A/N: I've stopped trying to write a french accent because I don't intend on offending anyone with my pitiful lack of knowledge about the beautiful accent. So, just imagine Fleur with her heavy accent, even if it's not written in. :)

Chapter 22 - Apart, once more.

Hermione had never cried so much in her life. And the tears that flowed like a flooding river down her face were not just assigned to one emotion. Pain, hurt, anger, disbelief were just a few that often caused Hermione to express her emotions through the medium of sobbing. It had been two weeks since he left, yet the constant sadness was yet to subside, Hermione doubted that it ever would.

She felt guilty as time wore on. Harry was devastated by his best friend's departure, of course, but he hadn't seemed to be as affected as Hermione, and she worried that her frequent breakdowns were starting to grate on him, although he wouldn't say anything.

But no matter how hard she tried, she only became more upset. A part of her was still unable to fathom what he had done; something that Hermione could never have expected, even in these less than desirable circumstances. What happened to 'just wanting to protect her'? Hermione scoffed at how naive she could've been. Yes, he was afraid for his family's safety. That much she could understand, but what good did leaving do? He couldn't exactly return home right now? These thoughts only led Hermione down a frightening path of worry and fear. Was he okay? Was he alive? Where on earth was he? She'd have to admonish herself for caring so much, but how could she help it? Her love and care was genuine after all, even if his wasn't.

Conversations were strained between her and Harry. Neither had mentioned the suffocating elephant in the room, Hermione at least certainly didn't want to. But even though neither seemed prepared to address the topic, it still had a firm hold on the tent's atmosphere. What were they meant to do from here? Just move on? That seemed the only logical answer to Hermione, but logic wouldn't heal her broken heart as much as she wished it could.

The only time they had spoken more than five sentences to each other was when they were discussing their next possible location. Harry wanted to visit Godric's Hollow, and why wouldn't he? That was the place where You-Know-Who had lost all of his powers and only narrowly missed death. And, it was the last place Harry had been with his parents. Even though he hadn't admitted it, Hermione knew that that was a pull factor that was anchoring Harry to the certain village. Hermione was rather sceptical of the prospect but kept her views to herself. She didn't feel like causing any more grief for Harry than she was already causing by being so upset still.

Ron disapparated to the first place he could steadily think of. What he was doing, he had no idea of, but he had no time to contemplate his actions before he realised what he had landed himself into.

"Ah, now what do we 'ave 'ere?" A rough London accent sounded.

"Ooh, what do we have here indeed?" Came a more composed voice.

As Ron registered the voices, he gathered his surroundings. It was raining and cold, two things he had become very used to. He could tell he was in a forest-clearing of some sort and noted that a tent had been pitched up, albeit shabbily, before the forest seemed to delve into further darkness.

Ron shuffled to his feet, gripping his wand firmly as the owners of the voices appeared from the shadows. Their each grim faces highlighted slightly by the faint moonlight.

"Reckon he's a kid, I do, Mike." The first man chided.

'Mike' looked Ron up and down with a scathing smirk. "Hmm, what's your name, son? Steve, get the list."

"D-Dudley." Was the first thing that popped into Ron's mind. "Dudley Dursley."

"You sure 'bout that?" 'Steve' asked accusingly.

Ron nodded his head quickly, hoping that the men didn't recognise him. He recognised them, of course; they were Snatchers. Not very good ones, Ron mused, but that was much to his advantage.

"So? What the 'ell you doing 'ere, 'Dudley'?" Steve added.

"And why is that any business of yours?" Ron retorted without thinking.

"Ooo, alright! No need to get your knickers in a twist, Son." Mike replied. "I dunno, Steve, can't find no Dudley on here. How old are you?"

"T-twenty one." Ron answered hurriedly. He remembered what Lupin had told the three of them about the Death Eaters having a list of all Hogwarts students which were also muggleborns. All Ron had to do was lie about his age, so it was rather pointless, really.

"Hmm, wait a minute, Mike! Didn't that 'Arry Potter have a ginger sidekick?"

Something seemed to click with the two men, and their once menacingly laid back stance had become an aggressive one. Ron thought on the spot and disapparated again, this time falling to a damp-sandy surface.

He regained his balance and realised a stabbing pain from his fingers. Looking down, he saw that his rubbish apparition skills had cost him a few fingernails. Hermione would love to say 'I told you so.' Hermione. Any physical pain Ron was feeling seconds before drained from his mind. What had he done? He needed to go back, now. Hermione would never forgive him for this.

Not even taking a second to register where his mind had taken him, Ron closed his eyes and focused on the place he had just left in such a huff.

No.

It wasn't there. Ron screamed their names but it was no use. He should've known; the tent (if it was still there) was under the best protective enchantments, there was no way he would be able to find them.

But that logic didn't stop Ron, for he spent the next hour of his life apparating to all of the places he had been with them, but, unsurprisingly, it was no use.

He felt tears sting his eyes in defeat. He had lost them. He had lost her. Tears escalated into sobs as he thought about what he had just done. He couldn't hate himself more if he tried. He crashed to the ground which was now wet with the down pouring rain and started to wail out for Hermione.

The only thing that pulled him from his upset was the sound of voices, he stood up quickly and disapparated to the first place that entered through his mind.

And here he was again on top of the wet sand. He opened his bleary eyes to gather his surroundings. No, he couldn't be here, this was the last place he should be. Closing his eyes again, Ron began to think of another forest clearing-

"Ron?!" A distant voice called out, Ron tried to ignore the fact he could painfully recognise it. But apparition required focus and concentration, neither which Ron could muster.

"Ron! Ron!" The voice continued and was coming closer. Ron took one look at his brother and broke down again from the shame. He sank to his knees in the soggy sand.

"Ron? Is that you? What on earth? Let's get you inside!" Bill helped his brother to his feet and guided him back to the quaint cottage that sat beside the beach, overlooking the tranquil water.

Ron was greeted with warmth, something he hadn't experienced in a long time. The cosy cottage had a beautiful interior, but was that much of a shock considering Fleur owned it? Ron was guided to a seat on the round dining table that was placed in the middle of their small yet homely kitchen.

"What is going o- oh, Ron!" A voice only recognisable as a distressed Fleur drew nearer to Ron as he wiped his eyes.

"I found him on the beach. Will you go get him something to clean himself up with, darling?" Bill asked calmly.

"Yes! Yes!" Fleur ran out of the room quickly.

"Ron, breathe." Bill instructed from his seat beside his youngest brother.

Ron did his best to return his breathing to normal and his tears had subsided. He looked at his eldest brother, he looked confused but also very concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine." Ron replied timidly.

"What's going on, Ron?" Bill moved his chair closer. But before Ron could answer, Fleur had burst through the door again and was thrusting a bowl of warm water down onto the table. She dampened a washcloth and started dabbing Ron's face.

"What happened to you?" Fleur asked in a shaky voice. "Where are the other two? Are they okay?"

At the mention, Ron felt his shame rise higher.

"Ron?" Bill urged, sensing something was wrong. "You can tell us, we just need you all to be safe." He added wisely.

"I… I left them. I need to go back." Ron confessed with a sadness mixed with determination.

"Left them? Where?" Bill asked. Ron had no idea how much Bill knew, and he quickly came to his senses and realised he had to be careful what he revealed.

"In the forest somewhere. I tried to get back to them, but the tent had far too many charms and stuff up."

"Why did you go?"

Ron considered his answer; his brother would surely hate him. He surely hated himself. "Thanks, Fleur." He said first, taking back the washcloth. Fleur leaned back to listen intently.

"Why did you leave them, Ron?" Bill asked nervously.

"I- we had an argument." Bit of an understatement. "I just wanted to leave in the moment, not realising that I-I wouldn't be able to find them again." Ron hung his head low, not able to face his brother.

"What did you argue over?" Bill asked, to Ron's surprise.

"Uh, family." Ron mumbled evasively.

"So," Bill began. "You left your two best friends to be stranded during the war because you had a squabble over family?" The accusatory voice made Ron wish he was anywhere else, although the shame inside of him laughed, he deserved this. He deserved the disappointed look on his brother's face.

Ron nodded slowly and heard Bill's chair scrape on the floor as he abruptly left the table. "Fleur, chuck him in the guest room, I've heard enough this evening."

Fleur nodded before standing up and rushing to the cupboards. Bill slammed the door behind him. Ron felt his lowest.

"Would you like something to eat?" Fleur asked from the stove.

"Fleur, thank you, but I don't deserve your kindness. Tell Bill I left and I'm sorry." Ron said before standing up and heading for the door.

"Nonsense!" Fleur flicked her wand and the door locked and bolted. Ron looked at her questioningly. "Look, I do not know much about what you, Harry, and Hermione are doing, but I know that you regret what you've done. You will find them, but not tonight."

"What if I don't?" Ron blurted, he hadn't really intended in confiding so much in his sister in law.

"But you will! Just not tonight!" Fleur insisted. "Now, Bill is annoyed but he always comes around. None of us know what you have been facing. I won't ask because I doubt you will tell me. But the last thing we need is you getting even more hurt!"

Ron smiled weakly but still felt guilt as heavy as the world on his shoulders. Fleur made a bowl of soup with a swish of her wand and placed it down infront of where Ron had been sitting.

"I usually do the cooking myself but I think you should be off to bed soon." She explained, but Ron took no notice of how she had cooked the meal, he was just grateful to receive it. Grateful, yet guilty.

Ron was taken to the guest bedroom by Fleur, he thanked her sheepishly before being left to fall asleep. Without even bothering to get changed, Ron crashed to the bed, rubbing his face exasperatedly.

He reached into one of his pockets for a tissue to blow his nose and was perplexed to find a chain of sorts in his hand. He pulled it out and realised it was Hermione's bracelet. The bracelet that her mother had given her. Ron couldn't remember ever putting the bracelet in his pocket. Sadness filled him as he recalled how Hermione would sometimes wear this jacket on her own watches and for some reason probably needed to take the piece of jewellery off. He closed his hand around the thin chain and shut his eyes. Ron could only imagine how upset she would be, let alone angry. The one thing he had promised her was that she wouldn't be alone. That was all she asked, and he so easily swore to her that he never would leave her. It seemed such a simple request, it should've been. He shouldn't have let that bloody locket control him, make him think things that weren't true.

But were they?

Now he had left, Harry and Hermione had all the peace they needed to embark on whatever was going on between them. No. He tried to shake off the awful thoughts. She had tried to stop him, called for him, cried for him. That had to mean something, didn't it? Of course it did, it meant he was the largest git to exist. Bloody hell, he wouldn't blame Hermione if she never spoke to him again, which was the more than probable outcome of the shit place he had gotten himself in. Why couldn't he have just let her speak? Why couldn't he have just listened for once in his sodding life? And now his temper had cost him more than anything, more than everything. It had cost him Hermione.

It was a frosty December morning, Harry and Hermione had relocated to a riverbank on the idea of being able to retrieve food from the hopefully fish-filled water. It had been about three weeks since Ron had left. Hermione was still quiet and more subdued than Harry had ever known her to be, but she seemed to be developing a sense of temporary numbness to what had happened. He knew better than to think that Hermione was over what happened, and he feared for Ron's fate.

He missed his best friend, it had been a long time and even though Harry wasn't exactly sociable or warm the last few weeks before Ron left, he still appreciated the company that he provided. Also, Harry may be oblivious at the best of times but you'd have to be blind not to notice Ron and Hermione's proximity. It made Harry happy, more than anything, to see that they were sharing a bed. Harry wished Ron hadn't left for Hermione's sake more than his own, they were clearly leaning on each other during this time and Harry knew that it was nothing personal against him, but he would never be able to fill the void that Ron left with his departure.

Three weeks. Three whole weeks since he had left. Hermione would like to pretend it wasn't playing a heavy part on her heart, but it was. It was always on her mind, no matter what she did to distract herself. She couldn't believe her own silliness; falling in love with a fantasy so much so that she had gotten hurt beyond repair. Even if she did ever see Ron again, how could she ever trust him? Because that's what it came down to. Hermione openly trusted him with her life. That trust clearly wasn't reciprocated, however!

How could Ron even possibly begin to insinuate that there was anything more than a sibling bond between herself and Harry? Was Harry the one she had nearly kissed on about three occasions last year? Was Harry the one she had wailed over because he was with someone else? Was Harry the one who she was sharing a bunk with? Was Harry the one she was shamedly wearing the jumper of, even after he had left her, the one thing he had promised he wouldn't do?

Hermione pitied herself, she had convinced herself that she hated him. But why was she wearing another one of his 'R' jumpers, weeks after he abandoned her? Oh, she had really reached a new low by now. But there was nothing she could do. She missed him, it was a hard pill to swallow, but she did. Nights didn't feel the same and Hermione was struggling to fall asleep without his warming presence. When had she become so hopeless and vulnerable?

A few weeks had passed but in Ron's mind it had felt like months. Yes, he had clean clothes, a warm bed, a proper shower and brilliantly cooked meals made by Fleur (who was not quite as good as his mother but was improving) but he still felt lost. Lost, empty, incomplete.

On his first day at Shell Cottage, he had spoken to Bill to explain himself, not that he was seeking anyone's pity, he hated himself more than anything right now. Like Fleur said, Bill had come around and cooled off, telling Ron what he already knew: he should go back. Ron was careful not to let too much information go, which meant Bill still didn't really understand why this task was so important, but luckily he didn't seem too annoyed about being left with no answers.

So, for the last few weeks, Ron had been trekking up and down various places in the UK that he hoped he would find Hermione and Harry at. Of course, each day was met with disappointment and left Ron having to return to Shell Cottage without a shred of knowledge about where they were.

He didn't give up though, which many people would probably assume he would've by now. He didn't have a choice; Hermione was out there somewhere, and finding her was the only thing on his mind. Bill didn't think it was a good idea to roam around aimlessly, when Ron could so easily get caught and worse, killed. But that hardly mattered to Ron. Besides, if he couldn't get back to Hermione and beg her to forgive him, was there anything really worth living for?

Another anticlimactic day had passed, Ron was lying in his bed gazing up at the ceiling. He just wanted to find her, he would give anything just to even see her again, know that she was safe. But, that chance seemed to be slipping through his fingers. His teenage self was a fool for wasting so much time arguing with her, but then again, there's nothing he wouldn't give just to talk to her again, that he wouldn't mind if it was still an argument.

He didn't quite understand it, but he felt somewhat halved without her; she was the filling piece in his life that he had grown so accustomed to that he now couldn't bear life without her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, which he felt was the most probable outcome, he just wanted to see her again, make sure that she was alright.

Ron thought he was dreaming, at least hallucinating when he saw a random ball of light emerge from his deluminator, which he was mindlessly playing with in his room. He felt even more confused when the ball of light floated out of his window, into the dark night. He thought that he had surely lost his mind when he started hearing his name in… her voice.

But all feelings of confusion and madness were soon replaced by a feeling of attraction, a pulling attraction towards the ball of light. Without really considering his actions, Ron threw on his rucksack, scribbled a note for Bill and Fleur, and left. Left to follow her ball of light.