Ron stepped out of the shower feeling a lot warmer and a lot saner than when he'd gone in there. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to get dressed but as he passed the kitchen he saw Hermione cleaning the fish and went in. "What are you doing? I didn't mean for you to do that?"

"Why?" Hermione said, without looking at him. "It had to be done and I was available."

"Alright," Ron said cheerily. "I'll get dressed and help."

She turned around sharply to see him disappear behind the curtain that separated their bunks from the main room of the tent. She turned to Harry, her mouth open in appalled shock.

He gave her a weak sympathetic smile.

A couple of minutes later, Ron came back into the kitchen in jeans and a green plaid flannel shirt with his hair still damp from the shower. "Alright," he said. "What can I do?"

"Nothing," Hermione said. "They're all cleaned."

"Oh," Ron said. "Sorry. I would've done that."

"It's not a big deal," Hermione said.

"Well, I appreciate it," he said, smiling at her.

"Right," she said through clenched teeth and went to move past him.

"Hang on," he said. "Are you angry at me?"

"Hey, look at that," Harry said. He had the tent flap open. "The rain's stopped. I think I'll go for a walk." He hurried out.

Ron and Hermione ignored him.

"I'm fine," she said.

"That's not what I asked," Ron countered.

She narrowed her eyes at him and clenched her jaw. Finally, she said. "Alright, yes, I'm a bit miffed with you."

"Why?" he said, knowing he was pushing it, but feeling like he needed to or they were never going to sort this out.

"Look," she said, clearly trying to rein in her temper. "It's all well and good for you to think of me as your sister. Fine, but I'm not actually your sister and I don't appreciate you parading around here half naked like I'm just another bloke."

Ron's jaw dropped. "I don't…what?"

"You heard me," Hermione growled. "Stop rubbing my nose in it. Stop making comments about my clothes and my weight. Stop…" Her voice cracked. "Just stop."

"Hermione, I…"

She pushed past him and hurried toward her room.

"Please don't seal yourself in," he shouted after her. "I know you're not my sister and I don't think of you as a bloke. Hermione, please!"

She stopped at the curtain to her room and turned around.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm worried. I worry all the time. I left and when I came back everything was…you were both so…I worry all the time. I worry that we don't have enough food. I worry that we don't have enough money. I worry that we don't know where the rest of the bloody Horcruxes are." He dropped his voice. "I worry that Harry has lost focus and I don't know how to get him back on track. I worry that you've taken on too much of the burden of all this, the moving, the planning, the research, all of it." He stepped toward her. "You're so… and I wish…but there's nothing to be done about that right now…so I worry…and when I worry…well, I think I might get this from Mum, but when I worry, I think I have a tendency to nag."

Hermione let out a soft snort.

"I'll try to stop doing that and I'm sorry if I've been…too casual…with the clothes. It's just we're in such close quarters and I didn't grow up very…formally, I guess, but I'll try to mind my manners more. I can do that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Her face relaxed and she stared at him for a moment. "Fine."

He hadn't expected that. "Oh, alright then."

She grabbed a book and sat down in one of the chairs and opened it.

A few minutes later, Harry came in, stamping his boots. "Weather's back, only now it's not just raining, it's also snowing, and sleeting." He pulled off his coat and boots. He dropped down on the sofa and pulled one of the books off the coffee table into his lap.

Ron looked at the other two with a kind of resigned acceptance. They were going to spend yet another afternoon cooped up in the tent. He sat on the other end of the sofa and pulled the map toward him and began looking for their next location. The sooner they were off this rock the better, he thought.

A little while later, Harry nudged him and pointed to an entry in the book he was reading. It was a potion for skin hardening that warrior mages used before battle.

Ron thought that sounded like a potion worth making until he read the ingredient list. "Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed. "I think I'd rather die."

Harry laughed. "Right?"

Hermione looked up. "What?"

"Nothing," Ron said.

But at the same time, Harry said, "This horrible skin-hardening potion."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's so horrible?"

"Nothing," Ron repeated glaring at Harry, who ignored him.

"They want a foreskin," Harry said.

Hermione shrugged. "Easy enough to get at a potion shop. Slug and Jiggers carries them." She returned to reading.

"What?" Ron said, pulling a face. "From where?"

"Mostly America, I imagine," Hermione said.

"What the hell are they doing in America?" Ron gasped.

"Most American men are circumcised as babies," she said without looking up. "And, of course, Jewish men, which given when that book was written, is probably where they acquired the foreskins back then."

Ron looked at Harry. "Did you know that?"

Harry shook his head. "No. How would I?"

Without thinking, Ron said, "How does she?"

Hermione slammed her book shut and got up.

"Hey," Ron said, suddenly realizing what he'd just implied. "I didn't mean—"

"Oh, do shut up," she said acidly and went to her bunk, yanking the curtain closed behind her.

"Brilliant," Harry muttered.

"Bugger off, Harry," Ron muttered back. He went to his own bunk and rolled in. He slammed his head back against his pillow. Why did his mouth open before his brain was fully engaged? Hermione knew an awful lot about potion ingredients. Just because she seemed to know everything about foreskins and which men had them and which didn't, didn't mean that it was from first-hand knowledge of the subject. She'd likely just read about it. In absolutely no way did it mean that one of those Muggles she dated was American, and she knew about the state of his foreskin, because she'd slept with him. It probably, most definitely, didn't mean that. Except, he was worried that was exactly what it meant, and if she'd slept with some American Muggle last summer or even the summer before, well then, that would have made it all the more likely that she would have reached for Harry for comfort while he was gone, wouldn't it? He felt sick. This was going to make everything so much more difficult. Even if he somehow miraculously managed to finally win back her affections, he'd just lose them again, when he didn't know what he was doing in bed. He covered his face with his hands and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. He thought aboutTwelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Fred and George would be very disappointed in how he'd been managing his relationship with Hermione. He shook his head and thought about the conversation he'd had with Bill about that book after Christmas.

Bill hadn't thought the book was all that useful beyond the first steps of getting a girl's attention. He'd given Ron a much better book, a much more graphic, much more serious book that talked about love, respect, trust, and sex. Love and Sex for Witches and Wizardshad been life-altering. It was that book that he thought of when he thought of Hermione, and these days, he felt like all he thought about was Hermione and Horcruxes and food, but she took up the lion's share of his thoughts. He wished he had both books now. He'd like to read them again. Hell, he'd memorize them, front to back, so if he ever did get a chance, he wouldn't embarrass himself and disappoint her. He felt like he'd disappointed her enough, too much, way too much.