The day Albus Dumbledore died, Hermione and Ron promised each other that they would never abandon Harry. Not an Unbreakable Vow, nor even a Magical One. Just a promise between best friends. They vowed to stay by his side, through whatever the future held, until the horcruxes were destroyed and Voldemort was defeated. Hermione was the one to initiate the promise, having mistrusted Ron's loyalty ever since the Triwizard Tournament. Ron was hesitant to make the vow, recalcitrant in his initial refusal, but Hermione Granger was not to be denied.

So, with trepidation and a phoenix lament soaring over the grounds, Ron promised. And at the time, he probably might have even meant it.

But Ronald Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor for bravery, not Hufflepuff for loyalty.

And months later, in the early throes of winter, with light rain and sleet battering their tent, howling winds raging and whispers of evil poisoning their minds, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley nearly came to blows in their rage. Spiteful, hateful words exchanged; slights both imagined and real finally were brought to light in their quarrel. It wasn't a simple row, or even an argument or a fight. No, it was a fracture in their friendship that would never heal…

"Then GO!" roared Harry. "Go back to them, pretend you've got spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to fill you up and – "

Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own.

"Expelliarmus!" she cried, and the telltale thin beam of red light blasted Ron's wand right out of his hand and Ron's body right out of the tent and into the rain. Harry was shell-shocked, but quickly recovered and threw himself out of the tent, Hermione right on his heels, her wand still raised.

Ron pushed himself to his feet with great effort, effusive hate boiling in his eyes, but he paled when he saw the expressions plastered upon his friends' countenances. Harry's was cold, passive, eerily reminiscent of a young Tom Riddle, but Hermione's was what made Ron pause: even through the tears streaming down her face, the resentment and disgust was evident. Ron had tried for so long to be brave, strong and steadfast for Hermione's sake. He'd made the promise to her so many months before just to ensure she'd be safe. But the corrosive, diamond-pure hate that was etched on her face proved that something had broken between the three of them.

Hermione Granger finally had seen the kind of man Ronald Weasley was.

"Leave the locket," she said.

Ron, thoroughly dejected, wrenched the locket from his neck and tossed it into the mud.

"My wand," he muttered, gesturing towards her.

Harry, finally absolutely bleeding done with Ron after all these years, shook his head violently.

"Not happening. I'll gather your things, walk you to the ward line. Once you've walked past it, I'll toss your wand to you," he said clearly. Hermione, satisfied with this plan, nodded. Harry turned to her.

"Keep your wand trained on him."

"Is that really necess – "

"Hermione," he demanded, shutting her up. "Keep your wand on him." She nodded, consenting, and turned her focus back to Ron, who was seething once more. And once Harry sequestered himself back into the tent, Ron attempted his plea.

"Hermione, you can't stay here with him," he tried.

"I promised I would, Ronald," she said coolly, "and so did you. Do you remember? Dumbledore's body wasn't even cold yet." The tears had resumed in full force. "You swore to me that you wouldn't abandon him. Not again. And what you said – how could you? – what you said about his parents?" Her breath caught in her throat, and she shuddered again. Collecting herself, she shook her head slightly and looked back up at Ron.

"I don't know how much of what you said was the horcrux and how much was just you. I can't force myself to care right now. We swore we'd help him, and that's what I'm going to do. With or without you."

"I get it," he murmured. "You choose him."

Hermione knew, once those words left his mouth, that her response would be a paradigm shift for the 'Golden Trio'. That it would change everything. It was momentous. And yet, it took her all of two seconds to make her choice.

"Yes. I do."

Ron's shoulders sagged, and he looked wholly crushed. He nodded resignedly and stood silent, waiting for Harry. It was only a few minutes later when Harry emerged from the tent and gingerly grabbed Ron's wand out of Hermione's pocket, whispered something in her ear, motioned his head away from the tent and started walking. Ron followed quietly, leaving Hermione to her tears.

They only walked about fifty feet, stopping just before the ward lines that Hermione had set up. Harry handed Ron's rucksack to him and waited. Ron, trying to think of something to say and failing miserably, threw the bag onto his shoulder and made to cross the wards.

"Wait," Harry said. Ron froze and braced himself.

Harry shoved his hands behind his head and clenched his fingers together, shaking with barely suppressed anger. He started to pace slightly, only taking two or three small steps before turning on the spot and repeating. It was clear that he was finally airing out whatever dirty laundry he had with Ron.

"I need you to know that this is it for us. For the three of us. I put up with a lot from you over the years: the jealousy, the insecurity, the mistrust. I thought after the Tournament you'd learned, grown up. Maybe figured yourself out. You were my first friend, a brother. I'd have done anything for you, if you'd asked. Have done everything I could for you, that you'd let me. And even now, after this, I'd forgive you if it were just what you'd done to me." He stopped pacing and looked Ron dead in the eye.

"But what you've done to Hermione, I can't forgive. I won't. She's saved both our skins more than once over the years, and right, we've both done badly by her, I'll admit. But If it weren't for me, she'd have been dead in first year because of you. You've fancied her ever since Krum took her to that damn ball, and you've done nothing but make her miserable since. At first, I thought you were just being a prat, then a git, but now I know better. You're a right foul bastard, Ronald Weasley, and you're a goddamned coward. You don't deserve her, you never have."

Harry took Ron's wand from his pocket, shoved it into a bewildered and furious Ron's hand, and clenched down on it, glaring at him, emerald green piercing pale blue.

"Don't try to come back," Harry commanded, and pushed Ron out of the wards.

He took his time rambling back to the camp, wanting to give Hermione the time and space to deal with the shock and grief and needing the same to deal with it himself. He sifted through his memories of Ron, the good and the bad, wondering where they had gone wrong. Ron had always been the jealous sort, prone to fits of self-pity and lashing out at any attempt of consolation. But he had also been resolute in his bravery, willing to stand by Harry even in the worst of dangers. The locket had done its fair share of damage to their relationship, but Ron was a man grown, able to make his own decisions despite external influences, or so Harry had thought.

When he reached the campsite, Hermione was already outside. Seeing her buried nose-deep in a book wasn't an uncommon occurrence by any means, but Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong with the image. Her eyes were indeed red and puffy, but she looked more irate than miserable. She must have noticed him standing there gawking at her, because she suddenly snapped the book shut and sighed heavily before meeting his eyes.

"What?" she demanded, snapping him out of his own thoughts.

"Nothing," he said quickly, holding his palms up toward her in an attempt to appease her. An angry Hermione was a dangerous Hermione, and he had more desire to take a hag on a date to Hogsmeade than to have Hermione turn her rage onto him. "I just didn't think you'd be reading right now."

"Harry, honestly. I'm not going to bite your head off," she scoffed.

He sighed, rubbing his face lazily. "We need to talk about this."

Hermione obviously disagreed, judging by the way she tensed and shook her head furiously. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Neither do I, honestly. But it isn't about wanting to, it's about needing to."

"Oh, so now you need to talk," she sneered, tone venomous and scathing. "I've been trying to get you to talk to me for six years with no results, and now you feel like sharing." He felt like he was being scolded, and after everything with Ron, he wasn't keen on repeating the experience.

"Hermione, please. Calm down. I'm not – I want us to talk so that what just happened with Ron doesn't happen again. I'm not trying to grill you or get you to spill your deepest, darkest secrets or anything. And you know why I didn't like talking before, we went through this already."

She said nothing, not a word. She just kept her icy glare focused on Harry, who, after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, finally relented:

"What did I – you know what? Never mind. I just thought, since it's the two of us now, that we might do better to stay on the same page, to talk about things before they blow up like what just happened. You're all I have, Hermione, no one else is left. Sirius, Dumbledore… I – You're right, maybe we don't need to talk about it."

At once the anger drained from her face, replaced immediately with regret. "You're right, Harry, I – "

"No, I'm not. We don't need to talk; it's fine. If you need me, I'll be in the tent. Let me know if you find anything." He turned away from her and entered the tent, tossing his jacket onto a chair. After fiddling about for a bit, he picked up the locket and looped it around his own neck. After cleaning up what little mess there was around the tent, he climbed into his bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, doing his best not to listen to the sounds of Hermione's quiet sobs.