The wind was bitingly cold as they trudged tiredly through the heavy snow, inconsistently laden upon the forest's landscape. In one place, it'd feel 10 cm deep, and Ron's boot would sink unsteadily throwing him slightly off balance in the process, and in the next, the path would have melted somehow or been stomped through by creatures he'd rather not imagine around, exposing the solid ground below.

He didn't have to look into a mirror to know his cheeks were blazing, not from embarrassment this time however, but the icy punch mother nature has decided to throw at them this February evening. The once thick sole on his boots had long become worn, likely even before he ever put them on, and the moisture was seeping torturously into his socks.

It was utter shit, in another words.

And yet, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"I think we should probably stop in about a quarter mile, don't you think, Harry?", her voice called out a few metres ahead of him.

Then there was the metaphorical coldness that somehow stabbed him harder than the freezing temperatures ever could.

He heard Harry mumble a reply, somewhat unenthusiasticaly, before facing forward again.

It had been a bit over a month now, since he had appeared at that frozen lake. Subconsciously, Ron squeezed the deluminator that rested snugly in his front pocket. He hadn't expected a warm welcome of course, in fact, on one lonely occasion in the middle of nowhere, he'd had the paralysing image of them kicking him out before he'd even set foot inside the tent.

But for once in his life, it seemed, he had managed to push those thoughts aside, too crushed by the unbearably heavy guilt of leaving to abandon his search. And his persistence had paid off. Harry was surprisingly, but not unpleasantly so, easy to fall back into friendship with. And though Ron often wondered whether the inadvertent insight his best mate got into the chaotically tangled jungle that was Ron's mind played a significant role in the painless forgiveness, he tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hermione, however, was a completely different story. Cold shoulders, biting retorts, or worse, complete dismissal, despite their familiarity, were still harder to swallow than a gallon of Skele-gro. But he promised himself he wouldn't let it discourage him, not when in the grand scheme of things, the idea of seeing her every day, alive and moving around right before his eyes, counted higher than any offhand insult ever could.

In any case, he felt like he deserved it. More, really. So he kept trekking through the snowy woods, several steps behind Hermione, who in turn, was a few feet behind Harry, the ominous silence providing a blank canvas for his thoughts, as all other sound save for their heavy steps and labored breathing, got absorbed by the pillowy snow.

That is until-

"Eh- sorry", he said meekly, a tinge confused why he almost walked right into Hermione's cloud of hair.

And now she was making no attempt to move forward. Instead, she appeared to be shaking off her boots by stomping them almost furiously into the little patch of solid ground.

"I-is everything alright?" he swallowed nervously.

She ignored him, continuing with her efforts of digging a hole to the other side of the world. The natural way to proceed for him was with a joke, but he held back.

Ron tapped her shoulder lightly and she recoiled immediately. He pretended it didn't hurt.

"What?!", she asked irritably.

"Uh…just wasn't sure what you're doing," he shrugged.

"I'm doing something!Either shut up and don't bother me or keep on walking," she snapped turning back to her mysterious task.

Guess that settles it then, he thought, refraining from opening his mouth once more. A distant part of him knew it made his blood boil the way she was treating him like hippogriff dung she was trying to scrape of her shoe. But that part, the currently dormant part that would've inevitably started arguing with her, had no power over the much largerpart that insisted on staying in her good books, no matter what.

He looked up to where Harry stood far ahead, apparently having noticed the absence of steps behind him and having turned around to watch indifferently. Their eyes met, and Ron shrugged mutely at his questioning glance.

He was tempted to make an exception on his previous decision to remain quiet when everything around him switched into action, and before he could say 'hippogriff', he was falling-

"-fuck!"

There was a searing pain just above his arse, he noticed, and a mass sprawled across him… and hastily getting up, he felt. Felt, because whatever shithole they had found themselves in this time, was engulfed in impenetrable darkness.

"Hermione?", he asked uncertainly, struggling to his feet. "You there?"

"Light your wand," she ordered, doing the same, and he could finally recognise the frazzled look on her face.

Not for long though, as she turned around, light pointed in the direction of the ceiling.

"What on earth happened?"

It seemed like she wasn't planning on answering until, "We need to let Harry know we're okay. There's a hatch, but it's powered by some intricate magic, so it won't open."

"Uhm, okay, have you tried… alohomora?"

If looks could kill.

"I'll assume you did then. That was a stupid question. He'll probably put up the protective charms around this spot for now."

He felt like she was only half-listening, recognising that wild look in her eyes when approximately a million thoughts a minute were trying to pass through that brilliant mind of hers.

The eerie stillness of the dark was sending a shiver down his spine, and he wondered whether there was a different light source in here. What is this place anyway?

Instinctively, Ron pulled out the deluminator, flicking it open swiftly and releasing whatever source was stored neatly inside. To his great relief, what looked like an abandoned lantern in the corner of the room, lit up, painting the concrete walls in a golden glow.

Hermione didn't verbally acknowledge the change, but stored away her wand nonetheless.

"We could slip in a piece of paper through the crack I think," she concluded more to herself, reaching into her beaded bag to look for what was presumably a quill and some parchment.

"You could try a patronus, too maybe", he added hopefully, willing to be an active participant.

She stopped her movements before rounding on him again, " You try it."

Ron's ears burned red despite the chill, as he chastised himself for bringing up the idea in the first place. "Mine's not gonna work," he replied evenly.

"And why is that?"

"It just won't. Yours will definitely be better, trust me."

"I'd rather not."

Ouch.

He knew casting a patronus wasn't her strong suit, especially a talking one, but if anyone could figure it out it would be her. She didn't seem too keen though.

"Guess we'll stick with your idea then," he nodded.

Hermione was already halfway there, taking a self-inking quill to scratch a note against the wall. "Why don't you give that patronus of yours a go then?" She sounded rather condescending, and he missed the times she would enthusiastically encourage him to practice his spells.

Raising his wand with a trembling hand, he found himself in the same troublesome predicament as when he had tried it over a month ago. He wasn't sure whether it was the general dismal hopelessness of a war, the deeply embedded fear of losing a loved one that seemed to have a perpetual grip on his heart, or You-Know-Who's dark violating entrance into Ron's most private thoughts still fresh on his mind, that currently prevented any positive memories from occurring.

That's why, Ron wasn't too surprised to see what could only be called a burp of magic spit out of his outstretched wand, before disintegrating immediately. But his awareness of it didn't stop the shame.

He turned his head haltingly to catch Hermione staring intently at him in the oppressing silence, before hastily looking back at her parchment.

Great, now he didn't just look like a twat, but like a ham-fisted one,he sighed opting to shove his wand wordlessly into his back pocket and to instead observe the lovely abode they were currently trapped in.

"That should do it," he heard Hermione mutter under her breath, stuffing the folded note in the narrow crevice of the otherwise leaden metal hatch.

"Now we have to find a way out of here before it gets dark. The ground felt hollow before… There must be some kind of triggering spell or something…", she trailed off, thinking out loud rather than talking directly to him.

"And this might be some sort of trap. There could be pre-charmed curses on standby-," she continued.

"There aren't," he interrupted suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

Clearing his throat and removing his hand from the rough engraving he'd been tracing on the coarse concrete, he risked turning towards her.

"We're safe here, I think."

"And how, may I ask, did you come to that conclusion?", she bristled, hands firmly on her hips.

Ignoring the clear scepticism, he pointed at the wall, where a roughly sketched phoenix in a circle stood out proudly.

"It's one of the original emblems of the order," he smiled wistfully.

Hermione's tense stance weakened slightly as she approached it.

"How do you know that?"

"Mum had uhm… some old photos of her brothers, y'know, during the first war. She'd get them out sometimes and show them to us. And a few had that symbol somewhere."

She nodded in acknowledgement, and questioned further, apparently forgetting for a split second that she was furious with him, "So where are we then? Some sort of bunker?"

"I think that's exactly where we are. I've heard about these, there were quite a few scattered around Britain. Apparently they-fuck… "

"Is it necessaryto swear so much?", she asked heatedly, but Ron was too busy running an irritated hand through his hair.

"We won't be getting out of here any earlier than in two hours, well," he lifted his watch, "An hour and fifty minutes to be exact."

Her expression plagued with unbridled horror as she squeaked, "What? Why?!"

"It's the way these things are built," he exhaled heavily. "They were like random hideouts from death eaters for people on the run the first time 'round. That's why they made them practically indestructible and real durable," he banged a fist on the firm wall in demonstration and regretted it immediately. "There's some sort of timer - dad discussed it with Bill once - it locks you in, no way in, no way out for a couple of hours. They wanted to use them now too but they decided against it. Impractical, apparently," he finished sardonically.

"No, no, no, there must be a way out!"

Hermione's response was overly shrill in his opinion, considering they could've been much worse off.

"It's okay, we'll explain it to Harry in another note, he can light a fire and sit guard for now, it's not that big of-"

"Not that big of a deal?!", she screeched, and he had the horrific discovery that she was on the brink of tears. "The last thing I want right now is to be stuck in a putrid, sealed, concrete box, especially with you!"

She sniffed noisily before facing away to scribble another hasty note to Harry, as Ron stood frozen in place. His heart plummeted to his stomach at her words, his eyes burned as if dipped in acid, and all he could respond with was a faint, "Oh."

Flumping dejectedly in one corner of the dim room, he focused on examining every imperfection of the uneven wall. Absently, he noted Hermione occupying the opposite corner, having shoved the parchment through to Harry.

This was going to be a long two hours.

Naturally, about half an hour in, Hermione pulled out one of the tattered books stowed away in her beaded bag.

An uncomfortable stillness spread through the air. Ron hated silence. It left him alone with his thoughts, dwelling uselessly on every single humiliating interaction or irreparable mistake he's ever committed, which generally left him more disheartened than he was to begin with. Ironically, he'd found himself in more and more of these silent situations, where the quietness grows deeper until all he can hear is the steady rhythm of his heart and the deafening whirlwind of intrusive thoughts that encloses him.

But nothing compared to how sickening it got with the locket fastened to his neck, hanging like a suffocating weight on his chest. Because the conflicting thoughts that tend to tip slightly towards the negative, became indiscernibly interlaced with those of Tom Riddle, throwing everything atrociously off balance.

As much as the claw-like grip of guilt strangling him still followed him around - and would continue do so, he knew, for a very long time if not forever - in the relieving solitude of his cluttered mind, he could admit that leaving was inevitable.

As heartless as it sounded even to his own ears, he knew the desperation to confirm his family's well-being and Riddle's overwhelming presence within him, would've lead him away. Because if they didn't, the dark, cruel thoughts that had plagued his conscience then, would've prevailed eventually. He would've ended up either hurting his friends, or himself. And one fact he knew to be indisputably true, was that it would always end in the latter.

It was after several more minutes of silent pondering that he croaked out, "I'm sorry."

A callous laugh escaped her, "Good to know. Anything for in particular?"

Though her voice dripped with venom, he responded honestly.

"Everything, really. For being a prat First Year and calling you a nightmare, being a prat in Third Year with that bloody rat, being a prat in Fourth Year with Krum, being a prat in Sixth Year with Lavender, and obviously being a prat this year and…leaving, but I was a prat even before I left, with the locket and all, so I'm sorry for that too. And since you can sense a recurring theme here, just sorry for being a prat."

Ron didn't dare look at her, afraid he'll see her laugh again or worse, not even care. He'd apologised already, but it was shorter and she didn't seem to be listening then, as she pretended to ignore him. Now, since they found themselves in this unique predicament, he figured he might as well take his shot, lest she think his previous apology insincere or insufficient.

Yet the unnerving silence stretched further, urging him to take a peak at his verdict. To his horror, when he finally twisted his neck to check on her, there were silent tears cascading down her cheeks, his view only slightly obstructed by the rampant curls framing her face.

"Hey, no, no, no, please don't cry… I'm not worth it," he edged slightly towards her, bringing himself on his butt about two arm-lengths away. He supposed that at least she was showing someform of emotion besides the constant venomous retorts, but seeing her cry was one of those things that always managed to break his heart, and unfortunately, due to his own stupidity, she mostly did it on his account. Good going you moron.

Hermione's head snapped up, her glare still just as penetratingly fierce even with red-rimmed eyes and wet tear-tracks. "D-do you think you'll just say sorry and everything will go back to normal?!"

"What? Of course not! I know it won't," he fumed, feeling like she wasn't listening, "I know you fucking hate me, Hermione, who wouldn't hate me? I hate me. I don't expect you to forgive me either. I just wanted you to know I mean it, that I'm really sorry, there are literally no words to describe howsorry I am, and I need you to know that. That it was literally torture being away from you," he felt brave enough to omit the unnecessary 'and Harry' that popped up in most of their conversations over the years, "and I'd honestly rather die than do it again."

She was wiping at her eyes furiously, "You can't do that. You can't promise you won't leave again when we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or the day after that…"

"No, I suppose I can't," he shifted an inch closer and caught her eye, staring unwaveringly into her hazel pools. "But I can swear I won't do it willingly. I won't make that decision again. They'd have to drag me away."

She suppressed a hiccupy sob, nodding and breaking eye contact to look at her fingers. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but they had come a lot further than he expected.

Ron suddenly became aware of the slight tremor in her hands, squeezed in the crack created by her bent knees.

"What-?"

She barely had time to protest as he draped his padded jacket on top of her legs. "Don't even try to deny it." Though he said it, he was still surprised when she complied. Maybe they had gotten a lot further than he first assumed.

"Aren't you going to be cold?", she asked hesitantly.

"I'll be alright."

He picked at his laces for a bit until she asked in a small voice he wasn't used to hearing from her, "How much time do we have left?"

Sighing resignedly, he checked his watch, " 'Bout 40 minutes, give or take."

Fully utilising the surge of Gryffindor courage that currently existed within him, he remained seated two feet away instead of fleeing back to his corner. He would've been happy to have sat there, closer than they have in months, even without saying another word, but Hermione seemed to have other plans.

"I don't hate you," she murmured softly, looking down, and it took him a moment to convince himself she actually said it.

"It would've been reasonable, even if you did," he said despite himself.

"I don't," she hurried to repeat, finally turning to look at him. "I'm still really angry," he nodded in understanding, "but I could never hate you."

Her sincerity was overwhelming, and he blinked rapidly for a few seconds before risking a tiny smile her way. And Ron was thanking every deity that existed when she granted him one too.

Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon.

Ron scooted over until their thighs just brushed barely against each other.

"I'm still furious though. And I need to know more before I can come to terms with it."

He made to move back away, afraid he'd gone too far, but she placed a reassuring hand on his knee.

Ron swallowed the lump that had gathered in his throat, and strived to ignore the tingles her touch sent through him."What do you want to know? Whatever it is, I'll say it."

Hermione searched his eyes for several seconds and he took the opportunity to relish her entire attention being directed at him. "You and Harry are hiding something. About how you destroyed the locket…,"she paused, perhaps uncertain about continuing upon noticing his face pale significantly, "besides, I'd have to be stupid to believe that it didn't fight back."

Ron's mouth opened then closed several times like a fish suddenly thrown out of water. There's little less he'd like than to relive those agonizing minutes that brought the expression wears his heart on his sleeveto a whole new dimension. But his dilemma wasn't really a difficult choice at the end of the day - he'd relive it a million times for her - so he shut his eyes and swallowed, turning to stare at the opposite wall.

Finally, he spoke, "I-it had more of an effect on me, than on either of you. I don't know why, maybe I'm weaker, but I'm not saying this as an excuse. Just…it's easier to understand this way."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her nodding.

"Anyway, when I put it on, yeah, it would say stuff-"

"It never made a sound," she cut in, and he was split between annoyance at her interruption and amusement of it being such a herthing to do.

"Not out loud, it didn't speak out loud."

"Then-"

"Hermione! Could you, like, let me finish? I'm not very well-spoken as is."

She had the decency to look abashed, and nodded for him to go on.

He exhaled heavily, "It would whisper things to me, but it was all in here," he pointed to his head. "He'd be using my own thoughts against me. Make me convinced my worst fears were real and doubt whatever I previously hoped wasn't."

Ron felt her shake her head slowly, "I don't understand. Like what?"

He had the distinct feeling he was burning up. "Like-like when I was practically bedridden, and you were coming to check on my arm… it felt like I was a burden, to you and Harry, that I'm holding you back. Felt like you were talking behind my back, complaining about me or…", he trailed off, not quite ready to finish that sentence.

"That's ridiculous," her eyes were incinerating the side of his face.

Ron released a mirthless laugh. "It didn't feel ridiculous," he commented downcast.

"No!" her tiny hand was unexpectedly clutching onto his arm. "I mean, Iwas the one who almost killedyou. I could never think you were a burden, cause I was too busy feeling guilty."

"There was nothing to be guilty about. 'Twasn't your fault, it was an accident, and you saved us," he defended instantly.

"Maybe, but we never thought you were holding us back."

"Like I said, I couldn't really give you the benefit of the doubt. It was just neverending negativity."

"So…"

"So?"

"What happened when you destroyed it?"

He flicked his gaze rapidly to her, then back to the plain wall.

"It did the same thing, but worse."

For a moment he couldn't continue but she wouldn't have it, "How?"

And then, the words came tumbling out, "H-Harry said I should do it, said he felt like it had to be me. I was holding the sword and Harry opened it with parseltongue, but before I could hit it, there was a weird hissing sound, a-and it was him."

"Tom R-"

"Yeah," he confirmed anxiously. "His eye, translucent like a ghost o-or illusion or something. And then he started talking…", he dropped his head solidly into his large palms, as if the image could be banished as long as he closed his eyes, but the image was eternally imprinted onto the back of his eyelids, replaying the same part like a broken record.

Once his head lifted, ashen-faced and expressionless, he stared unseeingly at the wall, unaware of Hermione's evident hesitation, and echoed the words that felt carved into his soul more painfully than with Umbridge's black quill, "I have seen your heart, and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…"

Ron's unnaturally impassive voice lacked its usual unrestrained emotion and his lifelessly phlegmatic disposition made Hermione shudder, as if the life was suddenly sucked out of him, rendering the air around them uncomfortably frigid.

"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter… Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend… Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"

Ripped out of his trance-like state by Hermione practically cutting off the blood flowing through his forearm, Ron turned swiftly, observing her eyes wide with horror and certainly a freight train of other emotions he couldn't really pick out.

"Don't! You don't have to-"

"But I do, don't I? I want you to know," he breathed. His mind was on fire but the barrage of thoughts were making him numb enough to be unconcerned by the fact that his feelings for her, if he chose to continue, would be as obvious as the freckles blanketing his skin.

It took her a moment to consider, but curiosity seemed to win out, "Okay."

"So, yeah…," he breathed out shakily. "Then-then you and Harry appeared…"

"What?"

"Illusions of you. But you kept adding on to the things Riddle was taunting me with, that I'm nothing, and no one would ever choose me over the Chosen One, stuff like that," he gulped. "It was a lot more staggering, coming from you,… but I think that was the goal, wasn't it?"

The last part seemed lodged in his throat, so deciding to forgo the idea of being articulate, he let the words flood out of him like an open dam, "And then the two of you, the illusions of you, started snogging so I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the sword and smashed right through it." Deciding to omit the part about him crying like a baby, he let his words sink in, before peering at her once more.

Hermione was no longer touching him, and her eyes were flooded with a dangerous concoction of outrage, calculation and bewilderment as she scrutinised him, connecting all the scattered pieces. Ron just hoped she liked the final image.

Then her hands were flying at him like wild bludgers, "ARE" smack "YOU" punch "KIDDING" slap "ME?!"

"Ow! Hermione- stop!", he attempted to catch her flailing arms to stop the stinging blows.

"How could you even think I liked Harry that way?! He's like a brother to me! He always has been!"

"I know that now! That's what he said too, when y'know… he saw everything."

"Because that's how it's always been!"

"Well how was I supposed to know that?!", it was his turn to retaliate and it felt somewhat freeing to finally release some of the emotions that'd been pent up for weeks, if not years.

"I don't know, Ronald! Common sense, maybe?"

"Are you shitting me? The entire bloody Wizarding world thought you were dating! Excuse me for not being very certain."

"And what was it, exactly, that made you believe that load of rubbish?!", she shot back.

He faltered slightly, "I don't know. I guess you've always gotten along quite well, and who wouldn't like Harry? You were always trying to be affectionate and supportive with him and all that…", he trailed off.

"Of course I was trying to make him feel better, Ron! He's an orphan whose guardians are abusive monsters, you insensitive halfwit!"

"Thanks for reminding me, I must've forgotten," he replied sarcastically, getting worked up, "it's not like I've bloody slept in the same room as him for years, or have literally kidnapped his arse from that shithole! I know exactly what my best mate's going through. And I help as much as I can when he wants me to help."

Ron's entire face was blazing now, but there was no stopping him. "It's always about poor Harry, but where does that leave me, huh? Yes, I wouldn't wish his fate on anyone else and this whole savior-of-the-world prophecy is a fucking nightmare for him, but he gets everything else! The love, the fame, the money, the support, when do I get something? I just want one thing for myself! Since he's an orphan then what, I don't deserve affection, or attention or fucking anything? I was almost always there for him, and I despise myself for the times I wasn't, and he had plenty of people who loved him. His mother's love was strong enough to defeat the darkest curse in history! My mum doesn't even know my favorite color! When has anybody ever loved me?! Where was everyone when I was at my lowest?!"

It felt like he was hyperventilating, as he ended his sentence in the deafening silence. He definitely didn't mean to let it all out like that. Or at all, really. He had learned to live with it, that foul part of his mind. They were his problems. No one was supposed to know. Especially not the girl he loved. Now, whatever chance the hopeful part of his subconscious wished he had was positively gone.

Hermione was staring at him, tears pouring silently onto her flushed cheeks, hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light and wide with an unreadable expression, but no less beautiful, as he awaited his verdict once more.

Yet just like always they were interrupted as a loud clonk sounded above their heads and the metal latch creaked open, flinging the hatch open.

How convenient, Ron thought miserably, and Hermione snatched her wrists hurriedly out of his grasp before he even had the chance to acknowledge it.

Harry's messy head popped into view with a relieved smile, and moved away just as quickly when Hermione clambered her way out.

"Everything alright?", he heard him ask, referring to both of them.

"Yes," Hermione answered stiffly, "I'll set up the tent now."

Her light footsteps faded away before Harry asked him, "So, no progress made then? I kind of hoped the whole 'trapped in one place' thing would help you sort things out."

Ron extinguished the light with his deluminator and picked up his forgotten jacket, peering up at him and sighing, "I think I fucked it up even worse this time."

"Are you sure that's possible?", Harry grinned at him teasingly. There was always a light-hearted tone to their friendship, and joking with Harry never failed to make him feel a little better. But his heart and his mind were too far down in the dumps right now.

To avoid worrying him, Ron sent a half-hearted smile his way as he climbed out, closing the hatch back up and watching it conceal itself. "Probably is."

If Harry noticed anything off, he didn't comment. "I suppose I should be thankful you're coming out of there alive then?"

"Yeah, just barely. You go in mate, I'll take up watch," he patted his back. There was still another hour of Harry's time left technically, but he figured he needed some time alone. Or away from the painful truth.

"Alright then, cheers mate." Harry grinned and disappeared through the flap.

Ron settled on the ground, leaning tiredly against the canvas tent wall. Another silent night alone with his thoughts.

Ron had expected their night watches to overlap. One of his favorite ways to overcome the guilt of leaving was by sitting out there for as long as physically possible, until one of them send him back in or he felt too exhausted. Today, the nervous energy of the previous hours hadn't dissipated, so he wasn't planning on going in at all. He'd let her sleep a bit longer, it's the least he could do.

Which is why he was surprised when, not even two hours in, the tent flap rustled behind him.

His eyes must've literally left his sockets for a second when he saw it was her. Caught like a deer in headlights, she stood frozen and staring back at him.

Hermione cleared her throat noisily, regaining some semblance of control, "I brought you a cup of tea."

"Oh," he released excitedly, reaching out for the cup she was extending, "thank you," he added softly. Silently, she lowered herself beside him, palms firmly clasping her own steaming cuppa.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed some minutes later, causing him to almost spit out his tea in surprise.

"What on earth for?" Hermione rarely apologised for anything she diddo wrong, and he could barely think of anything at the moment.

"I've been thinking, after what you said…"

Oh, that's not good.

"…and I realised how awfully I treated you over the years."

What? That's what she got from that fuck up of a declaration?

When he unintentionally unloaded his biggest fears on her, the last thing he wanted was to make herfeel bad.

"Are you barking? What makes you say that?"

She looked at him owl-eyed like he was as nutty as his mother's fruitcake. "I've literally sent birds at you that left permanent scars!"

He rubbed his arms subconsciously, "They healed a bit…and I kind of deserved it, anyway."

"And I knew you were insecure about some things and I couldn't understand why, but I never even complimented you! In fact, I just kept criticising you!"

"You always said constructive criticism helps you improve," he shrugged, "you inspired me to push myself, there's nothing bad about that."

"Yes, but I never told you how wonderful you actually are… I just kept making it worse," she sniffed again, eyes moist with suppressed distress. "How you felt, that's awful. No one should feel like that. Like they're not loved," she added in a quieter tone that made his heart beat a little faster.

"And you got it all wrong," she added.

Ron offered her a timid smile, "I was kind of hoping I did this time."

"I wasn't more affectionate towards Harry because I liked him more," it looked like she was preparing to divulge important information and he braced himself, "I just didn't want you to figure out I liked y oumore than Harry."

Well, that might just end him right here. Her half-whispered words were like a soothing balm, that calmed him yet simultaneously made his skin vibrate with exhilarating energy. It was the closest thing to what he dreamed of hearing her say, what he hoped she felt.

"I like you more than Harry too," he snuffed a little, wiping his sleeve haphazardly against his wet eyes.

She laughed in such a lighthearted way that made his heart sing. He loved hearing her laugh, and he hadn't heard nearly enough of it over the past weeks.

They were both smiling goofily, tears rushing down their faces in the overwhelming atmosphere, when he confessed, "I know you're still angry, but can I hug you?"

It felt like another sob burst out of her as she nodded eagerly, "Please do."

In the next few moments they were a jumble of limbs in a moist embrace, his tall stature bending over her much smaller form as Ron held her tightly to his chest, tighter than he ever had. Hermione too, scrambled to latch her hands on his back, head snuggled securely against his collarbone.

"Oh, I missed you so much," he whispered against the side of her head.

Her arms tightened protectively around him as she murmured, "Me too."

It wasn't the moment for big confessions, they both knew. They still had a war to fight, a world to save, a friend to stand by through it all.

But hours later, when Hermione was leaning comfortably on his shoulder, eyes heavy with the mellow warmth of her jar of bluebell flames in front of them, Ron had a sudden surge of optimism fill him and he knew they'd get it done. This hunt and the mission. Because now he had something absolutely wicked to look forward to, and he wouldn't let some nasty-looking madman stand in his way.



Thank you so much for reading! This was a bit cathartic to write since it always bugs me how dismissive everyone in the books is of Ron's feelings, despite the fact that we get so many hints about them. This was my submission for the Romione Trope Fest on Tumblr under the Stuck Together category. There were so many incredible works this year, so go check them out of you like.
Hope you enjoyed this more angsty one-shot, and I'll love to know what you thought! :)