Between the Lines

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

Disclaimer: I'm borrowing the characters and the general plot line. 'Nuff said.

Author's Note:

We all know how the story ends, but in fanfiction domain, whatever happens in between is a free-for-all, right? Yeah well, I'm pretty sure I'm toeing the line of copyright infringement, so I'm walking cautiously on eggs from now on. D

Okay, now that the boring technical stuff is over with, I want to get to the meat of the message. I don't really know if anyone even reads my notes, but if you do, thank you. I want to thank you also for being so responsive to my story, after such a long, long time. I may have lost readers in the past few months, but hopefully I gain them back, and then some.

Because two teenagers camping together for months do more than angst and go about daily business such as eating, breathing, and bathing. And when one frumpy redheaded monster decides to trample on said duo's camping parade, all hell, and my imagination, breaks loose. Thanks for seeing the truth of this whole shenanigan.

The quote I used for this chapter is just a quote. I am not invoking my political convictions at all. It just pretty much sums up the idea of everything you are about to read. So put down the presidential rally gear, and just read! :D

And lastly, I want to make an important announcement. As many of you may have observed, my last chapter had some obvious spelling errors that I failed to catch. I may need a second opinion before I upload these things online -- in plain speak, I may need a beta. If you are interested, please message me privately.

You show what you're willing to fight for, when you fight your friends.

Hillary Clinton

Part X

Hatred consumed Ron, seeping into his skin, rushing into his blood, and ruining every good feeling and memory that he had ever felt. As he stared at the boy who had taken the spotlight off of him, in his own damn life, he nearly forgot everything they had gone through.

Nearly.

Though it was not his life to lose, his memories flashed before him, and not surprisingly, they revolved around Harry Potter.

Meeting the famous Harry Potter in the train compartment, befriending him, defending him from that git Malfoy.

Beating the troll, being thrown about the girl's bathroom, seeing the professors' dumbstruck facial expressions as they walked onto the scene. Cementing in stone the Golden Trio, the best of friends, before puberty, reality, and time had slapped them all in their faces.

Confronting a former prisoner of Azkaban, nearly pissing his pants before realizing he did not know who his enemies and allies were.

Being a part of Dumbledore's Army, learning spells as well as teaching them, alongside the natural-borne leader and hero of the times, always knowing he could never take command of his peers like his best friend could, but still wondering why it was always Harry Potter.

Feeling the familiar sensation of pride, jealousy, and almost nausea as Harry's name was called for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Ignoring Harry, avoiding Hermione, and realizing he really did need them, because outside of their circle, he had no true friends, only people he could tolerate but they could not tolerate him.

Watching Harry disappear on his personal adventure with Professor Dumbledore, without trying to scream out, "Hey, faithful sidekick wants to go too!" for fear of getting what he wished. Seeing that grave and thinking, "It could've been me, had I tagged along," and crying because he knew he could never be a Harry Potter or a Albus Dumbledore, those revered names associated with wizards with real accomplishments and real awards. His name would always be in the fine print, where no one would read.

Agreeing with Hermione to join Harry on his quest for what seemed like the unattainable, with the slight hope that this was his accomplishment, his real award to obtain. What a whimsical idea it seemed now.

Complaining of hunger, dreaming of home and food his mum made, and storming off and getting lost. And then losing her, right before his eyes. And deciding to lose him. Hell hath no fury like a Weasley scorned. His hair may have resembled the hue of carrots, but his blood was eager to burn at the slightest irritation, and this betrayal was the ultimate sin.

And of watching Harry Potter flail in the water, his heart pounding, and of fighting with himself over the idea of saving the companion that would save him later, in return, or of seeing the decease of their only hope in these dark times. Survival and love beat the anger, and he jumped in, but grabbing the Horcrux first and Harry next.

And seeing the figures manifest themselves from the evil part of Voldemort's soul, knowing that what they said was half-true, and possibly fully true. Clenching his fists over and over again, wanting to make the memories go away, of them kissing and fucking and loving each other, and anger won. Anger won after having trampled love with spiked heels and having sucker-punched survival until it was a bloody excuse of a reason.

And here he was now, with weapon ready and his senses on alert, and anger was telling him to seal the deal.

But the tears in his eyes, the ocean of remorse swelling in his unhinged heart, and the terror that hung over his head, taunting him and prodding him, distracted him.

"The inner struggle is never over, Harry," Ron managed to say quietly. "Not when you're around to encourage it."

Someone, who used to be of importance to him and still was somewhat, once said that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but sometimes Ron was Shakespeare with his words.

"But I have an idea to resolve this little predicament. I'm sure you'll understand."

Ron is taking too long, Harry thought as he felt the pinpricks of immobility take over his hands. He was still waiting for Ron to destroy the bloody thing so they could be done with it and walk back to camp, and to Hermione. There were more important matters to tend to, other than smashing a heirloom to pieces in an unforgiving forest.

He heard his companion in crime sniffle, wondering what could have taken over his mind. Ron never did have the best attention span, but surely he hadn't forgotten what they had sought out to do. And he surely was probably not having a fond flashback of all the happy times he had spent with the Horcrux.

A bird cawed in the great distance, making Harry turn his head, and that was when he saw the maddened look in Ron's eyes and witnessed the sword slowly swing down at him. With his Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry dodged the stab and felt the metal graze his ear. With a statement of blunt amazement, Harry fell to the ground and wondered what power had possessed his friend's body. He walked like a crab on the snow, before picking himself up and sprinting as fast as the ground would allow him, a safe distance away from the redheaded mad man who nearly fulfilled the wish that the Dark Lord had been craving since he was a baby.

"What the hell, man!" Harry shouted, as he produced Hermione's wand and pointed it at Ron.

Ron ran straight at Harry, yielding the Sword of Gryffindor, and swung wildly, hoping he would land and injure the wizard who was the reason why his life was pathetic. Harry dodged every attempt, thanking Quidditch and every other experience he had had with people trying to take his life, and said, "Expelliarmus!" The Sword finally flew out of Ron's hands, near the rock where the Horcrux lay smiling in amusement with its fiery demeanor.

Harry thought the mad spell was finally over and proceeded to ask for an apology from Ron for such an outburst when he felt a meaty fist made contact with his jaw. He saw stars for longer than he liked, and threw his arms out, over his face as Ron proceeded to kick and punch Harry wherever he could. The defensive move had deafened the blows, but a particular swing at his kidneys made Harry howl in pain. He fell backwards into the snow and Ron dove right on top of him and continued his attack.

"You fucking little orphan, you! Taking my family, my girl, my life!" bellowed Ron, emphasizing the last few words of his statement with a complimentary blow to Harry's nose.

"What are going on about, Ron!" Harry reasoned, as he tried to switch his weight around so Ron would be thrown off. But the friend turned maniac was still as heavy as he was at Hogwarts, if not heavier, and this was not such an easy feat.

"I saw you! I saw you! I bloody saw you!" Ron roared. He had miscalculated a swing and hit the hard snow, and felt a sting that distracted him from his onslaught. Harry, who realized the mistake, found a sliver of an opportunity of escape and shoved the wounded whale off his lap, reversing their positions.

To a innocent patron walking in the woods, he would've seen two boys in a squabble, returning blows. To a rather disturbing person, he might have assumed that two boys were discovering each other and presumed to watch like a hawk. However, the savior that saved Harry Potter from committing a murder was the same thing that led him to the scene of the continuing crime.

Harry was shaking Ron by the lapels of his jacket, screaming almost incomprehensible sentences, punctuated by the common "bloody", "damn", and "shit" bomb. He pounded Ron's head against the snow, watching it bounce back up and seeing Ron's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head in unconsciousness, when he was blinded by the light.

"What in the -- !"

The silvery doe had returned, and had stepped closer to the boys than it had previously. It looked down at them, and then slowly walked towards the Horcrux, rock, and sword. It dropped its head slowly and repeatedly at the thing that had set Ron on a rampage in the first place, signaling their sanity back, as well as the rising importance to take care of the major responsibility at hand.

Harry looked down at Ron, whose anger simmered and started to subside, and pulled himself up, to follow the doe. Ron sat up for a few moments, waiting for the birds and stars to go away, before he drew himself up and followed Harry, swaying a bit.

"So I'm guessing you didn't produce that Patronus," Harry muttered. Ron made a statement of negation and then stood by the very wizard he was pummeling only moments ago.

So maybe he didn't kill Harry Potter, but he greatly injured him, and perhaps that was all he wanted and needed: to release the frustration he felt about the scarred hero through a series of punches and blows. All Ron knew was that the incredible idea of killing Harry was finally gone from his mind, and all that remained was the question of what caused him to think in such a way. Was it the power of the evil in that locket?

The doe strayed farther away from the rock, as they came closer. Having decided to repeat the task, without Ron going bonkers-ready-for-the-asylum and Harry having to defend himself and perhaps kill his attacker in action, they had taken their rightful places, but Harry kept his eye on the person with the sword, or tried to, because the blows to his face had left him with broken glasses, bruised eyes, and bitter little cuts where the shards of the glass lens had ripped into his skin.

"I don't know what the fuck came over you, Ron, but if it happens again, I am going to kick your ass," Harry warned, pointing Hermione's wand at him, which had dropped from his hand when he first dodged Ron's attempt at murder but was back in the right hands.

Ron, realizing that a few bashes to the head had cleared him of his evil thoughts, nodded, with a bit of fear in his eyes, and prepared to stab the Horcrux. It pleaded for his mercy, trying to conjure up the evil puppets and made a desperate attempt to inject rage back into Ron's bloodstream, but this time around, Ron decided to do as he was told, because he had not the energy for a second round of wizard wrestling with Harry and he did not have a back up plan.

The doe pranced closer to them, and saw Ron Weasley swing the Sword, and this time at the right target. It saw Harry Potter pull his hands away from the rock, and heard the Horcrux shriek in pain as its dark contents slowly slipped away into the ether, and what remained was a damaged piece of heirloom. Then the silvery doe nodded again, and turned away from the boys, to disappear as majestically as it appeared, among the trees.

When the bright light that it brought disappeared, Ron and Harry were still left behind to fix the mess they had created. Ron loosely held the Sword in one hand, while Harry stared at the broken Horcrux. The Sword dangled in Ron's light grasp before it fell, and dropped into the snow, smearing the pure whiteness of the ground with a disgusting black liquid. Just as the diary had bled when Harry stabbed it, this Horcrux, too, bled. Or maybe it was Ron's blood, or Harry's blood?

Blood, much of which was irresponsibly shed in a matter of a few hours, reminded them that there were more important matters to attend to, such as to the safety of the girl who had come between their friendship, almost literally.

Ron sunk to his knees, and nearly collapsed, had it not been for Harry's reassuring hand on his shoulder. After taking in the gravity of what almost occurred, the dam had flooded open, and the guilt made him feel sick as if he had caught the wizard's version of the common cold. He tried to say an apology, but the words would not roll off his tongue. But Harry, realizing that the bout of madness had finally passed and that the long lost friend had finally come back to him, physically and mentally, squeezed his shoulder and proceeded to gather the items they had thrown around.

As he navigated their way back to the camp, thoughts had ravaged Harry's mind. His friend had attacked him, and nearly killed him. That was the power that the dark magic that Voldemort had injected into these random bits of his life, held, and he was, and not for the first time that day, terrified. If these objects had the power to turn allies into enemies in a blink of an eye, and without warning, what danger lay ahead of him and his friends, for the ones that remained mysteriously hidden in the unknown locations?

Honestly, after a few basic healing spells here and there, he did not want to continue that thought. He was exhausted, starving, and ready for the land of dreams and nightmares. Sure, Ron had finally come back, but after such a homecoming, he did not have the energy nor the interest to welcome him back with a warm hug or conversation.

Ron, on the other hand, still felt guilty for what he had almost done, or just for what he had already done. He had physically hurt his ex-best-friend (he wasn't sure on what terms they were both on, in terms of friendship as of the present moment), and also felt nervous, for he had lost control of his emotions back there in the depths of the forest, and feared what would happen the next time something ticked him off.

It was horrible, the way that voice in that locket took over my thoughts, he told himself. Maybe this isn't the way it was supposed to go. Maybe I should get out of their way, for they should have made progress without me to make things sluggish.

The walk back to the tent had been silent, for all they could hear was their resonating thoughts, heavy breathing and the crunch of the snow beneath their feet, and then the frequent growl from Ron's stomach signaling that it was time to feed it or he'd go insane. Again.

Hermione had woken up, with no Harry by her side. Remembering that he was on guard duty, she gathered up her blankets and walked towards the entrance, hoping to bother him with her warmth. However, when she saw that he was no longer sitting on the chair that he should have been sitting at, and the feelings of paranoia and fear instantly rose, and she felt the warning alarms in her head ring.

She saw the pattern of a single pair of footsteps in the snow, and observed that it led into the near forest. She rushed into the tent, put on layers of warmer clothing, and then stepped out to find the missing piece to the puzzle.

She had barely stepped away from the tent when she saw the two figures approaching from the trees.

Two? Her mind registered the scene and she felt her knees lock. They were not enemies, because she saw the glint of light coming from Harry's glasses, and she also took note of the familiar way the second person waddled in the snow.

The invisible creatures that Luna Lovegood had constantly blabbered about had tied anchors at her ankles, and she could not move from her spot. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry, to do anything, but her body had decided to stop functioning at that moment.

It was the moment in her dreams when the hypothetical camera lens would take a close of up of her amazed face, of the tears dropping like soldiers during a battle, turning into instant icicles almost, and then quickly zoom out and back towards the two men walking slowly towards her. It would first focus on Harry, and then Ron, and then pan out so that they appeared as if they were approaching closer and closer, and then the colorful music would finally start ringing out of nowhere, and then her dream self would find the strength to move her limbs, and she would run to both wizards and hug the living daylight out of them.

But in reality, she did not have the strength.

And she was not ready.

Instead, she was sniffling and she wiped away the snot, and tried to clear her face of the leakage of tears that did not threaten but acted upon their desire to fall. Relief and something else tugged her heartstrings in all different directions and she felt those knees of hers finally completely fail, and she dropped to the ground, and the cold slipped past her clothing and towards her skin and beneath her skin, and into her being.

She managed to clasp her hands before her face, in an awkward prayer-like stance, as she continued to bawl as if she just was given the news that her furry orange monster of a cat had been caught in a Filch-caused accident and did not make it.

If she was dreaming, the triumphant final note of that sweeping award-winning composition would play as Harry and Ron stood before her, and almost silently fade away, revealing the moment of truth that would usher in the happy ending and then the credits would roll, or rather the scene would fade to black and she would wake up, disappointed that it was over. Her dreams were rather obsessive-compulsive when it came to details.

But this was reality, and in the real world, there is no soundtrack, nor is there a blackout to the happy ending.

Harry and Ron stood before her, and both simultaneously offered her a hand. They looked at each other, at their outstretched limbs, and waited for her response. She dropped her hands, feeling them loosen some snow on the ground in the process of falling, and looked up at the two most important men in her life, aside from her father.

She stared at their offers of aid and realized that there was no happy ending at this particular moment, and that they were far from it. This was only the beginning of a long and tough journey, one aside from the Horcrux and the Dark Lord, but of another, a personal and traumatizing one that would underhandedly somehow shape their futures, and decide whether Harry Potter would have the support he needed to lift the burden of the whole world on his shoulders or if it would roll out of his control and he would be crushed by its expectations, and everything would then really fade to black.

She dropped her head, her chin touching her chest, and closed her eyes. She slowly returned her gaze to the outstretched hands and realized it was time to pick.

Everything worth saving lay in the balance of whose hand to take.

Had distance made her heart grow fonder, or had Ron disappeared as a mere mysterious memory as Harry replaced him?

Was there even any argument?

Was it Harry, the only one that understood her and knew her in ways that no other man had?

Or perhaps Ron, the only one she thought would know her in that way, though he had been absent for far too long?

Who would it be?

Having made up her mind, she raised her hands and reached for what she wanted.

Author's Note II: Oh, a teaser for next chapter? Oh, goody!

Having made up her mind, she raised her hands and reached for what she wanted ...

A third hand had added itself to the offer, and a turn of her head made her realize that it was the every dreamy, ever tan, ever sexy Prince Caspian who was randomly jogging through the forest looking for trouble.

After seeing his fabulously sexy smile, she grasped the tannest hand, and then Prince Caspian pulled her up with his amazing strength, onto his white horse and they galloped away, leaving Harry and Ron with empty stomachs, scratched up faces, and in such misery that both decided to off themselves by drinking a soda that had been mixed with a Mentos, producing a poisonous death-causing concoction. Harry decided to emphasize his end by adding a little extra oomph, which came in the form of an extra ingredient -- those damn Pop Rocks. Because that damn Harry Potter always had to one-up Ron Weasley, always.

...

Okay, I'm kidding. But I honestly adore the actor who plays Prince Caspian. What a sexy voice, eh?

Sorry for such a drama-rama-filled chapter.

Lightheartedness is surely along the corner, maybe.