Hamlet

It's raining now, as it has been raining all week.

Hermione pokes her head out of the tent and frowns. A particularly large drip splashes onto her nose and she squeaks slightly, taken by surprise. She draws her head back in and turns around.

Ron smiles at her, amused by her disgruntled expression. She gives a mock pout and swats him playfully on the arm. He responds by grabbing her about the waist, and soon they are engaged in a full tickling match.

It ends with him on top of her and tense silence and heavy breathing.

Hermione waits for Harry to walk in, for awkward muttering and averted eyes and quick springing apart. But he doesn't. He's off by himself, as he often is, despite her and Ron's insistence upon bodyguards. Harry said they needed more firewood and the other two decided not to mention the large stack they'd already collected, letting him go into the woods alone. They know he needs it.

So Harry won't walk in on them and she can't break Ron's gaze and his weight on her is as comfortable as it is unsettling. Something is coiled deep in the pit of her stomach and she's afraid to move. His eyes keep glancing at her mouth, and she finds his lips suddenly more fascinating than they've ever been.

He finally kisses her or she kisses him and they're grabbing frantically at each other. It's been so long, she's waited so long, and now it's here, it's her and Ron and it's what it always was supposed to be.

And after, as they lay in each other's arms, breathless and naked and sweaty and terrified, that's when Harry walks in.

Hermione doesn't spring away though, she just blushes, snuggles her face into Ron's chest, and misses the grin that passes between the two boys before Harry backs quickly out of the tent.

Ron whispers the word "love" in her ear and she whispers it back and thinks that she's going to burst with the perfection of it all.

When she was younger, she fell in love with Hamlet.

She supposed later that it was because he was so mysterious. His character was so complex and confusing, so full of shadows and beguiling darkness. She had decided that she would love a Hamlet, or no one else.

So when she realized she loved Ron, her world was turned around. Now, reflecting, she doesn't know if she was the fool now or then.

Ron is no Hamlet. He is light and grins and fierce blushes and kisses that leave her dazed and spinning, but he is no Hamlet. Hermione wonders why she didn't fall in love with Harry, or even with Malfoy, for they fulfill any romantic girl's dream of the dark, broodingly tragic hero.

But now she is with Ron, she is finally with Ron, and they go to collect the wood instead of Harry. Her back is often covered in scratches from the bruising bark of the trees, but the rest of her doesn't care. Their search is so far fruitless and the danger is increasing, but now there are weeks full of secret smiles and cuddles by fires and light, tantalizing touches.

And then one night the sky rips apart.

The rain floods down but that's not the worst. The people storming their camp wear hoods and masks and shoot blazing jets of light across the sky. The three of them rush out of their tent and draw their wands to do battle.

Turns out there were only five Death Eaters. The surprise attack made it seem like there were more. It also turns out that the three of them are more adept than they thought. She stuns two and Ron stuns one and she's not sure if the two that Harry causes to fall are stunned at all.

Then they are running around, gathering their things, getting ready to disapparate immediately. The tent has collapsed and their possessions are strewn everywhere, all around the camp, all getting muddier and wetter by each passing second.

Hermione spots her Shakespeare on the ground near one of the fallen Death Eaters. She bends to pick it up and starts straightening. Then she stops because the man's hood has fallen off and his eyes are staring sightless at the sky. No life flickers in his face and Hermione can't look away.

"Hermione!"

She hears her name and jerks up and her eyes meet Harry's. He sees the man he killed at her feet and for a moment, the two of them just stare at each other. She can't speak. She thinks she wants to scream.

Then Ron is grabbing her arm and the three of them are running again and when they're a decent distance away, they disapparate.

They appear in a small clearing where it's not raining. Hermione can't look over at Harry. When he speaks, his voice is heavy.

"Come on," he says. "Let's set up camp. We'll keep searching in the morning."

With a flick of his wand, the tent is ready, and the three of them soon fall asleep. Hermione clings to Ron and dreams about the dead Death Eater. She wakes up in the early dawn and runs outside to throw up.

On the fourth day after the attack, as Hermione shakily wipes her mouth and drinks some water to cleanse it, the way she has the past four mornings, she suddenly realizes something.

And she was always such a smart witch, the smartest in her class, and it frightens her and angers her that she's forgotten that simple, that elementary.

Because she's always been the smartest, though, she realizes there's no way she can keep the baby.