You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control.
~ Megan Chance
Chapter 2: A Fireside Chat
They entered the small, yet cozy sitting room.
Ron paused before the stairs, turning towards her thoughtfully.
"Could you wait a moment, Hermione? I have something for you."
She sank into the slightly sagging couch, wrapping herself in the comforter.
The fire was kindled with a lazy flick of Ron's wand, while he reached into the pocket of his jumper.
"I found this a while ago, and I thought of you."
He pulled out a necklace that was endowed with a fine gold chain, and at the bottom was a small scalloped shell.
Ron offered it with trembling hands, and her finger traced the outline of her initials that were delicately engraved onto the smooth surface.
"It's absolutely perfect, how did you—?"
"Trust me, it wasn't easy, I must have ruined a dozen before I finally got it right. May I?"
Nodding, Hermione obediently pulled her hair back and turned around.
In a heartbeat, he undid the clasp with tremulous fingers and got it around her neck.
Then his breath hitched.
"Bloody hell Hermione, what is that?"
His index finger carved a path across her shoulder blade, and he saw tiny goosebumps starting to rise from his touch.
Quickly realizing what he was looking at, she jerked herself out of her reverie and snapped, "It's nothing, Ron!"
But she wasn't quite able to meet his probing gaze.
"D' you know how it got there?" he queried softly.
Hermione ruefully shook her head in reply.
Ron sighed, then swallowed.
"Listen, I—I know we haven't—haven't talked as much as we should have, this past year…"
"But that doesn't mean I didn't want to...I just," he swallowed again, "I just didn't know where to start."
"Thank you for the offer, Ronald, but I don't want to talk about it, alright? Just drop it."
Hermione started to walk back upstairs. But Ron took her arm, gently restraining her.
"It doesn't make any sense though," he continued delicately.
"That curse isn't supposed to leave any marks—"
Her eyes flashed in anger.
"Don't you think I know that!"
Hermione briefly squeezed her eyes shut, as if she was reliving it all over again.
Her breathing then started to come in shallow pants.
"All I remember was her t-torturing me and then I was c-c-close to passing out-t and t-then G-greyback was s-s-standing over me…"
Teardrops now cascading down her face, she tugged her arm away from Ron's grasp.
But instead of trying to leave like before, Hermione instead slumped back into the sofa, wrapping her arms around herself.
Undeterred, but unsure how to proceed, he inquired gently, "How'd you know about it then?"
"I—I heard Fleur that night, before I went to see Dobby's grave with you lot. She thought I was asleep, but I heard every word."
"I'm so sorry, Hermione."
"Don't be thick," she replied flatly.
"It wasn't your fault, Ron—there wasn't anything you could do."
"Then let me help you now."
"How?"
"I think you already know."
Hermione firmly shook her head, lips pursed.
"No. Absolutely not, Ronald. I will not put you through that."
"I can handle it," he quipped firmly, before continuing, undaunted.
"I mean, I was there that night, wasn't I?"
She still didn't look convinced.
"I'll be fine, I promise."
"No, there's no point—"
"No point, Hermione! For Merlin's sake, you don't think I know what happens to you every night you're here—"
"And how would you know anything about that?"
"I—" he looked down at his feet, the tips of his ears starting to redden.
"I have…err…nightmares about you—about that night and...I reckoned that, if it was that bad for me, I couldn't imagine what it's been like for you."
The ensuing silence was deafening; only the mournful sound of the surf pounding the shoreline was heard.
"Ron—" she paused to take a steadying breath.
"You've got nothing to be worried about. I'm fine—really."
Her voice cracked slightly as she continued.
"I'm alive...maybe a little scarred, but it's over now. It's done."
Ron didn't buy it for a second.
"But it's not—we both know it. Please, just trust me, Hermione. Please let me help you."
His indigo irises seemed to beg for affirmation.
"Ron, I just—" she looked away, then murmured ashamedly, "I don't think I can go through that again."
He gently took her hand and squeezed it in response.
"Maybe, once I see what you have seen, we can face all of that—together."
Ron saw fear briefly flit across Hermione's face as she bit her lower lip.
Then, something shifted. Her jaw tightened, and she unfolded her legs, sitting up matter-of-factly.
"There's one condition, Ron."
"What's that?"
"Once you see what I went through that night, I want to see what you saw that night."
Reluctantly, Ron nodded his consent.
He locked his eyes onto hers.
Hermione gave him a tiny, hopeful smile, but he saw her arm start to tremble against the fraying cushions.
Pointing his wand, he whispered, "Legilimens!"