Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the delay, really. It's just... summer has just begun! In the past two weeks I've graduated, registered for college classes, set up a checking account, got settled in the library for my work-study program, made some money at my part-time job at the theatre, and stayed out every night since I recieved my diploma being an all-around hoodrat. It's been really fun.

Anyway, won't bore you with anymore details. This chapter is NOT a continuation of the incident the past few chapters have been describing. Four months have passed and this is how life has carried on since. Going back to the usual Ron/Hermione based text has been fun - sorry to all those who have been missing it!! :) Enjoy!

The sand was fine and pale on her feet. It flew gracefully like wings with each quick step she took. Eventually the ground became more constant, hard. It formed into sharper rocks and then large, sea-smoothed boulders. Over the months she picked her way across the shore, her feet had grown accustomed to the change in texture and barely noticed it now. Minding the dips and gaps she knew well, Hermione leaped and landed in the safe places. She had no idea where she was going, but knew it wouldn't be far. Her time was almost up.

Finally she came upon the small valley a few miles away from home. The rivet was hidden among the larger rocks, but it led right to the ocean. She couldn't stay away. It was sand-filled with touches of tall grass that had faded with the season. Hermione sat in the middle of the bay, plunging her toes into the sand and setting her eyes on the hazy sunset. The water was calm tonight, lapping mildly at the shore.

It was a sight like this that made Hermione study it carefully. She would be gone from this place soon, she was sure, and wanted to take with her the beauty that made her situation bearable. She had already memorized the way the black clouds rolled slowly over the sky before a thunderstorm came, the way Gus lumbered around the living room when he was excited, how Ron's hair was like fire when he stood beneath the blazing afternoon sun, even the way the smoke curled slowly out the kitchen window when dinner was being made. Hermione only wanted to keep these things as memories. All the beauty in the world could not destroy her hope of home.

November had crept up on her days ago by tainting the wind with a slight chill. It had been four months exactly since Hermione and Ron had arrived at the forgotten shack. While Ron kicked the sand off the cement porch, her father would be shoveling the fine layer of snow off the walk. While she slept comfortably with nothing more than a sheet, Ginny would be layered in flannel and bringing her feet up to curve with the rest of her body. A twinge of jealousy shook her, made her blink. Viktor surely had to be coming soon. Hermione knew that he would not let half a year pass without word or rescue.

The stay was frustratingly indefinite, but Hermione mused it could be much worse. The first few weeks had been long and lonely. Ron was quiet and aggravated for the most part, slamming doors and kicking Gus out of his path. Hermione would awake in the night to cursing and strange sounds coming through her bedroom wall. It was frightening. The only redeemable quality Ron had those days was his ability to cook. Hermione could pass off eggs and salads, but Ron could create three course meals. Not that he would, but his food was delicious anyway.

Hermione cringed as his voice rang through her mind, yelling that she was too slow, too boring, not helpful enough. She had shrieked back, of course, unable to maintain her passivity. The endless fights had taken a toll on her effervescence. Soon they were both miserable, incapable of enjoying their time together, alone.

The wind blew Hermione's curls into her face. She sighed and smiled, drawing her fingers through her hair. It was longer now – about to her chin – and she liked it. Ron had done a nicely with the frayed edges and brittle strands. Her grin grew wider as the memory drew her in, sucked her away from the dune she sat on.

The heat was stifling. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck and shoulders and stomach and legs. Even with all the windows open and a paper fan crunched tightly in her fist, the air continued to swelter all around her. She could almost see the space around Ron's forehead warp. The boiling temperature and blazing sun drove the pair mad – finding shade even indoors was nearly impossible. The windows around the house were wide and many.

Ron groaned from down the hall and then Hermione heard the slam of his bedroom door. As she walked past, the wincing squeaks of cheap blinds being closed almost made her scream. Nothing was going right – the house was a mess, the food from breakfast smelled all the way from the kitchen, Gus had wandered off on his morning walk, Ron was irritable, and she had run out of new material to read. The sweat continued to pool on her body, weighing down her hair. The few strands that were long enough tickled the back of her neck constantly. She would grab them and shove them to the side, wet her hand in the sink and try to slick it back, even took twine to tie it back.

Hermione limped into the bathroom, her feet still very awkward and unsteady. She tripped over Ron's used towel and howled as she hit the tile. Angrily, she stood and snatched the scissors from the cabinet above the sink. Stealing a glance at her sun-burnt, teary face, Hermione grimaced. No wonder Ron couldn't stand to be around her – she was hideous. Her fingers trembled as they held the scissors and shakily ripped through the bottom layer of her hair. The leftovers tumbled down the back of her shirt and tickled the sensitive skin.

Hermione dared another tortured look in the mirror and tears sprang to her eyes. Her hair was jagged and wavy and uneven. Knees shaking, she slipped to the floor to cry with her face buried lightly in her sweaty palms. Nothing was right, nothing at all. It was silly to be so emotional over a few ruined locks and as she began to recognize it, Hermione grew even more distraught at finding herself so ridiculous.

Her crying faded soon after – her body was too exhausted to do much – and Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her fists. Her hands dropped to the cool tile floor as the rest of her heaved a tired, resigned sigh. Blinking, she turned her face upwards.

She jumped. Ron was leaning against the doorframe, his head cocked in interest. There was a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"What," his voice was trying to stay steady, but Hermione could tell he was dying to smile, "what have you done?"

She scowled in response, sending the scissors skittering across the floor. They hit the wall very close to Ron's bare feet. He looked down, observing them, and then turned out of sight. Hermione listened as his back thumped against the wall. She heard a snort and then muffled chuckling.

"It's not funny!" she shouted angrily. Her hands curled into fists.

Ron dipped back into sight and let his hand drop from his mouth. His laughter filled the bathroom and bounced around, magnifying his deep voice. Hermione's anger was forgotten for a moment as she took in the sound. It was the first time he had genuinely laughed since she had woken up. It made it seem like the days Before.

Ron tumbled against the door and nearly collapsed, gasping for breath between giggles. He doubled over and laughed and laughed. She looked so absurd, so totally incredible. Sprawled out on the floor with her hair muddled and her cheeks red and tears not yet dried all over, Hermione was a mess. It was funny, because he was a mess, too. Inside and out, they were both cluttered and confused and it could not get any worse. Laughter was a sign that Ron had accepted it. He and Hermione were stuck together in that godforsaken shack forever, red and burned and unhappy and chaotic.

"Stop!" she demanded, her eyes darting nervously to him. "I said stop it. Quit laughing- you've had your fun, now go!"

"Dear God, Hermione," Ron panted, settling against the wall with his shoulders hunched and his hands tight around his waist. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Hermione cried, brows furrowing.

They stared at each other for a while, breathing evening.

"Nothing?" he asked.

Hermione began to rise to her feet, grasping at the ledge of the sink. Her arms wobbled dangerously as she stood. Her elbows locked under the weight and Hermione tumbled to the side. Ron was by her side, hands guiding her to the toilet seat.

"Doesn't look like nothing," he chided confidently.

Hermione let her head tilt backwards as the china seat chilled her back nicely. She let a groan escape from her lips. "I ruined it," she moaned softly. "Everything!"

"Everything is not your hair," Ron told her.

Hermione shook her head and ran her hands across her face, scrubbing the humiliation in before Ron had the chance. "It's revolting. I look dreadful."

"Since when have you cared?" he asked, picking up the scissors and admiring them at a distance. "I mean, not to be cruel, but I've seen you looking a lot more… repulsive. Don't forget that I've seen you puke more times than you can probably remember. There's no one to see you, anyway. It's just hair."

"I don't care," she snapped, blushing at her vanity. "I just want it back to normal."

"Let me, then," Ron walked towards her, his fingers slipping into the handles.

Hermione climbed steadily to her feet. The sun only had a few more minutes before totally disappearing and she needed the dim light to find her way home again. The walk back was always shorter and the sight of the backdoor was almost dreaded, but the ocean breeze and calls of far off birds took her mind away. The rocks grew smaller and then faded into the white sand that was associated with home. Her feet took her around the last turn of shore and there the house was – standing remote and small against a vast, empty backdrop – and there was a light on beyond the opened kitchen window.

Ron looked up from the stove to wipe his brow. He shut off the heat and glanced out the window over the sink. He was not surprised to see Hermione's slight figure limping over the sandy banks, surrounded by the mild, curling mist that accompanied nightfall. His eyes were steady as they watched her move closer. Her walk was not lithe and graceful like it once had been, but it was better. Her hips swayed back and forth mesmerizingly as a smile lit up her tanned face. It had been right where she was walking that she had perfected the art.

"Help me up," Hermione commanded, her face red with frustration and pain. Her legs had twisted beneath her, sand piling into the folds and dips of her clothing. It was the fourth time she had fallen on their walk and they were both getting annoyed.

Ron took a few steps backward, teasingly. "Do it yourself. I know you can."

"Ronald," she hissed warningly, rolling off to her side, "help me."

"I've done that several times already, as I recall," he responded, ticking the incidents off on the tips of his fingers. "And besides, I've got dinner to cook. It really can't wait any longer." His feet carried him further away.

Hermione's eyes were tinged with fear. "You wouldn't leave me out here."

"Stand up," Ron replied, his face turning serious.

Hermione huffed in his direction, but managed to get to her knees. She pulled herself up slowly, tottering, but managing her gravity. "There," she growled at him, glaring. "I stood. Now come help me back."

Ron didn't move closer, didn't move away. "Take a few steps and then I'll think about it."

"Ron!" Hermione cried irately.

"Do it!" he shouted back sternly.

"No! I can't."

"Then you can stay out here and starve." Ron turned and walked to the house. He twisted his head to whistle for Gus and to steal a glance at his bereft companion. He grinned happily and left the backdoor open invitingly for her. It was his new-found hobby to make her miserable. It made him feel a tad guilty, but the acts weren't malicious as they once had been. They were only small things, like moving her bookmarks to the wrong chapter or using all the towels in his early-morning showers. Leaving her in the sand for a half-hour or so wasn't going to kill her.

"Ronald!" Hermione screamed, "I'm going to slaughter you!"

"Catch me if you can," he laughed, turning to raid the pantry.

Hermione shrieked bloody murder for the longest time. Ron peeked out the window when she took her first, cautious step and then again when she fell only seconds later. It had been a long walk and her knees had given out only on the way back. Her muscles weren't strong enough, but he figured it was the perfect way to get them back to normal – make her work for it.

She fell an awful lot. Hermione's threats and pleas faded after a while and Ron turned his attention fully to his food. He concentrated on making something above average as an apology, a reward, when Hermione finally reached the table. An hour passed.

As Ron bent over the pan to inspect his creation, he felt a sharp pain sting his side. Jumping slightly and cursing, he whirled around. The pain was pointed and throbbing. Hermione stood inches away, her eyes livid. Her hand darted out and she pinched his arm tightly. Her other hand got a hold of the thin layer of skin covering his stomach.

"Ow!"Ron shouted, jumping out of reach. Hermione followed him, licking her lips.

"I am going to murder you," she hissed.

He went to bed covered in tiny, red scratches, ugly purples bruises, and a satisfied smile.

Ron opened the door and Gus darted out between his legs before he even realized what was going on. He watched the dog gallop towards Hermione for a moment. She seemed surprised by the sudden appearance of Gus and her eyes flew towards him. She waved slightly. He licked his lips.

"You snuck out," his voice was calm, low. He wasn't accusing or upset and the words flowed over her smoothly. Her heart jumped a beat.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, smiling softly. She ducked under Ron's skinny arm as it held open the door for her. She heard Ron whistle for the dog as she took a seat at the table. Dinner had already been set out, glasses filled, and silverware placed. Usually she and Ron went for a walk together and she would have to wait another hour before it was time to eat. It was a nice surprise, even if it made her feel a little guilty for leaving without him.

"See anything good?" he asked, taking his seat across from her.

"Nothing different," she replied. Her eyes darted up to meet his and then shied away, finding them trained on her.

Ron took a drink and said, smacking his lips, "That's a surprise."

Hermione smiled and began eating. Meals were a quiet affair for the most part, as were all the other affairs they had. Nothing was ever new or interesting or funny or controversial – aside from the never-ending argument over the placement of the toilet seat – and silence was extremely common. Ron wasn't that affected by it, having spent whole years without steady company, but Hermione was shaken by the profound quiet. At least in Lawrence she could write letters and call on Ginny. There wasn't anything here.

Ron left the table after a while. He had to complete his nighttime ritual of pouring himself a bit of brandy and retiring to the living room to read whatever Hermione had finished the week prior. He flipped the switch on the back of the radio he had illegally purchased from a wanderer that had lumbered through in mid July. Hermione washed the dishes to soft jazz as Gus tottered off to curl up on the edge of her bed. It was almost like being a family, she thought, if not for the fact all of it was forced.

Ron glanced up from his text when Hermione sidled past him to lie on the other half of the sofa. After washing up, sometimes she would go straight to bed; sometimes she would read the post, other times she would sprawl around with Gus, even scribble letters to her family that she saved to be delivered in bulk once she got home. It was always a pleasant night when she sat so close Ron could smell the flowered shampoo she used. Hermione pulled the newspaper to her, but did not open it. Instead, she turned her gaze to the ceiling and lost herself in thought. Ron peered over the top of the binding to watch her round eyes glaze over and her body relax. He couldn't help himself – the curves molded on her body were beautiful, sensuous.

Two hours passed until Ron found he could not stand the dreary Le Pape, a work that Hermione had devoured last Tuesday. "Oh, I love Viktor Hugo," she had exclaimed enthusiastically, "just try this." She had shrugged, happy that she had been able to help, and could not help adding, "Aren't you fond of him? I've always liked the name Hugo." He had rolled his eyes and accepted the text.

Ron shut the book with a grimace and tossed it somewhere behind him. As it hit the ground, he expected to be chastised for not treating it with more respect. When no angry words came, Ron glanced over in Hermione's direction and found she was quite asleep. Her legs were sprawled and her tiny hands hung limp off the cushions. Her face was calm, eyelids moving fluidly and her lips pouting as they breathed deeply. He considered leaving her there for the remainder of the night.

Ron stood and bent down until he was eyelevel with her. The sun had brought out tiny, light freckles that mesmerized him. Ron shook his head. He gathered Hermione's body in his arms and began the trek down the dark hallway. Of course he wouldn't leave her out – she would spend the rest of the morning complaining of aches in her shoulders and back. He didn't want to go another day without company on his walk.

Hermione sighed and curled into his chest. She was vaguely aware of the fact she was being carried and did not doubt whose arms held her. The embrace was warm and wanted. Long ago she had learned that she wasn't allowed to love Ron, but found it impossible not to in these moments. Her heart would jump when he flashed a smile as she fussed over something trivial. Her pulse would pound when she caught him singing off-key as he shaved in the mornings. Her body would ache to move closer when he mumbled a final, sleepy 'goodnight.' She craved his touch, though she knew he didn't reciprocate. In these rare instances, Hermione held tight and pretended that he loved her just as he did Before. It was pathetic and she knew it, but she ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head and did it anyway.

Ron's arms relaxed as Hermione's hand spread across the front of his shirt. His pace was slow, unhurried. He liked the feeling of being in control, being wanted again. The several months that Hermione was unconscious, Ron grew accustomed to making all of the decisions for her and hearing no guff about it. The situation had drastically changed when she had woken, started talking, walking, realized that she didn't need a caretaker for much longer. Ron's role in her life had shrunk, disintegrated as her freedom swelled. It was then that he understood he wanted that responsibility back – the power to make her happy, make her comfortable, take away her fears and pains. Just as it had been before the whole mess started. He wanted her trust, her friendship back.

It scared him badly. The thought he would ever want her around again still seemed unfeasible, but there it was in the back of his head. Ron would think of how angry he had been with his hands shaking and his face red and expect the feeling to dissipate. It would for a while, but come back when he saw her bare legs turn the corner or when he watched her bite her lip as she read the post. Hermione would flick her hair behind her ear and Ron found himself completely entranced by her slender, white wrist for several minutes. He enjoyed having her tender, turbulent friendship and knew he would desire it until his head and heart ached.

Ron caught himself walking in the direction of his own bedroom and quickly corrected himself. It was weird to have two bedrooms instead of one. He liked not sleeping in a glorified coat closet, but somehow missed Hermione's presence so close to him. Only a wall separated them, but it felt like much more. He hadn't been able to sleep his first few nights in an empty space.

Ron kicked open the door and found Hermione's room to be completely spotless.

"Figures," he mumbled, tripping over his own feet. Ron crossed the room in a few easy steps and laid Hermione gently down on the side of the bed with the sheets already turned down. Moonbeams lit up her rosy cheeks and bronzed hair and russet shoulders. His eyes lingered longer than they should have and his fingers stroked through her tiny curls.

"Goodnight," Hermione whispered, smiling secretively.

Ron ran his thumb hard over her cheek and pulled away, smiling. "Faker," he whispered back accusingly.

Hermione turned away from him to face the opened window. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

Ron tugged the blanket over her shoulders before heading towards the door. "Goodnight," he said gruffly.

Hermione was already lost to sleep by the time the handle clicked shut.

--

"Ron!" The voice was foggy, muddled through the thick curtain of slumber that cloaked the inside of his mind. "Ron!" There was a sharp pressure on his shoulder now. "Wake up!"

Hermione shook him frantically with all her might. Panic was surging through her veins, driving her mad. She stole a look over her shoulder to the darkened hallway outside the door. Another crash came. Her grasp tightened.

"What?" his voice was hazy. Ron blinked and saw Hermione leaning over top of him. He bucked upright. "What is it?"

Hermione clutched both of his shoulders and stared into his eyes with fear expressed plainly on her features. "Someone is in the living room." Her mouth trembled over the words.

"Are you sure?" Ron's voice was deep, urgent now. All trace of sleep was gone.

"Yes!" she hissed, "Just listen!"

The pair sat still as Ron's teeth clenched. There were footsteps by the front door; there was no doubt about it. They were heavy and ominous. There was a clink of glass. His eyes darted to her face.

"Stay here."

"What?" Hermione cried, moving aside so Ron could swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Her mouth hung open. There was an intruder in the house and he wanted to leave her all alone to get stolen again. He prowled to the closet and delved into his clothes in search of his wand, completely uncaring. "I'm going with!" she hissed frenetically. Her hands were shaking as they clutched Ron's sheets. "You can't expect me to just keep in this room all by myself."

Ron's head appeared out of the blackness, his expression hard. "That's ludicrous. You're staying right where you are. Keep quiet."

Hermione glared at him for a moment, but Ron turned away. He didn't understand in the least. She darted off the mattress and flew silently down the hallway in search of her own protection. The adrenaline took the steady pain out of her knees. Ron could not stop her. He swore furiously under his breath when he emerged and found her gone, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Hermione was almost as stubborn as he was.

Ron snuck out into the hallway, his arm raised steadily. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head and calm his pounding heart. He swept past the bathroom before he spotted the shadow rounding the corner he had just come from. Hermione's curls were unmistakable. He scowled in her direction and she responded with an equally serious frown. He jerked his head to the left and she followed him.

Hermione almost cried out as Ron jumped out into the living room, shouting a grand "Stupefy!" in doing so.

There was a prolonged beat of silence when Hermione stood frozen with fear.

"Why, Weasley," a familiar voice clipped. "What a pleasant surprise."

Hermione's eyes widened as her breath was taken away. It couldn't be. It was the moment she had been dreaming of since she had arrived. Had it finally come to pass? Could it really be him? Hope surged through her body, making Hermione shiver. It could all be a horrific, terrible joke. She wished that Ron's hand was wrapped tightly around her own. However, her frenzied anticipation overrode her deep-seated dread. Could it truly be him? Could it?

"Krum." Ron's voice was hard, deadpan.

It was.

A/N: Did you like it?? I hope so! In the earlier chapters of this story, time seemed to jump around - months would pass inbetween paragraphs - and this is just another example.

Please leave me any comments or questions or suggestions! I love reading all my reviews. :)

I apologize again for the wait - it seems I've become pretty unreliable. I promise to work on it, though!! Have a nice weekend, everyone!

Katie