oh, enough of this," she whispered hotly, kicking the covers off and sliding out of bed.

*

A slight crash woke Ron from his sleep and he hurried to investigate. He found the kitchen light on and wondered if Kreacher was doing some late night cleaning or if the Death Eaters, who somehow managed to find a way in, were just grabbing a bite to eat before they murdered the three of them in their sleep. Either way he gripped his wand, ready.

"Hermione! Bloody hell! What are you doing? It's past two in the morning."

"Oh! Ron," she gasped, her heart restarting as she whipped around to face him. "I couldn't sleep. I'm just making some tea. Would you like some?" she offered.

"Er, well, if you're making it. I mean I am up now..." he replied slowly, his eyes focused too closely to the way Hermione's hair fell wildly around her face….

"We should get back to bed." Ron let his mouth hang open in horror to what he just said, though it was truly a very innocent statement. "I mean, you get back to yours and me, mine..." he said fumbling over the words. Innocent statement indeed, but where his mind traveled when he said it was a different story. He picked up the empty cups and ran them over to the sink, hiding his reddening face.

"I was thinking I might look over a few of the notes first, but don't let me keep you."

"Hermione," he stated with a serious tone. He could sense she was avoiding going back to bed."You need your sleep. You can go through this stuff tomorrow."

"I just—"

"Tomorrow," he said firmly, gesturing for her to get going. She conceded and stood up. He could read the trepidation on her face. "Out with it, 'Mione. What's this all about?"

"Nothing—It's silly—I know."

"Hermione, come on, it's me. You can tell me."

"I just can't sleep in there. Every time I close my eyes…"—her voice got quiet and far away—"… I see them coming for me." She finished unable to meet his eyes.

"You're safe here. They won't get in." He squeezed her shoulder and gave a small smile, his hand lingering.

"I know I'm being ridiculous." She tried to laugh at herself, but he wouldn't allow it.

"Bollocks, that is. It's okay to be scared. We all are." The two stood there silently for a minute, and then Ron made a decision, without worrying about the consequences. The worst she could do is say no, or shriek away, either in laughter or horror, he thought, her comfort and happiness were more important to him and took precedence over the fear of her rejection. "Come on," he told her, leading the way to his room.

"Here—you take the bed," he said, grabbing a pillow and throwing it on the floor. He grabbed a blanket and began making a makeshift bed on the floor for himself. Hermione stared at him. She couldn't let him sleep on the floor. She was acting like a total baby and now he was going to suffer for it.

"Ron, stop. You're not sleeping on the floor. That's absurd."

" I don't mind, honestly," he said, continuing to straighten out the blankets. Hermione bite her lip, indecisively. She couldn't let him sleep on the floor, but she knew if she went back to that room she would never get any sleep.

"Come on, then, climb in," he told her stubbornly.

"Ron…this...You really..." she struggled for the right thing to say and then paused, surveying the bed. She didn't even know where the next sentence came from but, logically, looking at the bed she said, " We can both sleep on the bed. There is plenty of room, I mean, and how can I put you out like this just because I'm having a rough time with it." She was fighting a blush, wanting to seem casual after putting the suggestion out there. What am I thinking, inviting myself into bed with him? What must he think? She thought horrified.

He stared at her for a moment, his face blank. It appeared to Hermione that he wasn't breathing; he was too still. The seconds seemed to stretch out before her and it took all her strength to keep from running out the door. She held her composure and waited.

"Er—yeah. I suppose we both...I mean if you don't have a problem with it..." She noticed his ears were red as he removed the bedding from the floor and replaced it on the bed. She watched him, realizing what it was that he was doing, as he put up a small wall, dividing the bed in two. Now she couldn't stop her blush from spreading. Any boy who would go through that much effort to keep a girl away from him; I should have kept my big mouth shut. I should have stayed in my own room...Death Eaters don't sound so bad, right now.

Ron, in the meantime, was fighting one of his own internal battles. Did I just hear her right? Hermione in my bed. I must be dreaming because this sort of thing only happens in my dreams. Oh no, what if... His mind drifted to possible things that might happen during the night when he was asleep. Things he didn't have control over. If she were to press up against him and he, without knowing it...Oh, she would think I'm the biggest pervert. I'd never be able to look her in the eye... He began to quickly assemble a barrier to keep things from turning to the worst.

Even still having Hermione sleep inches from him, seeing her chest rise and fall in the dark, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, if this was the most he would get on that avenue with Hermione, he'd take it. Just to be near her.