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Chapter Twelve

Hermione sighed, sinking down to the ground for the umpteenth time in days. Time had lost all meaning; days blending into nights which blended into days once more. The dense foliage of the forest made it impossible to tell how much time had passed, be it hours or days or even weeks. Crumpling up against the gnarled oak, Hermione let out a sigh that, if you didn't know her, may have been mistaken as a tired sob.

"Useless!" She moaned to herself, glancing up towards the dark canopy of trees. She hoped that she might be able to catch sight of a star or two, or maybe a silver sliver of moon, but, as always, all evidence of the outside world was exactly that; on the outside. A minute or two after Hermione had sat down, Ron came tumbling through the trees, his breath panicked and ragged. He continued forward as if preparing to move forward but stopped suddenly when he saw Hermione. Almost immediately his breathing relaxed and a subtle tranquility settled over his weary features. With a final intake of breath, Ron managed to settle himself down, gently easing himself down, straight across from Hermione.

"Tired." He said but Hermione was unsure if he meant it as a question or a statement. Either way it's dead on, she decided, slumping back against the tree. Ever since the confrontation at the beginning of the forest (for distance, Hermione thought, is really the only way we have to measure our progress) Ron had barely said two words to her. It was as if he were afraid, of what Hermione couldn't imagine (although it better not be about the bloody spiders I told him were in the forest), but she assumed it had to do with the potion. Does it hurt, Hermione wondered, is it tearing him apart? All of the studies she had done seemed to lean in that general direction as far as the symptoms went. Will he die? It was the one thought that Hermione had forbidden herself to think, but now, as miles of exploration slowly took their toll on her body, Hermione felt powerless to stop her brain from pondering the theory. If it was the Amortentia potion (which, as far as Hermione could tell, he had exhibited most of the symptoms for) then death was definitely a possibility. Especially if blood had been used. Hermione shuddered at the thought, wracking her brain for all of the times she had bled recently. As it wasn't a usual occurrence it should have been an easy fact to recall, but given the fact that the weariness had shifted from Hermione's bones to her head and soon all logical thought was a challenge.

"Cold?" Hermione's eyes flicked open (albeit somewhat hesitantly) and immediately focused in on Ron's outstretched arm. He was holding out his cloak to her, his eyes urging her to take it. Up until that moment, Hermione hadn't even realized how hard she was shivering. She was just about to argue, figuring that Ron was probably chilly too, but decided against it. She knew that the cloak would come to be draped around her shoulders eventually—there was no reason to slow down the inevitable. It had become a habit of some kind—Hermione would go to bed shivering and wake up wrapped in Ron's cloak. The first couple times Hermione had woken up she had thought that it was Ron himself; the warmth from the tightly-wrapped cloth and the faint smell of pumpkins and wool. It was so comforting that when Hermione realized it was only his cloak wrapped around her and not his arms she actually felt a pang of sadness. Don't be silly, Hermione had chided herself, angry that she had gotten so worked up, just because he's under the influence of a potion doesn't mean you should take advantage!

"Are you hungry?" Hermione was blinked tiredly and nodded mutely as Ron handed her a cold biscuit. Whereas Hermione had spent time organizing important things that they would need for the journey like ropes and quills, inks, a compass, maps and all sort of other technical things, Ron had been far more practical. He had not only thought to pack extra socks ("Mum always says keeping your feet warm is the most important thing—well, besides staying safe and alive of course") but food as well, a fact that Hermione was grateful for every night when he portioned off the provisions.

"Thanks," Hermione said gratefully, biting into the dry biscuit. She made a face but made no comment, knowing that this was far better than what she had provided. For a minute, the two ate in silence. Finally, Ron spoke.

"Hermione—what are we doing?" Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. What does he mean? Is he talking about our relationship? Do we even have a relationship? What does he expect from me? Does he really think I'm going to discuss this here—now? What is he thinking?

"Ron, I don't know how many times I can say this—we can't date, at least, not now," Hermione said firmly, sitting up and staring straight at him. The only thing was, instead of looking crushed like she had expected, Ron was actually—smiling. Even in the darkness Hermione could see a flush rising to his cheeks as if—oh no, Hermione thought, suddenly mortified. He didn't mean—

"I was actually talking about this search that we're on—the whole looking for Harry deal," Ron said, clearly trying not to burst into a fit of laughter. Now it was Hermione's time to blush, furious at herself for her presumptuousness.

"Oh—the search, that's right, that's what I meant," Hermione said quickly, but the damage had already been done. Ron was beaming.

"I wanted to talk about Harry but if you really want to talk about our relationship—or lack thereof—I would be perfectly fine with that," he said emphatically. Hermione's face flamed.

"Oh, don't tease me like that! You know I only meant—,"

"—that you're madly in love with me and can't wait until we cure this love spell so we can finally be together?" Ron finished for her. For a minute the two stared at eachother in silence. Ever since Hermione had told him the details of his infirmity the subject had been somewhat taboo; neither daring to broach the subject. Now that Ron had acknowledged it though—and so playfully to boot—Hermione felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was once again free to speak to Ron—and not only about the potion but other things as well. Up until that point, Hermione hadn't realized how much she missed her discussions with Ron, whether they were arguing over schoolwork, chatting about Quidditch (I really must be in love with him if I missed talking about that) or trying to figure out some prophecy of some kind that would release them all from peril.

"No," Hermione said pointedly, but with a gentle smile on her face. "I do think that you're right though (Hermione ignored Ron's raised eyebrows), I think we should figure out what we're doing about this," Hermione gestured towards the expanse of foliage stretching around them, "I mean, we can't just roam around the woods until we run out of food."

"—or into giant spiders that will eat us alive," Ron inserted. Hermione nodded, acknowledging this possibility, which made Ron blanch suddenly.

"Anyway, what I'm saying is we can't just keep wandering around blindly—we need a plan. I think that we should head back in the morning (whenever that happens to be) and regroup. We can think of a strategy, maybe even get help. I bet McGonagall is going crazy with us missing—she knows the types of situations we tend to get ourselves into and I bet she will be none too pleased with this latest one." Ron nodded in agreement, cringing at McGonagall's reaction. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

"You're right—we can't keep going like we are. I mean, we walk around with no direction, barely any time to rest, absolutely no snogging—I definitely propose a change in plans."

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, her cheeks flaming again. "Can you focus for once?" He laughed, nodding his head.

"Okay, okay, I understand. I agree with you though, in all seriousness. We should head back, gather our wits together and think of a solid plan." Hermione nodded in agreement, pleased that they had put together a plan. Ron stared at Hermione, a playful smile flitting across his eyes. "In the meantime however, I think that it's freezing out here and you have all the blankets." Hermione looked at her lap where she had wasted no time in draping Ron's cloak over her legs. She was mortified and began handing it back, but Ron stopped her quickly.

"But—," she started to say but was cut off by Ron.

"Don't worry; it's big enough for the both of us." He scooted over, grabbing a corner of the robe for himself. They weren't touching, but they were close enough so that Hermione's entire body felt as if it were suddenly alive with electricity. Leaning back, Hermione finally felt comfortable enough to drift off to sleep. Just as she was on the brink of a nap though, she felt Ron rustling beside her.

"Hermione?" He whispered, his voice nearly silent in the darkness.

"What?" She asked, keenly aware of how close his body was to hers. He had leaned in close so that his chest was pressed into her arm. She smiled, realizing that in this position she could feel his heart, thumping wildly against her skin.

"You were just joking about the whole man-eating spider thing, right?"