To Know You is to Love You

by Coyote Laughing Softly

Calm, rational discussions have never been their strong point. When a pre-wedding fight shows them that they need to get it together, Hermione suggests couples counseling with an innovative new method. Ron reluctantly agrees, and now the two of them are going to learn about each other in a way never before possible.

36. Chapter 36

A.N. : Sorry for the long wait. February is...a very dark time for me, and it slowed down the writing process. I also had to go back and rewrite a few things, as my state of mind bled into the story a bit and made things darker than strictly needed. That being said, these are still fairly intense chapters, since they deal with Malfoy Manor. I tried not to be explicit, but I realize some people are sensitive to the subject matter involved. The next update will have three chapters, and will finally have us moving out of the realm of the books!

Things to keep in mind: Even when you don't believe you deserve to be forgiven, it doesn't stop you from wanting to be. On the flip side, even when you want to forgive someone, it doesn't always come easily, or all at once. When trust is damaged, it has to be built back up. And, finally, when people are hurting, they often become blind to the pain of others. Not because they don't care, but because they can barely cope with what is going on with them. Hurting people often lash out, and hurt others when they do so, even those closest to them. In short, emotions are messy, but that doesn't make you a bad person.

And, finally, because it needs to be said; HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RON WEASLEY, WHEREVER YOU ARE!

The Tales of Beedle the Bard lay on the table in front of her, silently chastising her for not having so much as open the cover in three days. She tried to bring herself to care, but caring took energy she didn't currently have. What was the point? They knew now that they needed the sword. But they were no closer to finding it than they were the last three Horcruxes, and Harry showed no signs of making any kind of decision. To be honest, Harry didn't do much aside from fiddle with his Snitch, or look at the map when he thought she wasn't looking. She tried very hard not to be jealous that he had a map, where he could see...well, it was more than she had. All she had were her thoughts, and they were far from comforting.

If she focused on her surroundings too long, she began to feel trapped. Without a clear goal in sight, or anything to fall back on, a future of aimlessly running from place to place loomed ahead of her. Her parents were gone. Any friend that might take her in would be at risk, because she was a Muggleborn. She had very little money, and no prospect of being able to earn more. Until this war ended, this was what the rest of her life could very well look like. Why couldn't Harry make some kind of decision? At this point, she would even settle for a wrong one.

Not that she could tell him that. She couldn't tell him much of anything. He rarely spoke to her, and she found that when she tried to make the effort herself, bitter words bubbled up and lodged in her throat. The reason for that, of course, was Ron. He had been gone for three days, and she was still reeling in disbelief. Some moments, she was so weak with the shock, the betrayal, that it was hard to breathe. In those moments, she hated him. A cough from outside drew her attention, sparking irritation in conjunction with her train of thought. Some moments, she blamed Harry. Why had he pushed Ron like that? Ron hadn't said anything about leaving until Harry asked why he was still here, and then made those nasty jabs about running home to mummy. He was the one that had been leading them in fruitless circles, with no hope of an end in sight. If only he-she shook her head, guilt washing over her. Harry had done the best he could. He didn't know any more than they did, and it wasn't his fault that some evil maniac had overthrown the government and was set on killing him.

Maybe blaming Harry was just a convenient way to avoid looking where the blame should really be placed, a voice whispered. She shuddered. Maybe that was true. Maybe she had done something to push Ron away, to make him think that leaving was his only option. What if she had tried to talk to him more? What if she had used magic to stop him from leaving, until he calmed down?

Ron squeezed her shoulder. Holding him there would have only prolonged things. By that point, the poison had been in his system too long for anything she or Harry could have done to make a lasting difference. The locket had been devious enough to use what had been in his own head against him, to the point that he couldn't tell where the insecurities he mostly realized as baseless left off, and the lies began. But he recognized the pattern to her thoughts; the locket was playing games with her more often now that he was gone, and she was concentrating less. It was trying to break the group down further, until Harry was completely alone.

"Hermione, I'm going out. I don't feel like sleeping, so I'll take a double watch." Harry said, rolling out of his bunk, stuffing the map under his pillow in the same movement.

Normally she would argue with him; it was cold out, and not a good idea for one person to be out that long alone, even with heating charms. Words, which always sprang so readily to her mouth, lodged stubbornly in her chest. Instead, she gave a lethargic, one shouldered shrug, ignoring the fact that he had just spoken more words in that one sentence than he had in the past three days.

"And Hermione, I just want...I just..." He seemed to crumple in on himself, looking as small as he had in first year, all the exhausted weight in his eyes drawing his gaze to the floor. He stuffed his hands deeply into the pockets of his coat, and pushed the tent flap aside.

Hermione felt the stirrings of her typical worry for her friend, and she wondered if she should go after him to find out what he had meant to say. He would probably shut her out, like he always did when he was upset, but it wasn't good for him to go out like that. She turned to share a look with Ron, hoping he would know what to do.

Except Ron wasn't there. The one person that would know exactly how she was feeling, and could help her figure out what would be the best action to take, wasn't with her anymore.

With a sob, she swept her cup of tea off of the table, where it flew through the air, liquid arching out in a stream before the whole thing landed with a wet crash. Magic welled up in her, and overhead, she heard the loud beating of wings. With a great deal of effort, she brought herself under control, and cleaned up the mess she had made, repairing the cup so that all traces of the breakage were gone.

She wished she could do the same for her heart.

Telling herself she would ask Harry again when he came back in (even though she probably wouldn't ), she shuffled slowly over to her bunk, curled herself into a tiny ball, and drew Ron's blanket up over her head. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the familiar scent of his hair, and the soap that he used. She had charmed his blanket to retain the smell, afraid that it would fade the more she used it. She hated herself for taking even a small amount of comfort in it. She wouldn't need it if he had stayed. It made no sense for her to be anything but hurt and angry. She should curse his name, and erase him from her thoughts. But she couldn't. For nearly seven years, Ron had been an almost daily part of her life, growing with her, growing closer, until he was almost a part of herself. How was she supposed to forget a part of herself?

Did he even think about them, now that he was gone? She hoped so. She hoped that somehow, it was all a big mistake. Maybe she had been reading too many fairy tales. The harsh, bitter reality that the voice whispered to her told her that Ron was probably happy with his family, warm and comfortable, with little thought to those he had left behind. After that huge row, he was most likely still mad at Harry, and as for her...who had she been kidding? Ron was never going to see her as more than his swotty, naggy friend at best. She had read too much into the kindness he had shown her in the past few months, and she had only herself to blame for the inevitable crash.

Curling herself into a tighter ball, she forced herself to get some sleep. Maybe if she slept, some of the pain would go away...

Ron rested his head on the pillow next to her, distressed at the thoughts and feelings swirling inside her. It must've felt like he had been the one to have it easy. And in some respects, that was true. He had been safe, warm, and well fed, if he had chosen to take advantage of that. How was she to know that he had given up those comforts most of the time as a sort of self punishment? Not that it made it the same as what she and Harry were going through, because for him it had been a choice. Would it have helped at all for her to know that he had been absolutely miserable, and not a moment had gone by without him thinking of them? Probably not. None of his explanations had cut much ice with her.

It was strange to see the way that the two of them acted when he wasn't there. He knew things weren't like this when they were at school, and the stress of the situation and the locket were partially to blame, but he hadn't expected them to pull apart this much. When things got bad, he had always made a point to nudge the other two out of their dark mood; he hadn't realized what a big impact he had had on them. He had never seriously considered that it could be true, but maybe they did need him, after all.

As the weeks passed, Hermione settled into a numb acceptance of the way things were; she and Harry still rarely spoke, but the silence was less strained than it had been before. Mostly, they were each lost in their own thoughts, and without Ron there to spark them into liveliness, they were content to drift. Her nightmares had eased as she had started to attempt to decipher the meaning of the book, but she was still a far cry from her usual self. Everything felt so dull and colorless, and she knew that Harry felt the same. Both had carefully avoided any mention of Ron, but each felt his loss keenly. Sometimes, Hermione wanted to talk about him, but not to Harry. She knew she might end up getting upset and saying something she shouldn't, and Harry couldn't deal with anything that could be taken as lack of support. And she did support Harry. In spite of everything, he was her friend. Nothing was going to change that. But he wasn't in any position to deal with her needs right now, so it was unfair to bring them up.

Ron didn't completely agree. He knew Harry tended to isolate himself when he was upset, but that didn't mean that Hermione should have to bottle everything up. Harry was keeping to himself by choice, but Hermione didn't get the luxury of choosing. She had nowhere to turn, no one to talk to, and for someone who was in the habit of expressing her emotions, it must have been hell. Shoving all of that down inside of her, combined with the locket, was making her nervy. She started at noises more often, and she couldn't get over the sense of being watched, no matter how carefully she checked the wards. Couldn't Harry see how badly she was doing? Hermione was never this quiet. Not that she always ran off at the mouth, or anything. It was just that, even when she was revising, there was an energy to her silences that were absent now. He understood Harry was in a bad spot, but he was the one (as much as anyone could be said to be) in charge of this operation, and that meant he had a responsibility to the people following him.

But then, that was his training talking. Harry was just seventeen here, and you couldn't really expect him to think about things like that. It also bothered him that Hermione wasn't speaking up for herself. For some reason, she always tended to do that when Harry got mad, walking on eggshells so she didn't upset him more. When he had been younger, he had thought that was a sign that she cared more about Harry and what he thought, and he had been jealous. That had changed, though. Now, he would rather that she be open with him, so he knew what she was thinking and feeling. It might not always be comfortable, but he would take that over her feeling like she couldn't talk to him, any day.

She should have known that when he finally had an idea, it would be dangerous. She tried to think up a good argument, but her heart wasn't in it. For one thing, it was at least something besides wandering from campsite to campsite; even if it turned out not to be productive, it would feel like it. And it was hard to say no to him when he gave her those big, sad eyes. She ached to see her family again, and Harry would never see anything but a headstone. How could she deny him that? They didn't have to stay long, after all. And in this weather, chances were more than good that no one would be out to see them. She would keep alert for anyone paying them special attention, and she would keep ahold of Harry, in case they needed to Apparate. It would have been better if she had had more time to plan for it, but she knew that Harry wouldn't want to give her time to come up with reasons why it was a bad idea. And maybe it wasn't; maybe she was becoming overly paranoid.

Ron squirmed uncomfortably. They hadn't gone into very much detail about this part, and he had always been sort of glad about that. His guilt had been too fresh at the time for him to really process any of the details, and Harry and Hermione had been kind enough not to rub his face in it. By the time he had gotten enough distance from it to have perspective, the topic hadn't come up. So he was curious, but still hesitant to watch everything play out.

He trudged along behind them, Hermione a tightly wound bundle of nerves, and Harry looking incredibly young. He found himself agreeing with Hermione about it being best to use Polyjuice, but he also sympathized with Harry for his reasons for not wanting to. It would be like going back to the Burrow after years away; it would feel wrong to be someone else, as if it would somehow lessen the connection he had with the place. And he would have people to go back to. All Harry had connecting him to his parents was himself, and Ron figured that being yourself was the best way to meet your parents.

She noticed something she wasn't expecting, as she scanned the area for any sign of danger. Through the frosty, foggy air came the warm glow of tiny, bright lights; Christmas lights. With a pang, she realized that they had completely forgotten about Christmas. A knot formed in her stomach as she recalled the Christmases of her childhood; warm fires, singing carols while she and her parents decorated the tree, the special holiday food...and then there were the past few years, where she either hadn't gone home, or had isolated herself in her room most of the time. How foolish she had been! Why hadn't she known that every second counted when it came to the people you loved? In the end, memories might be the only thing you had. Her earlier, happier memories were tainted by the feelings of regret. If she ever...If things worked out alright, she would make sure to work on her relationship with her family. They had always been loving and supportive of her, and she realized, now, how much she had unconsciously counted on that.

She slid a glance at Harry. As bad as things were with her family right now, she knew it was better than what Harry was going through. She still had a chance of seeing her parents alive and well again. Harry would have to meet his as cold, carved stone. She squeezed his hand as they neared the cemetery, and felt his grip tighten in response. This had to be horribly hard on him, but she had no clue how to make it better. Something told her that this was something that couldn't be made better.

Like a ghost, Ron followed behind them as they searched the graves for Harry's parents, and for a time, his attention was mostly on Harry. He had seen his friend cut up before; had seen him almost mad with grief. This...this quiet, sober sadness was almost worse. As his friends knelt together, and Hermione comforted Harry, he dropped to his knees as well, putting a hand on Harry's free shoulder.

"I'm sorry, mate. I know you end up forgiving me an' all, but...I still should've been there for you. I mean, I've always tried to...you know. I've fucked up a couple of times, and I regret it. And even though it doesn't make up for me not being there, I'm glad you had Hermione."

And he was. There had been a part of him that had been afraid he would feel the old, insecure jealousy rise up, but it didn't. There was nothing the least bit romantic about this situation, and it would be sort of insulting to think otherwise. It was grief, plain and simple. He and Ginny had shared the same kind of embrace when Fred died. How could you be jealous of that? Hermione had comforted him then, too, but it was...different. Her touch had been more intimate...more...he didn't know how to explain it. And maybe that didn't matter. Maybe it was now, after he had watched her life and the way she acted with them from the outside, he could see the difference for himself. Harry had needed her, had needed the older sister that she had so often acted like, and Ron didn't begrudge him the comfort.

He thought this was what he had been meant to see from this memory. At the time, he had been afraid that things between Harry and Hermione were completely different, or that at least one of them wanted it to be. He wished he could say with some degree of honesty that he could have recognized it if he had been around to see it then, but that wasn't likely. Now that he was older, and he had gotten things straight in his head about not only their relationship, but himself in general, he could appreciate what they had. Harry and Hermione's relationship wasn't like the one he had with either of them, and that was alright. He had learned that just because someone else had something to offer didn't mean that he didn't, or that what he offered wasn't important. Even here, he could tell that they were missing him, and he would have added something in his own right, instead of being a third wheel. It was sort of a relief to see how much his thinking had changed. He had come a long ways since then, and it made him feel confident that he could continue to grow. But it looked like there was more here for him to see, although he thought he already knew everything that had happened. Had he forgotten something?

Things sped up, and though the edges were blurry, he could still tell what was going on. He went after them as they followed the little old lady (he kept his distance, remembering, with revulsion, that this was a corpse animated by a snake and dark magic), mumbling about how Harry better have gotten it through his ruddy head in training that you didn't let a stranger take you to where they had the upper ground. He shared Hermione's unease once they were inside, and nearly screamed when Harry went upstairs without her. What if that had been a trap? Well, more than it was. What if someone else had been there to take care of Hermione? A million things could have gone wrong, and what happened was bad enough.

Hermione had a bad feeling about this. Not that it would be the first time that she had doubts about what Harry did, but this time Harry was alone. Even when Ron agreed with Harry's more ill-advised ideas, there had been at least the two of them to deal with it. She tried to be patient, and to trust that Harry knew what he was doing. Oh, what was the point? That had never been her way. Thumping sounds from upstairs caught her ear, and she knew that Harry was in trouble.

"Bloody hell!" She whispered under her breath, understanding the satisfaction that Ron must get out of that phrase in times of stress.

She nearly lost her balance several times bolting up the rickety stairs, following the sounds of fighting that no woman who was truly that elderly and frail could possibly be making. Whatever she had been expecting to see, It wasn't Harry being half killed by Voldemort's monstrous snake. The body of Bathilda Bagshott lay crumpled in a heap like some forgotten cocoon, but Hermione barely noticed that in her haste to blast the snake away from Harry. There was no time for thought, only action; this was no ordinary snake, and it refused to be denied its prey. A small corner of her brain wondered if its relationship to Voldemort had not only boosted its strength, but given it some sort of resistance to magic. But that was only a small part; the rest of her was consumed by fear. Her shots were going wild in her efforts to not hit Harry, and they ended up ricocheting around the room. Harry was yelling, but she couldn't make sense of it over the sound of her own screaming; Something shattered, and she howled in pain as Harry dragged her across the bed, shards of glass digging into her back.

In a whirlwind of adrenaline and broken glass, Ron clung tightly, yet uselessly, to Harry and Hermione as the snake lunged towards them, Hermione's scream piercing his ears. He felt her panic, her voice shaky as she tried to protect Harry, who was dragging her along, before Apparating them to safety. His stomach lurched queasily, and everything went black. When he was able to orient himself again, he saw that they were back at the tent. Specifically, in the bathroom of the tent.

Hermione held the towel to herself loosely under her arms, not for any need for modesty, but for the small amount of warmth it provided. Harry had been unconscious when they arrived, and she had panicked, reminded horribly of splinching Ron during their flight from the Ministry. She had checked him over as best she could, but there were no signs of anything more than superficial injuries. She had gotten him into a cot, and healed him as best she could; it was only after doing so that her own injuries made themselves felt. It came as a series of sharp, stinging pains, covering her back, arms, and legs.

Wincing, she had hobbled into the bathroom, and stripped, hissing as her clothes ripped away from the bloody patches on her skin. It was a slow, tricky process to remove the bits of glass that she found imbedded to various depths, made all the harder by her shaky hands. Stifling whimpers, she made a thorough job of her arms and legs, carefully portioning out the Dittany. That was the easy part. Her back was another story; there was no way she could get all the pieces herself, and had to content herself with knocking the larger ones free, and hoping the smaller ones didn't burrow in and get infected. She felt wasteful dripping the Dittany down her back, but there was no other way, unless she got Harry to do it. Even if he had been awake, that wouldn't be an option.

Long experience had taught her that Harry blamed himself when the people around him got hurt. That was something that made communicating with him hard enough at the best of times; right now, she didn't think either of them could take the added strain. Once the DIttany had dried, she pulled on the loosest shirt she had, reminding herself not to lie on her back for awhile. She had just finished dressing, and was contemplating if it was worth the effort to brew some tea before sleeping, when a shout startled her into tripping into the corner of the sink in her haste to get to Harry.

Wand held out in preparation of an attack, she burst into the main area of the tent to find Harry alone, thrashing about in the bottom bunk, sweat pouring off of him as he screamed incoherently. Frantically, her eyes darted around the tent for any sign of an intruder; finding none, she cautiously approached Harry, trying to figure out what was the matter. He was babbling now, and she caught the word 'snake' several times. That made some sort of sense, she supposed, after what had happened, but this didn't seem like a nightmare. It was almost as if he was-just as she thought it, she got a good look at his flailing arm. Where there had been small wounds she had assumed were from glass, two of them were now swollen and angry looking, clearly bite marks.

"Ohmygod, Harry!" She screamed, rushing to to where she had dropped her bag. With no regard for the contents, she tossed things around until she found what would hopefully work as an antidote to the poison. Holding the vial in one hand, she practically had to sit on his chest to get him to hold still long enough for her to pour it down his throat, clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Water. I need to get some water," she muttered to herself, wanting to bring his temperature down. In her haste, she stepped on something that rolled under her foot; looking down she found Harry's wand.

Half of Harry's wand.

Shakily, she reached for it where it stuck out from under his bed; pulling it out, she saw that it was held together by the merest sliver. She closed her eyes, and gulped. Her memories of earlier played back, and she realized that one of the crunching sounds she had heard hadn't been glass. Somehow, his wand had been broken. Harry was going to be furious. Briefly, she considered trying to fix it, before recalling Ron's wand in second year. No, there was no hope of fixing it...

An anguished scream from Harry made her drop the wand on the table, on her way back to his side. He was clawing at his chest now, and something smelled sickeningly like singed flesh. She gripped his t-shirt and yanked it up, nearly recoiling when she saw the locket practically embedded in his chest. With one hand, she tried to pull it away; when that didn't work, she tried both. His screams were becoming more desperate. She hadn't wanted to resort to this, but there was no time to think of another way. Quickly, she cast a Severing Charm. the locket fell to his lap, coated in blood. Sobbing, she reached over to try to push him back down, and screamed when his eyes flew open, glowing a malevolent red before returning to normal and rolling back.

She fell off the bed, staring in horror as he subsided into feeble jerking movements, with the occasional word slipping past his lips. With a hasty motion, she snatched the locket, nearly gagging as she cleaned the blood from its surface. Face screwed up, she threw it into her bag. Oh, why had they ever worn the thing in the first place? How could they have been so stupid?

Harry's chest was still bleeding, leaving a large stain on his shirt. She knew she needed to tend to the wound, but she hesitated to get close to him. The look in his eyes...she shuddered. That hadn't been Harry. She wouldn't say he had been possessed; Dumbledore had been fairly sure that couldn't happen. But just like Harry could sometimes see through Voldemort's eyes, she thought that what had just happened had been the reverse. It took her a few moments to steel herself before beginning to clean him up. Once she had done the best she could, she fetched a bowl of cold water and a cloth, and sat down next to him. For the next several hours, she tried to keep him cool. A few times, he would go too long between breaths, and she would be terrified that he was dying. But each time, just before she used Enervate on him, he would pull in a ragged lungful of air.

Ron was shaking nearly as bad as Harry. Holy...he knew it had been bad, but he hadn't known it was this bad! Every hair on his body was standing on end after watching that, and he wasn't sure how Hermione was able to force herself to keep going on. She was exhausted, in pain, and quite frightened. She looked and felt seconds away from passing out, and if Harry's situation wasn't so bad, Ron would say that would be the best thing she could do. She was wearing herself to a frazzle, and Harry must have been mortified when he woke up. That was probably why Hermione hadn't talked about it much; she wouldn't want him to feel worse than he already did.

At least, that's what he thought, until Harry actually woke up. Ron watched in growing confusion, which soon became frustration, as Harry completely ignored the fact that Hermione had saved his life, in favor of worrying about his broken wand. Alright, he, of all people, could understand being upset about the wand in general. If he had learned anything in second year, it was that a wand was a vital part of being a wizard, and he wasn't talking about in the crude sense. With his broken, he had felt helpless, useless, and incomplete. Harry was feeling all of that, with the added weight of being caught wandless while his life was in mortal danger. There weren't very many situations less enviable than that. So he got it. He really did.

But hell, didn't Harry understand? They had been in a shit situation, and even if he had been able to get out by himself, the snakebite could have finished him off. Or he could have been too slow, or traced. Hermione had done the best she could, and while the loss of a wand was a blow, it didn't matter quite as much when you looked at the bigger picture. And speaking of looking, Harry had noticed she didn't look well. Why wasn't he asking her if she was alright? She was painfully thin, looked like she hadn't slept in days; her hair was breaking, and her skin was dry and cracked. But even if he had gotten used to seeing her like that, there wasn't much excuse for not trying to find out if she had been injured. He kept waiting for Harry to catch on, or to apologize for the danger she had been in...but Harry just put on that stiff, fake smile, cut her off, and walked out of the tent.

Ron watched Hermione's face crumble, and he nearly flew after Harry, even though he couldn't do anything. He had to content himself with shouting.

"Bloody HELL, Harry!" He roared at the flap of the tent, watching with one eye as Hermione dropped to the bed and began to cry. "She stayed! She fucking stayed! She's driven herself nearly mental looking for clues, she's been brilliant about the protections on the camp, she planned a hell of a lot more than we did, and she's half dead on her feet!"

He began to pace, not caring how loud he was. "She stuck with you through everything! She could have left, but she didn't! She's saved your life, and you walk out on her like that? You walk out just like-" His voice broke, and he wiped away the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

Who was he kidding? That wasn't one of Harry's shining moments, but if Ron was being honest, as he knew he had to for this whole therapy thing to work, the reason he was so furious was because Harry was reminding him of himself. Oh, he had had good reasons for acting the way he did before he left. Good reasons for leaving, too. But reasons weren't excuses. Good reasons don't undo the damage you cause others. And blaming Harry for his mistakes weren't going to erase his own; besides, this was the past, and it was between Harry and Hermione. If Hermione had forgiven him and moved on, then he needed to do the same. It was just hard, since he had never forgiven himself. And while he didn't think he would ever go that far, maybe he should try to make peace with it, to some extent. Thinking about it had made him wonder about something, but he couldn't deal with it right now. Hermione's thoughts and emotions were sweeping over him like a tidal wave, and drowning his out. He staggered over to sit beside her, where she was still crying, her chest heaving with each breath.

Hermione had tried to keep herself together, but had soon given up. It was all too much; what did Harry expect of her? She was doing the best she could! For months, her entire life had been devoted to this mission. She had given up her family, her education, and any shred of safety that going into hiding might provide. She had made herself a target, had followed him to the brink of starvation, and had come much closer than she would like to losing her life on more than one occasion. And it still wasn't enough. She was expected to figure out all the answers, and to perform perfectly. Well, she wasn't perfect! She made mistakes just like anyone else. For him to walk out like that, after everything...just because she had messed up?

Of course, reasoned a dark voice, she was only worth having along if she was useful. If she couldn't pull her weight, then what was the point in putting up with her? Feebly, she protested that that was a lie. Harry wouldn't leave her over that. It might take awhile, but he was her friend, and he would get over it. But...she hadn't thought that Ron would leave her, either. He had, though. And the way things had been going, why should she assume Harry wouldn't go on without her? He wasn't acting like himself. She wasn't acting like herself. The world was tipped on its side, and there was no guarantee where you would land.

The events of the day had taken a toll on her, and she drifted to sleep, dreaming vividly of happier days. She was in the Common Room with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, sitting by the fire. Harry and Ginny were laughing about something that had happened in Quidditch practice, while Ginny stretched her legs out to rest on Harry's lap. Ron had been on the opposite side of the pitch and had missed whatever it was, but he smiled anyway from his seat beside Hermione. Hermione didn't care a bit about Quidditch, but she was happy to curl against Ron's side with a book, relaxed by the gentle way that his fingers twirled a strand of her hair, from where his arm was draped along the back of the sofa. his head was a comforting weight on top of hers, and she let one of her hands rest on his thigh, holding in a smirk as she felt the muscles tense. Her actions hadn't gone unnoticed, and Harry grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. Ginny caught on to what was going on, and let out an amused cackle. Ron flipped them off with his free hand, but she could feel him smiling as he tilted his head to let his lips brush against her temple. Under his breath, he made a suggestion that had her face turning redder than his ears ever had, and she gave his arm a small slap. Not that she was totally averse to his idea, however...

Her dream continued in the same vein, although the setting and the number of people around them changed. Sometimes it was the four of them, and sometimes it was his whole family along with her parents. And sometimes it was just the two of them. It was so different from the nightmares she had been having that she relaxed completely, losing herself in the mix of daydreams and memories. She woke refreshed, a smile on her face. She rolled over to look at Ron, and then reality came crashing back down on her, all the worse for the small time she had been able remember what it was like to be happy. Harry had come back in, and was snoring in his bunk, his glasses slipping off of the pillow under his head.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly, denying the tears that wanted to flow. She would not cry again. She would not. It was time she put all of that behind her. Things were never going to go back to the way they were, so she might as well just get used to it. Ron had hurt her by walking out, but she wasn't going to keep letting him hurt her now that he was gone. Viciously, she flung the blanket off of her bed, and stood up. She was hot, and wanted to feel some cool air on her face to calm her down. Pausing on her way to the tent's opening, She lifted Harry's glasses, deciding that it would be best if he didn't break them along with his wand. One of the ear pieces was still under his head, and the movement must have woke him up, at least a little, because she heard him stirring as she walked away.

"Are you leavin' too?" Harry slurred sleepily, freezing Hermione in her tracks.

"No. Of course not! I just woke up, and decided to check outside." Hermione reassured him, softening her tone. He had sounded so young and vulnerable, she had been unable to hold his earlier attitude against him.

He reached up to scratch his head, making his hair stand up so wildly that it was impossible to tell which were the regular locks that wouldn't stay in place. "'M sorry. Wasn't supposed to be like this," he said plaintively.

"No, it wasn't," sh admitted, "but it is. And we have to get used to that, because that's how it's going to be. But we'll come out alright in the end, you'll see."

"Will we really?" Harry asked, already falling back asleep. He hadn't sounded like he believed her.

To tell the truth, neither had she.

Ron had expected them to be mad about him leaving, but he hadn't expected it to affect things between Harry and Hermione. Part of it was the locket, but he hated how his mistake had each of them wondering if the other would be the next to abandon them. Their faith in each other had always been unshakable before, but he had shattered that; the unthinkable had happened when he left, and if that had happened, then anything was possible. Maybe that was even part of the reason they had been distant with each other; each was warily watching the other for signs that things would end the same way. It was scary, stressful, and confusing; so it really wasn't surprising she had reacted the way she had when he had finally found them.

Hermione rolled over, bleary from sleep, but all thoughts of a quick trip to the bathroom vanished when she saw that Harry was gone. Not that he hadn't done that before, but she really wished he would tell her before he left. She hated to admit it, but it sort of scared her to wake up and find she was alone. How long had he been gone, anyway? She stood up and padded over to peer outside. He shouldn't be out there, out of sight of the tent. She had tried to be good about giving him space, and he, for his part, was trying to act normally, even though she could tell the loss of his wand still rankled him. She didn't really like the fact that one of them was always without a wand, but she obviously couldn't mention that, could she? It was hard not to say something, though. The paranoid feelings had been replaced by a mounting irritability. Any day now, some sharp comment was going to fall right out of her mouth, but she didn't know how to stop it. She didn't really know what was wrong with her, for that matter. Besides the obvious, of course. Now, with nowhere to vent, it was even worse. Neither she or Harry could afford a fight, and she really didn't have the energy for one. But there was that nasty little niggling sound always in her head, always pushing her towards some rash remark.

She let the flap of the tent fall back in place, after checking to see if Harry was on his way back. Still no sign of him. If he wasn't back in twenty minutes, she was going after him. And her protectiveness would probably irritate him, and it would be the third year fight over the broom all over again, she thought moodily.

Her temples began to throb slightly, and she picked up the beaded bag, rummaging around for something to ease the pain. She was trying to save the magical remedies for serious things, so she made do with a couple of aspirin. With a glass of cold water, she swallowed them down, grimacing as they hit her empty stomach. Medication without food wasn't a great idea, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Once she had choked down some more water, she picked up the book she had been trying to read earlier. Somehow, a history of wizarding wars had seemed more appealing back when she had packed. It now failed to hold her interest, and she was wishing she had brought something more light and entertaining.

After flipping through several more pages without really taking them in, she looked at her watch again. Ten more minutes. With a sigh, she began to look for her shoes. She might as well start bundling up to go after him. Just as she had tied the laces on the last one, she heard shouting from outside, and she paused. It was her name, but it didn't sound like trouble. Could it be a trap, though? Had their luck finally run out? Peeking out suspiciously, she was greeted by a far too cheerful looking Harry. A part of her was shocked; when was the last time she had seen him smile?

Her curiosity was wiped away once she caught sight of the person standing behind him. Her heart began to thud loudly in her chest, drowning out whatever Harry might have been trying to tell her. She would figure that out later. RIght now, her senses were saturated with Ron. He stood there almost shyly, his expression embarrassed, and somehow managing to look ashamed and hopeful at the same time. Her first instinct was to rush to him, to throw her arms around him and make sure he was real; to berate him for leaving, to make him swear not to do it again. She wanted to cry, and she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, and had needed him to be there for her when he was gone.

And that made her absolutely furious. How dare he? How dare he come back, and make her feel like that? No. No, it wasn't fury. It was fear. After dealing with the initial shock of betrayal, and the misery filled weeks that followed, how could she so readily open herself up for him to hurt her like that again? She knew she couldn't take it. Not in the way that the heroines of novels meant; she wouldn't wilt just because she didn't have a love interest. But first and foremost, Ron was her friend, one that she had valued highly and trusted. This wasn't like their fights at school. There, while she had been deeply upset, she had been safe. She had the support of her teachers, the support (even if just through letters) of her parents, and she had been physically and mentally healthy.

None of that was true here. Both she and Harry were doing badly in all respects, but it was hard to help each other since they both coped with things differently. If she let Ron back in now, she ran the risk of living through that last night in the tent all over again, and she didn't know how much good she could be for the mission if she had to pull herself out of that twice. There was no way she could let him get close; so she did the only thing she could. She allowed the fury and fear to take over, to drive a safe wedge between them.

As Ron watched her explode, he nodded his head. He had sort of suspected as much. And since he had felt the need for some sort of punishment, he hadn't really complained. He knew it had been wrong to let her hit at him like that, even if it didn't hurt nearly as much as he let on. He had felt like she had needed to get in an equal amount of damage to what he had caused her. They had both been wrong. Their reactions had been wrong. This wasn't the kind of thing they could do to each other anymore. And, to be fair, nothing like this had happened since then. As Hermione yelled at him, he was struck again by how young they had been, even though it wasn't all that long ago. Merlin, but the emotions that were cycling through her nearly made him dizzy! Angry and confused, elated and terrified...Yeah, she was wrong, but he couldn't think that too many people would react any better, in this situation.

Embarrassed, Hermione finally stopped screaming long enough to hear what Harry was telling her. It helped that he still had her wand. When he got to the part where Ron saved him from drowning (honestly, what had he been thinking, diving into an icy pond?), she drowned out the feeling of pride by focusing on the sword, and the fact that the locket had finally been destroyed. Both of them acted oddly when that was mentioned, but since she was trying to avoid interacting with Ron, she didn't ask. Actually, she was more than a little jealous that Harry was able to accept Ron so easily. It wasn't as if she didn't want to! And maybe if it had been her that he had dragged out of the pond, she might be able to. But she doubted it. She knew that the relationship between Ron was different than the one she had with either of them. And that was alright. She just wished things could be as easy for her, too.

They weren't. And as much as she would love to be able to pretend that she was fine, and have things go back to the way they were, she couldn't. Because she had been breaking apart for months, what with one thing and another, and it felt like she shattered every time she scraped a few pieces back together. Ron had the power to be the person to help her through the hardest times, to support her while she pulled herself together. But he also had the power to hurt her the worst. Now that they had the sword, and had destroyed one Horcrux, things should begin to move forward. If she was going to keep her head clear and focused so she could figure out any more clues that they might come across, then she was going to keep her distance from him.

Listening to him describe what had happened to him, she held on to the reassuring heat of her anger. Maybe it had hurt to Splinch his fingernails off, but that was nothing compared to the way he had Splinched her heart! How could anything he had gone through possibly compare to what she had? And it had been his decision, not hers! So if he thought that that was enough to make her-

When he began to talk about hearing her voice, and following that ball of light back to her, it had been like being punched in the stomach. Why couldn't he have said something like this months, or even years ago? How could he give her nearly a month of sullen silences and sharp, almost hateful comments, and then come up with words that went straight to her heart? It made something inside her stir; something she thought had died in the days after he had walked out on them. Ruthlessly, she crushed it. At least, she tried to. But it kept popping back up, whispering to her to believe that things weren't as hopeless as she had thought, that maybe, although he had left them, she could still trust him, if she gave him a chance. Had hearing her voice really led him back to them? Had he cared that much, that it had triggered whatever magic Dumbledore had put into the Deluminator? It was hard to reconcile that to the way he had acted before he had left. Then again, it had been hard to reconcile that to the person he had always been before. So which was he? Was he the Ron that would be there for her, no matter what, or was he the one who would walk away without even a glance back? She didn't know, and until she did, she couldn't let herself be swayed by his story.

He had always wondered if that had mattered to her, his hearing her voice. On one level, he was pleased to see that it had. But he also realized that the whole thing had to be confusing, too. Hermione was a very black and white person. Either you were right or wrong, good or bad. At eighteen, she still hadn't totally grasped the fact that sometimes good people did horrible things. What he had done had been pretty horrible, too. There wasn't any denying that. It was up to her to weigh that against all of the previous years, and the things he had actually gotten right. If he had still been around fourteen, or even sixteen, it might have upset him how slow she had been to forgive him. In the years since, he had learned that just because you wanted to forgive someone, that didn't mean it happened instantly. Something had been broken, and it took time to repair. Really, he thought as she left his other self and Harry outside to go in and get in bed, it had probably been healthier that she hadn't forgiven him right away. Letting something that big slide without even questioning it would have been sending the message that he could get away with anything, and that she didn't care enough about herself to prevent someone from treating her badly.

From the other bunk, she heard them whispering about canaries, and she retorted sharply, not letting them see her wince. She was already feeling guilty about hitting him; she wasn't actually going to use the birds. She wouldn't do anything physical at all. However, she felt that he deserved to hurt some, too. It would never equal what she had gone through, but he could suffer through her silence, and she certainly wasn't going to guard her tongue, if she did speak to him. She curled up tighter in her blanket, having completely forgotten that it was, in fact, actually Ron's. Behind her, she heard the boys settling into bed, and it wasn't long before Harry's even breathing was almost drowned out by the sound of Ron's deeper snore.

Lulled by the sound, she was unaware that the tension in her body, which had been wound to the snapping point, relaxed.

The silent treatment had been hard, he admitted. He had wanted her to yell, to start a fight. Well, a one-sided fight, but he had expected her to keep going the way she had when he first arrived. But she had kept it all bottled up; only the occasional snide remark would slip past, but it was never really said directly to him. He hadn't expected her to forgive him. He had come back fully prepared for both of them to hate him. But he knew Hermione, and knew that the only way for her to get over something and move on from it was to get it all out in the open. For her sake, he had wanted her to let it out, because he could tell that holding it in was only hurting her more. And the last thing he had wanted was to be the cause of any more pain. Which was why, one day when she was still being unnaturally cool, he had finally tried to push the issue.

Harry's turn for being on watch were always the worst times, Hermione reflected. It was harder to ignore Ron when they were alone, and he was staring at her like a wide-eyed spaniel. It didn't help the fact that he had been the picture of thoughtfulness, accommodating to her every whim. He hadn't given her a legitimate reason to snap at him, and while that certainly hadn't stopped her, it had made it much harder. On the other hand, she knew she always forgave him after a good row to clear the air, and she still wasn't ready for that yet. He seemed to be doing everything he could to make up for what he had done, and he hadn't made any excuses, nor had he tried to make her feel like he deserved to be forgiven just because he was doing the right thing now. It was...mature of him, and any other time, that would be enough to thaw her out.

She glanced over to the chair where he was sitting, turning the Deluminator over and over in his hand, his fingers sliding over the smooth surface. He was watching her out from under his eyelashes with an expression that was hard for her to decipher. There was heat, but she hesitated to call it anger. There was a certain sense of sadness as well, and a resignation that constantly forced her to harden her heart. All she knew was that there was a quiet intensity that seemed to follow her everywhere, even when she knew he couldn't see her. Which wasn't very often, since he seemed to be making an effort to stay as close as he could without invading her personal space. It would have been much easier to ignore him if she thought he was trying to get her to forgive him, but it felt more like he was trying to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and not purely for personal gain. Oh, he agreed with whatever she said, and he was always jumping up to do small jobs about the place, but he was never surprised or put out that she didn't respond. Mostly, he put on a cheerful front; the only way to tell he was bothered was by his ever widening eyes, and the way his body would droop like a plant denied water.

Checking again, she saw that he was still watching. With a huff, she decided to get up and make tea. Not that she wanted any. And not that what they had was very good. But it gave her something to do, somewhere for her eyes to rest without straying to him.

"I'll get that!" Ron said, hopping to his feet with a clatter as his chair was pushed back.

"I can get it myself, thanks," she said stiffly, blocking his entrance into the small kitchen area.

He had one arm out to reach for the tea, and he frowned. She tried not to touch him as she brushed past, but with a shiver, she noticed that he had replenished whatever shampoo it was he used, and her mind was suddenly full of happier days at the Burrow. The memories of the good times, of moments of hope and missed opportunities suddenly made her legs weak, and she choked back tears as she stumbled to the side, only to have Ron grab her arm to steady her.

"Hermione? Really, I think you should sit down. I can make-"

"I can make it myself!" She said shrilly, pulling away, "I can do everything myself! I don't need you, for anything!"

That was a lie, and it was probably hitting below the belt, but she needed to push him away. She didn't want to fight. She just wanted him to leave her alone. But instead of going off in an angry sulk, he just nodded understandingly, giving her a rueful smile as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"I know that. I never really thought that you did. I had...well, I just knew you didn't. And-And that's alright. I just want you to know, now that I have a chance to say it-"

She turned to the tea, not wanting to hear it. "There's nothing to say. You've told your side of the story. What happened, happened, and that's all there is to it. Just forget it."

He scooted around to look at her face, leaning across the counter. "But there is! I hadn't realized that I hadn't actually said it yet, and even if it doesn't mean anything to you-"

"What could you possibly have to say that would matter?" She asked brittlely, setting down two mugs with a clink.

"Well, if you would let me jus-"

"I really don't see-"

"I'M SORRY!" Ron bellowed, his face screwed up and flushed, and his hands curled at his sides.

Hermione froze, her hand hovering over the kettle. Ron didn't apologize. He occasionally mumbled and murmured things that might turn into an apology before you took pity on him and stopped him, but she couldn't remember those words ever coming out of his mouth, at least not directed to her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Which was fine, since he apparently wasn't done yet.

"I'm sorry for every wrong, stupid thing I've ever done between the day we met and now. I'm sorry for calling you a nightmare in first year. I'm sorry for laughing about your tail in second. I'm sorry for that stupid fight about Scabbers in third-even though I was right, the way I handled it wasn't. I..." His jaw worked as he tried to get the words out, "I'm sorry for being such an arse in fourth year. About Krum, and the bloody Ball...if I had just-we-that doesn't matter now. But I'm sorry for it."

He paused to catch his breath, and Hermione waited, still too stunned to interrupt the flow of words that was pouring from him.

With a deep breath, he started back up. "I wasn't too bad in fifth year, which must've been a bloody miracle. Sixth year...fuck. I cocked most of that up, but you were probably expecting it by that point. Everything with Lavender, and...I'm sorry. And the thing I'm sorriest for, Hermione, is walking out on you and Harry. That was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and the one I'll always regret."

He leaned towards her, his eyes blazing into hers unwaveringly. "And the hell of it is, I know sorry doesn't cut it. A person can only screw up so many times before their second chances become fifths, and then tenths, and...you just can't anymore. Some things are too big to come back from. And I don't expect you to forgive me. That's not why I'm saying it. But you deserve to hear it, and you need to stop holding in the anger until it drives you mad. I don't blame you for hating me. I hate myself. Just...don't let it keep hurting you like this."

She turned away to lean over the sink, unable to meet his eyes any longer. He thought she hated him. She had tried to. So many times over the years. But it had never worked. Probably would never work. Couldn't he see that? She hated what he had done, even though she understood it. She hated how it had made her feel. And she hated that someone had the power to make her feel that way. But there was something about his apology, which had caused her heart to be less hard against him. She just...couldn't admit it yet. It had always been a matter of when she would forgive him; she had known that the moment he had returned with Harry. But it was still too soon to let him back in completely; not out of spite, but the very real fear that something would happen again, and she refused to take that risk. She was taking enough of those as it was. Still, she couldn't let him think she hated him.

With her shoulders hunched, the words came out of her mouth slowly. "I don't hate you, Ron," she said, pausing at his surprised intake of breath. "I don't hate you, but I can't-I can't let this go right now. Everything you just said-"

"Doesn't matter," he cut in quickly, "I know. But even if you can't forgive me, if you could just-I dunno, let it all out in one go-you'd feel better. Harry needs both of us, so if you could try to stand me for that long-"

"That's not what I mean," she sighed heavily, pushing herself away from the sink. "It's not that I-it's not that I can't forgive you, it's that I can't forgive you right now. I just need time." She closed her eyes briefly, before looking at him again, with an expression more open than it had been in months. "You don't know how much that hurt, Ron; how much thinking about it still hurts."

As he hung his head, she had to resist the urge to reach out and pat his arm. She was trying not to send conflicting messages, but it was hard when she was still working things out for herself.

"I know it doesn't fix things, but I am sorry, Hermione. I never meant for it to go that way; I know I was a complete arse, like you said, but I never meant for things to end up like that."

"I believe you. At least, I want to. But it's hard to risk getting hurt like that again. I can't count on you, only to have you walk out. I just can't."

"I know. And I won't-"

"Ron!" She cried out, raising her hand up as if she could physically ward off his words, "Please, please don't make any promises. I know you would mean them, but..."

She couldn't bear it if he said the words. She wanted to hear them, badly, but after what she had been through, she needed action now, and not just words.

"That's not what I was going to say," he said quietly, his right hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket to touch the Deluminator, "I won't make pretty promises. I've never been that great with words, and it wouldn't help much, anyway. So I won't promise, but I'll show you, instead."

And...that was enough. If he could give her something to believe in, she would. She would travel down that path, once she was sure that there was solid ground beneath her feet. But he also had to understand that she was going to be moving at her own pace, and rushing her wouldn't help. How would he take that?

"I'd like that," she whispered, "I don't want things to stay like this. But I still need time, and it might be awhile."

"I can wait."

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about days. It could be weeks. Months. Maybe even years."

Well. Not years. But if he got upset at the thought of a long wait now, then he wasn't really invested in making things better, was he? Better to know now. So she waited for the protest, or bargaining, as if they were back in Hogwarts on a Sunday night, and he was trying to get her to work on his essay.

"However long it takes, I'll wait."

That hadn't been what she was expecting, and while it thrilled her, it also frightened her. It would be much easier to stay mad; the risk of being hurt again decreased dramatically if she did that. Then again, she was a Gryffindor; reckless risks came naturally.

"Alright, then." She said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. "I'll just go back to making my tea, if we're done."

Ron volunteered, "I can make it, if you want to go read."

"No! She yelped, clutching the teapot, keeping it out of his reach. She still needed some kind of distance, after all. "No, I can manage."

"Oh...okay. I'll just, um, go back and sit down." He turned away, his shoulders hunched.

He looked so pathetic, but he hadn't even protested; he had listened, and backed off. Maybe...maybe she could give a small sign that she was taking things under consideration.

"Would you like a cup?"

"Yeah!" He said brightly, offering her a tentative smile.

She couldn't quite bring herself to smile back, because she knew she was still going to have days where she was feeling standoffish, and she was struggling to be fair and not yo-yo his emotions around. But, she reflected, as she brought the water to a boil, it was rather nice to see him smiling for a change. Maybe, in the future, she would be able to join him again.

The fact that she really had wanted to work things out was reassuring. In the first few days after the war, he had worried that she had only because of the things had happened next; that she had been afraid to lose more than she already had, or something like that. Events sort of pushed them closer together faster than she had probably been planning, but he saw now that the only thing that had really been affected was the timing. And, given the scene unrolling in front of him, he wished that they had had that time. His mouth went dry as the enormity of what he was about to face hit him. It had taken over a year for him to distance himself from this enough that he didn't have nightmares every night, and he wasn't sure what watching it from this vantage point was going to do to him.

Things had been progressing well. Not fast, and maybe not in large steps, but well. While it had been a hard decision, she had come to the conclusion that Ron was important enough to her for her to try to make things work, and she was doing her best to get to that point. Ron, for his part, was taking things remarkably in stride. His attitude was a complete change from the way he had been before; instead of sulking silently in his bunk, He was constantly moving about, doing whatever he could to motivate them. The suspicious side of her said he was only doing it to get back in her good graces; the part of her that had known Ron for years thought differently. Ron had never been good at faking things. For one thing, he didn't have the patience for it. For another, his emotions were readable by the changing color of his ears. She had been watching him keenly; after a harsh string of cutting comments from her (honestly she wasn't sure if she was testing him on purpose or not), she could see them redden enough to indicate that he was hurt or frustrated. But where most people, if they were trying to hide it, would paste on a fake smile, Ron would acknowledge it with a sharp nod of his head, and then move on.

In conclusion, he gave every sign of someone who was genuinely trying to do things right. He was hurt, and he was unhappy, but he was pushing that aside for others after his mistake, and doing what was best for them. It reminded her very much of fourth year, and she was seriously wondering if maybe the locket had played a larger role than she had thought. That would just upset her all over again; if she was going to forgive him, she would forgive him, but she wouldn't do it by making excuses.

He could understand that. He had never really even considered it an excuse. It had been a major factor, but not something that he was going to hide behind. And even though the things she had said hurt him, he had known that it was important to earn her trust back. Hermione being Hermione, some days she was harder on him than others. It had reminded him of the stray dog he and Ginny had tried to tame when they were little. It had obviously been beaten at one point in its life, and was wary of people getting too close. They had snuck food out to it every day, and, little by little, it had let them come closer while it was eating. Some days, it would growl and run; other days it might let you reach out and pat its head. You never knew which way it was going to act, and it even looked like it wanted to let them get closer, but didn't know how. The memory of the pain it had suffered was too strong to let it. Ron had hoped that he would have better luck with Hermione.

When she had suggested that they visit Luna's father, she had known Ron didn't fully agree with her. But in the interest of getting her way, she had only shrugged when he raised his eyebrow behind Harry's back. He wasn't the only one that could show some initiative, after all!

She should have known things wouldn't be that easy. Their visit had been a nightmare, and had nearly gotten them killed. She had expected Ron to rub her face in it, or at least look smug; but there had been nothing but concern on his face that night when he asked if she was alright. His hand had reached out, briefly, to touch her arm, but she saw him jerk it back before smiling at her apologetically. Apologetically. For showing concern. For trying to be there for her if she needed him. That small gesture had made her feel mean and petty about the way she had been treating him, even though she knew that wasn't his intention. She almost wished it was, so she could stay mad. Mad was safe. Mad meant distance. Distance meant she wouldn't get hurt. But damn him if he wasn't rising at every opportunity to show her that he had changed. Or maybe not changed; maybe refined was a better word. Ron, at his core, had always been a good person. And he had had the potential to be even better, if he would let himself. Maybe that was what had happened. Maybe he had found a way to let go of whatever it was that had been holding him back from maturing into the man she had always believed he was. And if he had, did she really want to let fear make her miss out on that? What kind of Gryffindor was she?

And, thanks in part to her idea to research the Hallows, she now needed Ron more than ever. Harry was becoming what she thought was dangerously obsessed, and she found comfort in the fact that, instead of scoffing at her, Ron shared her worried looks. She could tell that he thought the way Harry seemed to focus on the Stone was far from healthy, and it was a relief to know that she would have someone on her side to keep Harry from doing something that would put his life in more danger than it already was.

Ron had been afraid. Very afraid. Because Hermione hadn't been there that Christmas in first year when Harry had found the Mirror. Even at eleven, Ron had known that what Harry had seen had meant more to him than the visions it had shown himself. For him, they were dreams; nice to look at, and probably wouldn't come true. But Harry...Harry had acted as if he would step right through the Mirror if he could. And Ron reckoned it was the same way with the Stone. Not that he could blame him, but still. Living with the dead wasn't much better than being dead yourself, was it? Not that he could talk about it much with Hermione, even though he could tell she wanted to. Harry was pretty paranoid, always watching them as if they were talking about him. All Ron could think to do was to keep Harry moving and distracted.

And in doing so, he had missed the fact that his efforts were having any sort of impact on her. Had he matured? He hadn't thought so at the time. He was just doing what he thought was best for everyone, even if sometimes it felt like he was beating a dead hippogriff. He sure as hell hadn't felt mature. If anything, he had felt younger and more scared than he had ever felt since he first got on the Hogwarts Express.

The second that Voldemort's name left Harry's lips, she knew it was a mistake. One look at Ron's face, still and frozen as his eyes moved rapidly from side to side in the way they always did when he was thinking, told her that. The color had drained from his face so fast that he looked in danger of passing out. All three of them leapt up to put up the Wards, but the loud humming of the Sneakoscope told them that they were too late. Hermione breathed hard as she tried to remember what Ron had told them about the Taboo. Would it bring Voldemort himself, or Death Eaters, like they had faced back at Luna's? Her wand was shaking in her hand; they weren't ready for this! There was no way the three of them could survive Voldemort. It would be a miracle if they managed to get away from another group of Death Eaters! She performed the spells as fast as she could, but it was too late; loud voices were coming closer, and Hermione could tell that they had been spotted. A glance at the others told her that they knew, too.

Harry's face was twisted with guilt, and she knew that this was just one more thing he would beat himself up over if they lived through this. Ron was tense, his face set in a blank mask that brought to her mind the way he had looked back in first year, during the chess match. It frightened her, and she wished, suddenly, that there was time to tell him not to throw himself away like that, to tell him that she forgave him. But there wasn't time, and there might never be time again. The senselessness of it all made her head spin, even as the Snatchers bore down on them.

Ron wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers, his hand aching to curl around his wand. Was he really going to have to watch this all over again? Hadn't it been bad enough to live through it? There was only so much one person could bear, and he wasn't sure he could take seeing what was going to happen to Hermione. And as weird as it might be to say so, but he was glad that she hadn't forgiven him right then. He knew she meant it, but it would have been harder for him to believe back then, and he would have kept wondering later if she had regretted it.

He choked out a wordless cry of warning as some of the men circled closer to Hermione, even though he knew it was useless. His fists clenched as her fear spiked within him; what was he going to do? He could already hardly stand to watch, and he knew it was going to get much, much worse.

Hermione's stomach coiled in knots as men that looked like they had just stepped from stereotypical wanted posters closed in on her, forcing her to drop her wand. There was no way she could take that many on, and she knew it; she only hoped that her desperate attempt to disguise Harry would work long enough for them to bluff their way out of this.

"Oh, we have found something sweet out here, haven't we?" A low voice growled from behind her, and a large, heavy hand wrapped far too intimately around her waist.

She nearly gagged at the smell of putrid meat wafting from his breath, although that didn't turn her stomach nearly as much as the feel of his lips against her throat.

"Get-off-her!"

She heard Ron yell, and she looked up in time to see him rushing towards her. He was stopped, and the impact of fists against his face and stomach made her cry out. "Leave him alone!"

Oh God, what if they had killed him? But no, he was alive! She winced at the sight of the blood that he coughed up, and prayed that it was from a cut tongue and not from internal injuries.

Twisting against the hands that held her got her nowhere, except a vicious yank of her hair,as he muttered in her ear, "None of that now, girlie, or it'll go badly for you when I finish nibbling on you later."

It finally registered who was talking, and she couldn't move fast enough when he pushed her away. Grayback! These weren't low level lackys. They were in serious trouble, and she had a feeling that Grayback liked to play with his food. She had seen men like him before, and she knew that in the unlikely event that he didn't kill her, he would do his best to make her wish he had.

They had tossed Harry and Ron together, and she was glad to see that while they were both hurt, they were still able to come up with a decent lie. Just as she thought that, Ron's story about being Stan Shunpike was blown, earning him another blow to the face. Anymore, and it would be more swollen than Harry's.

For the first time, she wished he hadn't come back, for an entirely different reason. At least if he had stayed with his brother, he would still be alive. He would have been safe! Why, oh why had he come back to this? One look at him kneeling on the ground, dirty and bleeding, told her. He had come back because he cared about her and Harry. He had come back because it was the right thing to do. He had come back because he was Ron, and Ron would never let his friends go through something like this alone for any longer than he could help. He was human, and he made human mistakes; he had done things that had hurt her in their years together, and she had done things that had hurt him. And yes, his leaving was probably the worst thing he had ever done, but unlike most other people, he had come back and tried to make things right. Maybe you didn't get the measure of a man by how often he was right; maybe you got it by what he did when he was wrong.

Ron released a shuddering sigh, and his eyes drifted shut briefly. For years, he had figured that Hermione would never understand him at all. Sometimes he thought that in frustration, while she was nagging him and Harry about something or other. Sometimes he had thought it in despair, convinced his feelings for her would never get through. But she had! Somehow or other, she had. The locket had looked into his heart, and had focused on every negative aspect that it could find. Hermione had looked, and had shown him the good that was there, and had given him something to remember when times got dark.

The thoughts passed like bolts of lightning through her mind, as she did her best to lie with the others. For a few, brief moments she thought they might get away with it, until Grayback decided to take them to Malfoy Manor instead. As the ropes tightened around her wrists, she looked over at the boys. Harry was glaring at the ground, obviously furious that it was he who had been (at least partially) recognized. Ron, however, was looking back at her; a dozen different emotions seemed to swirl in his eyes, and she saw him try to lean closer to her, but he was pulled sharply back. Tears slid down her face as she was forced to stumble along, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Harry and Ron. Aside from her parents, they were the two most important people in the world to her, and she was terrified that she was going to see them die. She tried to come up with some kind of plan, but she couldn't think of a single way to get them all out alive. They were outnumbered, wandless, and in the very heart of the enemy camp. The best she could realistically hope for was a few minutes to try to tell Harry and Ron how much she loved them, and how sorry she was that it had ended like this.

Ron had tried to stop walking, balking as her thoughts grew darker. Unfortunately that didn't seem to matter, because his body just glided along beside Hermione against his will. Feeling her resigning herself to death was wrong on more levels than he could count, and he was already having to fight the urge to be sick. Although, he thought darkly, it might make him feel a little better if he managed to do it all over Malfoy.

Even though she was afraid, Hermione couldn't help feeling disdain for Malfoy. He was the type of person who, when caught in the middle of something, tried to play off both sides until he figured out what would be most advantageous to him. He had obviously bitten off more than he could chew with Voldemort, and was looking for a way out of being in direct proximity to him. On the other hand, he had never liked Harry, and Hermione doubted he was going to say anything he couldn't retract later, if he thought it would be in his best interest. If he really wanted to help Harry, he would lie. Yes, there was a risk, but it wasn't any greater than the ones the rest of them were taking. He was such a coward, when he didn't have someone else to do his dirty work.

But doubt was better than nothing; as long as there was doubt, Voldemort wouldn't be called. Bellatrix, however, was too clever for that. Hermione wasn't sure how the woman could read things so easily, but the knowing look in her eyes was enough to tell her that they had had it. The sword was only the icing on the cake, and it seemed to send Bellatrix into a frenzy of fear and rage. A frenzy of which Hermione found herself bearing the brunt. Perhaps she should have been surprised when Bellatrix chose her, but she wasn't. After all, Harry would have to be kept until Voldemort came, and Ron was a pure blood, even if he was a traitor. But Bellatrix loathed Mudbloods, and she had to satisfy her sadistic tendencies somewhere. Thankfully, Harry and Ron were being taken away; Hermione didn't want them to watch, and she thought that they would be safer while they were out of Bellatrix's direct line of sight.

"No! shouted Ron. "You can have me, keep me!"

Hermione's heart cracked at that, and the sound of it drowned out the blow when Bellatrix struck Ron. How had she ever doubted him? He was willing to take her place, to be tortured and possibly even die for her. She was infinitely glad that the madwoman didn't listen.

Fat lot of good it had done, Ron thought as he watched his younger self. What good was being willing, when she was the one who had ended up being tortured anyway? His uselessness in this situation had kept him up at night for months afterwards, and when he did sleep, it had plagued him with nightmares. Nightmares that he was sure he was going to relive again after this.

Bellatrix turned to Hermione, her eyes glazed over fanatically, her lips set in a tight smile. "Now, let's find out how much the little Mudblood can take before she cracks. You two, hold her down!"

Hermione raised her chin as Greyback grabbed her right arm, while Scabior took her left. As long as Ron and Harry were out of the way, she could do this. She hoped. Her skin crawled as Greyback shifted, and she felt something long and firm press against her hip. She tried to pull away, but he yanked her back, grinding into her with a laugh.

"If you're a good girl, maybe you won't be awake when she gives you to me," he growled in her ear, using his free hand to stroke her stomach, just below her breasts.

She sucked her stomach in, noting for the first time that what she had assumed to be dirt under his nails was, in fact, dried blood. Hermione might not have been the most imaginative person, but she could picture several ways it could have gotten there, and none of them were good.

"Don't look so surprised, girl," Bellatrix laughed, "Didn't you know that dogs love to roll in filth?" Her face hardened as she leaned closer to Hermione. "Now, tell me what you know about that sword!"

"It's just a replica!" Hermione whined, "The boys just had it to show off!"

Bellatrix struck her across the face with a backhanded blow, the force so hard that Hermione heard her neck pop. "Don't lie to me! Do you think I'm so stupid as to fall for that? You're not dealing with a pitiful lacky like Umbridge!"

"I'm telling you the truth! How could we even have the real sword? The boys were just being stupid and trying to impress me!" Hermione hoped they would forgive her for that; it was the only plausible thing she could think of at the time.

With a sneer, Bellatrix spat at Hermione's feet. "Do you expect me to believe either of them would fancy a little nothing like you? Or did you just think that being the so-called Boy Who Lived's lover," she said nastily, making air quotes with the hand not holding her wand, "would afford you some type of protection?"

"She's got it wrong, hasn't she girlie?" Greyback chuckled, giving her a quick nip on the ear, "I could smell it, you know. When you screamed. Your blood runs hot for Ginger, doesn't it?"

Bellatrix made a gagging sound, grasping her throat mockingly. "You dare to contaminate a pure blood? Even if he is a blood traitor, I won't let you spawn any more disgusting creatures like yourself! You should have stayed with the Muggle trash, where you belong." She then smiled slyly. "Of course, maybe that would be the best way to get you to talk? Perhaps I should bring him back here, and open him up to find out how pure his blood really is!"

"If you even touch him, I'll never tell you anything about your precious sword!" Hermione hissed. Not that she had any intention of doing so anyway, but maybe Bellatrix would believe whatever she told her next, if she thought Hermione was telling the truth to save him.

Wild, black hair cascaded around Bellatrix as she threw her head back, cackling loudly. "Did you really think I needed you to tell me anything?" With an almost supernatural speed, she was face to face with Hermione, her eyes flat and soulless, all traces of laughter gone. "I just want to watch you break," she whispered.

Hermione leaned away as much as she could, letting out a premature breath of relief when Bellatrix turned her back on her and walked away. She had taken about ten steps when she suddenly spun around, her wand pointed at Hermione. "CRUCIO!"

Scabior and Greyback were blown off of her, and Hermione's body was lifted into the air by the strength of the spell. Her spine arched until she was bent into a semi-circle, and every nerve in her body came alive with the agony. Her muscles spasmed, and her head cracked sharply against the stone floor where her body finally landed. Words like 'fire' and 'lightning' were usually used to describe intense pain, but they paled in comparison to what Hermione was feeling right now. It was as if her very soul was being evicted from her body; as if she was being rearranged on a molecular level, and was aware of every ripping, tearing shift. She was freezing and burning up; was there any such thing as a cold fire? How was it possible to be numb and yet feel so much, all at the same time?

"Holy shiiiiiiit!" Ron screamed along with her, feeling what he knew to be only an echo of the pain she was experiencing. It was enough to make him collapse next to her, his body folding over in sympathy with hers. How could she possibly stand this? This was beyond the physical and mental limits of what a human should endure!

For an unknown amount of time, Hermione's mind was a staticy mess; she forgot her family, her friends, the mission...even herself. All that existed was pain, engulfing her so fully that she could find no reason to believe that she hadn't always existed in this state.

"HERMIONE!"

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice, and the fog in her head parted just enough for her to be aware of what was going on. Hermione. Her name was Hermione. She was a witch. She was on some sort of mission, and it was dangerous. Had she gone to some sort of school? She thought she had. Yes. And she had parents, too. And friends. Her friends were here with her. Someone was trying to get her to say something. If she said it, her friends would be hurt. If she didn't say it, she would be hurt. She didn't want to hurt, but for some reason, it seemed important that she kept her friends safe. Why?

"HERMIONE!"

Ron. And Harry. Pictures formed in her head, and as she pieced them together, she recognized them as memories. Oh! That was why. They were important to her, these people that created a warm spot inside of her, in contrast to the biting cold that was trying to consume her. They were more important to her than herself. Had she ever told them? No? How sad. She wished she could. Maybe if she moved a little closer to that warm spot?

Sluggishly, Hermione rolled to her side, pushing herself up on one arm. Through the hair that hung down in her face, she saw someone standing in front of her. The bad woman, her mind supplied semi-helpfully. The bad woman who wanted to take everything away from her.

"I had heard you were the smart one of the group; it appears you're mentally strong in more ways than one." Bellatrix said conversationally, as if she hadn't nearly killed her, "But I promise, you'll regret that fact. CRUCIO!"

Hermione screamed again, her lungs burning so much she thought they would burst. Her head throbbed, and she barely registered the spells that were hurled at her, cutting her body with invisible knives. Oddly enough that pain was more bearable than the one in her head; it was cold and it was dark, and the sound of a thousand whispering voices echoed like the buzzing of bees. Is this what dying was like? If it was, she wished it would hurry up and end. She was ready; she couldn't take any more of this. Nonsense words fell from her lips as Bellatrix questioned her again; she was dimly aware of making the effort to lie. How much more could she stand before the truth slipped out? For someone claiming that they already knew the answers, the madwoman was being awfully insistent. Her eyes felt heavy; maybe if she just shut them, everything would go away...

"Oh no you don't! You two! Make yourselves useful, and keep her awake!"

Ron watched from his spot on the floor as Greyback and Scabior obeyed; Greyback sank his claws into her flesh, practically purring at the rivulets of blood that welled up. Scabior made do with a dagger, jabbing at her with practiced motions so that the wounds were deep enough to hurt, right on the brink of being life-threatening.

Hermione's head lolled to the side, and she was crying now. "Stop...please, just make it stop..."

Ron sobbed, crawling over to lay his body over hers. This was too much; he couldn't take it! "I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" He repeated, his body shaking as he watched, powerless again to help her.

"You think that hurts? I'll teach you what pain is! CRUCIO! CRUCIO! CRUCIO!" Bellatrix screamed, her eyes alive with malicious delight as Hermione's body convulsed.

She was a child again. Everything was white and warm, except for a small dark spot over there in the corner of the brightly lit garden. Hermione moved away from it, following the pretty white birds. All she had to do was let them take her away, and nothing bad could ever happen to her again. That would be nice. A place where she could be happy all the time, with not a care in the world...

"HERMIONE!"

She stopped, remembering. That voice kept calling to her. What did it want? It was back in the dark, and she didn't want to go there!

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

She wasn't a child anymore. The darkness was closer, and she knew who was calling. Why couldn't he stay quiet? Didn't he know what would happen to him if he kept screaming like that? He would end up-that monster would-with an effort, she turned away from the light, if only to get him to be quiet.

Bellatrix's face floated into her vision, flushed with triumph until she saw the awareness in Hermione's eyes.

"Damn you, why don't you give up? I've broken better than you! I've driven pure blooded wizards and witches out of their minds! Why-won't-you-die?"

Hermione did her best to brace herself, she really did. But this was beyond anything you could prepare your body and mind for, and the force of Bellatrix's growing anger tore through her as if she was a sheet of wet tissue.

"CRUCIO!"

She couldn't hang on any longer. What was the point? 'Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry...Please don't feel guilty about this. Mum, Dad...you won't even know I'm gone; I wish I could see you, just once...'

The world slid out of focus, melting into an oily black void. At least she had managed not to give Bellatrix what she had wanted; even as she slipped away, she took a vindictive pleasure in that. She could die with no regrets; everyone was as safe as she could make them.

Ron was totally caught up in the moment, and the knowledge that this was only a memory was forgotten. All he could see was Hermione dying right in front of his eyes, his worst nightmare brought to life. He had failed. He had failed, and she was dying! Everything within him rebelled at the wrongness of such a thing, but the proof was right next to him in the form of her pale body, her eyes dulling even as he tried to shake her. Something in his mind snapped; his sanity was teetering on the brink. Only one thing was left to him, and that was the word that nearly burned the inside of his throat as he screamed.

"HERMIONE!" His voice joined with that of his younger self, in macabre harmony.

"HERMIONE!"

A flash of red cut through the darkness. Not everyone was safe; someone was throwing himself after her.

"Ron?"

Ron blinked, the tears in his eyes clouding her vision. Hermione was alive...but why did it sound like there was two of her?