A/N: CallieSkye(my super amazing friend and beta)and I have been very productive and happily bring you the second edited chapter.

Again a much-needed reminder - this is a ROMIONE, NOT A DRAMIONE. If you are a Ron fan like us, please bear with the Draco/Hermione portions for the sake of the plot. As always, reviews will be much appreciated. And huge thanks to all readers who took the time to drop me a feedback when this story was initially posted.

Edited version
Chapter 2: Conversations and Comfort

He apparated with a loud crack in her living room and looked around. Everything seemed normal at first, but then Draco saw the scattered roses on the floor. Wondering what the flowers had done to deserve that kind of retribution, he maneuvered around them to enter her bedroom. There she was on the floor: at the foot of the bed and holding her knees to her chin. She lifted her face and he saw tear stains and bloodshot eyes.

He quickened his pace and took his place on the floor next to her. As their shoulders touched, she looked up at him with undisguised pain.

"He is back, Draco. Ron is back," she muttered softly looking away.

Draco looked at the broken girl next to him and for a moment, the ever-in-control mask slipped to reveal the insecure man within. But only for a second, and then the controlled visage was back in place. One couldn't be a Malfoy without being an expert at hiding their true feelings, and as much as Draco despised his family and his name, some traits were innate in his genes.

Turning slightly to face her, he took her right hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Using his free hand to gently tuck away a curl that had come loose from her hair-tie, he caressed her cheek with his thumb before continuing softly.

"He has been in town for a week now. The Daily Prophet is in frenzy over his return. You knew that Hermione." He paused and exhaled softly, continuing slowly and in a more controlled voice. "And honestly, he has been sending you letters too, hasn't he?"

"Yes," she managed and seemed to gulp down a sob. "But I threw them all away, Draco," she confessed, meeting his eyes with her tear filled ones. "I-I didn't expect him to come down h-here!" she said shaking her head, biting her lip in distress as more tears spilled and she looked away.

Draco gripped her hand a little harder at that revelation but distraught as she was, Hermione never noticed.

"And… What does he want?" he asked slowly.

She chuckled bitterly, "He wants to explain himself."

"Now? After six and a half years, he wants to explain himself?"

She made a disgruntled sound and placed her head on his shoulder, wiping away the steady stream with the back of her hand.

Hermione often claimed that she had moved on, insisted (a little too much, if he was honest) that she was over Ron Weasley. As much as he wished to believe her, he was plagued by lingering doubts. He tried to push it aside as baseless jealousy and often succeeded, but her reaction to Weasley's visit brought his most bothersome concerns to the fore.

"What did he say?" he asked, forcibly ignoring the squirming in his heart.

"What makes you think I listened to his sob stories?" she spat and pushed him away furiously.

As surprised as he was by her reaction, he pulled her back in his arms and gently rubbed her back. Ronald Weasley definitely had a way of getting under her skin like no one else could. Draco hated it. He hated that Weasley's mere presence could shake her up so much; Hermione always insisted that she had moved on and he desperately wanted to believe her. He wanted to ask why it still bothered her. He wanted her to tell him that the redhead meant nothing to her, but he knew that to push now would be foolish, and decided to let it rest, if only for the time being. So he pressed his lips to her shoulder in a chaste kiss. She responded by scooting closer to him and clutching him harder. Taking this as a positive sign, he took her face in his hands.

"Hermione Jean Granger, listen to me carefully as I say this-" He tilted her chin up and she met his eyes, distress still evident in them. "What is past is past, we can't change it. But this-", he gestured to them with a slight nod, "-this is our present. And nothing can change it. I don't care who returns from the past; I am not letting you go anywhere, Hermione."

She audibly sobbed into his chest, holding him tightly and he returned her gesture in kind by pulling her close for a kiss. Tear laden lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and he deepened the kiss, holding her tighter still. Her fingers moved into his hair and he let out a small moan at the feel of her body pressed against his. It wasn't simple physical arousal, it was deeper: the basic instinct to guard what was now his and his alone. His hand curled in the hair at her nape, her hair-tie lost as he poured his heart into his actions.

...

Ron sat under the old oak tree, tearing the dry, golden leaves into pieces. The sun was overhead now and the heat and sweat made his shirt cling to his body. Opening a few of the buttons, he pulled the shirt off and dropped it unceremoniously at the foot of the tree. Then he pulled his trousers off, and they joined the previously discarded clothing. Retrieving his wand from one of the pockets and clad only in his boxers, he walked towards the pond slowly.

"Planning to seduce someone with that view, are you?"

He turned in a flash, his heightened senses on alert and pointed his wand at the source of the sound.

"Hold on mate! Just me!" yelled Harry, arms raised in mock surrender as he walked into the clearing. Ron lowered his wand and turned away.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a bloke like that," he responded with a hollow laugh. "And what are you doing here anyway? Weren't you supposed to be out shopping with Ginny?"

"She's gone out with your Mum and Angelina for a change," Harry replied grinning. "So I thought I could relax for a bit and cool off with a swim."

Ron waited as Harry dropped his shirt and trousers next to his pile, and both men then proceeded to dive into the cool waters after placing their wands on the bank.

Six laps across the length later, Harry swum to the shallow end. Getting out of the pond, he picked up both their wands and walked towards the oak tree, casually laying Ron's wand next to their clothes. The redhead was now finishing his tenth lap and swimming towards him. Once dressed, Harry sat down on a fallen log in the shade of the trees facing away from the clearing. During the summer holidays while at Hogwarts, the duo often spent their time in this very same orchard.

"Where's the rest of the family?" asked Ron from behind him and Harry turned to face his best friend. He had missed Ron sorely the past six years and relished the sound of his voice, a smile forming on his lips easily.

But one glance at his best mate and he gasped aloud.

Striding straight up in front of Ron, he stared open mouthed at the tall ginger clad only in his trousers who was now picking up his shirt. But what Harry couldn't stop looking at was Ron's bare torso. His entire chest was marred with cuts which seemed to have been stitched roughly together the Muggle way. The skin over the cuts, though now long healed, looked swollen and darker in colour than his otherwise pale and freckled skin. It appeared to have been slashed many times over with a knife by a maniac; no one in their right mind could do such a thing to another human being.

"What's this?" he asked appalled. Ron casually picked up his wand, and silently waved it over his chest. The scars disappeared under a layer of false skin, and the ginger proceeded to pull on his shirt. Harry realised that the concealment charm had probably broken sometime during their swim.

Once he had finished buttoning up, Ron sat on the log and turned to Harry who was still rooted to the spot waiting for an explanation, each passing second making him more furious.

"So where is everyone?" the ginger asked, daring to pretend as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Harry huffed as he went to stand directly in front of his best mate and glared; anger rendering him almost speechless.

"RON WEASLEY, STOP ACTING SMART!" he yelled once he had found his voice."What the hell happened to you?! You disappear for six fucking years on some Godforsaken assignment and you return with these?!" he gestured wildly at Ron's chest.

"We were told nothing about your whereabouts all this time, nothing at all, Ron! Do you fucking understand?" he spat, "Nothing apart from Kingsley's rare assurances that you were 'fine'. And now, you appear with bloody knife marks? These would've put Bellatrix's idea of torture to shame, and you act as if it's normal?!"

He threw his hands up in frustration and began pacing to and fro to let the steam off.

"Harry… mate, look it's not as bad as you think. Just a part of the job! You know how it works, right?" Ron said quietly, looking up at him. "Just-just don't mention it to anyone," he added softly.

Harry paused mid-step and turned to face his best mate again.

"Well Ron, you know what? I think it's worse than what I think. Do you reckon I haven't noticed your silence since your return? Let me tell you, you git, we all have. We just assumed that it was because of Hermione. And that reminds me, weren't you supposed to meet her? Where the hell is she?" he asked suddenly, looking around as if expecting to find her lurking behind the trees somewhere.

Ron couldn't decide for sure if he ought to be thankful for the change in topic or not; they were still treading dangerous waters. He was suddenly feeling very tired, and all he wanted was a lie-down. Not very eager to disclose the uncomfortable truth about their morning encounter yet, he decided to gloss over the facts.

"That didn't go too well, to say the least. Can you believe, she didn't even offer me any food?" he managed with a grin, which he knew didn't reach his eyes.

That, however, seemed to do the trick marginally for Harry shook his head sadly and sat down with a bitter smile.

"What did she say?"

"Not much," he shrugged, "She wouldn't be Hermione Granger if I could pacify her so easily, now would she?"

Harry let out a mirthless chuckle. "She was miserable, mate. Came down to the Burrow every Sunday for months after you left. Spent most of the time with your Mum. Ginny caught them crying and consoling each other on quite a few occasions," he exhaled sadly, "but of course, she didn't interrupt. It was as if only they understood each other's grief. Then, she joined Law school and took up lodging in the university premises. Would come down occasionally to meet us here, though."

Ron felt his throat constrict imagining his mother and the love of his life sitting at their dining table, crying over him. He looked away, concentrating hard on a broken branch a little ahead instead. A part of him wasn't sure he wanted to hear how much he had hurt her, and yet another wanted to know more. Maybe it was some pathetic desire on his part? Maybe all he wanted to hear was that behind all that indifference, she still cared for him, missed him too perhaps?

"And yet, she hasn't come down once since I've returned," he sighed, "Apparently, she sent Mum an owl telling her that she was a little caught up at work, and will try be here on Thursday."

He wondered if Hermione expected him to be away somewhere when she came to visit.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "She needs some time, Ron. She'll come round. You do have six years of worth of hurt to wash away before she forgives you, though."

Ron did not have the will to tell his friend that he was only half correct. Harry and Ginny had waited for six long years, only in the hope of having Ron at their wedding. The last thing Ron wanted now was to draw attention towards his broken relationship with Hermione. Surely a couple of weeks wouldn't hurt? Once the wedding was over, and everything else was settled, he could break the news. He knew a part of him was delaying it for selfish reasons. Maybe, just maybe, he could make Hermione see his side of the story by then? Maybe they could get together again, and no one would need to know anything else? And yet, he knew how far-fetched that idea was. Most importantly, how on earth could he keep their situation under wraps from everyone if she behaved the way she did?

Picking himself up from the log, he stretched his back muscles before turning towards Harry.

"Come on, Harry. I definitely need to grab a bite. Hope Mum left something for us."

Harry followed with a shrug, and only when the Burrow was in sight did he softly add, "I haven't forgotten that you didn't tell me how you got those scars, Ron. I know you'll tell me when you're ready. I do hope it's soon, though."
Ron nodded once. He wasn't quite sure when he would be ready for the confession; if he would ever be ready at all.
"And then, I can murder Kingsley myself for sending you wherever he did," huffed his best mate and shaking his head indignantly, walked past him into the house, leaving a smiling Ron in his wake. At least, some things were just the same as always.