I'm a couple of hours early, but I figured that since I had to skip last week's update, I made you all wait long enough.

Inspiration hit me this week, and I've actually written a few chapters ahead! So for now at least, I should be able to resume weekly updates.

Bold/italic text is taken straight from the book Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which was written by that lady who actually owns my trio of cinnamon rolls and these canon scenarios that they're stuck in. I'm just here to make the love story better lol.

BGP - thanks betager!

Readers - *sigh*...I'm sorry?

Hermione felt as if she was doing everything wrong. Try as she might, it was evident that she was doing a poor job at keeping the three of them fed. She had no ideas to bring to the table and knew that the boys were counting on her for her brains. She had raked over the book Dumbledore left her, hopeful that she would be bright enough to figure out whatever it was that he intended her to - no, expected her to. But she continuously came up short.

It's like that's all I am to them, she thought bitterly, eyeing the two young men seated outside the tent. They were supposed to be foraging for berries and mushrooms but instead, they were brooding. Hermione would have to go find some herself if they wanted to eat later.

The brains and the caretaker.

'You are,' a quiet voice hissed. 'They don't care about you. They only care about what you can do for them.'

Hermione shook her head and toyed with the heavy locket around her neck. If only she could figure out a way to get rid of the wretched thing.

'You have to think of everything, don't you? Why can't they come up with ideas for a change?'

Because I have to do everything, she scowled at the thought. Everything. She felt tears welling in the back of her eyes.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, not realizing that Harry had been talking to her. Ron stood behind him, his arm wrapped to his chest to keep it immobile.

"What?" She asked, hoping that the bitterness in her voice masked the lump in her throat.

"Tea?"

'You have to do everything,' the nagging voice echoed.

"Get it yourself!" She snapped and stood to march outside. It was almost her watch anyway. Besides, she was happy to leave the confines of the tent. It smelled like cats, and not like Crookshanks sweet, dusty scent; but like those horrid cats that snuck around in alleyway rubbish bins. And it definitely reeked of boy.

But not in a good way.

Alone once again, she stared out into the darkening forest and allowed her thoughts to consume her even more. She chastised herself for how rudely she spoke to Harry.

He was probably offering me tea...maybe I should go back and apologize.

'That's what he expects,' hissed the voice. 'For you to come and gravel for his forgiveness.'

Hermione scoffed. As if.

She turned her thoughts to the redhead. Another reminder of her failures. His arm another glaring proof of her incompetence.

Can't even Apparate properly, she sighed. I got my own boyfriend splinched!

She tried to take care of him as best as she could, but every time she looked at him she had to suppress a sob. His skin was growing paler by the day in direct contrast with the darkness encircling his eyes.

'Witches take care of their wizards. Pureblood witches do, at least.'

The voice was often so quiet, so subtle, that Hermione had trouble deciphering it from her own. Perhaps it was her own. Only her thoughts would be in her head, after all.

Hermione wondered why she ever thought she was good enough to be with a Pureblood wizard. Why she thought she could compare to...to other witches when he could have anyone he wanted. A school relationship was one thing. But they were getting older. Did she really think they would last?

But it wasn't just because of her blood status. He was brilliant, after all. And fit...so fit. She could see it even through his injury and the paleness of his skin. Every time she had to tend to his shoulder, she longed to run her hands over the lean muscle of his chest and back. She wanted to lose herself tracing the scars on his gorgeous arms with her fingertips.

She wanted to climb onto those delicious thighs she had shamelessly ogled as he changed his trousers just that morning - delightful and supple from hours gripping the broomstick, no doubt - and never let him go.

She licked her lips at the thought.

'But, look at yourself compared to him. Why would he still want you?'

Hermione sighed. She knew this was true. As Ron grew more fit, there was no denying that she grew skinnier and quite...disgusting. Cleaning charms and their sorry excuse for a shower never seemed to make her feel refreshed enough. The truth was, she didn't want him to touch her. She didn't want him to be repulsed by what life in a tent had done to her. She could see her ribs under her bra. She never mastered beauty charms like trimming or shaving since she had always preferred to handle things down below the muggle way. Unfortunately, out in the wilderness, she lacked the necessary tools. She grimaced at the thought of what lay beneath her knickers.

And the hair on her head?...Well, that became frizzier and harder to control by the day.

He hasn't touched me or told me how beautiful he thinks I am in weeks. He used to always find ways to touch me. He used to run his hands through my hair and...

'Why would he?'

Right...why would he?

Hermione shook her head in defiance.

That's enough!

She decided then and there that she would make more of an effort to take care of her boys. And herself. And she would remind Ron why he made her his in the first place.

She's been in the bathroom for bloody hours, Ron thought, thoroughly annoyed. What the blazes is she doing in there?

'Probably what you haven't done in weeks.'

The voice was a constant in his head these days. So much, that Ron was having a difficult time deciphering what was true from what wasn't.

Won't let me bleeding touch her, will she? Or I would. Merlin knows I would.

The few times Ron had attempted to seduce Hermione over the last few weeks, he was met with excuse after excuse: he needed to heal properly; Harry was too near; she was tired; she was dirty; she was busy; she was bleeding.

Ron knew for a fact that she wasn't bleeding. She must have forgotten how well he knew her. How well he knew her body.

'She's yours...of course you know her. And you know when she's lying.'

The fact that she lied about being on her period told Ron all he needed to know: she didn't want him. Not in that way, not anymore. And he couldn't blame her. He was a tall, pale, skinny, injured prat. His hair was way too long and shaggy. He felt like he couldn't do anything with his arm in a sling. She had to take care of him, of course she wouldn't want to be with him.

But why lie?

'She's hiding something.'

Ron pondered this for a moment. What could she be hiding? Why wouldn't she want him?

'Obvious, isn't it?' The voice slid through his mind, interwoven in his own thoughts. 'You're not good enough. Never were.'

But I am! She thinks I am. Thought so, anyway.

'You think she does. You think she's yours…'

She is mine. She's mine to love, to take care of and to protect...

Ron glared at his arm. He felt as if he was doing a piss-poor job of protecting her with his arm in a sling. He lived in constant fear of Death Eaters finding them and taking her and Harry. Ron knew they wouldn't do much to him - kick him around a bit for being a blood-traitor, perhaps. But they wouldn't want to spill much pure magical blood.

But Hermione and Harry?

And how was he supposed to protect them like this? What could he possibly do to keep her safe if that happened? If they were caught?

'Your only job is to protect them...and you can't even do that.'

I will in any way I can. I'll protect them. I'll protect her.

Yet he couldn't help but feel as if they didn't want his protection. Harry was distant and Hermione was pulling away. In the meantime, they were going nowhere. They weren't any closer to destroying the sodding locket that was around his neck or finding the next Horcrux. They were starving, and the days were getting colder…

Maybe we should go home, he thought to himself. Go home and regroup. Make sure everyone is alright, stock up on food, figure things out…

'Maybe you should go home.'

Maybe.

Ron shook his head. Didn't he just say he would protect them - her - no matter what? How could he do so if he left them?

But if we all go...

His thoughts were interrupted by the makeshift bathroom door opening. The moment Hermione emerged from behind it in a skirt and a sleeveless shirt - it was quite warm in the tent - a deep feeling of lust shot through Ron's body. It was clear she had lost weight in the last few weeks, but her glorious curves were still somehow there. Her hips swayed as she walked, and the swells of her breasts were teasing him under the thin material of her blouse. He noticed that she had also tried to tame the frizz of her hair. Not that she had to...he loved her hair when it was at its frizziest.

But just as soon as the lust appeared, it vanished, only to be replaced by protective rage as several pictures played in his mind. It was like one of those Muggle films Professor Burbage showed them in class.

"Take it off," he growled.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. He didn't miss the glance she gave at the locket around his neck.

"Wh-what?"

"Go and take that shit off," he hissed. "Change. Now!" In the very back of his mind he knew he was out of order, but he couldn't help it.

When he saw her in that skirt with her long, perfect legs on full display, a clear vision of some leering Death Eater running his grubby hands up her thighs entered his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't get it out.

She's mine to protect. She's mine!

'Then she will listen to you. If she does not, then she is not truly yours.'

Ron shook the voice out of his head and turned his attention back to Hermione. She was still looking at him with great confusion.

"Ron, I-I thought-"

He stood and in two long strides, was in front of her. "You thought what?" he spat, "You thought you could walk around here in that little skirt and turn me on?" Think about who else you would turn on, he finished in his head. The whole bloody forest if we were discovered!

The visions continued to flash across his mind: Ron held to the ground, forced to watch as another stroked her legs, grimey fingers disappearing under her skirt, reaching her knickers and-

It would be too easy! Too easy! If they were caught...if someone found them and she was in that! It would be too easy to...to…

She's MINE. If I can't do anything else for her, at least I can protect her.

"Change!" he growled again. He tried to put the plea in his eyes, but by her reaction he wasn't sure if the message he intended was sent.

Her eyes pooled with tears but she set her jaw, threw her shoulders back defiantly, and, without another word, turned to disappear behind the curtain to their so-called bedroom -which was no more than the bunks where they slept separated from Harry's bunk by the curtain. Ron tried to steady his breathing as he paced the floor.

When she emerged a few moments later clad in joggers and a light jumper, he let out a sigh of relief. He missed the skirt, he'd admit. He missed the sight of her legs, of course. But if he closed his eyes, he could still see them - a sight that was only for him.

She's mine.

The initial feeling of lust returned and his jeans began to feel tighter. He watched her head into the kitchen area and followed suit - a predator closing in on his prey. She paused at the counter and he went to stand behind her to make his intentions clear. Before he could, she turned to face him.

"That's the last time you tell me what to do, Ronald Weasley."

Ron stepped back as if slapped in the face, knowing that she had seen the anger that flashed across his eyes - it matched her own.

"Fine," he hissed. He spun on his heels and retreated to the bathroom. She clearly didn't want his attentions, but something else needed it. And he resigned to handling it himself.

Tears ran down Hermione's cheeks as she stood in the kitchen. Her plan had failed miserably. She did all she could to clean things up just for him. She had made sure Harry was on watch and occupied; and then she had put on the one skirt she had with her, sure that the sight of so much skin would do him in easily.

She heard a grunt from the bathroom and her eyes opened wide. She knew that sound. She loved that sound. Normally it was reassurance that she was doing everything right and bringing him pleasure.

But instead, he was seeking it out himself even when she was right there, ready and willing.

He didn't want her.

The very sight of her body repulsed him, it was obvious by his words and the way he had looked at her.

"Take that shit off!"

"You thought you could walk around here in that little skirt and turn me on?!"

His words echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes as the groans from the bathroom continued.

At least say my name, she thought to herself. Say my name, so I know you're thinking of me.

She heard a long moan from behind the door and knew he was finished. The sound wasn't close to her name in any way. A tear slipped down her cheek.

He doesn't want me anymore.

Hermione barely spoke to Ron in the days that followed. Sure, they had slept in the same bunk when Harry was on watch, but their backs were to one another. It made her wonder why he even bothered climbing in with her each night rather than claiming another bed. She thought of moving herself, but was afraid that would set him off. Everything seemed to set him off those days.

Plus, even the warmth of his back each night kept her moving forward.

There were small moments here and there, moments when there was a glimpse of the old 'Ron and Hermione'. She sat on a large rock outside the tent and recalled what had happened during their walk the previous day: a sudden gust of wind had blown Hermione's hair into her face, and she was surprised to feel a tender hand push a few curls aside. When she looked up at him, he gave her a small lopsided smile that made her heart melt.

Hope. It had given her hope.

But by the evening, he was back to his brooding and scowling.

She had not heard him since that day in the bathroom, but knew that he was relieving himself during his frequent "walks". She willed herself not to cry each time he would excuse himself into the forest. But she couldn't deny how much it hurt - that he preferred his hand to her.

She missed them. She missed their intimacy and their connection. She missed talking to him.

'Leave.'

She fiddled with the locket absentmindedly as the word echoed through her mind.

Why am I fighting this battle? It would be so easy to just take Ron and run away. Go into hiding like Harry told us to. We could go to Australia...find my parents.

Her face screwed up in a grimace at the thought of her parents.

If they'll ever forgive me.

'Leave. Run and hide.'

Or, she thought, I'll just leave by myself. Ron can help Harry and I'll go find my parents and hide with them. No one will find us. New identities, new appearances. We'll live as Muggles and no one will-

"Hermione," Harry's voice brought her out of her thoughts. He squatted in front of her with a face that told her he had called her name a few times. "Here," he said softly. "Why don't you give me that for a bit?"

He held out his hand and Hermione wordlessly removed the locket, passing the chain over her head, and placed it in his open palm. She took a deep breath and felt instant relief.

"Better?"

She nodded. "Loads."

As she watched him walk away, her mind cleared.

How could I ever think of leaving Harry? He needs us. He can't do this without us.

The rain was pounding on the tent, but it was nothing compared to the sound of Hermione's heart beating. It was so hard that she could hear it resounding in her ears.

"We thought you knew what you were doing!" shouted Ron, "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"

"Ron!" said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.

She was feeling frantic, and she wanted nothing more to calm both boys - especially Ron. This wasn't him. This wasn't either of them.

"Well, sorry to let you down," said Harry, "I've been straight with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in the case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux—"

"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them—nowhere effing near in other words."

"Take off the locket, Ron," Hermione said, her voice unusually high. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."

"Oh, wouldn't he?" Harry turned to Hermione. "He's only telling me how he feels - how you both likely feel!"

"That's not true, Harry," Hermione retorted, but at the same time Ron yelled, "Don't you talk to her like that!"

"I see the way you both look at me!" Harry bellowed. "I can practically see your thoughts!"

"Harry..." Hermione tried again.

"Oh, 'cause he's a bleeding Legilimens now, is he?" Ron scoffed. "So you can see everything I'm thinking? About what rubbish this is and how we're getting nowhere, meanwhile my family is out there. Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happens to her in here - So much for love, eh? You don't bloody care! All the while, I'm fucking stuck here! Fearing for their lives out there and fearing for Hermione's life here, the woman I love! Do you understand what kind of torture this is?!"

Hermione tried to intervene again, she wanted to express to Ron that what they overheard from the wizards and goblins by the shore didn't necessarily mean that someone new was hurt. But it backfired.

"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you two, isn't it," He rounded on Hermione. "Thought you said my family was as good as yours. Thought you cared about them as much as I do. But I suppose not. And with your parents safely out of the way -"

"My parents are dead!" Harry bellowed.

"And mine could be going the same way!" yelled Ron.

"Then GO!" roared Harry.

No, thought Hermione. No, no, no. She racked her brain as they continued to yell at one another - as Harry told Ron to leave, and Ron agreed that it was about time to.

Fix this, fix this...how can I-

A sudden movement caused Hermione to act out of instinct. The shield charm was up before she realized what she'd done. The hurt and anger was obvious on Ron's face as he stood on the other side of it.

Ron yanked the locket from his neck when Harry ordered him to leave it, his eyes locked on Hermione's the entire time.

"Coming, love?" His voice was demanding - not a single note of love.

"What? Ron...no!" Hermione moved a fraction closer to Harry, a gesture that Ron didn't miss.

"You're staying?!"

"Of course I am!" She exclaimed. "And you are too!"

"The hell I am!" Ron grabbed his rucksack and his deluminator and turned towards the tent flap.

"Ron!" Hermione called after him, "I'm not leaving Harry! We're not leaving Harry! Ron, we promised!"

"Stay then! Stay on this bloody mission to hell! See how well he can protect you!" Ron turned and strode out of the tent without a backwards glance.

"RON!" Hermione flicked her wand to drop the shield charm, and ran out of the tent after him. "RON!"

She knew he could hear the shout from behind him, but she worried that the drumming of the rain drowned her voice out slightly.

"RON!"

He turned and watched her, likely looking for any sign that she had changed her mind. But she hadn't, and when he noticed that she wasn't running out to leave with him, he frowned. A wave of panic washed over her. He wouldn't...he couldn't!

"Ron?" she called. "Please...don't-"

Crack!

Hermione was paralyzed. The crack of his Disapparation echoed around her. She was sure that there were tears running down her face, but with the downpour her tears mixed in with raindrops.

She felt cold. Numb. He was gone. The boy she loved had abandoned them - abandoned her.

She dropped to her knees as her entire body suddenly felt heavier than it ever had before. She'd lost her parents. She'd lost Ron. She'd never felt so alone. She wrapped her arms around her as the sobs wracked her body.