Thanks for all the great reviews. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I think Ron suffered a lot wearing that locket and it was fun to explore his darker side. All characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 7: Mounting Tension
At some point Harry must have covered them with a blanket because Hermione didn't recall putting one over them. She must have fallen asleep with Ron on his bunk. Her head was still on his chest and she took comfort in the sound of his heart beating, the rise and fall of his body as he breathed in and out. Carefully as to not wake him, Hermione propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down on his face. His mouth was slightly open and every other deep breath resulted in a snore. His face did look peaceful, though, which pleased Hermione. The sleeping draught had worked and he was in a deep sleep. Hermione took advantage of this and tried her best to memorize all of his features.
She noticed a stubble spreading across his jawline. When had Ron started shaving, she wondered. She let her finger graze across his cheeks, reveling in the rough feel of his skin. What would it be like to have his face buried into the softness of her? Her finger continued on its journey, tracing his lips full enough to want to kiss but not too full to be considered effeminate. Before she lost her nerve, Hermione leaned down and brushed her lips lightly against his, barely enough to constitue a kiss but enough to cause a rush of heat throughout her body. Ron's face contorted just slightly but he continued to sleep. Hermione pulled herself off of the bed before she could do anything she might regret.
She looked around the tent, noticing that Harry's bunk was empty but slept then. Well, I might as well put some tea on she thought. She busied herself in the small kitchen, putting the kettle on before turning back to the tent. There were clothes and other belongings scattered about. She bent down to pick up a pile and then recoiled as she grabbed them. They were the clothes Ron had been wearing at the Ministry, Reg Cattermole's clothes. They were soaked in Ron's blood. Hermione turned them over in her hands, praying that she would never again have to see Ron soaked with blood. Involuntary tears sprung to her eyes as she thought about how much worse it could have been. Ron had only been splinched but what if something worse had happened at the Ministry? What if she wasn't able to help him?
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Hermione spun around to see that Ron was up and out of the bed. Without replying, she ran straight for him, wrapping her arms around his body. She heard a muffled "oomph" as she squeezed him as tightly as she could. In an instant, his arms were also around her enveloping her into his hard frame.
She looked up at him saying, "I'm sorry. I am just really glad you're okay. I found your clothes on the floor and everything that happened yesterday came rushing back to me."
Ron looked down at her and then down at the clothes on the floor. "Well, those are a bit of a mess aren't they? Good thing I won't be needing them again," he said jokingly trying to make light of the situation. Hermione looked up at him and he felt the smile melt away from his face as he saw the concern and fear in her eyes. He smoothed away a stray curl from her forehead, his thumb brushing over her furrowed brow.
"It will be fine Hermione, you'll see." The tea kettle started to whistle. Hermione stepped out of his arms, going into the kitchen.
Ron was left standing in the middle of the tent, watching her prepare the tea. He carefully rotated his left shoulder, testing it for pain. The throbbing had subsided slightly but it was still there. Putting his fingers to the wound, it still felt tender to the touch. Touch. Ron's mind wandered back to the previous night. Hermione playing nurse to his wounded soldier was going to be fuel for his fantasies for a longtime. Her gentle touch across his body had been scorching. Sleeping with her in his arms had been a piece of heaven. He had only woken up because he didn't feel her small frame pressed into his side, only coolness where a warm body had been.
Ron was keenly aware that they, him, Harry and Hermione, were now truly on the run. Their escape from the Ministry would have been widely publisized by now, their faces posted on the front page of the The Daily Prophet. He looked around the tent, realizing that this would be their home for a while. Hermione was walking over to him, carrying his cup of tea. How many nights would they have to spend together, he wondered. How many nights would he have to lie so close to her but yet so far? Their brush with disaster had brought things into clarity for him. If something had happened to him, Hermione would have never known the depth of his feeling for her. Hermione was a smart girl and Ron knew that the moments they had shared the over the past month had been an indication to her that he considered her more than a friend. If he thought about it, they had been heading towards this moment for a long time, longer than even he realized. The question remained, though, as to whether or not they should do something about it now?
"Here," she said, passing his a cup of tea, "I'm going to go and bring Harry inside. I will take the next watch. I left a sling on your bed. After you get dressed, put it on. Your arm really should be elevated a bit. I'll change the dressing on it when I come back in." At this last sentence, she flushed slightly, remembering how she changed his dressing the previous night. Giving him a half-smile, she turned, lifting up the tent flat to go relieve Harry.
It was his turn to wear the locket. He hated it. He hated the weight of it against his chest. He hated that despite the heat of his body, it would remain cold. He hated the way he could feel its irregular heartbeat against the regular rhythm of his own. He especially hated the darkness that accompanied it. Everything seemed to be emphasized when he was wearing the locket. His hunger, the pain in his arm, and especially his desire for Hermione.
He was watching her now, curled up on a chair, reading the book of children's stories. She was blissfully unaware of thoughts that he was having. She was twirling her hair absently as she flipped the pages, her long legs swung over the side the chair. Occasionally she would bite her bottom lip, as if in contemplation of something she had just read. At one point, she put the book on her chest, leaning back on the other arm of the chair, her long hair almost touching the floor, her eyes closed. She started to stretch, reminding Ron of Crookshanks. Her back arching off the chair, arms thrown back over her head, a look of pleasure on her face as her muscles stretched. Ron let his eyes wander over her, taking in every inch of her body. She looked like she was offering herself up to him. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes skimmed over her chest. He could see the roundness of her breasts and just make out their slightly hardened tips, probably due to the coldness in the tent. He felt an instant surge of heat to his groin and shifted uncomfortably on his bunk. She was doing this on purpose, he thought, teasing him. Then later, in the darkness of the night, she would creep into his bunk, pressing into him and expect him to lie there and not do all of the things he fantasized about doing.
Hermione turned, to see Ron glaring at her. She shifted in the chair, noticing the chain of the locket peeking out from his shirt. She sighed inwardly. That damn locket. They all had noticed the affect it had on them when they wore it but it had a profound effect on Ron. She had suggested more than once that maybe he shouldn't have to wear it but he wouldn't hear of it. Of course he said that when he wasn't wearing it. To suggest anything to him when he had it on would be to risk having one's head bitten off. But yet, despite the tension during the day, when the night came, it would melt away. Harry had taken to doing the first nightshift, leaving Hermione and Ron to get a few hours of sleep. She would always start off in her own bunk but after a few minutes, she would go over to Ron. He wouldn't say a word, just throw back his blanket and make room for her. She could feel all of the stress melt away as he put his arms around her, pulling her back into him. Within minutes she would fall asleep. But the daytime was a different beast altogether.
Ron would never have the locket on at night, his twelve-hour shift seemed to fall during the day. His surliness would begin with breakfast, or the lack there of. It would continue as Harry and Hermione would spend the morning in discussion about where the other horcruxes would be. Ron would sit and brood on his bunk, offering very little or he would be outside, keeping watch. In the afternoon, Hermione was usually on watch until early evening. She would sit outside the tent, sometime joined by Harry and they would try destroying the locket only to be disappointed in their attempts. Ron would come outside but rarely say anything. If he did speak, it was with a tone of condescension. Harry could sense the toll it was taking on Hermione and would often volunteer to wear the locket more than his allotted time. But even then, the conversations between Hermione and Ron were tense and stressful.
Now here they were, mid-morning. Hermione had gotten close enough to a few campers yesterday to summon some bread and cheese. They had feasted on it last night and had the remains of it this morning. But it was getting closer to lunchtime and there was no food left. They would have to take their chances trying to catch a fish in the nearby stream.
Ron was still glaring at her and it was getting Hermione angry. "Can I help you," she asked.
"With what?", he replied, barely keeping the contempt from his voice.
Hermione jumped off the chair, stalking over to his bunk to stand over him. "Well, you are staring at me. What did I do now Ron? If looks could kill I would have been dead five minutes ago."
His face scrunched up, a look of contempt on his face, "You're barking. Why don't you go back to reading those kiddie stories." He lay back on his pillow, scowling at her.
"It'll be your turn soon. Don't get too comfortable. I am going to hop in the shower." She turned her back to him, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door.
Within minutes, Ron could hear the shower turn on in the small bathroom. He was trying hard not to imagine what Hermione was doing in there. Knowing her, though, she probably had an exact routine. Ron thought about how she would probably wash her hair first. He could almost picture how the water would soak it, until it was a heavy mass hanging down her back. She would probably use that fruity shampoo on it that was supposed to tame her curls but never did. In his mind he saw the shampoo sliding from her hair and down her back, over her rounded bottom before traveling the long length of her legs. She would probably use her shower gel now, putting a dollop of it on that poufy thing that was always hanging from the spout. Ron loved the smell of that shower gel. He often found himself uncapping it when he was in the shower, just to get a quick whiff of her. It smelled clean and crisp, like cotton sheets drying in the summer sun. Perfectly Hermione.
He couldn't continue on this train of thought. If he let himself imagine where that poufy thing was traveling he might just bust down the bathroom door. It was with great relief that Harry walked into the tent and Ron walked out to begin his watch. The cool crisp hair felt wonderful, the perfect antidote for the heat that he had just been feeling. He needed to be outside, to try to clear his head. He often felt it was better to be alone, better to be away from Harry and Hermione when he was wearing the locket. Ron knew he was behaving horribly but he felt like he couldn't stop it. It was as if a demon was inside him, spurring him on.
He had only been sitting inside for a few minutes when he realized he hadn't grabbed his jacket. While the cool air had initially felt great, he was starting to feel chilled from it. He headed back into the tent and grabbed his jacket from one of the kitchen chairs. He was about to go back outside when he realized something, or rather someone, was missing—Harry. Ron felt a moment of panic. Then he heard it, Hermione's voice. She was talking to someone but she was still in the bathroom. Ron didn't hear the water running anymore though. He took a few steps further into the tent where he saw the bathroom cracked open a bit. He heard both Hermione and Harry talking in the bathroom, though he couldn't make out the words. A dull buzz had started roaring through his head. Before he could do anything, the door opened and they both walked out, laughing. Hermione was in her robe, a towel on her head, her skin flushed from the hot water. Harry was carrying his toothbrush, his shaving kit under his arm. They looked up, startled, to see him standing there.
Although he didn't think it was possible, Hermione turned even pinker. Even Harry flushed a little bit.
"Everything alright mate?" asked Harry. He had never seen Ron look so angry. His blue eyes were dark, his lips a thin slash in his face. He looked altogether menacing.
"Yeah, mate, everything's fine." He grabbed his jacket and headed back outside the tent. They knew better than to follow him out. He wanted to get as far away from the tent as possible but couldn't so he opted to go sit behind it. He had never known such rage. The scene he had just witnessed had woken the sleeping demon within him. And the demon wanted to play.
Are you really surprised Ronald? After all of the years of dismissing her, did you think she was going to run into your arms? Ignorant git that you are, you probably did. But what do you have to offer her? Wit? Not likely, you are not as funny as you think you are Ron Weasley. Charm? Professor McGonagall might disagree with your charm ability.
Ron put his hands over his ears, trying to block out the voice even though he knew it was coming from within him. He couldn't believe it. Hermione and Harry? No, it couldn't be. Harry was swooning for Ginny. But he had observed the two of them more and more over the past few weeks. Heads together pouring over one of the books Hermione had packed in her beaded bag. Or sometimes just sitting together outside the tent when they thought he was sleeping. She couldn't feel anything for Harry, she just couldn't. The more Ron tried to convince himself, the louder the voice got.
Watch them Ronald, watch how they are together. Do they really even need you here? Maybe they would be better off without you. What have you been able to contribute? Nothing. And that' s what you are to them—nothing. Just the sidekick to the Boy Who Lived.
Ron took deep breaths trying to steady himself. After a few moments, the voice disappeared. It disappeared but it was never truly gone. It had left it's evil thoughts with Ron, who turned them over and over again in his head like a child playing with a new toy.
Hermione sat in the tent with Harry, waiting for Ron to come in from his watch. It was almost time for her to wear the locket. She dreaded it but she dreaded seeing Ron even more. She knew what he was thinking when he came back into the tent for his jacket and had seen her and Harry. She knew what conclusions his mind had jumped to. She also knew it was all because of the locket.
Hermione's face burned as she thought about how it must have appeared to Ron, the two of them coming out of the bathroom together, herself barely dressed. How could Ron think that, though? How could he doubt the feelings that she was having for him. It was his bed she crawled into every night, not Harry's. It was his arms she needed to feel around her, not Harry's. It was his lips that she had begun to crave since that first night when she had just barely brushed hers up against his. Not Harry's lips. Not Harry's anything.
Ron had come back into the tent. He looked horrible. He was still wearing the sling and he had dark smudges under his eyes. Maybe he would sleep better without her in the bed, she thought. He looks exhausted. Ron said nothing as he walked over to her, taking off the locket and dropping it on the table next to her, it hitting the wood with a resounding "thunk." He turned and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. They had not spoken about what had happened when Ron had returned to the tent for his jacket. There really was no need to speak about it. Hermione picked up the locket, placing it around her neck and tucking it underneath her jumper. She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair she was sitting on and went outside.
Hermione didn't venture too far from the tent, instead perching herself on a rock right outside. She hated wearing the locket as much as Harry and Ron did. It did things to her, twisted her mind, twisted her thoughts. She wouldn't dare tell the others but it felt like the little piece of Tom Riddle inside the locket was talking to her. It made Hermione feel like she was losing her mind.
She tried to concentrate on the woods in front of her but the voice was there.
You know they are talking about you. They are wishing that you weren't here but they need you. They are using you Hermione Granger. They have always been using you. How could you think that they want anything more than to tap your brain, use you for your knowledge. It has always been so, from the first day on that train.
Hermione tried her best to ignore the voice, instead concentrating on the list of ingredients needed to make Polyjuice Potion. It didn't work; the voice was able to penetrate her thoughts.
He is using you too. You know who I mean. How could you think that he would ever be attracted to the likes of you? You are nothing but a Mudblood, an insult to his Pureblood status. It doesn't matter how smart you are, how beautiful you think you are. He would never stoop so low as to be seen with you. Your fantasies are ridiculous Hermione Granger. How can you think he could ever love you, ever want to marry you? Oh, he desires you yes, but only to meet a physical need. He is a man after all, and you are just an ignorant girl.
Tears started to stream down Hermione's face. She couldn't shut the voice out. Instead, she endured it in silence, watching the autumn leaves fall to the ground.
Hours later, Hermione walked back into the tent, emotionally drained. Ron was on his bunk, apparently asleep. Harry was sitting in the armchair, his snitch floating in front of him. He took one look at Hermione's face and jumped to his feet, waking Ron with his sudden movement.
"Do you feel okay Hermione? Don't take this the wrong way but you look bloody awful."
Hermione gave him a half-smile, trying to ignore the feeling of Ron's eyes on her. She knew he was studying her, trying to figure out what was wrong. "I'm fine, just a little tired." She reached around her neck, taking off the locket, feeling instantly lighter but still haunted by the experience. She held it out to Harry saying, "Here you go. I am going to start on the fish you caught this afternoon."
She walked into the kitchen as Harry walked out. Ron hadn't moved off his bunk, instead watching her with a curious look on his face. She had forgotten about his damaged arm and said, "If you want, I can change the dressing before I start on dinner."
Ron shook his head, "No, it's alright. Harry helped me before, when you were on your watch." Hermione felt a slight twinge of disappointment. Although things had been strained between them, she looked forward to helping him, to having him near even though she could sense his anger.
"Oh, okay." Ron watched her in the kitchen for a moment, catching a glimpse of her crestfallen face. He so wanted to see her smile.
"I can help you with dinner if you like, "he offered, "I am not sure what good I'll be but I don't mind."
She looked at him with her red-rimmed eyes. "I was actually going to go back outside and look around for some mushrooms or onions to go with the fish. Do you want to come with me?"
Ron leaped off his bunk, grabbing his jacket. "Let's go."
When they went outside, they could see Harry sitting close to the border of the protective charms. Hermione and Ron went around the back of the tent where there was some underbrush growth. They walked quietly, occasionally bending down when a particular plant or shrub caught their eye. The day had grown cold and it was easy to imagine winter right around the corner. The only sound that could be heard were their footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves. Hermione, summoning all of the courage she had, asked Ron the question that had been burning inside of her since her return to the tent.
"So," she said, trying to sound casual, " what did you and Harry talk about when I was on watch?"
Ron shrugged noncommittally replying, "Nothing really. Or nothing that you haven't heard before. We were just discussing possible locations for the rest of the horcruxes."
"Oh, "said Hermione, slightly relieved but still not sure as to whether or not he was telling the truth. "Did you come up with any good ideas?"
Another noncommittal shrug. "Not really." Ron bent down, ripping what looked like an onion out of the ground. He held it in his hand, almost as if he were weighing it. He turned to her asking, "Do you think he knows what he is doing?"
Hermione spun around at this question. It wasn't what she was expecting Ron to say. Here she thought they had been talking about her, questioning her ability. She answered slowly, "Yes, I do. I know you are hoping that Dumbledore told him something, something that will help us. But I believe that Harry has told us everything."
Ron nodded, throwing to the ground whatever weed he plucked up. Hermione had gathered some mushrooms that looked edible. She wasn't exactly sure what she would do with them but she would figure it out as she cooked. She had never really used magic to cook. When she was at home, she prepared meals as her Muggle parents would. She actually enjoyed it. Hermione had fond memories of being in the kitchen with her mother during the holidays, preparing Christmas dinner for her family. Another wave of melancholy washed over her. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon.
"Let's head back inside," she said. She put the few mushrooms she had collected into the pocket of her jacket. She turned towards the tent and was stopped by Ron, who had grabbed her hand with his. He didn't say anything, just gave it a warm squeeze, and allowed her to continue back to the tent.
Hermione was unsure as to what to do. Harry had taken his post outside after they had finished dinner. He would be out there on his own until at least midnight. She had already changed into her pajamas, a warm pair of flannel bottoms with a matching long sleeve tee. She had picked up The Tales of Beedle the Bard again, in the hopes that she would find something that would point them in the right direction. It was getting late, though, and her eyes were getting heavy. She was lying in her bunk. Now would be about the time she went over to Ron but tonight she was unsure. She rolled over to check to see if he was asleep and almost gasped when she realized he was look right at her.
It had been a horrible day, Ron thought, full of horrible thoughts. Even though he had taken off the locket this afternoon, he still felt its prescence. Dinner had been horrendous, barely edible. Although he knew it wasn't her fault, Ron couldn't help but direct his anger at Hermione. He knew that was irrational. Ron and Harry could try their hand at cooking but she was right, they let her do it because she was the girl. He didn't even want to know what she must think of him and the way he had been carrying on. Yet, he found it hard to apologize. Even without the locket on, he couldn't rid himself of the demon within him and the ideas it had planted within him. All he knew is that he wanted her in his bunk tonight. He needed to feel her near. By having her close he felt that maybe there was a possibility that all of the thoughts in his head weren't true.
He smiled at her saying, "Your place or mine tonight?" As he said it, he swept back his blanket in invitation. Was it his imagination or did he see a look of relief cross her face?
Hermione practically bounced off her bed, crossing the distance between them and sliding in-between Ron's bunk and blanket. He whisked the blanket back over them. Hermione was careful not to get too close to him, especially with her bare feet. She knew they probably felt like blocks of ice. Ron's hand went around her waist, pulling him close to her, though, even when she would have tried to keep her distance. He reveled in the way the fit together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, her small frame locked into his large one.
Hermione smiled, her eyes closed. Ron's hand was clamped around her stomach, holding her in place. It felt simply delicious to lay with him. But somewhere in the back of her mind was the echo of Tom Riddle's voice. She tried not let him intrude, but there he was, like a particular nasty fly, relentless in it's quest to annoy. Hermione shifted against, Ron in an effort to get comfortable as well as dismiss the voice in her head.
Ron's breath caught in his throat. She was wriggling around too much, causing a wonderful friction between them. The feel of curved bottom moving against his groin was driving him mad. He tried backing away from her but she only moved closer. Ron concentrated, trying not to let her feel the arousal that she had created in him. Finally, she stopped, seemingly comfortable in the spot she nestled into. He released a breath that he wasn't even aware that he was holding.
As his lids started to droop, Ron thought about the day. He knew that tomorrow would play out much like today, and the day after that, and the day after that. He also knew that he could get through it, knowing that at night she would be in his arms, even if it was for a few short hours.
This couldn't be happening. Hermione could see Ron's lips moving but she couldn't believe the horrible things that were coming out of his mouth. Harry was shouting back at him angry but with a look of fear hidden deep within his green eyes, almost as if he was watching one of his nightmare's come true. She knew she spoke too, only to be brushed away by Ron, his blue eyes dark with rage. She had an image of his brother Charlie, taming dragons in Romania. It was like one of those dragons had come alive inside of Ron, unleashing fury and fire on all those in its path. That damn locket, if only she could get it off of him. He wouldn't be saying these horrible things if he didn't have it on.
Hermione panicked. What had he just said to her? Was she coming with him? How could he ask that of her? How could he want to leave them behind, leave her behind? What was wrong with him? Where was her Ron? She hadn't seen him in so long that she was afraid that he might not exist anymore.
She could see the anger in his face as she said she was staying. He turned fleeing the tent, saying something ridiculous about her and Harry. She tried to follow after him only to be bounced back by her own charm. By the time she took it down, he was already deep into the woods. She heard someone screaming his name. Who was screaming his name like that? Her voice felt raw. She was screaming his name, it was her voice she heard. And then she heard a pop. He was gone. He had left her behind. He had left them behind. Cold water rushed down her face, soaking her to her core.
Hermione stood there another moment hoping that it hadn't really happened, hoping that she would see his ginger head through the trees. But he didn't come. She turned, walking back into the warmth of the tent. Harry stood where she had left him, his chest rising and falling with the emotion of the horrible scene that had just happened. She walked past him and fell onto her bunk, letting the waves of tears take her. She would never forgive Ron for this. Ever.