Chapter 2 – Fierce Beating of His Heart

Disclaimer- Okay, again, I don't own Harry Potter, the characters, or anything dealing with it, it all belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling. Only the plot is mine.

Author's Note- I want to thank everyone that has taken time to read this story. And to those of you who have taken the time to leave me a review, I humbly thank you, you're all my Heroes. Muchos Besos to my Beta Coff, I love you girl.

She told her self countless times not to read anything into it, but she just couldn't help herself.

Then, just when she was finally about to leave her office to go and meet with Ron, she'd had an unexpected, and, well, rather unwelcome - if only because she just wanted to see Ron – visit from Belinda Pennington, Kingsley's secretary. To her surprise, Belinda handed her a box full of the items that Hermione had confiscated on a raid just the previous night.

"Sorry, Hermione," Belinda said apologetically. "It's just that Mr. Shacklebolt asked me to bring these by, and told me to ask you to classify them into their correct categories. It's just so that I can know what type of security we'll need on them."

"Well," Hermione said reluctantly, "I was just on my way out. Can I do it tomorrow morning? It's just that Ron's waiting for me, and it's rather important."

"I'm sorry, but it just can't. It needs to be done tonight. We think that some of these items were used recently, and so we need to get them secured as quickly as we can. Especially after that close call you had last night."

It was another hour before Hermione could leave the ministry and Apparate to the Testy Witch, a little pub Ron and she had been going to for the last two years. Although it was quite crowded, it wasn't difficult to find Ron. He was sitting at their usual table. She didn't approach him right away; she just stood there and gazed at him. The feelings of apprehension she'd tried to keep at bay all day came rushing back at the sight of Ron with a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey on the table and a glass of the potent liquid in his hands. As he sat there, his broad shoulders hunched over his drink, the look on his hardened face frightened her. There was no sign of the awkward, loving, laughing, boy she'd fallen in love with. This Ron was showed no softness, he was surly and sullen, but she loved him intensely, and the fear of losing him terrified her.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, she walked to the table and stood there waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he looked up at her, she could tell that he'd already had a few drinks. His eyes were bloodshot and his lids looked heavy. As she stood there ready to explain her tardiness, her first thought was that Ron really needed a haircut, his thick hair was already gently curling at his nape. The unexpected thought almost made her giggle, but one glance at the look on his face stopped her in her tracks.

She offered him a small, nervous smile and sat across from him. "I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "Belinda came in, just as I was leaving, and asked me to record some items for Kingsley. I came here as soon as I could."

"It's fine, Hermione," he snapped. "I've only been waiting, oh, an hour for you."

She was taken aback by the harshness of his tone, "What's your problem? I said I was sorry, Ron, I was working. Did you want me to skive off work? Did you want me to tell Kingsley to do his work himself?"

"My problem?" Ron hissed. "My problem is that I'm pissed off, Hermione. I'm tired of coming second in your life. I'm tired of never having my opinions listened to, AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING IT WILL ALL WORK OUT FINE!"

By this time, there were several people nervously glancing their way.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her, "And yes, I did expect you to figure out a way to get here on time. You knew. You knew that I had to see you. I told you I had to talk to you. But you didn't make an effort to get here. I would have. I would've moved heaven and earth to be there if you needed me."

"What are you talking about? You're my first priority, Ron, but since when does that mean that I have to drop everything I'm doing at the drop of a hat? You know how important it is for us, all of us, who fight against the dark side, to dot our i's and cross our t's. We're talking about the security and protection of both wizards and muggles."

Ron's face had rapidly changed from slightly pink to crimson, his eyes were cold and hard, but his voice was calm. "By all means, Hermione, dot your i's and cross your blasted t's! So what if it means putting your life in constant peril? It's no big deal right? Well, maybe it's not a big deal for you, but I can't take this crap anymore."

It was the calmness that worried her. Reaching out to cover his hands with hers, she looked she looked pleadingly at him. "Ron, please, can we go home to discuss this? People are staring, and I really don't want to have an audience."

For a moment it seemed as if he would pull his hands away, so she held them tighter. Cobalt and caramel eyes met and held. Neither one could look away. One pair was angry and frustrated; the other hurt and confused. Each silently pleading their case. Without warning, he Apparated them both out of the pub, taking them to the flat they shared in Diagon Alley.

It was quaint little place they'd moved into right before they started work at the ministry, not too far from George's shop. The one bedroom flat had been perfect, and Hermione had fallen in love with at first sight.

It was there that she had given herself completely to him.


They had stood in the middle of the bedroom the first night, both a little shy, not quiet sure what to do. Then, Ron had gently pulled her to him. Wrapping his arm clumsily around her tiny waist he'd leaned over and began to kiss her softly on her lips. She had shakily placed her arms around his shoulders, pressed her body into his, and thrown her head back, letting her tousled mane brush against the arms around her waist.

That small gesture of surrender was all he'd needed. With a groan, his lips began to move frantically, licking and kissing her neck, his tongue moving slightly erratically from her cheeks to her collar and back to her lips. Clumsily, she'd felt him reach for the buttons on her blouse, but he hesitated, before stepping back and staring into her eyes, undoing each button slowly. He had slipped the blouse off her shoulders, staring at her in wonder, and she had shakily removed her jeans.

She had never believed she was beautiful until that moment… as she stood there in her pink lacy panties and bra, the look on his face had been one of unadulterated reverence. He had ripped his shirt over his head and quickly stepped out of his pants and boxers. Moving closer to her and reaching behind her back, He had unhooked her bra and let it slide to the floor; the panties soon joined it.

Through a misty haze, she had felt herself being carried to the bed. After gently settling himself between her legs he began to slowly move his hand up her inner leg while he focused his mouth on her breasts, first one then the other. He had trailed kisses from her throat, to her breast, her flat stomach and back to her breasts. His hand had continued its journey up her leg until it reached her center. Hermione arched her back as he continued to explore. Panting for breath he had pulled back resting his body on his elbows to keep his weight off her, only to have her grab the hair at his nape, raise her head off the pillow, and hiss against his lips, "now, Ronald!" Lying in his arms that night, she'd felt cherished. After falling asleep with her back to him, his arms cradling her, she'd been startled in the middle of the night by his screams. It was obvious that he was caught in the throes of a nightmare; his thrashing body was soaked with perspiration as well as the sheets. His words were incoherent, but there were tears streaming down his face. She'd held him as she would a frightened child, murmuring sweet words of love until his thrashing calmed down and he returned to a fitful slumber.

Ron released her hands as soon as they arrived. He walked to the kitchen without saying a word, opened the cupboard, pulled out the bottle of firewhiskey they kept there for special occasions. He poured a glass and tossed it back in one go. He stood there with his back to her, slightly bending, his arms out to his sides, holding on to the counter, his head hanging down. He knew that it was the last time he would be in their flat, there had to be a clean break, he just didn't know where he was going to get the strength he needed to do this.

He seemed so unapproachable that she was at a loss for what to say or do. She warily walked over to him and stood next to him with her back against the counter. She leaned over so she could face him. "Ron, please, look at me. I want to make things right, but I have no inkling as to what you need from me."

Turning around, he kept his eyes on the ground. He seemed as though he was battling with himself, as though he was trying to decide what to say.

"I can't bear the thought of you dying," he blurted. "I know you don't know what I need from you, but I don't even know what I need myself. I just know that the very idea of you dying makes me sick."

"Ron, I promise, nothing is going to happen…"

He roughly grabbed her by the shoulders. "Shut up, Hermione," he shouted. 'Don't patronise me! Don't make stupid promises we both know you can't keep!"

He was beginning to frighten her, his face barely an inch away, his eyes blazing.

'I'm not the prat you knew in school. I've seen all of the shit out there. Don't you remember? I've been out there with you, in the thick of it, every fucking day!"

"Stop, Ron," she cried. 'You're hurting me!"

He released her as if she had burned him. Looking down, he could see the marks left by his fingers; red, angry welts on her arms. He'd never touched her in anger. She staggered back a few steps and looked at him with a mixture of anger, fear, and hurt. The tears forming in her eyes sent a stabbing pain to Ron's heart. He hadn't meant for it to turn out this way. There was a pressure building in his chest, threatening to suffocate him, with each breath he took. 'You can do this Ron', he thought to himself. 'Do it now mate, or you'll lose what's left of your mind.'

With heart filled with remorse, he gently took her hand in his and led her to the table. She sat on one chair and he dragged another chair so they could face each other. There was a look of absolute pain upon his face. Hermione wondered if it had just occurred, or if it had been there all along, and she had just not taken the time to notice. As they sat with Hermione's knees between Ron's, she let her hands gently rub his legs and her silent tears fall without restraint.

"I'm sorry," Ron whispered. "Please believe me. I need you to listen to me, please, just listen to me for once. You know I'd never hurt you, but I want to do this right."

"Ron… do what?" she asked

""I need you to just listen, would you do that?" he asked her. She opened her mouth to reply, but quickly closed it, as she contemplated his unwavering gaze. Fastening her eyes on him, she agreed with an almost imperceptible nod.

Ron was at a loss as to how to begin. His heart was hammering against his chest with the force of a jackhammer. With nothing else to be done, he gathered her hands in his, looked into her beautiful eyes, and began…

"I've gone over this in my mind a million times, and I still don't know where to begin. The thing is, to everyone out there I am Ronald B. Weasley, one third of, well, us. A hero…what a bloody pile of rubbish" he said with a self-depreciating laugh. "The rub of it is that I'm always afraid Hermione. I'm afraid to sleep. I have been, for two years. I close my eyes at night and I see death." His eyes became unfocused as he spoke, almost as if he was somewhere else. "I can't remember the last time I slept in peace. There are the dreams of Tonks and Lupin, lying on the floor at Hogwarts, their vacant eyes condemning me, or the body of Colin; he was just a little boy. He had no business there. In my dream I want to shake him and scream, 'What the fuck were you thinking!' But just as I'm about to, I turn and I see Fred. He's standing there with a funny look on his face, like he knows a secret I don't. I know he's trying to tell me something, but before I can ask him, there's an explosion and his face is gone." His voice was barely a whisper now, a ravaged look on his face, tears streaming down his face

Hermione's arms ached with the need to hold him, but she held herself back and let him continue. "I sometimes see Harry at the bottom of the frozen pond, the sword of Gryffindor clutched in his arms, his head severed by the blasted locket… but the worst one is of you. I see you being tortured by those fucking gits back in Malfoy Manner. I try to remember that it's just a dream, but I can't." He abruptly lifted his eyes to her, "I can hear your screams echoing in my head, sometimes they stay with me even after I've woken, and each one feels like a dagger to my chest. Hermione, I see that bastard Fenrir feasting on your dead body!" He was sobbing uncontrollably, his voice cracking with every word.

She reached over and placed her hands on his cheeks, tears spilling down her own face, "Ron, it's okay. I know I can't begin to understand what you've been going through, but I know that nothing is impossible to get through. Together we can get past this, we just need to…"

"No, Hermione," he interrupted, seizing her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. 'We can't do this together. This is something I have to do alone."

There was a pause while he visibly tried to collect himself. "I'm… I'm leaving," he managed to say. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. It's, well, almost impossible for me to… tell the difference between dreams and reality, anymore. Every blasted time we go on a raid, every time you're in a dangerous situation, I lose a little bit more of my sanity. To a certain extent, I've known since that first argument after the battle that I could never get used to you being in danger. I've thought about this for a long time and I have to go. For my peace of mind I need to get away from this crap."

For several moments neither one said a word; the only sound was Ron's ragged breathing. Eyes locked, the tension in the room was palpable.

"I'm sorry Ron," she began in a deceptively calm voice, disengaging her hands from his. Her heart hammering in her chest, she grabbed the front of his shirt, "maybe it seems like walking away is the solution, but you and I both know that it won't solve anything. I'll quit. I'll stop working right now. Please, just listen," she pleaded frantically, pulling on his shirtfront, as he started to shake his head. "Ron, don't do this… I love you," she cried in a small voice, pulling him close and burying her face in his neck. She loved his scent, and wanted nothing more than to stay there, nestled against him, forever.

Reaching up to where her hands were gripping his shirt, Ron gently pulled her hands off and stepped away from her, immediately missing the fragrance that was hers alone. He couldn't believe how indescribably hard this was, but he also knew that he would never get better here. He wasn't good for her and she wasn't good for him. The history they shared, not just him and Hermione, but Harry as well, was filled with such horrendous memories that they made it impossible for him to move on.

"We both know you would be miserable without your job, Hermione. It's what you've always wanted."

"Okay," Hermione admitted. "Okay, you're right. But, look, it'll be okay. Things are bound to get easier, Ron. Every day we bring another Death Eater down. We're winning this thing! We can't let them beat us."

"Don't be stupid Hermione! What the bloody hell are you talking about? I was there last night remember? My fucking heart fell to my feet when I saw that damn dagger heading for your chest! I can't take it anymore!" He picked up the chair and threw it against the wall.

""Do you think this is easy for me?" he demanded. "Do you honestly believe I enjoy being an ungrateful git? I hate it, but I'll be damned if I'll stick around and make your life a living hell. I'm leaving for both our sakes, I love you, Hermione, but this is no good. Look, you know it's no good. Maybe you've never admitted it, but you know things have been bad for a long time now. I know you'll see that for yourself one day." His eyes implored her to understand.

Hermione remained rooted to the spot as he turned and walked into the bedroom. A million thoughts were running through her head, the most prominent of which were telling her to make him stay, and asking her how things had got this way. How had things got this way? She just couldn't believe that he was actually leaving.

Ron walked out holding a duffle bag, his coat draped over his shoulder. "I'll send Ginny over to get the rest of my things later," he said, trying to sound normal, "I'm not quite sure where I'll be staying, but she can get the stuff to me when I get settled."

Hermione silently walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his broad chest, she quietly wept as she listened to the fierce beating of his heart. Taking a shuddering breath, he kissed the top of her head, stepped back, and with a searing look, disappeared.