A/N: Wow, reviews for the chapter were amazing. The best in ages, so thanks to Hilary, harrylovesginny, KarateKid, MsEan,Mlgregg5, ack24, Sandrinha, Athenais777, milan4ever, hptk, Beasley, King's Ransom, ObsessedRHShipper, EmD23, celticscorpion, DeLoreanDMC-12, Bellatrix, Fred, Anon, heronlove, Molly Weasley kicks arse, Nia, HalfASlug, chosen1, Anonymous, Anne Mary Ellen, HilaryWeasley, ann, ShePotter, Michael Ho, placebo13, faultybooster, gemaswesome, writemealetter, newyearzgirl18, selene86, riverina, and tabitoo. I don't know what gets me more excited: seeing the names of faithful readers chapter after chapter or seeing new names that have just picked up the story or finally started reviewing. I love you all.
As I warned you guys, this chapter is also set in Deathly Hallows. It's probably the least important chapter in the entire fic from a plot standpoint, but in my mind it's essential as far as character development. Plus it has my favorite scene of this entire fic.
A tip of my hat to superfan24 for her awesome beta work. I'd feel bad over all the stuff I pile on your plate, but you're just SO DAMN GOOD at it. That being said, apologies to those of you who didn't get your 'Apart' update this week. The chapter hasn't been beta'd yet and I don't want to put it up as I need to be very careful with such a delicate storyline. But I promise you'll get a new chapter next Wednesday.
Chapter 24: Even In My Strongest Moments
2 September, 1997
"Can you feel it, though?" Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he clenched his fist around the locket.
"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.
Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry and he watched understanding spread across Harry's face. He felt it too, felt that wicked heart beating, felt in reverberate in his very bones. Yet hard as he tried, he couldn't look away, even when Harry slipped it beneath his shirt.
…
"Are you alright Harry?" Hermione asked, coming back from her shift keeping watch as Harry left the tent to take her place.
Ron looked at her questioningly. She didn't even notice her mistake, didn't notice she'd called him Harry by accident. And before answering, Ron wondered how many time Hermione has asked the question 'Are you alright Harry?' for it to become so routine that she didn't even think before saying it.
"Been better," Ron admitted, trying to smile. The truth was he felt feverish, chills running through his body. He wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or the exhaustion but he seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness; he didn't even know if it had been days or just a few hours since they'd left the Ministry.
Hermione came and sat down on the edge of his bunk and he tried to sit up to look at her properly.
"Hush," she told him, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him to lie down again. "You really should try to keep still." Ron's stomach growled loudly.
"Sorry," he said weakly, rather embarrassed. He'd nearly lost an arm and all of them had barely escaped with their lives…and the locket, yet here he was, food his foremost concern.
"You don't have to apologize for being hungry," she told him, sounding amused at his one-track mind.
"Don't suppose we've got any of those steak-and-kidney pies Kreature was fixing for us?" he asked hopefully.
"Oh. Oh, Ron I didn't-I didn't think to pack-I mean I wasn't planning on us not going back to Grimmauld Place, so I didn't bring any food."
Ron saw Hermione's face fall. "Hey," he said consolingly. "No worries. I wasn't really hungry anyway." His stomach growled again.
"Obviously," she said, though there was no humor in her tone.
"Trust you to think of everything except food. At least I know you packed enough books. Maybe we can eat those?" he looked at her, hoping his joke would lighten her disappointment.
Unfortunately, it seemed his words had the opposite effect as Hermione looked ready to break into tears in another moment.
"Hey," he said. "I didn't mean it. I was joking," he tried lamely. "Stupid," he scolded himself for being tactless.
"No, you're right," Hermione sniffed. "I'm an idiot. I did plan things in case we couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place and yet I forgot something as essential as food."
"Yeah, but you did all this," Ron said, waving his good arm around the tent. "Harry and I didn't even think that much."
"But I was the one who got caught, who brought Yaxley with us. I was the one who nearly-I mean you're arm…I'm so sorry Ron," she said despairingly.
He didn't know what words would comfort her. He was almost certainly there weren't any, so instead he reached out a hand and placed it over hers, squeezing gently.
"Maybe we can summon Kreature and he can bring us the things we're missing. I bet—"
"Actually, we decided it's too risky. If Yaxley got inside Grimmauld place, he might have someone watching Kreature, hoping we summon him, so they can follow along by Side-Along."
When did we decide that? Ron wondered, trying to remember the conversation. He realized after a moment she'd meant she and Harry had been the ones to decide while he'd been passed out.
"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find something. My dad took us all fishing once. Wanted to show us the Muggle-way, but I think Bill was the only one who caught anything and I'm pretty sure he used a Summoning Charm."
Hermione laughed wetly. "I would've liked to see that." They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "You should really try to sleep."
"You look tuckered out yourself."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
For some reason, Ron didn't believe her.
…
Ron pushed his plate of stewed mushrooms away in disgust after a few mouthfuls, somehow feeling sicker and hungrier that before. His eye caught Hermione who looked hurt and seemed as if she wanted to say something but thankfully kept her mouth shut. Ron lay back down, trying to ignore the feeling that his stomach was eating him from the inside-out.
3 September, 1997
"So you're telling me we still haven't got any food?"
"Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn't make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!"
"I don't know."
He sat low in one of Perkins's old armchairs, looking humiliated and defeated, the same way he had that first time he'd collapsed on the way to Hogwarts before third year.
Ron kicked a chair leg. Hermione let out an aggravated sigh.
"What?" he snarled at Hermione. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!"
"You go and fight your way through the Dementors, then," said Harry, stung.
"I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"
"That's convenient."
"And what's that supposed to—"
"Of course!" cried Hermione. "Harry, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, snapping her fingers to hurry him up, "the Horcrux, Harry, you're still wearing it!"
Harry took it off and handed it over to Hermione.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yea, loads better!"
"Harry," Hermione said, crouching so her face was level with his, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"
Ron shuddered involuntarily, unnoticed by the other two, his mind replaying Harry's dreams from fifth year and nightmarish images of Ginny possessed by Riddle's diary.
"What? No!" Harry protested vigorously.
Hermione suggested they put it away for safekeeping, an idea Ron would've liked to agree with vigorously, but he felt faint when he tried to speak. Not that it would've mattered. Harry insisted they needed to go on wearing the thing, and Hermione decided they'd each take it in turns before slipping it around her own neck, which brought them back to the original issue.
"Great," said Ron irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get some food?"
4 September, 1997
"Come on, Hermione. Give it here."
"Ron, I really don't think you should. You're still healing."
Why was she so hesitant to give it to him? Did she think he couldn't handle it? That he wouldn't keep it safe? Did she only trust herself and Harry with the locket?
"I can do it as well as you two can," he snarled, thrusting his fist out expectantly before she finally handed it over. He threw it around his neck violently. "Anything else?" he growled.
Hermione looked at him pityingly. "No," she said softly. "Nothing."
…
"What are you doing?"
Hermione looked at him, surprised. "I need to change your bandages."
Delicately, she took his arm out of the sling and unwound the wrappings, washing the wound with a warm cloth before replacing them with fresh ones, ones that weren't crusted with blood.
"How is it?" she asked. "Can you move it any better than yesterday?"
"What do you think?" Ron said.
"Well can you or can't you?"
"No, I bloody well can't, okay? Fuck I almost lost my arm Hermione, give me a break."
"Ron, I didn't mean—"
"And I don't need your pity, either. Not going to make me heal any faster."
"I was only trying—"
"Yeah, well don't bother," he said, rolling over to turn his back on her, wincing as pain shot through his arm as he did. After a moment, he felt her get up, once again leaving him alone.
6 September, 1997
"Maybe we shouldn't wear it," Ron said, speaking up bravely as Hermione slammed a giant tome shut.
"What?" she snapped, making him flinch.
"I just-the locket. Maybe we shouldn't wear it? I mean I don't think it's really helping—"
"You heard Harry. We need to keep it safe."
"So we put it in your bag and don't let it out of our sight. I think you had the right idea."
She glared at him. "Who cares what I think?" she shouts, taking off the locket and throwing it at him, hitting him in the stomach before marching out of the tent, leaving Ron looking after her, confused.
I care, Ron thought as he slipped the Horcrux around his neck. I care.
8 September, 1997
Ron woke, feeling the mattress shift and groan and a warm body press against his own. "Hermione?" Ron whispered into the black. He certainly hoped it was Hermione and not Harry that had just climbed into his bunk. Certainly feels like her, he realized, feeling the contrast between the softness of her breasts pressing against him and the hardness of the locket nestled between them. "Hermione?" he whispered again when she didn't answer.
Why's she so quiet? he wondered. Had she heard something outside? Or been woken by a bad dream? As he pondered what had brought her to his bed, or if this was even real and not a dream, he felt a creeping, tingling sensation below his shirt, just above the waistband of his shorts.
Hermione's soft fingers were walking along his skin, sending jolts of excitement through Ron, straight to his cock. He blushed, knowing she had to feel his hard on.
"Hermio—" Ron broke off as Hermione's fingers dug into his hip, pulling him closer while swinging a leg across him. His eyes widened when he felt something damn come into contact with his thing. But that was nothing compared to what happened next.
Hermione started…rocking herself against his leg, rubbing her center against him over and over, letting out whimpers of pleasure.
He had to be dreaming. There was no way Hermione Granger was using him as her own personal…scratching post.
"Ungh…oh…oh," Hermione gasped, panting breathlessly as she rubbed her delicious center up and down his thigh.
"Fuck," Ron mumbled. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up, and his undamaged arm reached around to grab the back of her pajamas, pulling her hard against his leg and pushing against her to give her the friction she sought.
"Oh…oh…ah…" She was moving faster, and he could feel the heat between her legs building.
And then, with three hard thrusts it was over, far too soon for Ron's liking. Her legs squeezed around his for a moment and he felt her come undone and he wondered if this would be the start of their moment.
But then her hands were on his chest, pushing him away, practically scrambling to get out of his bunk as soon as possible. They hadn't even kissed, hadn't even spoken and now she was gone.
She got what she needed, he realized. At least I could do that much for her, he remembered thinking before drifting off, still unsure whether he hadn't imagined the whole thing or if it was just a trick stemming from his fever.
11 September, 1997
Ron looked at Harry, the two of them sitting alone in the tent while Hermione was out scrounging for food. Over the last week, he'd realized something. When he saw Harry, he couldn't see his best friend anymore and a part of Ron hated himself for it.
He remembered, during their fight fourth year, Hermione telling him how special he was, how much it meant to Harry that he saw The Boy Who Lived as just another boy, someone who just needed a friend. And right now, with the locket around Harry's neck, he knew they needed that bond more than ever.
But Ron needed something more. For now, he has to see Harry as The Chosen One, because he has to save them all. He needs to look at Harry and see the hero that will win the war before anymore of his family are hurt, before they lose anymore friends. He needs Harry to defeat the Dark Lord before the Death Eaters find them, find Hermione…
"So where next?" Ron asked, hoping Harry would have an answer. But Harry remained silent. He was lost; as lost as Ron himself.
When Hermione returned a moment later, saving Harry from having to come up with an answer, Ron closed his eyes.
Maybe if he gets us all killed, maybe then everyone will realize Harry Potter isn't so great after all, he thought.
14 September, 1997
Feeling drowsy, Ron checked his watch, noticing his twelve hours with the locket were up, and sighed gratefully. He walked inside the tent, leaving his post on watch to pass it to Harry, sleeping in his bunk.
"Harry. Psst, Harry," Ron said, quietly, trying to rouse his friend. He tried again, a little louder. Still no response. He shook Harry, even pinched his arm and still Harry didn't wake. Ron grew frustrated. Harry had always been a light sleeper; was he just pretending to be asleep so he didn't have to take the locket? Ron knew getting a good night's sleep while wearing the locket was all but impossible, but Harry was the one who insisted they wear it in the first place. It wasn't Ron's fault that Harry's turn fell right while he was off in dreamland.
"Oi! Harry! Wake up you tosspot!" Ron shouted.
"Ron! Shut up!" hissed Hermione, who'd obviously been disturbed by his shouting. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" she scolded. "You're supposed to be keeping watch."
"It's Harry's turn for the locket, but he won't wake up," Ron whined.
"He's probably exhausted. Just give it to him in the morning."
Ron marched back outside the tent and took up his post once again. He'd been wearing the locket for twelve hours now, and morning was still five more away. He tried to keep his eyes open, but eventually fell into nightmares of giant spiders, Dementors, glowing red eyes, and Hermione, crumpling to the floor as she was hit by a curse.
He woke in the morning to Hermione swatting him as she shrieked at him for falling asleep during his shift.
19 September, 1997
Ron noticed Hermione had started avoiding him. Not all the time, just during his turns with the locket, and usually for an hour or two after he'd passed it to Harry. He knew this, knew he was acting like a grouchy git, griping about anything and everything. He knew he was making things worse. But for some reason, he couldn't stop.
It didn't help that Hermione started to avoid both of them during her turns with the locket either. Between her time wearing the Horcrux, Ron's time wearing the Horcrux and the time he needed for his mind and emotions to level out again, they only had a few hours left to spend together each day where they didn't want to rip each other's throats out. And he treasured those moments where things between them felt like they had at the end of last term, on the night of Bill's wedding, during their time at Grimmauld Place.
Until Harry went and ruined them. It seemed like he was always there, walking in on them, breaking their moments of peace when he managed to coax a laugh out of Hermione. It was almost as if…as if Harry didn't like them spending time alone together, didn't want him to be alone with Hermione. Harry certainly didn't seem to have any problem spending time with her himself, the way they stayed up at night, talking uselessly.
Could Harry…did he have…could he want…?
Nah, Ron thought. Harry doesn't see Hermione like that. He's got Ginny, or will once we finish getting rid of the Horcruxes.
That night, Ron and Hermione sat together, their foreheads pressed against one-another, so close that he could smell the toothpaste on her breath every time she opened her mouth. She was wearing the earrings he'd bought her, the one's he'd given her to wear before the wedding. It was her birthday, and he wished there was something more he could do to make the day a happy one for her, but Ron stilly felt like the lucky one to share the moment with her, as he gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to work up the nerve to tell her, maybe even kiss her…
But when Harry burst in on them, running the moment and causing them both to jump away from one-another, he got the feeling that Harry's interruptions weren't exactly accidents.
22 September, 1997
Hermione walked around, casting the usual protective enchantments over the campsite they'd chosen for the day, while Harry began rummaging around in Hermione's beaded bag, pulling out the tent and other supplies. Ron walked over and sat down on a large boulder.
After a few minutes of working trying to erect the tent, Harry stopped, wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked over at Ron.
"You wanna help?" he asked threateningly.
"Love to mate, but…" Ron held up his injured arm.
"Don't think it'd kill you to try." Harry said this with a strange smile on his face, his gaze on something far away, as if he were daydreaming about something rather pleasant.
Ron grumbled, but went over to try and help. But his efforts only seemed to make the situation worse, his weak grip causing him to drop poles by accident that caused Harry to shout in frustration as the tent collapsed.
"Can't you do anything?" Harry shot venomously
"I told you! It's my arm!" Ron shouted back.
"Nice excuse. Good of you to milk it for all it's worth."
"You think I like having my arm attached to me by a thread?" Ron exclaimed.
"Stop exaggerating," Harry said, moving around the tent to Ron and grabbing his injured arm. "It's been weeks!"
"Weeks? Who's exaggerating now?"
"Oh shut it. I'm sure you're fine by—" he'd started yanking Ron's arm around, turning it in its socket until Ron let out a howl of pain, jerking it away from Harry.
"Fuck Harry! Why would you do that?"
He expected Harry to apologize, or at least look sorry for hurting him, but instead Harry just glowered, his mouth snarling as he moved to retort when Hermione moved to join them. Ron felt relieved, sure Hermione would break up the squabble like she had at Grimmauld Place before it got any more out of hand.
"Oh, get out of the way, Ron, you'll hurt yourself. Here, Harry. I'll help you finish," she said.
Ron's mouth fell open in astonishment, not that the other two noticed as they started to work together. He walked back to his boulder, scuffing his shoes in the dirt, kicking up pebbles as he walked. She hadn't even asked him if he was alright after Harry tried pulling his arm off, hadn't been concerned for him in the least, except to get him out of the way.
He sat there, long after the tent was up and the other two had gone inside. Hermione eventually emerged and walked over to him and he saw she had taken the locket from Harry.
"What are you still doing out here?" she asked.
"Nothing," Ron said bitterly.
"Harry didn't mean to. With your arm earlier, I mean. It's only because he was wearing the locket."
She seemed to be making a lot of excuses for Harry these days. "And what was your excuse?" Ron asked her.
She looked taken aback for a moment before her eyes darkened and her features turned to stone. "I'm going to look for food," she said, ignoring his question. "If you're going to stay out here sulking, you might as well keep a watch on the tent." And with that, she strode off.
27 September, 1997
"I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol—"
"Oi!" Ron protested quickly
"YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Harry exploded "If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"
"Oh, come on," Ron said skeptically. "His school?"
"Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left—"
"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" Ron asked, shifting the locket on his neck, which seemed to be irritating his skin where the cold metal touched him.
"You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," said Hermione.
"That's right," said Harry.
"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"
"Yeah," said Harry.
"But he didn't get the job, did he?" said Hermione, sounding triumphant. "So he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school!"
"Okay, then," said Harry, defeated. "Forget Hogwarts." He stood and left the other two sitting in the tent.
"Bit clueless, isn't he?" Ron said derisively, turning to Hermione the moment Harry was out of earshot.
She sighed, and Ron expected her to start arguing with him again, coming to Harry's defense the way she seemed to be doing more and more frequently these days, though in truth he knew she had always taken Harry's side over his. So her actual words surprised him.
"I did think he had a bit more to go on," admitted Hermione. "I was sure Dumbledore would have told him exactly where to start looking. But he doesn't seem to know any more than we do."
Strangely, Ron's first inclination was to defend Harry. He knew a part of him always believed Harry, was the one who had full confidence in him. He'd truly believed Harry could win the Triwizard back in fourth year, just as he was never surprised to hear Harry had escaped from the Dark Lord's clutches yet again. He knew Harry appreciated his support, counted on it, even needed it at times. But now…now that he saw Hermione was beginning to doubt Harry, he didn't want to tell her off. If anything, he wanted to encourage those doubts, feed them.
"So what do we do?" Ron asked her. "If we can't count on Harry?"
Hermione looked at him. "I guess we have to depend on ourselves."
Ron nodded, and when she turned away, a dark grin spread across his face, his eyes showing just a glint of red.
1 October, 1997
Ron prodded the unappealing lump of charred fish on his plate with a fork, groaning exaggeratedly to make sure the other two knew that even if he was hungry enough to stomach this shite, he was not happy about it.
Hermione tutted, but said nothing. Harry made no noise, simply sulking in a corner of the tent away from the other two.
Ron took a bite and made a gagging noise as he choked it down. "Is this all we've got?" he asked.
"Well maybe if you'd went and helped Harry with your wondrous fishing ability you're always bragging about," snapped Hermione, "we'd have more than one to split between us."
"And how am I supposed to help with my arm like this?" Ron complained.
"Yes, because it's so taxing to wave a wand around."
"Well, what about you then?"
"I cooked it, didn't I? What did you do to help?"
Ron pulled at the locket's chain absentmindedly, and only just managed to bite back his comment about how no one could consider this cooking.
Burnt it to a crisp more like, he thought, scraping his fork across the plate to ensure he got every last bit of the disgusting mess. Despite his words a few weeks ago, he was starting to blame Hermione for the loss of Grimmauld Place, for his splinching, for not having thought to take food with them in case they couldn't go back, for not figuring where the next Horcrux was located, for siding with Harry and making them wear this stupid locket all the time.
She was the genius after all. Why hadn't she figured it out yet like she did with everything else?
He got up and threw his plate into the sink before walking over to his bunk and climbing in.
"I suppose I'll just clean up your mess as well, shall I?" spat Hermione. "You think you'd get tired of treating me like I'm your mother."
Ron pulled his blankets over his head, ignoring her.
4 October, 1997
Ron sat there, listening to Harry and Hermione. They'd visited the Muggle orphanage where the Dark Lord had been raised earlier that day at Hermione's insistence, which had turned out to be another dead end. And now they were back at their usual routine of talking in circles, listing the same familiar list of possibilities; Hogwarts, Borgin and Burkes, Albania.
"Shouldn't be much trouble to search the whole country," said Ron sarcastically, finding the idea no less ridiculous than the last time it'd been raised.
The two of them ignored him, same as always. They never seemed to include him in these conversations, never asking his opinion, like they knew he wouldn't have any ideas of his own. It was almost like they expected him to feel grateful just be allowed to listen to them prattle on and on.
"Yeah, real treat this is," Ron muttered to himself. "Just like a holiday."
They broke off at his grumblings, but plowed onward, continuing to ignore his gripes. Ron's hand fiddled with the locket, running his fingers over the smooth surface, thinking.
The diary had been a Horcrux and it had been left with Lucious Malfoy. What if the Dark Lord had left another Horcrux to another of his most-trusted servants. But who?
Obviously Wormtail was out. There was no way he'd managed to hold on to it during the twelve years he'd spent posing as Scabbers. Which left Lestrange…and Snape. Maybe Harry was on to something when he thought there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts. Maybe the Dark Lord hadn't had the chance to hide one there himself, but had gotten Snape to do it for him. And what of Bellatrix? Where would she hide hers? Did she have a manor somewhere like Grimmauld Place, hidden by enchantments?
The longer he thought on it, the more excited Ron grew, sure he was on to something. He gathered his thoughts, planning to tell Harry and Hermione when he heard it: a voice, so much like his own, yet so different, whispering to him.
Foolish boy. Do you really think you're clever enough to come up with an idea, capable of outthinking like the Dark Lord? Surely you know your friends would have already thought of this possibility by now and dismissed it, finding some flaw in the plan. You know how much cleverer they are, how brilliant, compared to you. What makes you think they'd even listen to us if we told them?
As quickly as it had come, Ron's hope vanished. Of course, he thought bitterly, recognizing the truth in those words. Stupid idea. They'd probably just laugh at me if I told them. After all, it's not like they think I'm capable of coming up with an idea. They didn't even ask me in the first place.
By the time Ron woke in the morning and passed the locket to Harry, he'd forgotten his idea entirely.
8 October, 1997
Ron stood barefoot in a creek bed, the sun shining down, warming his skin. He couldn't help but smile. He felt wonderful, better than he had in ages. He was finally getting some strength back in his arm, and they'd managed to swipe a decent meal from a farmhouse the night before, including a rhubarb custard pie.
He heard a crackle of branches and turned to see Hermione walking toward him and his grin widened, his whole face lighting up at the site of her. She looked gorgeous, the morning sunlight catching in her hair. He's always loved the look of her in the morning; it was the only time he knew he could catch her with her guard down. As she approached he felt the pull to finally speak his mind.
I'm going to tell her, he thought excitedly. He couldn't stand the secrets, not for a moment longer. He felt like he absolutely had to kiss her, right there, had tell her he loved her.
Ron opened his mouth as she came to a stop in front of him, but before he could get the words out, Hermione shoved the locket at him. "It's your turn," she told him, before turning and walking away. Deflated, he put on the locket and started following her back to camp, keeping a few paces behind her, knowing the Horcrux had put her in a mood. But at the edge of the tree line, he watched her sit down on the ground next to Harry, reaching out to tousle his hair, both of them laughing and smiling.
Ron turned around and headed back into the forest, which suddenly seemed much darker than it had just moments before.
13 October, 1997
"You know you can block it out if you really try," Hermione said encouragingly to him as she joined him outside the tent. He'd been on watch again, his hands fussing with the locket around his neck.
"Easy for you to say," Ron told her.
"It's not," she told him, her hard gaze meeting his own. "But I try. You should too."
"Why don't you tell Harry to try harder."
"I do!" she insisted.
"Hah," Ron scoffed. "You never tell him what to do. I'm the one you always harp on."
"At least I know he's making an effort. You, however, don't even bother trying to act civil."
"Yeah well, thanks for telling me what I already know, Hermione. I'm rude and I'm lazy and I'm nothing like you or Harry. I'm not special! I'm not the hero, I'm not the brilliant one, so just stop bothering me! Because I'll never be good enough for you!"
Hermione was taken aback. "Ron," she said softly. "What do you mean 'not good enough'?"
Realizing what he'd said, Ron turned away from her. "Forget it."
"Ron, please. Talk to me," Hermione said softly.
"I said forget it!" he snapped.
Hermione did as he asked, though he thought he heard a small sob escape her throat as she left.
17 October, 1997
Lying awake some nights, the locket preventing him from finding sleep, Ron knew he had to accept the grim realization that of the three of them, he would be the one to die.
He was the useless one, the extra, the spare. What did it matter if he went? Who would miss him? His parents had six other kids, they probably wouldn't notice. Harry and Hermione probably wouldn't either. Neither of them seemed to pay him any attention these days.
Everyone always worried about Harry, about the Dark Lord trying to kill Harry. No-one seemed to bat an eye for the people who stuck their necks out to make sure he didn't die, though. Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad Eye. All of them had traded their lives for Harry's. Was he, Ron, next?
What else was he good for? He wasn't clever, like Hermione, wasn't the Chosen One. He was just one more shield, someone Harry kept around to take a curse, to slow the Death Eaters down and buy Harry a few precious seconds.
Ron knew he'd do it too. He'd die for Harry, no questions asked.
But would anyone do the same for you? questioned the sound of his own twisted voice, hissing in the darkness.
23 October, 1997
"When I was little, my parents used to take me camping all the time. My mum loved it; she's always loved the outdoors. I don't think dad was too fond of it, but she got a kick out of watching him try and act like he knew what he was doing."
Hermione was crying as she spoke, and Ron knew how it was killing her to have her parents so far away, knowing they didn't even remember her. At least if he died, there'd still be a door at the Burrow with his name on it to remind everyone he'd existed.
Ron knew a few weeks—maybe only a few days—ago, he would've reached out to Hermione if he saw her like this. He'd have held her, comforted her, wiped away her tears. It would've broken his heart to see her crying and he'd try anything to make it stop.
"It's your turn," Ron told her coldly, holding out the locket. She reached out and took it, and Ron turned around and left her there alone in the tent, sitting down for his watch, listening to her sobs echo from somewhere a long way off.
26 October, 1997
"It's disappointing, isn't it?" Hermione waxed to Ron, both of them lying in their bunks while Harry sat out on-watch. "We've been at this for two months now and we haven't anything to show for it."
Except the hunk of evil that happens to be hanging 'round my neck at the moment, Ron thought spitefully, lifting the locket off his chest to examine it. It was quite beautiful, really, he thought, much nicer than anything he'd ever owned.
"Ron, are you listening?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah…"
"It's just…shouldn't we have found another Horcrux by now? Or at least destroyed the one we have?" she continued.
"Well what do you expect when we're following an idiot who can't find his own arse?"
Hermione snorted and Ron grinned before she remembered herself. "That's not very nice, Ron. Harry's doing the best he can."
"Which doesn't mean much, does it?" Hermione said nothing. "Oh, come on. You know it's true."
"It isn't Harry's fault Dumbledore didn't tell him everything. He's—"
"Clueless. That's what he is. You know what? I reckon we should've brought Lupin with us after all. Bet he coulda found another Horcrux or two by now."
"You know that isn't fair. I'm sure Harry would've loved to have Remus along, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, Tonks is pregnant. I know. Bit hypocritical though, innit? S'alright for his parents to bite it for his sake, but not any others. And he obviously doesn't mind risking our necks, either."
"I was under the impression we volunteered for this."
"We did. But that doesn't give him the right to be so careless, so stupid, so…"
"Reckless?" Hermione finished for him.
"Exactly," Ron said, relieved she'd stopped fighting him on the issue. "I mean if I'd have know this was what it was going to be like—"
"You wouldn't have come?"
A small, hissing whisper told him the answer to her question was 'yes.' "Of course I would have," Ron said defensively. "It's you I'm thinking about."
"Me?" Hermione said, surprised.
"Well, I mean, look at all you've sacrificed for Harry. And for what? And he doesn't even appreciate it, doesn't even care that you've sent your parents away, wiped their memories. He can't-he can't understand what it's like for you…for me."
They both grew silent as Ron's words sank in, neither one able to find the falsehood in them.
"Do you…" Hermione trailed off and Ron knew by the sound of her voice that she had something she desperately wanted to tell him, something she was afraid to say.
"Yes?" he encouraged her. "Come on, you can tell me."
Hermione sighed and when she spoke, she talked very quickly, as if that lessened her guilt over the words. "Do you ever wish our circumstances were different? That we'd ended up in a different house from Harry? Or even just a different year, anything to keep us from getting tied to him? To all this?"
Ron was thankful Hermione couldn't see his ears at the moment, which were most definitely pink at the way she'd specified us. "Do you?" he asked.
"Sometimes. More…recently." They lay in silence. "I think about what it would be like to be normal, to not have to worry about all this, what we'd be doing if Harry didn't need us so desperately."
Ron felt butterflies in his stomach. "What ah-what do you picture us doing?" he asked, nervously.
Hermione paused. But before she could answer, Harry entered the tent to change places with Hermione. As Ron listened to Harry settle into his bunk, he had the strongest urge to tell Harry what Hermione had just confessed, to tell him that Hermione wished they'd never met him, that she regretted coming on this thankless quest which was going nowhere fast.
But another part of him, the better part, knew those words weren't meant for Harry's ears. They were a secret, one Hermione had chosen to share with him, not Harry. And Ron didn't want to take that away by telling someone else. So instead, he rolled over and tried to imagine all the wonderful, terrible things he and Hermione could be doing in this fantasy world they lived in where neither of them even knew the name 'Harry Potter.'
28 October, 1997
He didn't know when it had started, but Ron knew he was keeping the locket longer and longer each day. He barely noticed now, barely noticed the difference between when he wore it and when he didn't. He wasn't sure if he'd finally built up a resistance to its effects or something else entirely. But Harry never seemed to complain when Ron forgot to find him to play pass-the-locket. Only Hermione seemed to care, or notice.
Truthfully, Ron probably would never have noticed what he'd been doing, would never have even thought about it until she confronted him.
"It's been going on for weeks, Ron. Did you think I wouldn't notice? I always remember when my shift ended and I passed you the Horcrux, so I don't see why you think I'm stupid enough not to notice when you're twelve hours are up."
"It's not my fault Harry doesn't come and get it."
She rolled her eyes. "You really expect Harry to be eager to put that thing on?"
Ron shrugged, indifferent. "I've gotten used to it. Who's to say he hasn't?"
"You haven't gotten used to it!" Hermione said, practically cackling as she spoke. "You don't even notice how different you've become because you're wearing it all the time."
"You think I'm weak, then, huh? That I can't handle it? But of course Harry can!"
Hermione didn't back down. "If you'll remember, I was the one who told you you could block it out."
"And who's to say I haven't? Give me a little credit here, Hermione. I'm telling you, I barely notice it anymore."
"Oh yes," Hermione agreed, her voice oozing with sarcasm. "You're absolutely right. I can barely notice the difference either."
"What's that mean?" Ron asked darkly.
"Ron, don't you see? You're almost as bad without the locket as you are when you wear it! And holding on to it longer isn't making anything better."
"Yeah, well, who cares about me, right? I mean I am doing Harry a favor, aren't I? Pretty sure he's the one that matters."
"Oh, stop throwing yourself a pity party and just give it here," she said, holding out her hand.
"You want it?" Ron asked wryly. "Come get it."
After a moment's pause, Hermione accepted his challenge and approached him. She walked right up to him, the slopes of her breasts and stomach barely pressing into him as she reached her arms around his neck to undo the clasp. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair that usually smelled of sweet, ripened peaches. But instead all he smelled was dirt, and when her cool hands grazed the skin of his neck, Ron felt himself shudder at her touch, practically sickened at being this close to a…to a…
Mudblood the voice finished for him, causing Ron to take a step back from Hermione, looking at her in fright and confusion. He saw her eyes, filled with a hope he hadn't noticed, fade. "Thanks-thanks Ron," she said, sounding hurt. Had he upset her by moving away? "I'll just take this to Harry."
In the following weeks, Ron would think of this day, wondering if it was the point when he'd finally lost sight of the girl he loved…or of himself.
31 October, 1997
Ron lunged at Harry. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do—hit him, strangle him, curse him, it didn't really matter. He saw Harry move as well but before either could reach the other or draw their wands, Hermione had raised her own.
"Protego!" she cried, her shield erupting between the three of them, cutting Ron off from his 'friends.' He stumbled a bit as the spell pushed him another step away from them and glared at Harry, still thinking about drawing his wand and sending curses at the four-eyed fucker until he broke through Hermione's shield.
"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said, effectively ordering Ron to leave for the third time that night.
Fine, if he wants me gone, I'm gone, Ron thought, wrenching the chain from over his head and casting the locket into a nearby chair. He suddenly felt like he could breathe again, and after steadying himself he looked to Hermione.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Are you staying, or what?"
"I…" Her gaze flicked to Harry and instantly Ron understood. He didn't need to see the look on her face when she looked back to him again to know her answer. He didn't need to hear the words. He'd known what her choice would be from the moment she wound up on Harry's side of the Shield Charm, always protecting him, a voice sneered, echoing inside his head, sounding so much like his own, yet so different. Him, not you. "Yes—yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help—"
He didn't listen to her excuses. God, in that moment he hated her too, hated her just as much as he loved her, hated her as much as he hated Harry. Couldn't she just be honest for once in her fucking life? Tell him the truth instead of leading him on, dangling hope in front of his face only until it became too much and he reached out to grab it, grab her, determined to never let go before she cruelly pull it away. I'm a fucking dog on a leash, like my pathetic excuse for a Patronus, begging for any scrap she tosses me.
Well if she won't say it, I will, that cruel echo urged him. "I get it," he said, his voice surprisingly even. "You choose him."
That wasn't even right though. It wasn't a choice at all. How could one choose between THE CHOSEN ONE and nothing?
He grabbed his rucksack, not caring that half his belongings remained scattered around the tent. What did they matter? He didn't need them. He had wanted one thing, ONE THING. But she would never be his. And he finally knew that certainty.
Ron stormed out, feeling almost happy—deliriously so—over the fact that Harry was practically kicking him out. He couldn't stay and watch them any longer. It was only a matter of time before they started fucking each other with more than just their eyes. They probably are already, behind your back when you're asleep or out looking for food. They think you're so thick you wouldn't even notice.
"Ron, no—please—come back, come back!"
He heard Hermione's shouts, coming from the tent and he stopped for a moment. With each breath, his head felt lighter, the wrongness of his actions becoming clearer. This is a MISTKATE. A MISTAKE. GO BACK.
But no. While his head felt lighter and clearer with each step, his heart felt like someone had filled it with cement. Filled it with cement, then taken a sledgehammer to it, shattering it and scattering the shards to pierce every corner of his soul. He bent over and retched, though there was nothing inside his stomach to come up.
"Ron."
It was Hermione. She'd followed him. He wiped a bit of saliva from his mouth and turned to face her, but only made it halfway. He couldn't seem to look at her, not now. Unless..."Did you change your mind?" he asked, hoping against all odds.
"Ron…"
"I get it." He didn't know why he'd bothered asking again. He didn't know why she bothered pretending like she cared. He was doing her a favor, giving her a clear shot at Harry without having to worry about her charity-case friend. "I saw you two the other night," he said simply. All those nights, those YEARS she'd spent ignoring him while fawning over every move Harry made. 'Oh Harry, you saved my life! Oh Harry, you're so handsome! Oh Harry, you can wipe your own arse you're so amazing!'
"What? Ron—that—that's nothing," Hermione insisted, looking shocked and confused. Her words sounded genuine, like she really wanted to convince him, but all he could think was, 'She knows exactly what I'm talking about. And if she knows, then it obviously isn't 'nothing.'
He took another step and felt a wave pass over him as he crossed the edge of the anti-Apparition wards. "Ron where are you going?" Her words were muffled because of the spells. He took another step, and was finally beyond their enchantments.
"Please come back." He turned to look at her one last time. And when he saw her face what was left of his heart crumbled to dust. She looked exactly like he felt…but without his heart, he had no reason to listen.
Ron Disapparated, his ears deceiving him into believing he heard a mournful voice howling his name over and over.
26 December, 1997
Ron held out the sword, but Harry shook his head. "No, you should do it."
"Me?" Ron asked, completely dumbfounded. "Why?"
"Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you." Ron wanted to shout, to tell Harry he was mental, but Harry continued. "I'm going to open it, and you stab it. Straightaway, okay? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me."
"How are you going to open it?" Ron asked, hoping Harry hadn't thought this through, hoping to find some flaw to stop what was starting to seem inevitable.
"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue."
"No!" Ron shouted, trying one last protest. "No, don't open it! I'm serious."
"Why not? Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months—"
"I can't, Harry, I'm serious—you do it—"
"But why?"
"Because that thing's bad for me!" Ron explained, taking a step away from the locket. How could Harry not understand? He'd been there when Ron had left. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff—stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and I'd get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the fucking thing back on—I can't do it, Harry!" He didn't care how pathetic the truth sounded, how weak it made him look in the eyes of the man he respected more than his own father. He would do anything, ANYTHING, to keep away from that thing.
"You can do it," said Harry, "you can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, just get rid of it, Ron."
He'd been about to protest again, to tell Harry this wasn't just some Quidditch match, that another pep talk wasn't going to work this time, but then Harry said his name and he looked his friend in the face. He remembered hearing his name the night before—only that time it had been Hermione's voice. She had called for him then, and now Harry was doing the same. Why did you come back? his conscience questioned, if not for this?
Ron turned back to the locket and took a step toward it. A moment ago he would have traded anything to put a thousand miles between himself and the cursed thing. But now he realized he hadn't come back to them after all this time to leave again without seeing her.
"Tell me when," he said, only the slightest tremble in his voice.
"On three," said Harry. "One…two…three…" he heard a hissing escape Harry's throat, the same way it had when they'd gone down into the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. But just as he was about to look to his friend, there was a click and the locket opened, revealing two glass windows and beneath them, a wicked eye, that turned and fixed its gaze directly on him.
He heard Harry shout something and raised the sword, his hands shaking so badly he thought he might drop it. And then he heard it, the voice that had whispered to his heart for all those weeks, the one he still heard inside his head and in his dreams.
"I have seen your heart, and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…."
"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter…Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend…Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"
As if from a great distance he could hear Harry continuing to call out to him, and he raised the sword again when suddenly he stumbled backward in fear as two shadowy figures emerged from the locket.
It was Harry, speaking to him now, confirming the truths he'd only heard inside his own heart. "Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence….We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption—"
And then it was the other, Hermione, and Ron felt his chest burn as her words hit him. "Presumption! Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?"
Harry continued to shout and the Riddle-Harry continued his taunting, but Ron had only eyes and ears for Hermione. She was gorgeous, glowing like the snow in the moonlight, cold and ethereal. "Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him." She was perfect, exactly as she always appeared to him: him, and no one else. Even as she spat those words of hate like blades into his chest, he couldn't help but love her. He watched, petrified, as she wrapped herself around Riddle-Harry and he could feel his limbs burn in all the places she touched Harry, felt the ache of longing as tears began pouring from his eyes.
"Do it, Ron!" It was Harry, the real Harry, and with tremendous effort Ron turned away from the nightmare to look at his friend. But in that moment, when his eyes met Harry's, he heard a whisper slither into his ear, a voice he half-recognized as his own.
Kill him, kill Potter. He has seen HER now, seen how beautiful she is, seen what could be, seen what should be yours, what CAN be yours, if only he was gone. Rid yourselves of him. Kill him. Kill Potter. Kill the spare."
For the third time, Ron raised the sword. He could do it, he could kill Harry. With one flash he would stop being second best, stop being nothing. He would no longer be the spare, but the hero. He would have Hermione all to himself, the way he'd always wanted. They could go anywhere.
And then he caught Harry's eye as he sat there on the ground: vulnerable, weak, helpless.
Harry was afraid of him. Ron had never seen that look on Harry's face before, certainly not directed at him, Ron. He wanted to laugh at how pathetic his friend looked, cowering there, how scared and…and…human the mighty Chosen One looked. How easy it wuld be to just…
But in that moment, through those green eyes Ron also saw the little boy he'd met seven years ago on a train, a boy who'd shared his food with him, who'd picked him, Ron Weasley, over Draco Malfoy, a boy who was just as scared of going to school and not fitting in as he was, who had his own set of impossible expectations to live up to.
He thought back to just a few minutes earlier as he'd pulled Harry out of the frozen pond. He hadn't even realized that Harry had once done the same for him, pulling Ron from the Black Lake in the Second Task. At the time, he'd been too excited about the tournament, too worked up over Hermione being the thing Krum would sorely miss that he hadn't even realized what it really meant.
He had been the thing Harry would miss most. He hadn't been Harry's girlfriend or sibling, just a friend: a friend Harry had chosen above all others. And now, in coming back, Ron had the chance to make that same choice.
The sword plunged, and with a scream the locket shattered, taking with it the vision of Hermione. He remained frozen, focused on the locket as if he expected it to lash out one last time, until Harry picked it up and the spell was broken.
Ron collapsed, dropping the sword, his entire body wracked with sobs as he shivered, but numb to the cold. He felt Harry touch his shoulder.
"After you left, she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone…"
Ron listened, barely hearing Harry as he continued to weep though his tears were now dry, exhausted. He didn't know why Harry was telling him this. And worse, he felt happy about it, happy to know they had missed him, that she had missed him.
"She's like my sister," Harry went on. "I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."
No, I didn't. How would he? How could he? He wanted to believe Harry. Hell, he wanted do to more than that. He wanted to get down and beg for forgiveness, promise to never doubt his friend—his brother—ever again. But first, first he needed to see her, to hear her. He just needed her…
3 January, 1998
Nine days. He'd only been back nine days, and Hermione had yet to speak to him except when absolutely necessary, or when she felt the need to insult him. Part of Ron expected the cold shoulder treatment to last a few more years. He certainly deserved it, no matter how much he wanted her forgiveness. On the other hand, she had forgiven him when he almost died, hadn't she? So she could certainly forgive him now. He'd rather swallow a cauldron full of poison than face the locket again.
As glad as he was to be back, Ron couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Sure, he'd expected both Harry and Hermione to be mad at him, but he felt like he'd been tricked, duped almost. Harry had forgiven him almost instantly and for a day things had been great between them. Even if Hermione still hated him, at least he'd had Harry by his side again.
But ever since they'd visited Xenophilius Lovegood and Harry had learned of the Deathly Hallows, he'd been acting as if nothing else mattered, as if nothing else existed. It was almost like the locket was still with them, only Harry was the only one wearing it. Of course, the fact that it'd been raining for a week straight didn't help matters, nor did it show any sign of letting up anytime soon.
Sure most of the time, he was genuinely happy to be back with them, and acting boundlessly optimistic about their chances at finding and destroying the rest of the Horcruxes was doing a good job of proving the old saying 'mind over matter.' And considering he struggled a lot more than Hermione did when it came to thinking, coming up with ideas on where to go and what to do next did take up a good amount of his time and energy.
But the two of them were so bloody morose most of the time that occasionally he felt himself being dragged down with them. And when he was, the only thing he could think of was what the Horcrux had said, what it had shown him. Sure, he knew nothing had happened. And Harry had as good as told him that nothing could ever happen between the two of them. But he wanted to hear the same thing from Hermione, needed her to tell him.
Unfortunately, he'd thrown away the right to ever ask such a question. And he could live with that. He had to. It was his penance. He'd sworn to himself before he came back that he wouldn't leave them ever again, even if every bloody whispered word that thing had said was true.
"Three Horcruxes left," was his constant refrain to the other two, trying to keep them motivated. He knew they hadn't had the comfort of living indoors the past two months like he had. Not that his time away had been very comforting. In some ways it had been worse than the locket itself. He'd finally been thinking clearly, finally able to see how he'd been acting, finally able to comprehend what he'd done.
He knew he'd blamed his actions on the locket, told Harry that it'd affected him more than the others, but deep down he held himself at fault. There was no excuse; they'd all worn the locket, but it hadn't made Hermione leave Harry, hadn't made Harry leave the two of them behind. A part of him wondered if it hadn't tried harder to fuck with their minds since they were the useful ones, the important ones. No, the worst part was knowing that in the end, all those thoughts had started from somewhere deep inside of him.
Ron felt he had to make up for it, somehow. He knew he already had a start with Harry, but what did he have to offer Hermione for his mistake? All he'd brought was knowledge of the taboo which they'd effectively solved on their own, a wireless that he couldn't manage to find Potterwatch on, and the ability to die for her.
So, until the chance for the third one came along, Ron had to content himself with leading the search. He didn't really have any more of a clue where to look than the other two, but he did his best to keep them moving. And as the days passed, the more he realized this was all Harry had ever really done. Harry hadn't known what he was getting into; he just kept pressing on, day after day, and eventually something changed or clicked.
"What are you doing out here?" a voice asked with all the grace of autumn.
"Trying to find something to eat," Ron said in reply, not turning to look at Hermione though he desperately wanted to. It almost didn't feel right, like he no longer deserved to look at her. He took far too much pleasure in the mere sight of her, like he was stealing something that didn't belong to him.
"But you've brought supplies from Bill and Fleur's. We've food for weeks. You don't need to do this."
"Well who knows how long we'll be looking? Might as well try and make it last now that we've got it. Besides, I don't mind. Need something to keep me busy."
"But it's raining," Hermione pleaded. And despite himself, Ron smiled at her worried tone, and stood up from the brush he'd been digging around in to look at her.
She was lovely, standing there with her hair down, ready for bed, wearing a jumper over her dressing gown. A maroon jumper, which bore a faded, but nevertheless distinct, shape of a capital 'R' across its front.
Ron's smile widened. "I've noticed," he said, shaking his head so water droplets flung everywhere. "How are you doing that?" he asked, pointing at the blanket she was holding over her head to shield her from the rain.
"Impervius Charm," Hermione explained, blushing as she spoke, having noticed Ron's eyes staring at her chest.
"Of course," Ron said, smirking. "I'll come back to the tent in a bit. I just—"
"Ronald Weasley you will get your arse over here right now as I am not taking care of you if you get sick!" Hermione demanded, looking stern.
Ron contemplated Hermione for a moment, wondering if this was a peace offering of sorts, or if she was truly worried.
He walked over to her. "Would you mind?" Hermione asked. Ron took the blanket and held it over both their heads for the walk back. Hermione however, cast a Drought Charm on a patch of ground and plopped down before looking up at Ron. "Well?" she asked.
"I, uh, thought you wanted to get back to the tent," Ron said, confused.
"Why? So Harry can get upset again by us talking? I'd rather not bother him at the moment."
Ron sat down next to her and each of them took a corner of the blanket, draping it over their heads and shoulders, like their own little tent. "You want to talk?" Ron questioned. Since he'd returned, Ron had never had more trouble keeping his mouth shut. He supposed that after having the depths of one's soul bared before his best friend, there really wasn't much reason to hold back or feel embarrassed about.
Of course, Harry had been the one to see those things, not Hermione. He was sorely tempted to apologize every time he looked at her. Though he'd already told her he was sorry, he knew to really apologize would mean explaining everything behind his mistake, and that included the locket. Part of Ron wished she'd been there to see it, so she could understand the way it seemed Harry did. But a part of him was glad. He really didn't want her to see the worst of him, especially since that worst part was innately connected to her. He'd already shown Hermione enough of his worst side to last several lifetimes.
And a part of Ron truly thought there were things better off not knowing about a person, even a friend.
"Harry asked me a question today," Hermione said. "And I lied to him."
"What did Harry say?" Ron asked.
"He asked if I was still mad at you."
"What did you tell him?"
"I said I didn't know. And then I asked him why he wasn't mad. And he just said 'he was there.'"
Ron fought the slight worry he felt. "Well I wager if it'd been you I saved from drowning in that pond, you might me more inclined to forgive me too."
"I'm not the stupid one, Ron. That's you."
Ron cringed. Though Hermione words contained no malice, he couldn't deny the truth in them. "Right. Sorry. I forget how thick I am sometimes."
"Oh, so now it's time for another Ron Weasley pity party, table for one?"
How is it she can get upset when I'm just agreeing with the insults she throws at me, Ron wondered. He sighed. "No, I'm not throwing myself a pity party. In case you haven't noticed, I've been trying to come up with something since neither of you are being any help." Ron cursed himself the moment the words left his mouth.
"HOW DARE YOU RONALD WEASLEY! How dare you say Harry and I aren't doing anything when you were the one who up and left so you could have a bloody holiday by the sea for two months?"
"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I'm trying my best to make up for it."
"Yes, well, it's too little too late."
Ron sighed. "Don't I know it?"
His defeated tone seemed to calm Hermione. "So why did you leave?" she asked.
"I told you—"
"No, you did not! You said the locket made you leave. But we all wore it, and Harry and I didn't leave. So what did it do to you that made it so impossible for you to bear?"
Ron didn't know what to say. I thought you were in love with Harry? I felt useless, like I wasn't helping? I missed my family, worried for them? I was a coward, a traitor? All those things were true, to one degree or another, but even together none of them told the full story. He doubted anyone would ever fully understand, not even Harry, unless they found a window into his soul. He couldn't tell her the truth, yet he didn't want to lie to her. So instead he kept silent.
"I didn't choose Harry," Hermione said softly after a moment. "Not really. It's just…it's always been like that, for years now: I choose Harry, Harry chooses you, and you choose me. That's the only way it works, the only way no-one gets left out."
Ron's heart dropped at her words. Did that mean he was to spend forever chasing a girl who would never choose him back, who would always pick Harry of all people?
"I choose Harry too," Ron insisted. He did. He agreed with Harry more often than not, at least when it came to things like homework and Snape. And hadn't he been the one pulling Harry out of the water a week ago?
"Yes, I know," Hermione said, patiently. "That's not what I'm saying. I know we all choose each other, protect each other, care about each other." She paused and bit her lip. "Think of it like this: if you had to choose to save either me or Harry, who would it be?"
"You," Ron said, the word coming out of his mouth before he even had time to think of it.
"You're such an idiot," she told him, though she was smiling, albeit a little sadly. "If Harry dies, then none of us stand a chance. Saving me once now wouldn't matter in the long run. But you did just prove my point. And whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, I know that if Harry had to pick between us, he'd pick you." Ron opened his mouth to protest but Hermione put a finger to his lips to silence him. It was the first time they'd actually touched since sitting down together. Actually, it was the first time they'd touched since she'd attacked him after his return. The effect was instantaneous, and Ron felt a jolt of eklektricity shoot from his lips to the tips of his toes, and was sure his hair was standing on end.
Hermione seemed to feel it, too as she pulled her fingers back as if she'd been burned, rubbing them with her other hand, looking down shyly. "So if you're choosing me, and Harry's choosing you, who else could I choose but Harry?" she continued. "I'm not saying I choose him by default, it's just…that's the way it is. You understand that, right?"
Ron should've been surprised but he wasn't. Even though he hadn't told her, even though she hadn't been there to see what came out of the Horcrux, she still knew out of all the horrid things he'd said the night he left, that was the one that counted the most.
"Yeah I get it," Ron said, finally. "You didn't choose Harry. But-but if you did, I want you to know I'd be okay with it." Hermione arched an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. "Well, no," Ron admitted, looking dejected. "But I'd understand…eventually. I mean if you're going to end up with somebody else…" He wanted to compare his feelings on the matter to the way he thought about Ginny, how no-one could ever be worthy of either of them, but he really didn't want her thinking he saw her as a sister. That was Harry, he needed to keep reminding himself. "…as long as you were happy."
"Well I wouldn't."
"Huh?"
"I wouldn't be happy, if I end up with someone else."
Ron's sunken heart suddenly rose from the depths, sprouting wings and soaring to the heavens. He shifted closer, pulling her to him so she was almost in his lap so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes when he spoke. He needed her to know what she was about to say was the truth, to see it in his eyes.
"Hermione, you know-I wouldn't-I regret leaving you…both of you. It was the biggest mistake of my life. But you have to believe that I regretted it the moment I left. I wanted to come back right away. You have to believe me—" Ron broke off, his voice failing him, trying to look into her eyes and see the understanding, the forgiveness he desperately needed.
"You know it's funny," Hermione said softly. "I thought a lot about what you'd said while you were…gone. I knew how ridiculous it was, how ridiculous you were to believe that. I think either of us would've traded the other for you in a heartbeat. I think…I think that's part of the reason why I couldn't go with you. Even if I wanted to—and a part of me did—it wouldn't have changed anything. We would've missed Harry the same way he and I missed you."
Ron nodded. "I'm glad you stayed then, so Harry had someone to help him. I mean-I can't imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been there with him in Godric's Hollow. Harry told me a bit about what happened," Ron explained. "Sounds like you were brilliant."
"Always the tone of—"
"No, Ron said, cutting her off. "I'm not surprised. None of the amazing things you do ever surprise me Hermione."
He saw the faint hint of moisture in her eyes at his words. "Tell me again," Hermione asked Ron.
He looked at her, confused. He had no idea what she was talking about. "What?"
"The Deluminator. What did I say?"
"You said my name," Ron whispered. "Just my name." Well technically, she'd said a bit more, but Ron was confident his name was the important part. "It's what brought me back to you."
"And how did I say it?"
"Like you…like you missed me," Ron said.
She looked at him a moment before speaking. "That's how I always feel when I say your name, when I think of you. It always feels like you're too far away from me," she finished softly.
Ron looked at her, vulnerable and honest. She was so perfect; he felt as though she'd just told him she loved him and his heart soared so high it left the Earth behind in the distance. And he couldn't help but lean in to kiss her.
Another finger to his lips stopped him, and he looked at her, disappointed. "I can't, Ron. Not now, not yet." Ron nodded, understanding. They'd already come so far today, he should've known this would be pushing it. "But later…later I will-we will have all the time in the world."
Ron understood. He would put all his hope in that promise, and do everything he could to make sure that 'later' would become reality.
A/N: The title of this chapter comes from lyrics in the song "Moments" by Red House Painters off their album Ocean Beach.
This chapter adapts and borrows dialogue and descriptions from chapters 14, 15, 19, and 22 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and I cannot take credit for JKR's amazing words.
It's always been my personal head canon that Hermione made up with Ron long before they made it to Malfoy manor, just because I don't see how the trio could've functioned for the three months after Ron's return with Harry completely withdrawn over the Hallows and Hermione not talking to Ron. Plus JKR had already done the 'someone nearly died so let's forget our other problems' thing in 6th year when Ron was poisoned and I don't think she'd repeat the same trick again.
I picked October 31st for Ron's leaving for the obvious symbolism and because I wanted the trio to have the Horcrux for a good chunk of time before it started messing with Ron's head bad enough to get him to leave.
Also the talk between Hermione and Ron is my own personal view on the trio. I always saw it as a circular friendship where Harry always picked Ron, Ron always picked Hermione (even while he picked ON her) and Hermione picked Harry. It was the only way three best friends could work in my mind, though obviously the romantic feelings between Hermione and Ron complicated things more and more as they all got older. Hopefully you guys don't disagree too strongly, and even if you do, you can understand it without agreeing with it.