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.

37. Chapter 37

Ron continued to stare down at the dead leaves, even as the footsteps approaching him became louder. He could tell when they saw him, for the harsh, masculine voices abruptly switched to whispers. Either whoever it was were Muggleborns on the run, or else they were sympathetic towards Death Eaters, and up to no good. There weren't many other people who would be out roaming the woods otherwise. Logically, he knew he had a good chance of being in danger, but he still didn't move, because he just didn't have the energy to care. The only thing he could focus on at the moment was how badly he had screwed up. Why hadn't he remembered the damn Wards? Probably because he had always been on the inside of them, and had never had to think about what would happen if he wasn't. Either Harry and Hermione had forgotten, too, which was why they hadn't been down when he had tried to go back, or else...or else they just didn't want him back at all.

"How can you even think that?" Hermione demanded. I begged you to stay! Begged! Do you think I would have done that if I hadn't meant it? Both of us were miserable while you were gone! As much as Harry and I care about one another, it just isn't the same without you! Did you ever figure that out? Do you still think things like this?"

The very thought that he might hurt her heart. Ron brought something to the friendships that he had with them that they just couldn't give each other. And it wasn't from a lack of caring; it was just...both of them needed the Ron-ness that only he had.

"What do we 'ave 'ere, Burt? Has Ginge here been out on a bender?" A voice asked.

"He'd 'ave to stumble an 'ell of a long way to make it out 'ere, I reckon," someone answered.

A dusty, worn pair of boots appeared in Ron's line of vision as a bulky man in raggedy robes squatted down in front of him. A heavy hand landed on the top of his head, and yanked it up by a fistful of hair.

"I reckon this 'ere's likely to be a runaway. Now, I'm thinking the only reason to 'ave come out this far is that he 'as somethin' to 'ide. And who 'as the most to 'ide, nowadays?"

The man grinned, revealing a set of broken, tobacco stained stumps. Ron could feel his breath on his face, and the sour stench that wafted out with it. He blinked, but said nothing; If they were going to rob him, they wouldn't be taking much, and there was nothing in his rucksack that was worth fighting over. It wasn't until he looked up into the taller man's eyes that he thought he might be in any real danger. They were dark and still, like a lizard's. To emphasize that fact, the man periodically darted his tongue out to moisten his lips.

"He's either a Muggleborn, or blood traitor. You-Know-Who pays well enough for both. What's your name, boy?" He asked, finally addressing Ron.

The mention of You-Know-Who brought his mind sharply into focus. There was something going on here, and he needed more information. He couldn't give his own name; everyone knew the Weasleys were blood traitors, and that they were connected to Harry. All they had to do was put his age and name together, and they would know that they might be able to get to Harry through him. That thought gave him purpose. He had cocked things up badly, but there was no way in hell that he was going to do anything to put his friends in more danger. And if there was something going on that they needed to know about, then he had to find a way to let them know. He pulled a name from memory, and tried to make his face look slack and thick-witted.

"Stan. Stan Shunpike."

The two men paused, puzzlement creasing their faces as they looked at him, then at each taller one raised an eyebrow, and the short one in the tatty checked jacket shrugged.

"The name's familiar, but I don't think it's on the list," he said thoughtfully, still not releasing Ron's hair.

"Doesn't he 'ave somethin' to do with the Knight Bus?"

The taller man, whose shoes looked like they were too tight, and had earlier been addressed as Burt, shrugged. "'Ow should I know? Do I look bleedin' daft enough to ride the Knight Bus? Let's take 'i'm back to the others and see what they think."

"Alright. Even if he doesn't know anythin' about Potter, he'll still fetch a good price."

Ron grunted as they jerked him up, but didn't fight them. It was clear now that Harry was being hunted by more than regular Death Eaters. How many other people knew about this? What else was going on? The thought made his hand twitch for his wand, which, unfortunately, didn't go unnoticed.

"'Ere, none of that, now! Sid, take his wand!"

His wand was roughly yanked from his pocket, and Ron bit back a curse. What the hell could he do wandless? What if they decided that he was too much trouble to keep alive? He tried to come up with a plan as they marched him through the trees, their grips bruisingly tight on his arms. For some reason, they hadn't bothered to take his sack, and briefly, he considered using it as a weapon. He quickly discarded the idea; it was too light to do any good, especially against two other people.

"You think that Greyback will want a look at 'im, to see if we should call Vold-"

Ron was jerked roughly as Burt reached around him to punch Sid. "Shut up, you daft bugger! Don't say his name! Did you forget about the Taboo? You'll get us killed!"

Inwardly, Ron groaned. Merlin! A Taboo! This was bad. Really, really bad. And smart, too. Hardly anyone said Voldemort's name out loud, but Harry had never been one to follow that unspoken rule. He wondered if Hermione's Wards could block that out, but they probably couldn't. They were strong, but he reckoned she hadn't worked a counter against Taboos into them. And now, he wasn't there to stop them from saying it.

Firelight flickered up ahead of them, and they entered a small clearing, where three other men sat on logs, as close to the heat as they could get. Their eyes were predatory as they took him in, and his heart sank. He had never been in a situation like this alone before. No one was going to come after him, or tell him what to do. Whatever he did, it was going to have to be quick, and work the first time; there was no way he could fight them all off at once.

Hermione paced back and forth next to him, her heart hammering along with his. At the time, she had been too upset to really process what had happened to Ron while he was away. Objectively, she had known he had been caught; but she hadn't found out until he was safely back with them, and obviously unharmed. Somehow, the reality of the situation had never really hit her. But it did now, like a brick to the head. He could have died out here so easily, his body never to be found. He could have been tortured. He had passed it off lightly, and she had forgotten that he often did that when things were most serious. Even though she knew he got away, she still felt sick at the thought of him coming to harm.

Even though the night air was bitterly cold, Ron felt beads of sweat trail down his spine. One wrong move, and he was dead. He couldn't die now. He had to get out, had to warn them! So far, they seemed like they were buying his stupid act. Either that, or they thought he wasn't much of a threat without his wand. Too bad they were right.

"Bring back something pretty, did you, Burt? Bring it over here into the light." One of the men called, eliciting laughs from the others.

"Found 'im crawlin' around on the ground, not too far from 'here. What should we do with 'im?"

A man that hadn't spoken yet stood up, and walked towards them, and there was a danger about his silence that told Ron that this was the one to fear the most.

"Well, boy? Let's have your name." He asked in a soft, whispery voice.

"Stan Shunpike, like I said," Ron answered, pasting a goofy grin on his face.

It was promptly backhanded off of him, the crack of skin on skin echoing after the blow had landed. Ron thought his jaw was going to break, and tears sprang to his eyes.

"Try again, Red."

"St-Stan Shunpike," Ron choked out again, swaying a little as Burt and Sid backed away from him.

Again, he was belted across the face, and he staggered to the side.

"What's your name?" The man asked in an even tone, as casually as if he had never struck him.

"Stan Shunpike. Why do you keep-" Ron replied stubbornly, refusing to give in.

This happened two or three more times, his replies becoming more slurred. The final time he was asked, the man balled up his fist and punched him in the stomach, causing him to double up and drop to his knees, gasping for air.

"Stop it!" Hermione cried out, her voice muffled by her hands. She could practically taste the blood in her mouth from where Ron's tongue had been cut on his teeth, and it made her retch. He could have lied! He could have told them that he was out trying to collect the rewards for her and Harry, or on Muggleborns. He could have used the fact that he was a pureblood, but instead he was taking a beating because he wouldn't give them any information. It hurt to watch, and it hurt to feel; but it hurt the most to know that he thought he deserved this for walking out.

"So. You're not going to talk, eh? Maybe you'll change your mind if we take you to someone a little more...persuasive," the quiet man said, eyeing him with calculation. "Jack, Dave, keep an eye on him while we decide what to do."

Ron felt a boot to his ribs as he was kicked across to two of the seated men, one who looked down at him with bemusement, his wand held loosely and pointed at the ground. Ron wheezed, fighting for breath. He had been in scrapes before, but he had always either had help, or the people fighting him hadn't truly meant to hurt him. It was a struggle not to pass out, if only to get away from the ringing in his head. His eyes felt like they were swelling closed, and he squinted over at the men who had begun to argue about what would be the best thing to do with him. None of the options sounded particularly promising, and some sounded downright fatal. They must have thought that there was no reason to watch him too closely, except for his guards, and Ron wondered if he could use that to his advantage. The men didn't seem too interested in him; they was more intent on listening to what their mates were saying.

To test it, Ron let out a groan. The men didn't even flinch; a short, stubby wand dangled between one's fingers. Ron licked his lips nervously, grimacing at the congealing blood. He only had one shot at this, and if he got it wrong, they would almost definitely kill him. Well, the way he felt now, that didn't bother him much. The only problem with that scenario was that Harry and Hermione would still be out there, not knowing about the Taboo, or how widespread the hunt for them and Muggleborns had become. Taking as deep of a breath as he could, he steeled himself for what he was about to do next.

Slowly, he let his hand creep closer to the fire, where hot ashes and cinders clumped together. He touched it with the tip of one finger, and hissed at the burn. With one last glance to make sure he wasn't being watched, he scooped up a handful, biting his lip as his hand burned. Quickly, he rolled to his side, flinging the burning mess into the eyes of one of his guards, rocketing up to deliver a sharp punch to the other man's stomach. Their wands fell to the ground, and he snatched them both up.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion; He knew he had to Apparate away, but there was nowhere to go. It was impossible to get back to Harry and Hermione, but it was just as impossible to face his parents. Some things stick with you from when you were young, though, and if ever he felt like a lost, frightened child, it was now. Without even consciously thinking of it, he picked the one place he knew he could go, the one person to accept him even if they were upset with him. He clenched his eyes, gripped the strange wand, and turned.

One minute, a curse was exploding into the ground beside to him, and the next, he was spitting out a mouthful of sand. The wind was even harsher here next to the ocean, but Ron was oblivious to it as he struggled to sit up, looking around dizzily. It was dark, so he wasn't sure where he had landed at first. Crawling over to a nearby rock, he pulled himself into a standing position, hunching over as his stomach gave a jolt of pain. Now that he was upright, he could see the lights from the windows of the cottage. Slowly, he began to stagger towards it, stumbling over stones and bits of driftwood as he went. His pack slid down one arm and bumped against his side, and the stolen wand nearly dropped from his nerveless fingers several times.

He sped up a little the closer he got to the cottage; he didn't think he could last much longer without passing out. No sooner had he thought that than a loud sound was heard from inside, followed by shouted voices. Oh. The Wards. Tonight was his night for forgetting about those, he thought, cackling madly, before choking. He stopped moving as the door to the cottage flew open, the light from within framing Bill. His oldest brother stepped outside with his wand drawn, the scar on his face making him look even more ferocious.

"Whoever you are, drop your wand, and stay still!" He barked, not being able to make out Ron's face in the dark.

Ron did as he said, nearly tumbling to the ground himself, he was so tired. "Bill? 'S'me. Ron. C-can I come in?" He asked, causing the cut on his lip to open and start bleeding.

Bill peered closer, his eyes widening as they adjusted to the lack of light. "Ron? Bloody hell, what are you doing here? What happened to you?" He asked incredulously, lowering his wand to rush forward.

"Stop!" Came a sharp voice from the doorway, and both men looked to see Fleur standing there, her wand poised to release a spell. "Bill, move away unteel we know it ees him!"

"Of course it's him! I know my own brother, and he's hurt! You'd do the same if it was your sister!" Bill yelled back, not moving.

"Oui. And you would stop me. Now, make him answer."

Bill sighed, turning back to Ron. "Alright, tell me something only you would know."

For several moments, Ron struggled. His life before going after the Horcruxes seemed hazy and unreal, as if it had happened to someone else. He was taking too long, and Bill's face began to show signs of suspicion.

"One time, about two years ago, you saw Fred and George slip something into my food. When they weren't looking, you took it, and slid some onto each of their plates. Their skin turned green and they croaked for a week." Ron blurted, hoping that would be enough.

Bill's shoulders relaxed. "It's him," he called back to Fleur, already striding over to grasp Ron by his shoulders.

As if he were four years old, Ron felt large, fat tears slip out of his eyes as he gave a hiccuping sob, letting himself fall against his brother's chest. Fleur had joined him, and she and her husband shared worried looks.

"Ron? Ron! You need to tell us what happened to you-and wait, where's Harry and Hermione? They aren't-"

At this, Ron sobbed harder, nearly collapsing in his grief. He was barely aware of Bill half carrying him into the house, as Fleur ran to fetch something to help treat his wounds. Bill got him seated in a chair in the small, warm kitchen, and took stock of his little brother. Ron knew he must look a mess, but he couldn't seem to get himself together.

Bill cleared his throat, his scar standing out more now that his face had drained of its color. "Ron," he began gently, If Harry and Hermione are-if we need to bring...bring them back, you need to tell us where they are."

His question was able to penetrate Ron's mind enough for him to answer, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. "They're not dead. They're fine. Better, really, now that I'm gone."

His brother leaned back, narrowing his eyes at him. "If they're fine, then what are you doing here, looking like something the cat dragged in that the dog wouldn't eat?"

"Bill, let him tell you after he's been healed!" Fleur admonished him. "Just look! Your mother will 'ave fits when she sees how thin he is! We can at least get rid of the cuts and bruises."

Ron waved her away. "Don't. I...just don't waste it on me. I'll be fine. And they are better off without me, but I've got to find a way to let them know about the Taboo!" He finished loudly, half standing up.

Fleur pushed him back down. "Nonsense. You need your wounds healed, and Bill can bring the others here. Just tell him where to find them."

He pushed her hand away from where she had been trying to clean the blood from his face with a damp cloth. "Do you think I'd be here if I could find them again? Even if you knew where to look, you wouldn't spot Hermione's Wards. And by now, they've probably moved to make extra sure I can't come back."

"You left them?" Fleur asked in shock. "On purpose?"

"No! I mean, yeah, I did, but not really," he fumbled, not sure how to explain.

Bill rubbed his face. "Ron, please just tell us what's going on? You look more than half starved, I'm assuming the others don't look any better, and as glad as I am to see you alive and in one piece, something tells me that you're not supposed to be here."

Ron slumped down in the chair, wincing as he hit a sore spot. "I can't tell you much. I'm sorry, but I can't. Just that...there was some dark stuff, and...it affected me more than it did them."

"So you left them with it?" Bill asked, confused.

"I didn't mean to!" Ron shouted, unable to keep his emotions in check. "I didn't remember I wouldn't be able to see the Wards! I tried to get back as soon as I left, but I couldn't find them! And then when I was jumped on in the forest-"

"You were attacked? Do you know who did it? And while I'm asking, how do you know about the Taboo?"

Ron explained as best as he could, not noticing that Fleur was surreptitiously healing the worst of his injuries while he was distracted. Hermione watched as Bill became frustrated by the way Ron left so much out, and both brothers glared at each other with matching Weasley stubbornness. She knew he was caught between his embarrassment over his actions and his breakdown, and his desire to have Bill make everything better like he had when they were children. She could tell it was hard on Ron to have Bill see him like this. Ron had always looked up to him, and what Bill thought of him mattered. Ron assumed he had lost his brother's respect, and that Bill was disgusted by him. From her objective standpoint, Hermione could see that wasn't true. First of all, Bill was still worried about Ron. But he was also frustrated by Ron's reticence, because it kept Bill from helping as much as he could. He was also confused, just as anyone who knew Ron would be.

Bill tugged on his earring, which he always did when he was upset. "Alright, I can see you're not going to budge on this. Let's get you settled in for the night, and and I'll take you home in the morning, when you don't look so beat up."

"No!" Ron yelled, sitting up too fast in his panic. "Bill, I can't go back! They can't even know I'm here!"

"Are you serious? Do you know what Mum will do to me if I don't bring you back? She's been out of her mind worrying about you!"

Ron slumped back, feeling guilty. "Yeah, I know. I've been worried about the rest of you, too. That's one of the reasons why I...well, I was worried."

Bill nodded to himself, as if he finally understood something. "That makes sense. Still, I don't see why you can't go home."

"Please, Bill," Ron pleaded, "I don't want anyone to know what a useless bastard I was. Besides, if I go back, Mum will never let me out of her sight. I don't know how yet, but I need to find Harry and Hermione to warn them. I know Harry; he'll say You-Know-Who's name eventually."

His brother blew out a loud breath of air. "Alright. But if Mum finds out, I'm taking you down with me."

Ron sighed in relief. He still had to face Harry and Hermione; he didn't think he could do that on top of the humiliation of having his entire family know what he was. "Thanks, Bill. Hopefully I won't need to stay very long."

But it had been longer than he had thought. With no idea how to get back, Ron was drowning in a sea of guilt and regret. If Hermione had thought his bouts of self-loathing were bad before, they were nothing compared to what they were now.

Ron sat on a large rock, his legs drawn up to his chest as he looked out at the ocean. He had been out here for nearly an hour, after a fight with Bill. He hadn't wanted to fight, but Bill wouldn't quit pushing for information about Harry, and what their mission was. Ron had tried to tell him that it was too dangerous for him to know; for the family, and Harry and Hermione. Bill said that they obviously needed help, and they couldn't possibly be in more danger than they were already. Ron wasn't willing to take that risk. Besides, Harry had been the one to insist on not telling anyone, and there was no way in hell he was going to betray Harry more than he already had. He knew Bill just wanted to help, but unless he could come up with a way for Ron to find the others, there really wasn't anything he could do. Ironically, the one person who could probably figure out a way was one of the people he was looking for.

Hermione.

Just thinking her name made his heart hurt. Everytime he closed his eyes, he could hear her screaming out for him. Maybe it was the ocean playing tricks on his ears, but sometimes, he could swear that he could hear her close by. What was she doing now? Were she and Harry happier now that he was gone? DId they ever think about him at all? Probably not. Once the initial disgust wore off, he figured they had realized they were better off, and had most likely tracked down more Horcruxes now that he wasn't there to slow them down.

Hermione fumed at this. The way he was acting, you would think that she and Harry had thrown a party with streamers and confetti once he was out of the tent. And what progress had they actually made by the time he got back? Besides nearly getting themselves killed at Godric's Hollow. Ron had been there when the sword was found, and had been instrumental in saving Harry from drowning, as well as retrieving the sword itself. While he had been gone, they had mostly been in a listless, depressed rut. Once he had come back, he had encouraged and pushed them into moving; he had used the leadership qualities that he usually set aside in favor of letting them lead, and he had managed to lift their spirits and at least make them feel like they were being productive. Could they have done those things on their own? Whether they could or not, they hadn't, and that said something. But even if they had, it wouldn't have been nearly as easy, and she wished he could see that his presence alone had an impact on them.

He yawned, his jaw cracking sharply. He hadn't been sleeping; instead, he would come out here, and sit in the cold as if he was on watch. Somehow, the cold made him feel closer to them. He would sit out here and wonder where they would go next, and if he would have a chance to spot them if they ventured out for food. He wished, now, that they had set up some sort of schedule so that he would have some idea of where they would be. He had even been desperate enough to go through Bill's books, trying to find some way to track them down, but he couldn't find anything that Hermione wouldn't have already thought to cover.

"You will catch your death of cold out here, if you stay much longer," his sister-in-law's voice sounded from beside him.

Ron shrugged, noticing that her accent was almost completely gone when she wasn't upset. He didn't much care if he did, and he cared even less to talk about it. His stomach gave a gurgle, reminding him that he had skipped breakfast, and was most likely missing lunch as well. For once, though, he didn't have the heart to eat. Food became sour in his mouth, and he was ashamed of being able to eat so much when Harry and Hermione had so little. He managed to choke down enough to keep from passing out, but after a few bites he always felt sick. Nothing tasted good anymore; all he wanted was mushrooms.

"You aren't doing them any good, being so hard on yourself," Fleur continued, ignoring the fact that he clearly wanted to be alone.

"I know that," He said with a scowl. "But what else can I do? I can't think of any way to get back, and I don't deserve to be comfortable when they're not; not after the way I-I just don't deserve it, alright? Not that it matters. Nothing I do can make up for it. I'll be lucky if they let me tell them about the Taboo, before they run me off."

He stared out at the ocean, his thoughts as harsh and churning as the waves that crashed upon the rocks.

"Oh, so you have already decided for yourself what they will do? Tch." Fleur made a small sound of displeasure.

"Well, what else would they do?" on asked, surprised into talking. "You can't forgive what I did. And I don't blame them for that! I'll tell 'em what they need to know, and I won't put up a fight when they kick me out."

He wouldn't, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay with them and help make sure they were safe. But why would they want to take back a traitor?

Fleur rounded on him, her blue eyes flashing so fiercely that he nearly fell from his rock. "That is not your decision! Tell me; do you even plan on apologizing?"

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't really matter; I don't deserve for them to-"

"Non!" She said, making a sharp motion with her hand. "Are you sorry?"

"Of course I am!" He snapped, getting angry.

"Then you must tell them so! But it is their choice to forgive you or not. If they decide that your friendship outweighs your actions, then you have no right to say that it doesn't."

"But this is the worst thing I've ever done! How can they forgive something like that?" Ron asked, truly wanting to know.

Fleur shrugged, calming down. "That, I do not know. I'm not them. I do know that even the best of relationships require forgiveness at times. And as badly as you may have acted, I do believe the three of you have that."

Ron shrugged. "I thought we did. Then again, I never thought I'd cock it up so bad, so who knows?"

His sister-in-law rolled her eyes expressively. "No one ever does. Can you honestly say that the others have never hurt you?"

He squirmed uncomfortably at that. In the face of what he had done, he didn't think it was the same. but he answered honestly, "Well, yeah."

"And you forgave them. Are you saying you wouldn't do the same, if one of them had done what you did?"

With a frown, Ron tried to come up with an answer. If Harry or Hermione had left him like that, he knew he'd be mad. And hurt. He probably wouldn't want anything to do with them for awhile. But...he couldn't picture shutting them out of his life forever. He had learned last year with Hermione what it was like, and knew he'd be miserable. But could he turn them away if they were really sorry? He didn't think he could. The question was, did that go both ways?

I would. And Harry might, once he stops being pissed off. Hermione though..."

Fleur patted his arm. "Bill says that you and Harry are like brothers. I do not think he will let you go so easily," she gave him a sly smirk, "And I do not think Hermione will give up on her lover without a fight. Much yelling, of course, and she has a sharp tongue, but I wouldn't be so quick to assume you've lost her."

"What? We're not-I'm not her lover!" Ron spluttered, his face heating up from his embarrassment until he was completely toasty.

"What? Still? But the way you two at the wedding-and it's been months-"

"It's complicated," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground, wondering what she meant by 'Are all Englishmen this slow, or only the ones with red 'air?' that she furiously whispered under her breath.

"Besides, Hermione doesn't think of me that way," he continued, not even bothering to deny his own feelings at this point. He was already embarrassed beyond belief, so why not?

With an arched eyebrow, she stopped talking to herself in French. "Are we speaking of the same Hermione? Ron, why do you think she hates me so much?"

She doesn't hate you," Ron lied, not wanting her to feel bad when she was trying to help.

"Ron. Every time she looks at me, I can practically feel flashing green light. Haven't you noticed she always does that after you've, shall we say, appreciated my Veela heritage a little too much?"

Why did she have to bring that up? He felt like such a tit about that. "I dunno. I just figured she was disgusted by it or something."

"Are you as thick as the food you eat?" She asked pityingly. "I'm no stranger to jealous women; men can't resist me, and the women that love them resent me for it. And Hermione resents me very, very much."

He gave a bitter laugh. "That might've been nice to know a few years earlier. Even if it was true. it doesn't matter anymore."

Fleur threw up her hands. "You are as stubborn as your brother! Fine; I won't argue with you, as long as you promise you won't give up on them until they tell you to."

And she accused him of being stubborn? "Alright. I'll let them decide."

"Good." she nodded. "Now, I'm going to go cook something. Be in the house in twenty minutes to eat, or I'll give you more to worry about than a flock of canaries."

Ron's mouth sagged open as she walked away. How the hell had she heard about that? Although to be fair, it wasn't exactly a secret.

He turned back around as she walked back to the house, and resumed staring out at the ocean, thinking of everything she had said. Maybe, he admitted, she did have a point about it being their decision about whether to forgive him or not. At the very least, they deserved the chance to tell him off before they made him leave. And he couldn't fix what he had done, but he owed it to them to try, and to apologize for it. But what if that really was the end? Fleur might have been trying to make him feel better, but now, he actually felt worse, if that was possible. Harry was like a brother to him, and Hermione...if he'd ever really had a chance with her, it was surely gone now. He may have lost two of the most important people in his life, and it was all his own fault. Every chance he had had at having the life he had wanted, and he had probably thrown it away. It wasn't the sting of cold air that brought tears to his eyes, and, not for the first time since he had arrived, he put his head in his hands and cried.

Hermione wasn't sure what to focus on first. She really had been horrible to Fleur up to that point. And it didn't surprise her that Fleur knew the reason for it. Hermione had seen for herself over the years how much attention she got from men, that she neither wanted nor asked for. It wasn't her fault that she was part Veela, and it hadn't been her fault that Ron hadn't yet learned to keep his hormones in check. She was glad that she was on better terms with Fleur now, and she was thankful that the other woman had tried to talk sense into Ron.

She knew he was conflicted; on one hand, he didn't feel he deserved to be with them, but knew they needed to know about the Taboo. On the other hand, he wanted to be with them, because he cared for them and needed to be sure they were safe. But Ron always expected the worst when it came to himself! Or course she had been mad, and of course she had been hurt; anyone would have been. But part of the reason she had been able to forgive him had been because of how he had handled the matter when he came back. He had done so in a way that she could respect, which was an important factor when it came to forgiveness. She wasn't sure she would have been able to if he had come back, only to leave them again. Fleur had been right when she had told him that she and Harry were the ones that got to decide. She realized that saying that you're sorry is a very scary thing, but she hoped that Ron had learned that things were only made worse when you projected your own feelings onto other people.

Ron heard the sound of the Floo being used downstairs, and knew that Bill and Fleur and gone to Muriel's to spend Christmas with the family. They had tried to get him to come, but he had refused; he still didn't want anyone to know he was here. He had already disappointed enough people that mattered to him, and if he added any more to that list, he didn't think he could take it. Besides, he was in anything but a festive mood, and while he would dearly love to see for himself that everyone was alright, he knew he would ruin their day with his attitude.

Listlessly, he turned over on his bed, one long arm draped over his forehead, while he flicked the Deluminator in his other hand. There was supposed to be a broadcast on the radio later that he didn't want to miss, in case there was any news about Harry and Hermione, but that left him several hours with nothing to do. At least he was alone. He knew he wasn't the best company, and he felt bad for Bill and Fleur having to deal with him. Most of the time, he tried to stay up here, but sometimes Bill would insist he join them. He knew his brother was worried about him, but he couldn't seem to force himself to be sociable. His mind was filled with Harry and Hermione; worrying about what might have happened to them...regretting what he might have done differently. And, in all honesty, fearing what would happen if he found them again. He had fucked up royally, and he didn't expect them to forgive him. But what would he do if they wanted him to leave? He couldn't force them to let him come, but he also couldn't let them face everything on their own, either. Could he convince them to at least let him help, even if they hated him? He wouldn't even sleep in the tent if they didn't want him to. He was fine staying out by the fire.

He wiped his eyes with the back of last year's Christmas jumper, the sight of it reminding him of Christmases past. Most vividly, his first one at Hogwarts. He had wanted to go home, at first. It might've been soppy, but he had missed his parents and sister. But as the holiday got closer, Harry had seemed less excited; it was pretty obvious he didn't want to go home at all, but staying alone in a mostly empty castle wasn't very appealing, either. He had looked so scrawny and lonely, that Ron hadn't had the heart to leave him behind. Harry had been a good friend right from the start, never making him feel like his family's lack of money mattered. He had decided, then, that even if Harry had a shite family, he could always count on him to make sure he wasn't alone.

How could he have forgotten that so easily?

At least Hermione was with him. He sighed. There was another relationship he had fucked up beyond repair (no matter what Fleur said). Hermione might not care that he was poor, or that he wasn't anything on the same level as Harry. But she did care about loyalty, and doing the right thing; he had failed at both. And he knew from past experience that Hermione was anything but forgiving when it came to traitors.

Hermione flinched at that, remembering Marietta Edgecombe. What had seemed like a good idea at the time looked unnecessarily cruel in hindsight. She had been so caught up in the cause that she had overlooked some of the finer moral points. And, to tell the truth, she had been fairly unforgiving when she was young, when she thought that she was in the right. And to an extent, that was still true, although she hoped she was getting better. People were human, and they made mistakes; she didn't want Ron, or anyone else she cared about for that matter, to think she would toss them aside the second they messed up.

He sighed heavily. None of that mattered now. If he could just be there for them, help them do whatever needed to be done so that they came out of this in one piece, that was all he asked for. And alright, he could see the sense in what Fleur had said before, that they were the ones that had the right to decide if he could be forgiven or not, and he would give them that choice, even if he didn't think he deserved it himself. He would do all of that, if he just had the chance! If there was some prayer he had to say, or some sacrifice he had to make, he just wished someone would tell him already. If he just had one more chance, he swore he wouldn't mess it up this time...

The thought that it might be too late made him release a strangled sob. Anything could've happened to them by now, and he would never know. He needed some sign that they were alright; the worry was about to drive him mad-

"...Ron..."

Or maybe it already had. He sat up sharply, willing to swear that he had just heard Hermione's voice, from his pocket of all places. But there was nothing there, except for the Deluminator he had thrust inside moments before.

"...Ron..."

That was Hermione's voice! He couldn't be imagining it! He turned the Deluminator over curiously, his thumb flicking to release the catch. He jerked back as a small, bluish ball of light shot out, darting past him to hover in the middle of the room. Tentatively, he stood, and took a step towards it. As soon as he did, it shot out of the window. He rushed over to look, and found it hovering outside, over the small path that led to the door.

Dumbledore!

That clever, devious old wizard! Somehow, he had known that Ron would need a way back. The thought was hardly flattering, but he didn't care; he didn't even care that he might be wrong. He knew he wasn't. Everything inside of him was telling him that this was what he had been praying, begging for. He nearly tripped as he flew across the room, grabbed his rucksack, and plundered the dresser for his few belongings, one eye always on the window. In his haste, he almost forgot his wand; he grabbed it, and the extra he had managed to steal for good measure. He jammed his trainers on without even bothering to tie them, and stuffed his coat under his arm.

Double checking one last time that he had everything, He trotted down the stairs, ready to follow it outside. Then he paused; Bill would be worried if he came home to find him gone.

"Give me just a second," he pleaded, hurrying over to Bill's desk, where there was a quill and parchment. Hurriedly, he scrawled the words, 'I'm fine. Found my way back. Don't worry about me.' He dropped the quill, careless of the splattering ink, and ran towards the door, just as the light outside seemed to dim. His shoelaces tripped him up, and he skidded on the rug before catching himself. He only took the time to make sure that the door was firmly shut behind him before sprinting after the ball, which had moved several yards away. Once he had caught up to it, he had expected it to continue moving, but it didn't; it just levitated in midair. Panic welled up inside of him; had he taken too long, or done something wrong?

"Please, C'mon!" He begged, trying not to cry, "I've just gotta...She called to me, didn't she? Hermione. She said my name. And thats all she has to do. I'll go to her every time, but I have to have a way! Just please, please give me a way!"

He had scarcely spoken when the ball rocketed straight at him, before he had a chance to react. It slammed into his chest, but there was no pain. Instead, it felt as if it sank straight into his heart, bringing light into the places that had so recently been drowning in darkness. Warmth flowed through him; hours on the Quidditch pitch with Harry, the two of them throwing snowballs during Christmas break. And then there was Hermione. Hermione calling his name, back to the place he was meant to be. Something inside of him answered, and before he knew it, he was Apparating, his body twisting through space. With one final burst of blue light, he was gone.

Hermione was beside him, nearly choked up with emotion. There was so much love in his heart that it practically overflowed; for her, and for Harry. For the years they had spent together, and everything they had gone through. It was no wonder that he found it hard to express his emotions, to form words to adequately convey what he was feeling. You could divert the path of a stream, or even change the course of a river. But no one had any power over the vast ocean. The depth and sincerity of his words couldn't be doubted, and Hermione knew for sure that Ron would always do his best to keep that promise.

The place he landed was familiar, but maybe that was because of all of the trees. It was dark, so it might have just been wishful thinking. He was hoping the ball of light would reappear and take him to them, but it didn't. He had been doing this for almost two days, and he was getting worried. Still, he must be close. He was tempted to rush straight off, but he held back, deciding it might be better to get his bearings. Besides, there was no guarantee that there weren't any Snatchers around. Once his eyes had adjusted more, he started forward, moving slowly. He walked for what felt like hours when a noise to his right made him freeze; A ghostly deer galloped by, followed by Harry. Confused as to why Harry would be chasing after his own Patronus, he forgot to move. Once he realized that he might lose Harry, Ron jogged after him, hoping he wasn't too late. But if he had been surprised before, he was doubly surprised by what he saw next.

And what he saw was Harry, stripping to his boxers, then plunging into an icy pond.

"What the hell?" Ron shouted, his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn't wrap his head around why Harry would want to do something like that. The point became moot when he realized that Harry had been under too long; he could see the water thrashing, but Harry still wasn't coming up. He had made it back in time to watch his best friend drown.

"Oh, fuck no!" He hissed under his breath, running towards the pond. He dropped his things as he ran, all thoughts of what he was going to say, and whether or not the others would send him packing were blown away. He barely took the time to take a large breath before he plunged into the water, the cold sending such a shock throughout his body that he nearly blacked out as he went under. He choked on a mouthful of water, barely able to suppress his panic. In the dark, it was nearly impossible to see, and he wasn't sure where Harry was. He thought he had gone down around here, but he could have moved farther away once under the surface.

He knew he didn't have much time, as he thrashed around, since his lungs were already burning. In desperation, he tried to use the length of his arms to his advantage, and it paid off. The feel of Harry's fan-fucking-tastically messy hair slid through his fingers, and he grabbed ahold. Using it to guide him closer, he wrapped an arm around Harry, and tried to get them to the surface. But Harry was oddly heavy, and felt like he was fighting him. Ron kicked at the underwater vegetation that Harry was tangled in, and with his free hand, felt what Harry must have been trying to grab. It was metal, and it was heavy; If Ron didn't know better, he would say it was a sword. But his lungs were burning and Harry was frighteningly limp, so he didn't have time to think beyond the fact that if Harry had been daft enough to dive in after it, it must be important. But there was another problem; Harry was wearing that damned Horcrux, and it was tangled as well, choking him. Using all of his strength, Ron snapped the chain, hoping he hadn't hurt Harry too badly in the process.

His muscles cramped with the effort, but he managed to get them to the surface, where, thank Merlin, Harry began to stir and move on his own. Ron choked up a waterfall of liquid, gagging as he staggered around, suddenly angry. Honestly, it was fear more than anger, but for Ron, the one usually looked like the other. What had Harry been thinking? If he hadn't shown up, he would've drowned!

"Why the hell didn't you take that off before diving?" He gasped, forgetting his promise tell Harry how sorry he was in the face of what had almost happened.

Harry's teeth rattled from the cold as he spoke, and when he began babbling about Ron casting the Patronus, Ron was afraid, for a few minutes, that the shock of nearly drowning had been too much for him. Harry quickly cleared that up, followed by bluntly asking what Ron was doing there. The reality of his situation came back to him in a rush; embarrassed, he couldn't for the life of him think of all the things he had been practicing to say. Really, nothing he could say felt right. Sorry wasn't enough. It was true that the locket had driven him nearly mad, but he didn't want it to sound like he was making excuses, because he wasn't. Whatever the reasons he had, the fact remained that he had fucked up. How could he explain that he wanted nothing more than to be allowed to stay so he could do what he had meant to all along? Doubts began to creep in, and he wondered if he even had the right to ask. It was hard, but he managed to choke the words out.

Hermione shivered. She had known, of course, what had happened, but she hadn't fully realized just how close she came to losing Harry that night. How would she have handled it the next day, going out to look for him, and finding...it was too dreadful to think about; losing the person that she thought of as a brother would have damaged her deeply. She understood perfectly the fear Ron had felt, along with the anger at Harry's recklessness; yes, the sword was important, but both of them wished he would have stopped to think what his loss would mean to them if something had gone wrong.

Her heart went out to Ron as he struggled with his apology. She knew that words didn't always come easily to him when he was trying to express himself. And she was also proud of the fact that he wasn't trying to excuse himself. It would have been easy, and even understandable, to place the blame entirely on the locket. But Ron wasn't looking for an easy way out. He was being honest, and was ready to take whatever Harry thought he deserved. Not everyone would have done that so honorably, and she respected that.

It was almost a relief when Harry seemed more interested in the sword, and while Ron knew he was still going to have to talk about things, he was glad for a chance to ease into it first. He was as curious as Harry about who it could have been to send the doe, and how the sword had ended up where it had. And he was more than happy to see that Harry was going to test it by getting rid of the locket...until he realized what Harry was asking of him. Of its own accord, his body began to back away. He couldn't touch that thing again, he just couldn't! It had messed with his head before, and he had lost nearly everything that was important to him. Maybe not in the physical sense, but his friendship with Harry and Hermione meant the world to him, and he didn't expect it to ever be the same after this. Even so, he wasn't about to let it get worse! His eyes never left that hunk of metal, that almost seemed to glow in the light of the moon. A whispery voice echoed in his head, and he whimpered. Words tumbled from his mouth as he tried to make Harry understand, but he just didn't get it. Ron was about to drop the sword, to tell Harry that it absolutely could not be him.

Harry's next words made him stop. He wasn't sure if it was the way Harry said 'please,' or the fact that, for the first time since he got back, he said his name. Hadn't he said for weeks that he would do anything Harry needed, if only he could find a way back? Well, he had found a way, and now he had to make good on his bargain, no matter the cost. And he knew it would cost him. There wasn't any way that it couldn't, not when that locket was involved. But after everything that had happened, Harry needed him, and he was powerless to refuse him. He finally agreed, the hilt of the sword growing slick from the dampness of his palms. Bracing his body as if from an expected blow, he waited for Harry to open it. Once it burst open, Ron felt the night air become saturated with evil, and his knees shook. He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to drop to his knees, and beg for it to be over. But as sick and fearful as he was, that was nothing, nothing compared to the way he felt when the thing began to speak.

Underneath Ron's emotions, Hermione felt confused. Hadn't they just said it had merely screamed before being destroyed? Why hadn't they-oh. Hermione let out a cry as she listened to the filth that the locket spewed; every word pierced her heart like a knife, and for the life of her, she didn't know how Ron hadn't broken completely.

Entranced, Ron shuddered and shook, the only movement he was capable of. This...this was so much worse than before. No longer contained in the privacy of his head, where he could deny the words and try to talk himself out of believing them later. Now they were out for all the world to hear, all of his fears laid bare to the ugly bone. Distantly he was aware of Harry yelling at him to end it, but that hardly seemed real. Not while each word landed on him with an almost physical weight, burying him in the despair that had plagued him for months. And, just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. As if words hadn't been more than enough, visions sprang to life; visions out of his darkest dreams. He couldn't look away, even as his heart was torn to shreds by the sight of his best friend and the girl he loved, wrapped around each other in the way he had always longed for.

Tears streamed down Hermione's face, her stomach churning as she fought the urge to be sick. This was vile...this-this sick, warped vision, that twisted and perverted the love that she and Harry felt for one another...it took a beautiful relationship and turned it into something it was never meant or wanted to be, all for the sake of causing Ron pain. It had been bad enough when it had been confined to his imagination, but for him to have to see it out like that, as if it were real...it was agony. All the more so because now, it seemed like a more realistic outcome after what he had done. It was shocking to see herself this way, and more than a little frightening. She understood that this version of herself was somehow more beautiful than she was in real life because that was how Ron saw her. But the expression she wore, and the words that shot out of her mouth like poison tipped arrows were what he feared to be true. Hermione gripped his arm, wanting more than anything to snap him out of it.

"It isn't true! None of it! I...gods, Ron; I know I can be harsh, and I don't always say things they way I mean for them to come out, but it was never like that! I never thought those things, and Harry and your mum didn't, either! That's never what you were to us!"

The image before him seared itself into his mind, every detail carved into his memory to replay for years to come. He wanted it to disappear; he wanted to run, wanted the horrible words to stop. Harry yelled at him again to end it, and from somewhere, he found the strength to lift the sword. The voice became louder then, drowning him in a haze of red; it told him that this was all Harry's fault, and if he were only out of the way, then everything Ron had ever wanted could be a reality. It would be so easy, to just let the sword slip...

But even as the locket tried to drive him mad, Ron looked at Harry, who was staring back at him, wide-eyed. And he saw not what the locket was trying to make him believe, but the eleven year old boy who had bought a trolly full of sweets to share with a new friend who didn't have enough money to buy any for himself. He saw Harry, popular and admired, but never treating him as if he was in any way less important. Harry, who had come into his home, and called it the most wonderful place he had ever been. And Harry, who after everything Ron had done wrong, who had welcomed him back, and offered him a chance to redeem himself.

His hands tightened on the sword, and his lips pulled back into a snarl. He already knew what a life without Harry was like, and he wanted no part of it. He had fucked up badly before, but he'd be damned if he let some talking hunk of metal make him destroy the things that were the most important to him. The sword, which had felt unnaturally heavy before, suddenly seemed as light as if it were made of paper, and he swung it easily, enjoying the thrill of satisfaction as the locket let out a final scream. The energy left his body then, as the emotions caught up with him, and his shoulders began to shake as he dropped to his knees.

Although it was over, he still couldn't get the things he had seen out of his head. As if that wasn't bad enough, Harry knew now, too. He must think he was the world's biggest, most twisted fuck. He couldn't stop crying, and he couldn't look Harry in the face. If he hadn't been disgusted with him before, he must be now. But Harry began to speak, and Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing. Well, now that he didn't have the locket, it was easier to believe that Harry only thought of Hermione as a sister. But the way Harry said it was without him...he had a harder time wrapping his head around that. Harry made it sound like they had been miserable without him, which had to be an exaggeration, but Ron appreciated it anyway. But it was when Harry hugged him that he knew things between them were going to be okay; neither of them were very...touchy people, but even though it was soppy, at that moment it felt like the most natural thing in the world. In fact, he felt so good about things that it was a jolt when Harry said they needed to get back to Hermione. Somehow, he suspected he wasn't going to get as warm of a welcome from that direction...

Hermione stumbled along beside them, letting out hiccupy little sobs. It was true that she hadn't let things go as easily as Harry had. She had been too afraid to let him get close, only to lose him again for that. And by the time they had reached her, both had looked perfectly fine; Ron had hidden any trace of the anguish he had been feeling, and she had believed that her pain had been worse than any Splinched fingernails he had suffered. She had wanted him to know what it felt like to hurt so badly, never realizing that whatever punishment she may have thought he deserved, he had already endured.

The air left his lungs at the first sight of her. He stared at her greedily, after spending so long thinking he would never see her again. She was too thin, and the circles under her eyes were far too deep, but he didn't think she had ever looked more beautiful to him. There was so much he wanted and needed to say, but he didn't know where to start. And even if he knew, Harry was standing there, knowing too much already. So the first words out of his mouth were thick and clumsy, which he supposed he should've expected. Hermione's response was explosive, which he welcomed. His guilt was too heavy for him to accept anything else, and even though he knew it didn't even come close to making up for what he had done, he hoped it would at least make her feel a little better. So he pretended that her wild, nearly hysterical blows hurt worse than they did (he had no doubts that he wouldn't have had to fake it if she had been at full strength, but malnutrition had taken a toll), but he prudently backed away when she started to go for her wand.

Even as he was eyeing her warily, he found that having Harry defend him felt good; if not for the, uh...severity of Hermione's anger, it would almost feel like old times, when she was on their case about revising. He could tell she was practically burning with fury, but while he didn't deny she had a right to be, he drew the line at some of her assumptions. If she wanted to hate him for leaving, fine; she could queue up right right behind him. But if she was going to hate him, then he wanted it to be for what he had actually done. That had been bad enough, but he wasn't going to let her believe that he hadn't been miserable about it ever since, or that he hadn't tried his hardest to get back to them.

Maybe what he said about the ball of light got through to her, or maybe she was just too tired to fight. Either way, she gave up trying to get her wand from Harry, and went to bed. As he sat and talked with Harry, he watched her curiously. Did she know she had his blanket? Probably best not to bring that up, after she said she was still considering the canaries. Not that he thought she actually would. If she was going to do that, there was fuck all Harry could do to stop her.

His eyes drooped as he and Harry got ready for bed. The adrenaline he had been running on the last few days finally gave out, and he barely had the energy to kick his trainers off. Harry tossed him a spare blanket, and Ron raised his eyebrows, nodding his head at Hermione. Harry glanced over at her blanketed form, then back to him, and gave an awkward shrug.

"Hasn't used anything else the whole time," he mouthed, before he shuffled to his own bunk.

Ron rolled over on his back, staring at the roof of the tent. Why had she used his blanket? If anything, he figured she would've burned anything that had belonged to him. What did it mean? Was it even remotely possible that she had missed him? Could she still care-no. No, he'd better get those thoughts right out of his head. It was already a miracle that Harry had forgiven him. Asking for...well, for what he used to hope for, would be too much. Having her speaking to him was more than he thought he was going to get, even if so far, it had been mostly yelling. He had it better than he deserved, and he was only going to end up hurting himself more if he read signs that weren't there. He'd had his chance, and he'd blown it. Just being allowed back was enough; maybe, if he worked hard enough, someday she might even be friends with him again, although he wasn't going to push it. Still, he couldn't help the ache at the memory of the coldness in her eyes when she saw him standing there, and the knowledge that she didn't give a damn about what had happened to him anymore. He wished he could go back and change things. Even if it was just to turn around that night, and come back when she asked him to. Or even if he had just told her he needed to get away, but he wouldn't leave them for good. But if wishes were hippogriffs, then Muggles would fly; he needed to stop thinking about it, and concentrate on what he could do to help now that he was back. As he drifted off to sleep, he turned his head where he could see her, still wrapped in his blanket. At least part of him could be close to her...

Hermione stroked his forehead tenderly. It had never been a matter of earning her friendship; it had been about her having enough time to feel safe risking her heart again. Ron and Harry were the two people in her life that she was closest to, and losing him had hit her incredibly hard. With everything else going on, it had been to much for her to sort out. But for so long, every single risk she had taken had ended in pain; she needed a sign that this wouldn't be the same. Attacking him physically had been going too far; it was something that she had never done since, and she was ashamed of it even now. She had been nearly out of her mind at the time, and acting purely on instinct. But that was no excuse, and she was thankful that Ron hadn't held it against her, even though he had every right to.

Ron tugged his trainers on, and grabbed his jacket to go check on Harry. The atmosphere in the tent was stifling, and he had a need to get outside where his presence was actually welcome. And it wasn't that he hadn't expected Hermione to be hacked off at him, because he had. But she wasn't acting the way she usually did when she was mad, and he was growing concerned. It was hard to think around her, though, and maybe Harry might have an idea about what he should do.

Hermione bit her lip, surprised he had noticed, even though she shouldn't have been. Out of both boys, Ron had always been the one to know when something was up with her. Although he was wrong in thinking that she had been trying to punish him. Well, not strictly speaking. She had wanted him to see how much he had hurt her, but most of it had been because she was trying to keep her distance. Not for the first time, she had been somewhat jealous of the relationship Harry and Ron had. They were able to let things go so easily with the other person, and get back to where they had been before. She had a harder time allowing herself to be in a position to get hurt again. So she had pushed the things he had gone through to the side, and tried to hold onto the picture of him comfortable and happy at home, while she and Harry suffered out on their own. It wasn't kind of her, but pain, she had found, made people act their worst. Ron had been trying so hard, and that was actually part of the problem; it made her want to forget the pain he had caused, and go back to the way they had been before he had left. As much as she wanted that, though, she wasn't going to be the one to make the first move.

Harry looked up at him from the fire, where he had been staring in deep thought. "She still not talking to you?"

Ron sat down next to him, darting a look back at the tent, hoping they were out of her hearing range. "Well, she talks at me, but not to me. I keep waiting for her to finally blow, but she's just...quiet. I'm starting to wish she'd just set the canaries on me and have done with it."

Harry snickered, but quickly sobered when he saw how dejected Ron looked. "Just give her time; she'll come around. It was just...really hard for her, you know? We didn't talk about it much, but it was easy to see how gutted she was."

"It's not that I think she should forgive me," Ron tried to explain, "It's just that she's holding it all in, and that always ends up making her feel worse. I dunno; maybe she'd be better off if I wasn't here..."

"Don't say that!" Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes, "She might not show it, but she's happier with you back. But if you left again, I'm not sure she-"

"I didn't mean I was leaving!" Ron cut in hastily, "I just wondered if maybe I should keep my distance from her until she can stand the sight of me."

Harry rolled his borrowed wand thoughtfully between his palms. "I don't think that'd work. I think maybe you should spend as much time with her as you can, and maybe...get her used to you, or something. She'll be fine once she's able to talk. I couldn't really help her with that, you know. It's...different for me. And I think I might've even hurt her feelings a little because of it."

Ron blinked in surprise. He knew that Harry and Hermione handled being upset in different ways, but he hadn't really thought about what that would mean if they didn't have anyone there to smooth that over.

"Hermione knows you didn't mean whatever it was," he offered, tactfully not mentioning that they had had a good dose of that in fifth year.

"Maybe, but I still think it would be good if she was able to talk to you again. I mean really talk, not the way she has been. You can at least give it a try, and maybe it'll be easier if I'm not in there for it."

The ghost of a smirk passed across Ron's face. "Is that your way of saying you'll hide out here while I face her alone?"

"I wouldn't put it that way, but yeah, exactly."

"Coward."

"What can I say? I might be the Boy Who Lived, but that doesn't mean I want to tempt fate."

Ron gave him a soft jab in the arm as he stood up, his mind already forming a plan of action. Maybe Harry was right. It wasn't his intention to force Hermione into talking to him, but maybe if she got used to having him around, she would on her own. In spite of the yelling she had done when he first got back, he knew there were things that she probably needed to say, and she wouldn't truly feel better until she had. She might think that she was punishing him with the cold shoulder (and it hurt, he wouldn't deny that), but she was hurting herself in the process.

The tent was pleasantly warm when he stepped back inside, and he reminded himself to make Harry come in often enough to keep from freezing. He was wondering if he should make Hermione some tea when he made some for himself, when he saw that she wasn't sitting in the chair she had been in when he had gone out. Instead, she was in her bunk, and looked to be in a deep sleep. Quietly, he walked over to stand beside her, examining her face for any sign that she was sick. She didn't look flushed, and her breathing sounded clear; maybe she was just tired. He was about to turn away when she let out a small whimper, and her hand flexed on her pillow, as if she was having a bad dream.

Back at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, or even at the beginning of their time in the tent, he would have risked spooning up behind her and pulling her into a hug. Now, he knew, he had no right to do that, and his attempt to comfort her wouldn't make her feel better. That moment was probably when he knew for sure that the worst part about what he had done wasn't how it had made him feel. It was not being able to help the person he loved when they needed it.

Careful not to wake her, he crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, ready to make a loud enough noise to wake her if whatever she was dreaming about got too bad. For the past few days, he had mainly been trying to adjust to being back, and letting the others do whatever they wanted. He hadn't known what he needed to do, or even if he should do anything. That was sort of weak, wasn't it? Why would Hermione even consider trusting him again if he didn't give her a reason to see she could rely on him? And even though Harry had forgiven him, he shouldn't act like he took that for granted. He needed to step up, and show them that he wasn't afraid to do his share. He'd had a break from the rough conditions they had had to live with, so he could start by doing more of the work, so they could rest.

Glad to have some sort of a plan, Ron started making a mental list of all the things he could do, and hoped it would be enough to show them that he would never let them down like that again.

And he had done what he had set out to do. If there was something that needed to be done, Ron was already finished before she or Harry had fully registered that it needed to be done. Ron wasn't any better at cooking than they were, but suddenly, it was his nearly inedible cooking that was on the table more often than theirs. Camp was set up and taken down much faster, and wood was collected for the fire on such a regular basis that you barely noticed the pile going down.

More than the physical chores, though, was what he did for morale. Ron was usually talking, even if he didn't always get much of a response. He mentioned things he had learned while he was gone, but for the most part, he stuck to lighter subjects, always putting a wry spin on things. Where she and Harry had grown tired of looking for direction, Ron made suggestions, and somehow nudged them into movement, and even though nothing really came of it, it had felt good to feel like they were actually doing something. She had been inspired to come up with ideas herself, and had been forced to grudgingly admit that Ron had breathed new life into the mission.

To some, his efforts, and the way he constantly deferred to her would seem like he was trying to make her feel obligated to forgive him, or to say that it erased what he had done when he left. Even she had had suspicions in that direction. But it didn't take seeing inside his memories to know it wasn't true; she had learned, when she got her parents back, how you felt like you could never do enough to make up for your mistakes. She hadn't made it easy for him, and she knew that it must have been extremely difficult not to let his hurt feelings get the best of him. He had continued to put them first, and she, in return, had refused to let herself acknowledge that. Until one day, he hadn't given her a choice but to realize how seriously he was taking this.

Ron's lower back ached as he stood up from beside the fire, and he winced as he rubbed it. His watch had just ended, and Harry had come out to replace him.

"What's the weather like?" Ron asked, with a nod to the tent.

Harry pulled a face. "Decidedly cool, but no sign of impending storm. Meaning, we've both seen worse, but I wouldn't blame you if you stayed out here with me."

Well, that didn't sound too promising, but he would hate to give up so easily. It was possible he was making some headway, since she didn't comment about his eating habits when he had an extra mushroom this morning. Most people wouldn't consider that much, but at this point, he was happy to take what he could get.

"Well, I think I'll risk it, if you can bear to be parted from me," he joked, glad Harry understood why he needed to do this.

"I'll manage to survive the cold winter evenings without you," Harry answered dryly, getting himself comfortable against two rocks that blocked the wind.

Hermione barely looked up when he entered, immediately turning her gaze back to her book. Ron imagined the words were probably tattooed onto her eyeballs by this point, but knew better than to question it. Without a word, he sat down in his usual seat, and pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket. He was never without it, anymore; even when he took a shower, he left it sitting right next to his wand, in easy reach. He'd die before he was willingly separated from them again, but he also wanted a way back in case something happened. He twisted it back and forth between his fingers, but was careful not to flick it open. It always pissed Hermione off when she was trying to read and he put the lights out. Normally, he might toss a few comments out, to see if she was responsive, but he was trying a new approach, since that hadn't been too effective. Now, he was keeping quiet, and waiting for her to talk. Whatever was going to happen would happen in the next few days, he could tell.

The way she was acting reminded him of both third year and sixth, and he was worried about what it was doing to her. Her sleep had grown more erratic again, and even when they had food, she didn't seem to have much of an appetite. He had heard that could happen, if you went too long without, and he was afraid what might happen if they needed to find a Healer. Knowing Hermione, she probably wouldn't mention that anything was wrong until she couldn't hide it anymore, so he was keeping an eye on her to make sure she wasn't getting sick.

She had been sick. Quite sick. Their living conditions had played hell with her health, and the emotional ups and downs caused by his leaving and returning had made it worse. Not that she blamed him for that; that would be stupid. It was just that it had been difficult for her to process everything, and when she was upset, it had always affected her appetite and sleeping patterns. She had thought that Ron had been watching her unusually closely, and that would explain why. He had guessed correctly when he assumed that, rather than risk exposing them, she would have hidden any serious illness. Besides, how could they have found a Healer they could trust?

They sat like that for nearly an hour, which Ron was used to by now; he had taken Harry seriously when he told him he should spend more time with her, and aside from his turn on watch, he was rarely very far away. He tried not to stare, because he knew that would just make her uncomfortable. But he couldn't help it; if she was going to ditch him as soon as they were done helping Harry, then he wanted to commit every last little detail to memory. Fortunately, he had practice from their years at Hogwarts, so he doubted that she noticed. He, on the other hand, was keenly aware of every tilt of her head, and the exact place her teeth left impressions where she bit down on her lip.

Whoops, he accidentally made eye contact. He looked away, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she sighed, and began to stand up and walk towards the kitchen area. Stumbling over his own feet, he sprang to get their first; he might never make it as a cook, but he could at least brew a decent pot of tea. Or he could, if she would just let him. He didn't know why, but she acted like accepting anything from him meant that she had forgiven him. Even he wasn't thick enough to think that; it wasn't something you could buy. He ignored the ache in his chest when she nearly fell when he tried to catch her after she tripped; it was more important that she rest, if she was feeling dizzy.

"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!"

Of all the things she had said since he came back, that hurt the worst. Mainly, because he knew it was true. Hadn't that always been his problem, when it came to her? Even if she didn't need him, though, he still owed her an apology. It wouldn't change anything, and maybe it was even a little selfish, but he didn't want her to believe that he wasn't sorry, or that he didn't regret it. Maybe it would even help her, to know that he would always carry that guilt with him, and the shame would torment him in his sleep for the rest of his life.

"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, as if to block him out. "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-"

Ron had never been a particularly patient person, and he rarely held back when he had something to say. He had been trying to keep both those aspects of his personality under control, and had been doing it rather well. But being repentant didn't make one a doormat, and it didn't make his feelings less valid than anyone else's. And frankly, he was tired. He had been holding his emotions in for over a month now, ever since he had left; he had had time to review all of his past mistakes,and he had been filled with a desire to, if not make them right, than to at least acknowledge them. Hermione was free to choose not to forgive him, but it was the right thing for him to do. And he was tired of the way they kept dancing around the subject, with her snide comments that she spoke into the air as if he wasn't there. She needed to say whatever it was that was on her mind, because holding it in was obviously not doing her any good. Hermione always felt better after she had a row to get it out, and while he wouldn't actually fight her, he could at least help her work of steam.

But she wouldn't let him. She always brought everything right up to a head, then stopped, just short of lancing the boil so that she could begin to heal. And he hated that he was the cause of that; that even though he had come back, he was still causing her pain. It was just the latest incident in a long series of failures on his part, but he wished that if she was going to hate him, then she would do it with the full understanding of everything he felt.

"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. He didn't give her a chance to gather her thoughts, but pushed on, pouring forth every regret he had in connection with her, every time he had let her down.

"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. It was hard to get his emotions in check, and not to say anything that he shouldn't at this point. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that confessing in this situation would be the wrong thing to do, for more than one reason. He wouldn't do that to her. He wasn't going to try to back her into a corner, with some fucked up emotional blackmail. So he was careful to censor himself, and mention only things she already knew.

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 was so silent and still, that he thought he had gone too far. Embarrassment at exploding like that caught up to him, and he wished he could throw Harry's Cloak over himself and pretend he didn't exist. Merlin, why had he thought she would want to hear all that? What difference could it possibly make? Saying he was sorry wasn't going to get him out of the mess he was in. He should've just let well enough alone! And how stupid was he, to open himself up when he knew she was mad? She was going to rip into the soft bits, and there was nothing he could do but take it.

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-"

Air forced its way back into his lungs at her admission; those five words were more than he had dared hope for.

"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."

He hung his head, not needing the locket for the wave of self loathing that swept over him. "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."

How could he blame her for that? He was just amazed that she wouldn't want him to leave. If the situation had been reversed, he knew he would feel the same way.

"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..."

He understood the unspoken implication; he might mean it, but that would just make it worse if he did it again.

"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."

With his breath held, he waited while Hermione searched his eyes. He didn't know what she was looking for, but he prayed that whatever it was, she found it there. After a few moments that felt like several eternities, she gave a small nod.

"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."

So what? What was time, when she had just told him that she wanted to forgive him? Just that was enough to make him want to cartwheel around the tent.

"I can wait."

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

He knew she was trying to put him off; it might be weeks or months, but he knew Hermione couldn't let something like that drag on for years. She'd either forgive him, or cut him off, so he shrugged.

"However long it takes, I'll wait." And I won't be going anywhere, he added silently; he might not make any promises to her, but he had already made them to himself.

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

She still looked pale, so Ron volunteered, "I can make it, if you want to go read."

"No! She yelped, clutching the teapot, keeping it out of his reach. "No, I can manage."

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

He knew doing things for her wouldn't make her forgive him any faster, but he liked to be of some use. He plopped back down in his chair, wondering if maybe he should go out to sit with Harry for awhile.

"Would you like a cup?"

Ron's head jerked up, startled by the offer. Hermione had been making a point of only fixing two of something unless Harry reminded her, and then she would always comment about how she 'wasn't used to three people.' It was a gesture that meant that the open hostilities were over, and while they were not fully at peace, they were at truce during negotiations. So not only would he love a cup of tea, but he'd happily piss a river of the stuff if she kept offering.

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

She didn't smile back, but she didn't glare at him, or even really frown, either. He could tell she wasn't completely comfortable, but she was trying to be civil; so he would give her the time she needed, and in the meantime, he would savor any small sign that she gave him.

Hermione found it odd how you forgot so many details until you saw it all over again like this. She knew she had been upset, but she hadn't recalled taking it out on him quite like that. Rubbing his face in it had been unkind; her vindictive streak when she was hurt would be something she needed to get under control. Thank Merlin she hadn't used the canaries, at least. She was improving, slowly. Meanwhile, Ron had continued in his role of leadership, and he hadn't stopped accommodating her, either. Actually, he had been unusually cheerful; it was a little sad that he was that happy just because she wasn't being outright ugly to him. Oh, there had been bad days, when she would get nervous all over again about letting him get too close. She had snapped a few times, and once she thought his temper might finally get the best of him. But then he would look at her, and it seemed to drain right out of him. Being back with them was more important to him than winning some petty fight, or getting his own back for his bruised ego. Ron was learning to handle his problems like a man rather than a boy, and watching his growth from the inside, and outside, made her appreciate it all the more.

But that time where they could have healed had been all too brief; the end of the journey was looming over them, and her idea of visiting Luna's father had been the tipping point. Hermione felt herself grow cold, knowing what the scene beginning to play out before her would reveal.

Ron felt as if a ball of ice had dropped into the pit of his stomach. He and Hermione had both known that Harry was feeling reckless, but he hadn't thought that he would pull something like this. If he hadn't been so afraid, he would be angry; hadn't he warned them? Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, but Ron was sure he would be ending up with an entirely different title. A glance at Hermione told him she felt the same, as she watched the Sneakoscope spin. It was too late to put up the Wards, and too late to run. Voices could already be heard clearly outside of the tent, and Ron was calculating the odds of surviving a second encounter with a group of Snatchers. He wasn't able to complete his thought, however, as he watched in confusion as Hermione pointed her wand at Harry. Everything was happening so fast, but at the same time, it was like moving through dark, murky water. His heart was thumping in his chest as Harry struggled up, and Ron nearly recoiled at the sight of his face? What had she done? Harry was nearly unrec-oh! Brilliant! Maybe they would be able to bluff their way out of this after all?

Upon catching sight of their attackers, Ron's small flame of hope was instantly blown out. This wasn't the incompetent group that he had run into earlier, who had been more dangerous because of their number. Each one of the men that stood before them now was a stone cold killer, and none more than the one Ron found his eyes riveted on. Greyback. Greyback was here. The very sight of him made the scent of hospital wards and blood fill Ron's nose, and the soft sound of his mother's crying echoed in his head. He found himself wishing fervently that Hermione was far, far away. Everyone knew the damage that Greyback was capable of. His murders were always savage, ripping apart lives and families along with the throats he sank his fangs into. But what the others might not have heard about, and what he hadn't been supposed to hear, but had, was how much worse it was for his female victims. Greyback had a taste for scared, crying women. If they weren't either of those things to begin with, he toyed with them until they were. And he liked them young; Already, he could see the way the man was eyeing Hermione.

Ron stood, undecided, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Hermione, not knowing who to go to first. He couldn't save them both; he had always sort of thought he would end up having to sacrifice himself for Harry, but he had never thought that he would have to choose between him and Hermione. Ron could do it himself, he was ready for that. Harry was his best friend, and the best hope that the world had to beat Voldemort. He was willing to give his life up, but he wasn't willing to give up Hermione's. Another glance, and he saw that the men questioning Harry hadn't realized who he was. Good. That gave them a chance, however small. Harry was smart, and could probably bluff his way out-

He felt a snarl rise up in his throat as his head whipped around at Hermione's yelp. Greyback was looming over her, his hands roaming down her body as he nuzzled into her neck, a perverse parody of a lover. Lust burned brightly in his yellow eyes, and Hermione was trapped in his superhuman grip.

"Get-off-her!" He shouted, charging towards them.

He had forgotten about the others, and was harshly reminded as a fist connected with his stomach, doubling him over. Another fist landed on his nose, and Ron felt a sharp crack, and a thick coppery taste coating his tongue as blood filled his mouth.

"Leave him alone!" Hermione screamed.

Ron spat out blood, silently willing her to hold on. If ever he needed her to act aloof towards him, it was now. If Greyback knew she cared, the things he could do to both of them to break her...He was dragged to his feet, and roughly thrown down next to Harry. Greyback's attention had been drawn away from Hermione, and while Ron was relieved at that, he knew that they were no better off. Greyback hadn't lived this long evading the Aurors by being stupid. Through gobbets of blood, he did his best to lie as convincingly as Harry. He was scared shitless for his friend, but he couldn't show it. It was bad enough he had had to admit he wa a Weasley; if he acted worried, they might connect the dots.

With dread, he realized that there was going to be no escape. Rescue was a hopeless prospect, and hadn't even entered into his head. They were going to be taken straight to the heart of the enemy camp, and Ron squeezed his eyes shut, almost positive that he was going to have to watch that bastard kill Harry. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe they would kill him first. He looked over at Harry and Hermione, being tied up next to him. He hoped so. Because as mad as the locket had driven him, he knew his sanity wouldn't hold out if they went first.

Hermione reached a hand up to wipe away the blood trickling down her chin, before realizing that it wasn't hers. The panic over what was about to happen was rising up inside of her, intensified by Ron's feelings. She watched the three of them being led away, noting how young and frail they looked, a precarious resting place for the world that was weighing down on their shoulders. She walked beside Ron as he strained to get closer to the other two, all three of them gravitating towards the others without realizing it. Everything had seemed so hopeless then. She had thought they were going to die. She hadn't realized that it was going to get worse. Ron was still trying to think of a way to get them out of it, but no matter what move he thought to make, it always ended with them in check. As they drew closer to Malfoy Manor, everything in Hermione's body screamed at her to turn and run; she had already lived through this once, barely, so why should she have to do it again? One look at Ron's face told her she couldn't leave. Even if this was just a memory, and he didn't know she was here, she couldn't let him go through it alone.

Malfoy Manor was dark, expensive, and had all of the warmth of a morgue. Ron found it fitting, considering who lived there, and could easily believe that this was where Malfoy had been spawned. Draco himself surprised him, though. When Bellatrix had called him over to look at Harry, Ron had been sure the game was up. Ferret Face was going to sell them out with that slimy, smug smirk he always wore when he had the upper hand, and that would be the end. But Malfoy, looking less than his prattish self as usual, had stammered around avoiding the question. It confused the hell out of Ron. He knew Malfoy hated Harry, so what was the deal? Then he began to get irritated; if he wasn't going to tell them, they why couldn't he just lie? WHat was all of that 'it might be him' shite? The answer hit Ron with a sudden clarity. He had never really respected Draco, but those numbers took a sharp dive into the negative. It wasn't that he had wanted to help Harry. It was that there was no one else to take the blame. Malfoy had always been a sick bastard, but he had also always been able to shuffle the responsibility off onto someone else. So it wasn't so much that he actually cared what was happening. He just didn't have the stomach to do it himself, just like when it came down to killing Dumbledore.

But Bellatrix wouldn't be put off. Ron's stomach dropped as she figured out what Hermione had done, and he lurched against the ropes tying his hands behind him when they pulled Hermione away. No, no, Fuck no! They couldn't take her! Greyback was already sniffing around, practically slobbering over her. Ron saw the way he touched her, and was sickened. Hermione's voice was fast and high, and he willed her to hold on, until they could think of a way to save her. Then he realized what Bellatrix meant to do; she was about to start questioning them for real, but she had picked Hermione as her target. Bellatrix. Bellatrix had Hermione. The insane bitch that had tortured Neville's parent's into madness, leaving behind husks of themselves that couldn't even function outside of St. Mungo's.

The thought of Hermione, who had always been so mentally alive and full of fire, losing that...losing herself, had him lunging across the room, begging for them to take him instead. What did he matter? Hermione was going to change the world, just like Harry: Ron was never meant for anything like that, but if he could give them a chance, then he didn't care. He was almost sure they would take him. After all, the Malfoys and Weasleys had never gotten along, and he was a blood traitor. But they only hit him to try to get him to be quiet, and drug Hermione farther into the middle of the room. Ron didn't stop fighting, even as they wrestled him down to the dungeon along with Harry. It was even darker down here, and so cold that a thin film of moisture covered the stone walls. There were other's down here as well, but Ron barely had time to register that before the first, shrill scream echoed down from the rooms above.

Ron's mind filled with holiday visits to gloomy wards, and crumpled chewing gum wrappers, right before he shattered.

With a scream of rage and fear, he leapt at the walls, clawing at the rough stone hard enough that his nails tore, blood beading up at his fingertips, and deep, jagged cuts forming across his knuckles as he punched uselessly. He would kill them. He would kill every last one of them, and burn this place down over their bodies. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione! Her name filled his head, bursting out in hoarse screams as he uselessly searched for a way out. Hot tears coursed down his face, and his body shook with his sobs, sending tremors up and down his arms. It couldn't end like this. Everything was stripped away in this moment. Every petty fight, every stupid insecurity that had held him back. They weren't done! They still had so many things to work out, so many years ahead of them that could be good. He wasn't losing that. He wasn't losing her. He wasn't going to let her lose herself.

He didn't care what it took, as long as he could get to her. Hands numb and bleeding, he tried to Apparate, not giving a damn that, without a wand, he could Splinch himself so badly that they would never find all of the pieces. It wouldn't matter, because right now, his heart was being Splinched in the exact same way.

Reeling so hard that she couldn't stand, Hermione slid down a wall, landing on her knees. Oh God, this was so much worse than she had thought. She could hear her own screams, and it brought back the searing pain as if it was happening all over again. And then there was Ron. His reactions shook her to the core; Ron, who had been the one to keep his head enough at twelve to beat a chess match set up by Professor McGonagall, was falling apart right before her eyes. Ron had always been so good about keeping it together in these kinds of situations, and to see him reduced to this scared her. She had remembered hearing his voice; using it to cling to reality when she wanted nothing more than to slip away.

His rage and his pain was overwhelming, sweeping over her in choking waves. Combined with her own memories which had been sparked by her screams, Hermione found she was losing her hold on what was the past and what was the present. She tried to use Ron as an anchor, but the sheer, mindless panic in his eyes, the raw terror of losing her, only served to make things worse. Her thought began to slide in a downward spiral, Ron's chants of her name comforting and terrifying at the same time. The places on her body burned in remembrance of what had been done to her, and her muscles ached and spasmed as if she was enduring the curse all over again. Someone needed to end this. She wanted to stop hurting. She wanted Ron to stop hurting. She tried to open her mouth to tell him that everything was going to be alright, but then she couldn't remember why that was so. Had she died? Had Bellatrix finally killed her, or was she mad from the curse? Hermione's mind was a vortex of darkness, and she was unable to bring herself back out. Everything was too real for her; both Ron's pain, and her own.

"Stop! Stop it! MAKE IT STOP!" She shrieked, to no avail.

As her terror peaked, a flash of red cut through the darkness, and she felt as if this had happened before.

"Ron?"