A/N: We are very very close to the end, folks! As one of my final few installments, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

In other (but related) news, I finally created and Ao3 account and I am (slowly) carrying my stories (including this one) over to their archive as well. I think posting there is a bit more confusing then , but alas, it's happening. So if you prefer to read your fanfics over there, keep an eye out!

This chapter takes place during chapter 19, "The Silver Doe," and chapter 23, "Malfoy Manor," of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.

When she was six, she had sworn she would never fall in love. Her teacher had been pregnant, and the woman had grown fatter and grumpier until one day she had disappeared altogether. Hermione had asked her mum about it, and she had explained to her that many women went on leave near the end of their pregnancy, to care for the baby. Hermione didn't care much for babies. They were smelly and they were loud, and they needed to be looked after constantly. She couldn't imagine leaving work for one. By the time Mrs. Roberts had returned, school was just about to end. She had missed practically the entire year. Her mother told her all of that was worth it when you were in love and wanted a family. Hermione didn't think love sounded very appealing.

When she was 12, for the first time, she became friends with boys. In fact, boys became her closest friends. At first, it was strange. In her dormitory, the other girls had started to talk about boys constantly. She had spent an entire night in the common room observing Ron and Harry more closely, trying to decide what everyone found so enticing. She looked at their eyes, like Lavender said, and their hair. She didn't see it. They were just Ron and Harry. Her friends. Her best friends. They had noticed her staring at them and she had pushed the thoughts aside, muttering something about homework.

When she was 13, at home for the summer holiday, she realized that she missed Ron when he wasn't around. She missed Harry too, but not quite the same way. Her heart didn't start racing whenever she got an owl from Harry, like it did with Ron.

When she was 14, she decided Ron was more than a friend. More than a best friend, even. He was a something.

When she was 16, she came to the conclusion that love was not a choice.

Now, at 18, she recalled the promise of her younger self with a kind of anger that she hadn't been successful. Love had never been her top priority and yet it had slunk its way in anyway, in the form of Ron Weasley. Ron, who had left her alone on an impossible mission. Love was dreadful. The span of time since his departure had been hell. A dark cloud seemed to hang over the tent wherever they went. She and Harry barely spoke. Both of them were on edge, tiptoeing around one another and constantly afraid of setting the other one off. When she had finally worked up the courage to suggest Godric's Hollow, they had nearly been killed by Voldemort's snake. Not only that, but she had broken Harry's wand, and he had grown even more distant. She could see the disappointment burning beneath his eyes, and knew she had let him down. She was miserable. Wearing the locket had gotten worse, too. When it was on, all she could feel was anger at Ron for leaving when it mattered the most. When it was off, she mostly just cried.

Then he was back and the locket was gone, all at once. Harry had woken her up and he was just there, out of nowhere, apologizing and going on about a ball of light touching his heart. Something had come over her, and she had wanted him to feel pain. There he was, smiling at her, as if he could just waltz back in here and apologize, and she had never felt angrier. She had hit him. She had tried to hurt him with each blow. She was hurt, and she had been since the day he walked out. It only seemed fair, for him to hurt now. That same night she had regretted it, but only the hitting. She wouldn't take back her words.

Now, she was focused on being stony with him. She tried not to talk to him, directing all her thoughts to Harry and sending Ron glares whenever he commented. Her anger towards him hadn't abated. But she was also angry at herself. For having to remember to be short with him. For consciously having to keep her distance. For being glad that he was back. For even now, after all that he'd put her through, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and be kissed in return. The whole situation made her furious.

Ron was somber around her in return. They kept their interactions to a minimum, and for the most part, she thought it was better that way. Yet from her spot at the entrance to the tent as she kept watch, she could hear Harry and Ron joking and laughing loudly from inside. How could Harry have forgiven him so easily? Every time she looked at him she saw the sneer he'd worn before throwing the locket aside and storming out. His departing words still rung in her head, "you choose him." Was that really what he thought of her? How could she forgive someone who had lost her trust? Furiously, she plucked out a handful of grass and began shredding it as a distraction, until there was a tap on her shoulder.

"My turn," Harry said with a grin. Ron's return had done a remarkable job on his spirits. The same could hardly be said for her. Hermione nodded and brushed the grass from her jeans. A part of her wanted to refuse, to insist she extend her watch, if only to avoid alone time with Ron, but she knew it was a bad idea. Her eyes had been flickering for the past hour, and falling asleep on watch wouldn't do any of them any good. So she swept past Harry back into the ten and immediately veered towards her bunk and the book that lay atop it.

It was The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Ron's return, and his story of the deluminator, had inspired her to take it up again, convinced there was no chance at all that Dumbledore had given her something worthless. Ron kept glancing over at her from the table as she read. By the fourth or fifth time, she snapped. "What?" She said coldly, staring over the top of the page at him. He didn't even flinch.

"Nothing. Sorry," he said calmly, turning back to his radio. So they sat in silence, the only sounds the low murmur of Ron's radio dial and the soft flutter of the pages of her book. She could still feel his eyes on her periodically, but he always looked away rather quickly. After an hour, she could feel her eyes drifting, but forced herself to stand up instead. They still hadn't had dinner. Reluctantly, she set sleep aside.

Ron must have heard her sigh, because before she had even managed to grab the bag of mushrooms Harry had gathered earlier, he was up in a flash and standing in front of her in the tiny kitchen. "I'll do it," he said, holding out his hands for the bag. Hermione glared at him.

"I'm perfectly capable," she said stiffly, shoving her way past him.

"I know that, I just meant, you look like you could use a break... I just want to help."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Help?" she snapped. "Where were you a week ago when I was comforting Harry at his parents graves? When we were almost killed? When he woke up from another nightmare and didn't have a wand and went into a panic? That's right, you were relaxing to your heart's content with your family, while eating real food and getting a full nights sleep! Well sorry if I don't need your damn help anymore."

She knew he hadn't been insinuating anything, but she couldn't keep her anger at bay any longer. It had been building up since the night of his return and now it was starting to overflow. She wanted to blow off steam. She wanted an argument. But Ron didn't even open his mouth. Instead, he just wandered back over to his radio and sat down again. She felt like screaming. Why wasn't he fighting back? Ron never backed down from a row. "What's the matter with you?" She barked, the bag of mushrooms left forgotten on the countertop.

He looked back up at her in bewilderment. "What?" He said wearily.

"Why aren't you yelling back at me?" She demanded.

He just shrugged. "Because you're right," he said simply. She was taken completely off guard by his words, and he clearly noticed, because he continued on. "You stayed. We swore we'd be there for Harry and I—I wasn't. But you were. And you two managed things just fine without me, didn't you?" he said flatly. No we didn't, Hermione thought furiously. We were lost without you, you idiot. Two people aren't nearly as good in a fight as three... We barely made it out alive when the snake turned up. We barely talked. For over a month, we barely spoke. We were miserable. She wanted to scream it at him, to make him realize how much he meant to their little trio. If he didn't understand how important he was to Harry, to her, how could he ever understand what he had done to them by leaving? He had ripped away a sense of wholeness when he had left. He had left her broken. Didn't he know that that was why she was so mad?

Ron was still talking, "—and I know I didn't have a right to just show up again, and I don't expect things to go back to normal, all right? You can stay mad at me for as long as you like. I deserve it. But you have to know I'm really, really sorry, Hermione. Just, let me make dinner, please?" He was looking at her almost pleadingly. It was strange, to be involved in an argument where the other party wasn't fighting back. Especially when that other party was Ron. She didn't like it. She couldn't keep it up forever. She knew already she was going to forgive him. How could she not? He was her best friend.

She tried to stay as stony as possible as she answered him. Deciding to forgive him didn't mean the thing had to be done immediately. It would have to come in small doses. "Mushrooms are on the counter," she relented finally. As she turned back to her bed and her awaiting book, she could have sworn she saw him grin.

*"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Hermione tried to crane her neck towards the others, only to realize it was she who had made the noise. Greyback was moving towards them, and his words from earlier once again floated to the forefront of her mind…Delicious girl…What a treat…. She shuddered involuntarily against the others as he inched nearer, resisting the urge to scream at him not to touch her. Resisting was no use. She remembered the sound of knuckles hitting flesh, of Ron speaking through the blood. It would only make things worse for them, fighting back. Comforting fingers were tugging on her own, from where they were bound together behind her back. Ron. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on the touch, rather than the sounds of Greyback's ragged breathing as he shuffled closer to them.

*"Wait," she heard Bellatrix saying, "All except…except for the Mudblood." No. No no no no no. Ron was now shouting, his fingers desperately trying to get a better grasp on hers, as if that would somehow keep her safe.

*"No! You can have me, keep me!" It was just like Ron, to try to sacrifice himself. He was once again the eleven year old boy who walked willing into the fray of McGonagall's chess set, just so that she and Harry could continue on…. It was foolishly, stupidly brave. She would never let him do it. She forced her eyes open and tried to calm her breathing, glaring at Bellatrix with her best look of defiance, suddenly thankful the woman had singled out her and not one of the boys. She was a Gryffindor, too, after all. She could be brave. She could do this, for them.

*"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," Bellatrix sneered, rattling off instructions to Greyback as her own hands worked at the ropes, cutting Hermione away from the rest. Ron was still desperately trying to grab her, despite his wrists being bound together, preventing him from moving more than few inches in any direction. She felt only his fingertips, then nothing. From her other side, Bellatrix had grabbed her hair and was pulling her towards the center of the room. By the time she managed to turn her head back around towards the entryway, Harry, Ron, and Dean had disappeared. For the first time, she was fighting alone.

She was thrown unceremoniously to the floor, and Bellatrix leered down at her. She looked insane, a mad woman, brandishing her wand in one hand and her knife in the other, her flyaway black hair wisping against her face like smoke. When she spoke, even her voice sounded lethal, thick with a kind of venom. Bloodlust seemed to seep out of her very pores. "Shall we do a bit of a warm-up, dear?" Not waiting for a response, her hand shot up, her wand snapping to position, focused on Hermione's body, laid out upon the ground. "CRUCIO!"

For a split instant, nothing happened. Hermione seemed to be surrounded by a deadly calm, an eerie silence. Then, her body was ripped in two. It was a pain of the kind that could hardly be fully explained with mere words. Each extremity seemed to be tearing apart, one by one. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Every cell seemed to be screaming for relief. A thousand scalding knives were piercing her skin, burning her insides. She was on fire. Was she even a 'she'? Her body didn't seem to exist. There was no way a human being could endure such pain. Maybe she was already dead….

But Bellatrix lifted the spell, and she found herself gasping for breath on the floor, the room spinning around her. From above her, Bellatrix was barking at her, demanding answers to questions she could barely process. About the sword. But why—? Before she could fully sort through it, she was hit once more with the Cruciatus, and dissolved again into screams, wreathing around on the ground helplessly. There was no way to fight it, no way to escape.

This time, even when the curse was lifted, although she came to her senses, the pain remained. Every limb felt like a heavy weight, pulling her down. She couldn't have moved even if she tried. Her head was pounding, Bellatrix's words reverberating through her. She had to fight hard to keep her brain straight, to form answers that would reveal nothing, but still keep Bellatrix preoccupied. She had to make Bellatrix believe the sword was a fake. Maybe there was still a chance, if not for her, for Harry and Ron. As long as she kept Bellatrix turning in circles, maybe they could escape. *"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

She was hit again by the spell. And again. She could hear herself begging for it to end. Her mind drifted to Neville's parents, alive but not living, and wondered if that would be her, when it ended. She decided she would prefer death. Not that Bellatrix would give her a choice.

The woman was leaning so closely over her now that Hermione could feel the coldness of her breath on her cheek. The noise dimmed to a whisper as Bellatrix rasped out threats softly in her ear, "I would start talking, dearie. Real answers. You are very quickly becoming…disposable," her cruel eyes locked on Hermione's own and she knew. None of them were getting out of here. They were all going to die. The mission had ended. It was over. Bellatrix could clearly sense the words had had an impact, because she kept on ruthlessly. "You will make quite the treat for Greyback, he's not used to getting someone so young. And he likes to play with his food before eating it, you know. What a nice little evening it will be." Hermione could only whimper. From the corner of her eye, she could see the werewolf watching her hungrily. Tears fell before she could stop them. He was going to touch her. Bellatrix was going to…she was going to let him….

Then she heard it, sounding up from the cellar before her. His voice, desperate, frantic, calling out for her. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine sinking through the floor towards that voice. It was like earlier, with his fingertips gripping hers. For a second, she was filled with hope. Ron wouldn't ever let that always got out, Harry and Ron would get them out. But Bellatrix heard it too, and her next words shook Hermione to the very core, returning her to reality. None of them had a choice. "Maybe we'll bring the boys back up to watch. And once you're finished with, I'll start on Ginger."

No. No, not Ron. She couldn't let him suffer this. She wanted it to be quick for him, painless. A flash of green light. She had to hold on. Bellatrix was up again, screaming, hysterical. She surprised even herself when her voice came out clear, hindered slightly by her sobs, but steady, never wavering. The answer wasn't good enough, of course. Nothing she could say would be.

Pain. She would never see Ron again. She tried to remember the feeling of his fingers on hers, but her mind was far too hazy at the moment. What was the last thing she'd said to him? She couldn't remember. Again. They had failed, and the realization was almost worse than the curse itself. Seventeen years of surviving and Harry was going to go the same way as his parents, at the hands of Voldemort. After he was gone, who would be left to save the wizarding world? How could the fight continue without Harry Potter? Who else could defeat him? Crucio. She tried desperately to cling on with thoughts of them. Harry's laugh, Ron's grin, the smell of his hair, the look he gave her that night at Grimmauld Place, when she knew…. She could feel herself slipping. I'm sorry, she thought desperately, her vision growing spotty, I'm so so sorry I couldn't save you. It was directed at both of them, but it was Ron's face she saw as Bellatrix raised her wand.

When the spell hit again, there was nothing but darkness.

*quotes taken directly from pages 463-467 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

A/N: In honor of Ron's return, I would like to remind everyone of one of my favorite few lines (and moments) out of all of the books:

"'He knew what he was doing when when he gave the Deluminator, didn't he? He-well,' Ron's ears turned bright red and he became engrossed with a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, 'he must've known I'd run out on you'

'No,' Harry corrected him. 'He must've known you'd always want to come back'" (Rowling 391).