Sunday's are for Mine...

Sooo, last week's update was a doozy huh? Still sorry.

Quick insight on my thoughts:

When I thought about it, Ron would have still left even if they had an established relationship. Let's remember that the locket's goal was essentially to divide and conquer: to create a wedge between all three of them. Granted it had to hit Ron and Hermione in different ways than in canon (like Ron isn't fearful of the whole 'Hermione & Harry' crap … But making him question whether or not he's doing enough to protect her or if he's enough for her and vice versa in general, definitely...) I also went for something else which you'll see come to light in a future chapter.

But, honestly, Ron's motivations for leaving wouldn't be that different from Canon anyway. I don't truly see that his leaving was out of jealousy. His argument was essentially with Harry. He's worried about his family, thinks they're getting nowhere, and that he's doing a lousy job playing his part. It's all part of the locket's plan. I considered having him 'overcome' the locket but this is Voldemort we're talking about. A teenage romance and teenage emotions are not going to get in the way of Voldy's power of manipulation. (Ooohh...they're still teenagers aren't they?) It just needed to 'hit different', so to speak. Thanks for the love and even for the critique/arguments. All it did was tell me that I handled the previous chapter right. Now, let's work on getting these two (three) back in one tent, shall we?

Much love to the Betager BlueGreenandPurple!

Bold/Italics are quotes right from the book. And you know the deal...I cannot take credit for the creation of these precious babies and their friends & family or the major events. I can only take credit for their shifted love story :)

Oh, and if you celebrate today, celebrate safely. And maybe cut the fireworks at a decent hour? Be mindful of your lovely neighbors with the scared doggies, cranky babies, PTSD...yeah. All of that. Thanks dolls.

"RON!"

Hermione's cries echoed behind him as he stalked away from the tent. He figured that if she wanted to stay on this mess of a mission then that was her choice. He never could make her listen. He had told her to come, but he wouldn't force her.

If she was mine, she would come with me, a distant voice in his head echoed. Whether his voice or another's, he couldn't be sure.

Once he was a bit shy of the boundaries of the protective enchantments, he turned and looked for any sign that she had changed her mind. But she held no bag - only her wand - and her face was laced with panic.

Fine.

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

He closed his eyes and twisted away.

He landed in the woods. He didn't know where he was, but knew that he was miles away from the tent.

Miles away from them.

That realization hit him like a bag of bricks.

He left them. He really left them. He left her.

He'd just broken every promise he'd ever made to her.

Ron dropped to his knees, sinking to the ground and dropping his wand beside him. His nails dug into the earth as he began to shake. He released a loud sob, then another and another.

What did I do? What the bloody fuck did I do?!

Yes, he was worried about his family, but Hermione and Harry were his family too! And yet…

He thought of going back but knew he wouldn't be able to find them - not with the protections Hermione had placed around the tent.

Besides, he thought, they'd never let me back. It's over. I've ruined everything. It's over.

He lowered his entire body and sobbed into his arms, the sound so loud, that he missed the cracking of leaves under the boots that were approaching him. When a large hand grabbed his wand and a larger hand pulled him up by his neck, Ron couldn't even bring himself to care.

It's over.

Harry stood at the opening of the tent watching Hermione's hunched back. He was on watch, but she had taken up a perch on a large rock near the river ever since they had arrived at their new campsite.

Her shoulders had stopped shaking ages ago. Now, she was sitting completely still watching the water rush by.

Guilt like no other washed over him. It was all his fault. He drove Ron away. He told Ron to leave. He provoked Ron even though he knew the state Ron was in.

Harry was miserable without his best mate. Yes, he was angry, but more than anything he was miserable. Yet not as miserable as Hermione. He knew she hadn't slept in the nights since Ron left. He couldn't hear her crying anymore, but chalked that up to either a silencing spell or her cries could have just gone silent on their own.

He wanted nothing more than to bring Ron back. He wanted to go out there and find him, knock him around a bit for leaving, then drag him back by his red ears to Hermione. To him.

But he couldn't leave Hermione. He knew that.

Maybe Hermione will leave me. Maybe...maybe she should.

After a few more quiet moments, Harry approached the rock and leaned against it. Hermione didn't acknowledge his presence, but he knew she felt his presence. She was as hyper-aware of their surroundings as he was.

They were silent for a few long moments, both watching the movement of the water below them. A fish breached the surface at one point, and Harry made a mental note to attempt to Accio a couple for dinner. It was the least he could do. Ron wasn't here to take care of Hermione, so he would. As long as he needed to. As long as …

"Go find him."

His voice came out thick from lack of use and he realized these were the first words he'd spoken out loud in two, maybe three days.

"Go find him," he repeated. "Hide yourselves. Stay safe while I finish this." Hermione turned her head to look at him, her eyes red and puffy. He could see the streaks that ran down her cheeks from tears she hadn't even bothered to wipe away. "Don't worry about me," he continued. "I'll be fine. Go to the Burrow...I'm sure he's there and if he's not, they'll know where he is. Tell him...tell him I'm not angry. Tell him I'll be fine. Tell him-"

"Harry," her voice squeaked, "don't be daft." She reached behind him, unclasped the locket from around his neck, and stood to walk away. After a few steps, she stopped. "We agreed not to wear this unless we were on the move. I'll put it in my bag."

Harry took a deep breath and stretched his neck. Without the weight of the offending article, he could think clearer.

But his guilt was that much more clear too.

Ron appeared on the shore and sank into the cold sand. The sun was setting and the air was much colder now that he was closer to the water, but he didn't care. He needed a moment to himself before he went into the warm house.

For the hundredth time, he considered camping outside. It wasn't fair that he had a warm bed to sleep in each night while they did not. But, also for the hundredth time, he sighed knowing that his brother and sister-in-law would never allow him to. They wouldn't even allow him to skip a meal, let alone subject himself to even a half of what he knew Hermione and Harry were dealing with. Fleur had already threatened to tell his mother several times, and he couldn't risk that. So he ate the bare minimum, and stayed up much of the night mapping out where he would search for them the following day.

It had been weeks since he'd left them, since he knew if they were okay or not. All he could hold onto was the hope that if something had happened to them, if they had been captured, he would have found out.

He was certain that had it not been for the idiot snatchers, he would have found them again. Ron cursed himself once again - he hadn't even fought them at first. He had given up and allowed them to take his wand and drag him off. He had lost his determination completely. He had almost wished that they would just do him in and be done with it.

Until he heard them talking about Harry and the 'pretty little Mudblood' they were sure was helping him. It was that and hearing confirmation that You-Know-Who's name really was taboo - he knew it! - that had renewed his determination. He needed to get back to them, whether they wanted him or not.

Luckily for him, this group of snatchers were pretty thick. He escaped with his rucksack, his wand, and an extra - only to find an already empty campsite.

They had moved just as he knew they would.

He had spent the next two days popping around the country in search of them. He'd even lost a couple fingernails along the way, but it was nothing compared to the loss he felt in his heart.

It was nightfall on that second day when he knew he needed to go somewhere safe. He had no tent or other means of shelter, and his enchantments weren't as strong as Hermione's. He thought of going home, but knew his family would never forgive him for leaving Harry and Hermione.

Which is how he found himself at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur.

He heard the heavy footsteps behind him, even in the sand, but knew that it was just Bill. He'd been sitting in the sand for a long while and Bill would have been notified the moment Ron landed within the wards. Ron was grateful that Bill had given him some time before he sought him out.

"No luck, little bro?" Bill sank into the sand beside him.

"Would I be sitting here with you if I'd found them?" His voice was weak, but still laced with sarcasm.

"You'll find them," Bill sighed. "You three...there's something about your bond. You'll find them."

"And what if I do?" Ron cried, frustration taking over. "They won't want me back! Hermione won't want me. I've fucked it all up, Bill. Hermione...Harry...I've fucked it all up." His face fell into his arms as he continued to mumble "I've fucked up, I've fucked up..." over and over again.

He stopped when he felt a hard smack at the back of his neck. "Ow!" He raised his head and glared at Bill as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What'd ya do that for?!"

Bill looked at Ron sternly. "Last time I checked, that witch loves you more than I've seen just about any young witch love another wizard. Do you really think that one mistake - brought on by that 'dark object' you spoke of, no less - will keep her from loving you? Because if you do -"

"It was a big sodding mistake, Bill! I abandoned them! You didn't see her face! I-I..." The lump in his throat prevented the words from escaping his lips.

"She'll be hurt," Bill's voice was softer now. "There's no doubt about that. And it may take her some time. But she loves you, Ronnie. It doesn't take much to see it. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you've made damn sure that she knows how much you love her."

Ron wasn't sure about that, but he didn't bother to argue. He knew that the weeks leading up to his abandonment had put a strain on their relationship. He knew that if he ever did find them, that forgiveness would not come easily. If it came at all.

Hermione stood at the entrance of the tent watching the rising sun and held in a sob.

I'm okay. Harry's okay. We're okay.

She knew she should rest, especially after the night she had endured tending to Harry's injuries, but the adrenaline was still coursing through her body. She paced the tent entrance, kicked a few rocks, sat down and immediately stood back up.

I'm okay. Harry's okay. We're okay.

She repeated this like a mantra in her mind. If she didn't, visions of the snake and Voldemort's red eyes assaulted her. They'd been so close to him. So close to death.

They never should have gone to Godric's Hollow. What was she thinking? What was Harry thinking? It's as if they both lacked their voice of reason.

Ron.

She hugged herself and stifled another sob. She had tried to push Ron out of her mind the last few weeks; tried to be fully present for Harry. It was only at night, whether in her - their - bunk, surrounded by his scent, or at the tent's entrance with nothing but the cold night air to see her tears, that she would let herself really miss him. To really feel his absence. To be angry and sad and distressed and hurt.

But she couldn't fight it then - not in the morning light. Not after the night they'd had.

Ron would have stopped us from going. He would have had a 'feeling' or something about following old Bathilda to her home. He would have gotten us out of there before anything even happened. He never would have let Harry go upstairs alone. He would have protected us.

With the knowledge that Harry was still asleep, Hermione allowed her knees to buckle under her and she sank to the ground. A sob finally tore through her so forcefully, that she quieted a moment to be sure it had not woken her best friend. When nothing but silence greeted her, she closed her eyes and let the tears escape her eyes.

"Ron," she said softly. "Ron, where are you? We need you. I need you. Oh, Ron..."

"Ron."

His dreams were tormenting him, but it was the only place where he could be close to Hermione. Where he could hear her voice. Sometimes she would call his name with panicked desperation, the way she had the night he left. The sound made his heart ache, but he still welcomed it. He deserved to feel the hurt for what he'd done to her.

But, sometimes he would hear her say his name in that gentle, soothing tone that he loved. Those nights, he would wake up from his dreams with a smile on his face. Her voice kept him going.

Apparently that was one of those nights. He willed himself to go back to sleep, if only to hear her voice just once more.

"Ron."

He sat up and looked around the room. That wasn't a dream. He'd heard it, he'd heard Hermione's voice.

But when he looked toward the direction where he was sure her voice had come from, the only things he found were his wand and the deluminator laying on the night table.

He picked up his wand with one hand and the deluminator with the other, and sat with them. He still hadn't figured out what the deluminator did, aside from give and take light. As barmy as Ron thought their old Headmaster was, he knew that there had to be a reason why he'd gifted this invention to him. They were never close - a few interactions here and there maybe - but he'd entrusted Ron to help Harry. And with this barmy gadget.

And he'd failed them all miserably.

"Fuck!" He dropped both items on the bed and ran his hands over his face.

He didn't remember a good half of the things that came out of Dumbledore's mouth, but suddenly something he'd said at a welcome feast - third year, perhaps? - came to his mind.

"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."

Ron picked up the deluminator again and observed it carefully, listening. For what, he wasn't sure. The thing gave off light, not voices.

Turn on the light - in the darkest of times - find happiness. She's my happiness...

"Ron."

His hand shook but he kept a firm grip on it. This time he knew. He was sure Hermione's voice had come from the deluminator. He'd heard it! Felt the vibrations in his palm.

"Turn on the light," he whispered to the empty room. Still trembling, he clicked the deluminator. He expected the room to fill with light, even as the sun poured in through the window, but that didn't happen. Instead, a single bluish ball of light appeared. Ron thought it resembled that of a Portkey's glow.

A Portkey!

This was his way back to them!

Without a second thought, he shot up and threw his few possessions in his rucksack, then froze. He stared at the light, now hovering outside his window, and narrowed his eyes.

How could he know that this would really take him back? Was he fooling himself? What if this was all just a trick?

Something in his gut told him to go, but he couldn't help but allow his rational mind to stand for a moment. It's what Hermione would expect of him. She always thought he was just a bit too impulsive. He never bothered to be rational - he had his girlfriend for that. He ran on feelings and impulse - whether a bad feeling or a good one.

Another memory of Dumbledore came to mind then. It was first year, after the three of them had gone down the trap door. Dumbledore had sat with each of them individually to discuss the events that occurred. He had congratulated Ron on his chess game, to which Ron had shrugged and dismissed with a small "I just did what my gut told me too."

"Always follow your instincts, Mr. Weasley," he had told him, his piercing eyes watching Ron over his half-moon spectacles. "Thus far, I'm finding that your instincts are almost always correct."

Following his instincts - his gut - had gotten him this far.

With renewed determination, Ron finished shoving his things into his rucksack, then ran as quietly as he could down to the kitchen. It was still early on Christmas Day, and he knew that Bill and Fleur were still asleep. For a moment he considered waking them, but then decided that explaining all of this to them would delay him way too much. Bill would try to be rational.

Instead, he grabbed whatever food and drinks he could fit into his bag, then penned a quick note to his brother.

I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I know how to find them. Don't worry about me. I'll see you both soon. Please be safe. And thanks. Ron.

He stepped out of the house and breathed a sigh of relief to see the light still there, waiting for him. It pulsed, then floated along. He followed it, wondering if it would take him to them on foot. But once they were behind the shed, it flew into Ron's chest.

He was surprised that he felt no fear. Instead, he felt calm. There was a warmth in his chest that not even the cold December air could chill.

He placed his hand over his heart and smiled. He knew.

He turned on the spot with determination and deliberation, with the knowledge that the light would lead him to his destination.