She sensed his presence behind her; Ron pushed his anger before him like an ominous wave.

He must've already heard, somehow. Hermione sighed and turned to meet him head-on for the inevitable argument.

She'd known what she was in for the instant Viktor Krum had arrived. Ron had never approved of her friendship with the former Bulgarian Seeker. But not only would it have been rude to turn down Viktor's invitation to spend the day with him just because of Ron's issues, a small part of her wanted to do something that would irritate Ron, after the way he'd brushed her off this morning.

Well, she would pay for it now, she thought.

When she turned around, she saw him stalking toward her. His jerky body language confirmed the dark state of his mind, and Hermione futilely hoped the presence of bystanders in the foyer would curb any outbursts.

Ron stopped in front of her. "Hermione," he greeted her formally, and she groaned inwardly. So much for wishful thinking.

"Guess what I just heard?" he asked her pointedly.

Hermione turned back to the table at which she'd been working.

Since that morning several tables had been shoved against the far wall of the foyer, and there were numerous clipboards and papers strewn across its surface. It might not look like it to an outsider, but there was a sense of order, here.

After Ron left that morning, but before Viktor arrived, Hermione had gone looking for something to do. She'd finally located Professor McGonagall, who assigned her the job of reorganizing the dormitory situation. Since there were departures and new arrivals every day, it was often difficult to keep track of everyone and make sure there was enough room.

Hermione had thrown herself into the task, dividing the mansion residents into those who stayed there permanently, those who were just passing through on their way to the next mission, and those who were there indefinitely. Using this method – once she'd come back inside from being with Viktor – she'd managed to find separate rooms for everyone in the lattermost category…including Ron and herself.

She'd experienced a twinge over that earlier, a little regretful that her excuse to sleep next to him was gone. But now she was glad, if he was going to deliberately provoke her like this.

She decided not to give him the satisfaction, and pretended obliviousness while she finished organizing her clipboards. "I can't begin to imagine."

"You bloody well can!" Ron insisted.

Hermione kept her tone mild and vaguely chiding, knowing full well that it would agitate him. "Language, Ron."

"To hell with my language!" he exclaimed. "What were you thinking, spending all day with Viktor Krum?"

"What was I thinking?" Hermione repeated. Suddenly it seemed very warm in the foyer, and she felt her vow not to indulge him in a row begin to slip away. It was like watching an auto accident in slow-motion; she knew what was coming, but was helpless to prevent it. "I was thinking that my best friend had just left me behind. I was thinking of how alone I felt, and then Viktor came. And I was thinking that I could really use a break."

"Gave you one, did he?" Ron snarled. "Everything's all better now?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione replied, regaining her calm, even tone. "Why didn't you ever tell me how relaxing flying could be?"

Ron's eyebrows went up. "You flew?"

"I took the class first year, same as you. I do know how, you know. And Viktor asked me to help him teach some children how to use their brooms today."

"But…you don't like to fly!" Ron persisted.

"Well, it's just never been my strong suit, is all. I was always too preoccupied with schoolwork. But Viktor tutored me a bit on his broom until I felt confident enough to teach." She tilted her head slightly, looking past him at the memory of her flight. "We went up so high…everything from up there seems so small. It's really fascinating, the sense of perspective you gain."

Ron apparently didn't care much for perspective. He was still stuck on the part where Hermione was riding around on a broom with Viktor Krum. His fists and jaw clenched. "You never let me help you learn to fly!" he accused her.

"You never offered!"

"I didn't think you'd be interested!"

"Well it just goes to show how well you know me, then."

Until that moment, there hadn't been anything extraordinary about this argument to differentiate it from any other they'd ever had. But as the meaning of her last sentence sunk in, Ron recoiled as if struck. His already pale skin turned ashen. "What are you saying…you think he knows you better than I do?"

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes, but she furiously blinked them away. "I don't know, Ron. Maybe he does. All I know is that he doesn't fight with me all the time. I know he seems to genuinely care what I think, and respects my decisions. And I know he doesn't underestimate my abilities."

"Underesti…what are you talking about?"

But Hermione was beyond hearing. Suddenly all she could think about was the way Ron had refused to let her go with him that morning. The way he hadn't trusted her to surmount her fears and help find Harry. The way he'd abandoned her.

And this ridiculous animosity toward Viktor! They weren't on opposite sides, anymore. He could no longer claim that she was fraternizing with the enemy. This was no Tri-Wizard tournament they were playing. This was war. The real enemies wore masks and dark robes, and they tried to kill you. What possible excuse could Ron have, now? At one time she'd secretly hoped that maybe his dislike of Viktor was spawned by jealousy over her, but that had ultimately proved to be yet more useless wishful thinking.

No, the truth was that he just didn't care about her the way she wanted him to. That was the only explanation, and it broke her heart.

"Nothing," she choked out. "It doesn't matter."

Ron looked as if he believed very much otherwise. "But Hermione - "

"What did you find at the house?" Hermione interrupted. "Anything?"

"Yeah," Ron mumbled, surprised into changing the subject. He looked down at something he held in his hand. "An amulet or something, out on the lawn. I need to take it to Dumbledore, but I…I thought maybe you'd like to see it, first."

Swallowing her tears before they could embarrass her further, Hermione nodded. "I would. Thank you."

She took the small red disk from him, turning slightly so that she could examine it more closely in the light. Noting the markings along the edge, she traced them with her fingertips. Somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind, something stirred. A spark of recognition. "I've seen these markings before…" she whispered.

Anger forgotten for the moment, Ron stepped closer. "You have? Where?"

"I'm not certain. It's been a long time, but I'm sure I've…" She broke off and looked up at him. "The point is, you found something. You know what this means, don't you?"

Ron stared down at her, blinking in confusion as she turned away to collect a piece of parchment and pencil. He watched as she made an etching of the markings. "It means we've got a chance of finding him," Hermione told him as she examined the parchment to make sure the images were clear. "It's not completely out of our hands, now. We've got something to go on."

She managed a fragile smile, and held out the amulet. Ron reached out to take it from her, and she looked down when his fingers brushed hers. It was then that she saw the laceration across his knuckles.

Hermione frowned. "What happened to your hand?"

Ron pocketed the amulet, then splayed his fingers wide and examined the back of his hand. "Oh. Nothing. Just a little scuffle at the house."

Icy fear gripped Hermione's heart. "Scuffle? What do you mean…you were attacked? Was it a Death Eater?"

"Well yeah," Ron said easily, "but - "

"A Death Eater attacked you?"!" Hermione asked. Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears, but she couldn't stop it. "And you didn't see fit to mention it to me until just now?!"

"It was just - "

"I should have been there," Hermione ranted. She paced away from him, then back again. "I never should have let you go alone. You could have been killed!"

"Hermione," Ron tried again, "it really wasn't that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Three days ago our best friend was attacked by Death Eaters, and we may never see him again. Now you're telling me you were attacked by a Death Eater today…you, the only person I have left…and it's not a big deal?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to summon the right words to say to her. Obviously, he hadn't thought of it that way.

Hermione closed her eyes, breaking their gaze, trying to get a grip on herself. He was back, and he was all right. That was all that mattered.

They were both abruptly distracted when the mansion's front doors slammed open, and a small group of children came rushing in like a brisk wind. They swarmed and circled around a tall, hawk-nosed young man of about twenty two.

Ron bristled again, freshly reminded of his aggravation by the source of it. Hermione seized the opportunity to escape.

She thrust another sheet of parchment into Ron's hands. "I've been working on room reassignments; here's a map to yours."

Ron looked down at the parchment, his brow furrowed. "I have a new room? Well, where are y…"

When he looked up again, she was gone.

VV

His room was as dark as a cave, but that wasn't why Ron couldn't see.

It had started immediately after Fred and George told him about Viktor and Hermione…an actual red-coloured mist invading the periphery of his vision, obscuring his sight. He'd always thought 'seeing red' was just a phrase. Just a description to convey strong emotions. But he'd been wrong. It was there, and it was infuriating.

All he'd wanted to do was keep her safe, and she was upset with him about it! And while he was off looking for Harry, fighting off Death Eaters for crying out loud, she was here at the mansion flying around on a broom with Viktor bleeding Krum.

And okay…he'd been the one who said she couldn't come with him. So it was hardly her fault that she'd been at the mansion when Viktor arrived. Even though the haze of jealousy he knew that.

And yes, the Death Eater in question was Crabbe, so it wasn't exactly as if she were off cavorting around and having fun while he was locked in a life or death struggle. He'd been in no real danger…not that she'd given him the chance to tell her that!

But it was the broomstick ride with Viktor Krum he couldn't let go of, and he knew enough to realize why it bothered him so much. First of all, hello, it was Viktor Krum…the only real competition Ron had ever had for Hermione's affections. The only bloke he'd ever had to worry about losing her to.

It didn't help that he'd once been a famous, international Quidditch star. What did Ron have to contend with that?

So just the mention of Viktor Krum was enough to make Ron see red…but what was really bothering him was the flying lesson. Ron had had his fair share of fantasies about Hermione, including one that involved just such a scenario. Except in his vision, he was the one who got to take Hermione high up above the ground, holding on to her tightly so she wouldn't be afraid. He was supposed to be the one to share that magic with her. Instead it had been someone else. It had been Viktor.

And it had been Viktor who'd made her feel better. Hermione had been locked in a cage of her own making ever since the events at the house, and Ron had wanted to free her from it.

While he was glad to see her acting more like herself again, it killed him that Viktor had been the one to give her that.

Ron gritted his teeth up at the unseen ceiling. He couldn't bear this. Torturing himself with thoughts of Viktor and Hermione – Merlin, he couldn't even stand to think of their names together, like that – was one thing. But he couldn't tolerate knowing she was off in her own room, still upset with him. Additionally, her belief that he underestimated her abilities was gnawing away at him. How had she come to that conclusion?

He had to find out, and it couldn't wait until morning.

After a brief jaunt down to the foyer to look up Hermione's room on the 'You Are Here' map she'd devised, Ron headed back upstairs. He absentmindedly gave the polished banister a wistful stroke as he reached the second floor landing, then paused briefly to wonder what had happened to the poor boy Fred and George's prank had ensnared. He hoped they'd given him the galleon they promised.

From there he turned to his right and followed the directions he'd copied down. He was almost there. As he walked, the hush over the mansion struck him. It was amazing, really. All of this space, all of these rooms, and still they were nearly full to capacity. Of course, much of the room available was being used for training, schooling, and war council meetings. But there were still quite a few people living here, and as far as he could tell, they were all asleep.

Just then, a wail pierced the tranquility of the evening. It was faint, but Ron could clearly tell from the pitch of it that it was a cry of distress. It sounded like it came from a room at the end of the hall he was currently walking. But that would be…

That was Hermione's room.

Ron exploded into a run, and less than a dozen strides took him to Hermione's door. He tried the knob and found it locked. "Hermione!" he called urgently.

Muffled through the barrier between them, he thought he heard her cry his name in return. Then she shouted, quite clearly, "No! Please, no!"

She was being attacked. Even as a part of him wondered how in the hell Death Eaters had found the mansion, Ron stepped away from the door. When he returned, it was with force, and at great speed.

The wood was thick and strong, but it gave beneath Ron's shoulder like paper. The door flew open and Ron staggered into the room, his head whipping back and forth, seeking an enemy in the weak light from the solitary lamp burning on the nightstand.

But as far as he could tell, there was no enemy…except perhaps in Hermione's mind.

She was alone in the room, lying in her bed. Only there did Ron see any signs of a disturbance. The pillows appeared to have been flung off; they lay strewn around the room along with several books. A few more books, as well as random pieces of parchment with strange writing on them littered the bed. The sheets were tangled and twisted, ensnaring the bed's tormented occupant. Hermione was bound by them as efficiently as if by ropes, and she writhed ineffectually against them.

Ron couldn't make out most of what she was saying, but her tone was clearly anguished, and tears streamed down the sides of her head, wetting her hair.

He rushed to her, placing one knee on the bed as he reached over to grasp her shoulders. "Hermione!" he said sharply.

She jerked beneath his hands, but didn't wake. Whatever she was seeing in her dreams had a malevolent hold over her. She thrashed against him as he pulled her up. "Hermione!" he said again, shaking her. "Wake up, you're dreaming!"

He pinned her arms to her sides when she flailed at him, and called her name again. Suddenly her eyes flew open, and with a strangled gasp she went rigid in his arms. She was awake.

Ron immediately released her arms, though he couldn't bring himself to let go of her entirely. He wasn't sure who was more frightened…Hermione from the nightmare, or himself from seeing her like this. His heart raced and his head swam with dizziness in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush.

Hermione wasn't faring any better. Her chest heaved with lingering sobs, and there was a panicked look in her eyes. She looked around madly, like she didn't know where she was.

Instinct overruled any doubts about his actions, and he pulled her into his arms as he'd done that morning. Like then, she responded immediately by gripping him tightly and burying her face in his chest. She choked out his name.

He held on while she cried, absently stroking her hair and mumbling soothingly. All the while his mind was working. He'd been right not to let her come to the house with him; she'd obviously been more deeply effected by what happened there than she'd let him see. More than ever, now, he wanted to protect her.

Hoping that she wouldn't shut him out, he quietly asked her, "Is it the house?"

After a few beats of silence in which Ron wondered if she would answer, he finally felt her nod. "It's over now," he said softly against the side of her head. "We're safe."

"It's not that," she said, still not pulling away. "I keep…I keep seeing that space in the basement, and all of the children huddled there together, starving. I keep seeing that poor little boy…"

She started crying again silently. "If only I'd gotten to him earlier…"

Ron shifted her away from him so that he could look at her. "Hermione, he was dead long before we got there. It's horrible, of course, but you can't blame yourself for it. There was nothing more you could do for him. It's not your fault."

Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes, and he got the distinct impression that she didn't agree. She scrubbed both hands over her tearstained face, then covered her eyes wearily as if she could block out the dreams that way. "And sometimes," she said so quietly that he almost couldn't hear, "it's not his face at all that I see. Sometimes it's…"

Her hands slid down, and she looked at him from red-rimmed eyes for a long moment. "I'm sorry I woke you again," she said finally. Then she paused, and he could see when it hit her. "Wait a minute, how could I have woken you? Your room is halfway across the wing."

"Ah," Ron said, trying to think of a believable excuse for being where he'd been at such a late hour. He couldn't very well admit to coming here so they could finish their argument now. "I…couldn't sleep," he answered truthfully.

He glanced around the mangled bed, noting the few books and papers that hadn't fallen off amid Hermione's struggles. "It looks like you couldn't, either."

"I thought I'd get a head start on trying to translate the writing on the amulet you brought back," she replied. "But then I guess I fell asleep in the middle of it."

"Well," Ron said, making moves to rise, "I should let you get back to sleep."

"Oh," Hermione said dismissively, her voice overly casual. "I'm already up, now. I think I'll just get back to the translation."

"Hermione, it's barely past midnight. You can't get up for the day at midnight!"

For the first time, she looked him squarely in the eyes. "I can't sleep, Ron. I can't bear to dream again tonight."

Ron hesitated, debating his motivations for what he was about to propose. On one hand, he knew for certain that he really just wanted to make sure she rested. On the other…

Bugger it, he finally decided. "Would it…would it help if I stayed? Like last night? I could wake you if you start to have another nightmare."

Hermione looked startled; she was probably as surprised by the offer as he was by having the courage to make it. Then her gaze dropped to the bedspread shyly. "I…only if you…wouldn't mind."

Mind? Not exactly. His biggest concern was that he was doing the right thing for her, and not just because he wanted to sleep next to her again. He tried to ignore the subtly different vibe that had sprung up between them, and told himself he was just helping her as a friend.

It didn't work so well. He self-consciously climbed into bed beside her while she collected the remaining texts and deposited them on the nightstand. She turned out the light and snuggled down underneath the covers.

Ron lay on his back, like always, but his whole left side tingled with awareness of her proximity. Without looking he knew that she was on her side, facing him. He could feel the heat from her body, and he wistfully remembered the way they'd had to sleep practically on top of each other the night before, on the too-small sofa. Here there was plenty of room, so he had no excuse to touch her.

He decided to concentrate on going to sleep, and before long his breathing deepened and he felt himself begin to drift. But before he descended fully into slumber he felt Hermione's hand sneak into his. Her voice was quiet in his ear. "What I said before…about Viktor maybe knowing me better than you? It's not true. There's no one alive who knows me better than you do, Ron."

Ron tightened his hand around hers and smiled in the dark.

VV

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he surfaced again, but the room was still black. He didn't move for a moment, wondering what had caught his attention enough to drag him from sleep.

Then he heard it again: a small whimper. A moment later he felt Hermione bump into him as she tried to get away from the dream. He reached out drowsily, pulling her against him.

"Ron," she breathed, burrowing into his arms.

"Shh," he answered, running a hand over her hair. "I'm here."

"Don't leave me," she pleaded, and he blinked, looking down at her. He could tell that she still slept.

"Never," he said in a fervent whisper. "I'll never leave you."