A/N: Thank you all for being such a lovely community. Please leave me a comment if you like it!

Ron followed Hermione up the moderate slope of the volcano ridge, his senses on high alert. She wheezed for air as they hiked, though he couldn't say he was surprised. If she wasn't allowed to prioritise relationships with other people as part of being an Unspeakable, he hardly believed the Department of Mysteries would promote any type of personal health.

That, and it was in both his job description and his best interest for survival to keep his body in as good of physical condition as he could. Suffice it to say, their fitness levels were quite divergent.

He kept careful tabs on her laboured breathing patterns while scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement. When they reached the top of the trail, Hermione perched herself on the edge of a large rock, presumably letting her heart rate slow as she inhaled.

Ron never let his guard down, but managed to take in the view of sprawling greens within the dried crater lake. A warm wind blew, filling his lungs with life as he appreciated the contrast of the overgrown vegetation against the churning sea beyond the ridge.

"This is the third time in almost as many days that we've enjoyed a breathtaking view together," Hermione remarked.

He half-turned to her, cocking his head to the side. She blushed, high on her cheeks, meeting his gaze.

She kept doing this: pushing the boundaries of their familiarity, exhibiting the forthcoming nature he'd loved when they were younger. He wanted to respond in kind, to see if she'd back down if he matched her bluff.

Once upon a time, getting a rise out of her had been his favourite activity.

Instead, he said, "where next?"

"That's just it." She bit her lip as she looked over the crater. "All that is known largely about the wizarding history here is that Rano Kau is regarded as a spiritual site."

"Spiritual? What does that mean?"

"I think," she hesitated, "I think you may know more about it than I do."

He kept his face rigid, holding as much of a mask as he could though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "These are words that none have ever heard from Hermione Granger's lips. Mark the date and time for posterity."

She laughed, an actual, real laugh that tinkled on the breeze like bells. He fought the swooping feelings that coursed through him, a dangerous concoction that landed somewhere between satisfaction and nostalgia.

Merlin, this woman. He should hate her, he knew that…but he didn't. He couldn't. He could never.

And he would know; he'd spent the better part of ten years trying to forget her.

"We know that the magical surge that I recorded came from Easter Island, but I don't have any granularity beyond that. This place," she gestured over the crater, "is well known for having been busy with magical activity hundreds of years ago."

"Is there a modern wizarding community?"

"Nothing of note." She shook her head. "I remember reading once about magical pilgrimages though."

Ron squatted, scanning the patterns of dirt and foliage. Once he looked for it, he could see sloppily covered prints all over the craggy ridge. "Plenty of human movement through here." He rubbed dust between his fingers, standing. "The tracks don't seem…respectful; they're hurried. I wouldn't bet on them being caused by people seeking spiritual experiences."

"The Ministry must be here." Hermione's voice fell to a shallow whisper. "We need to hurry."

"Couldn't agree more."

The knowledge that they may not be alone set his instincts on overdrive, and he resumed his relentless survey of their surroundings. He waited for Hermione to speak again, assuming that she'd have an idea of what to do next.

"I think," she started, and his gaze froze on her face. Her bottom lip was caught in her teeth as she looked out over the crater. "I think you should try to, I don't know, sense it."

"Sense it?" He raised a brow. "That's not scientific."

"If my time in the Department of Mysteries has taught me anything," she said seriously, "it's that not everything can be explained by science."

This was a cryptic, confusing statement, but she was watching him with such anticipation that he was helpless to do anything besides sigh and turn out to overlook the crater.

"Don't expect much," he warned, closing his eyes.

It took him a few breaths to centre himself. Over the years he'd become quite adept at finding this place in this mind. A large part of what had made him such a good Auror was this instinct, his ability to sense what others could not. They'd had a professor back at Hogwarts University, an old, grey wizard named Dumbledore, who'd taught intuition: the feeling of magic, the emotion of spells.

That'd been Hermione's least favourite class. She'd been so frustrated when he'd scored better than her on the final exam.

He allowed himself a smirk, then redoubled his focus.

Almost instantly, he felt a tug, and when he opened his eyes again, he could see a faint, golden shimmering line, stretched like a string from his chest and leading down, inside the crater.

"This way," he said, following the trail. Hermione obliged without so much as a single eye roll.

Interesting. It seemed that they'd both changed.

They picked their way through the rocky terrain in an unspoken agreement of silence. With every passing moment, the tension seemed to amplify until all the hairs on Ron's arms stood at attention. He slowed his pace more as the feeling grew and the atmosphere thinned.

This was a spell. It had to be.

They rounded a corner, exposing an open cave mouth and he halted, encircling Hermione's waist with his arm to tuck her behind his frame. He ignored her bristling and raised a finger to his lips, pulling her as he lowered into a crouch.

They were being watched. He was sure of it. His feeling of unease intensified as they crept towards the cave entrance. An intense warning blazed up his spine and without thinking, he grabbed Hermione and pulled her behind a large boulder. She gasped and glared at him, but, satisfied that she was fine, he continued his reconnaissance of the empty space in front of the cave.

Hermione poked him, though she had the sense to remain quiet, and it was only upon looking down at her that he realised he'd wrapped her within his arms so she couldn't move. He released her and lowered his voice as much as he could.

"Something's out there."

Maybe it was his words that broke the spell, but not a moment later a large shadow loomed above them and an enormous figure of stone landed in front of the cave entrance with an echoing crash.

The monster was formed in the traditional style of the statues of Easter Island and boasted a huge, muscular body of rock. It turned its head with a grating sound, looking right at the boulder that Ron and Hermione hid behind. They ducked deeper into their hiding place, but the statue moved no more.

"We must be in the right place," Hermione whispered. "We triggered the protection spell."

"Load of good that does us. How are we supposed to get past that thing?"

She put her face in her hands, and he realised with traitorous relief that her wild, brunette curls were framing her face. Their glamour charms must have worn off.

"These statues are known for being representations of ancient ancestors," she said, opening her deep, mahogany eyes.

Merlin, were his priorities fucked up.

"It's said that they're symbols of authority and power that watch over their peoples. Some even think they were created to hold spirits older than time."

"Okay." He looked away from her, surveying the stone guardian once again. "What do we do with that?"

A million situations ran through Ron's mind as he assessed his options. Could the statue be reasoned with? Was it intelligent? Or was this a brutal combat to the death, no matter how he sliced it?

How did one even kill stone?

He was in for a fight, he knew it deep in his gut.

Ron had battled for his life before. He stopped suppressing the frantic beating of his heart, letting the adrenaline of the upcoming conflict course through his veins. His reflexes were faster when he allowed the primal nature of war to overtake his senses, and his one-minded focus coiled deep in his gut as the tension mounted in his every muscle. He needed to distract the enormous figure of stone for long enough that Hermione could pass by it unencumbered.

His pre-battle ritual, though silent in his mind, must have shown in his expression and stature because Hermione's concerned whisper tickled his subconscious.

"Ron? What are you thinking? What's wrong?"

Agitated, wound up by the upcoming danger, and worrying about Hermione's safety, he looked down to find her chewing on her bottom lip. Grunting, he spun her so she was pressed between himself and the boulder. One arm snaked around her waist, which he pulled into himself, while the other arm rested above her head, protecting her from all angles.

"You have got to stop biting your lip," he growled, embracing the hormones that coursed through his extremities, steeling himself for his plan.

He breathed deeply and her scent, something distinct and sweet, filled him. Her eyes opened wide, but instead of pushing him away, as he'd half expected, she arched her back against him. Her eyelids fluttered, and their lips touched as he murmured his next words.

"Seriously, it's so fucking distracting. It makes me want to-"

The enormous statue roared, and though Hermione jumped in his arms, Ron was not in the least bit surprised.

Warrior souls knew one another.

He hardened his resolve, and, trailing hot, urgent kisses from her collarbone to her ear, he paused, letting her beautiful curls tickle his cheek. "I'll distract it. You go to the cave when you can. No arguments."

She moaned a whispered assent that moved him from within. "Yes."

He grinned. The lines between war and lust were easy to blur.

Passion was passion.

He pulled her right arm over her head, further restraining her motion. He touched their cuffed hands together and tapped them with his wand. The obsidian tattooed circles disappeared from both their wrists.

"Get to the cave," he ordered. "Safely."

She nodded.

He released her as gently as he could, then sprinted from behind the boulder.

What. The. Fuck.

Hermione trembled, her arousal so mixed with adrenaline and alarm that she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. She'd never seen Ron like that: so assertive, so fearless. Those last moments had felt like a war cry, and in a strange, primordial way…she'd liked it.

Merlin, he was going to be the death of her.

Another roar from the stone guardian shook her from her reverie, and she braced herself, creeping from behind the boulder with her wand clenched in her hand.

The monster leapt through the air, its massive fists crashing against boulders that disintegrated upon impact. Ron was breathtaking, moving one step ahead of the giant, staying just out of harm's reach while blowing sizable divots in its body with various curses.

Hermione stilled, as enthralled with the high-speed battle as she would be watching a graceful ballet. Was this Ron? Her Ron?

Suddenly, the reaction of the Unspeakable in Amersham who'd been unwilling to duel against him held much more meaning. The respect of the Druids, the safehouses…it all clicked into place.

She'd always known Ron was special, but watching him now was nothing short of spectacular. She didn't know how anyone could move with such speed and skill. After several astonishing minutes, she realised he'd led the statue away from the cave entrance.

Recognizing this was her moment, she spurred herself into action, quickly and quietly along the edge of the path. The monster continued to snarl and roar, though Ron's teasing dance enticed it further from the cave. Her heart hammered, waiting for the massive warrior to notice her and change course, but it stayed true, distracted by Ron's crusade.

With every step, her confidence grew, and as she neared her destination she broke into a run. She threw her body into the shadows of the entrance, feeling a pleasant buzzing on her skin upon crossing the threshold.

The magic would protect her here. The stone guardian couldn't follow her, she knew it.

She cheered, rolling to her feet and checking around the corner. She beckoned, catching Ron's eye for a fraction of a second but knowing that he'd seen and understood. Tucking her body back into the safety of the cave, she listened to the continued fight. It grew louder as they got closer, and her confident triumph morphed into a slow sense of horror.

Then, she heard it. Not a yell, or a shout, but a low, pained grunt.

Forcing down her bile, she peered out. There, within ten metres of the entrance, Ron crouched. He held his hand against his torso, blood spilling from beneath his fingers. Without any other warning, without even a second grunt, he ripped a large, sharp shard of stone from between his ribs and tossed it aside, applying pressure to the wound again.

He rose in a brilliant, athletic movement, slashing his wand against the sprinting stone giant. It leapt towards Ron with an angry roar, but clashed with his spell in mid-air. The magic twisted the guardian to the side, propelling it against the steep ridge in a booming thunderclap. Ron fell to his knees and gasped for breath.

The monster staggered back to its feet. She didn't think, she didn't hesitate. Hermione ran from the cave and waved her wand in an enormous loop around her head, then brought it to the ground with so much force that she thought she might have broken her knuckles.

"PERPETUUS CATENIS!"

Large onyx chains exploded from the end of her wand and wrapped around the arms of the guardian, pinning them to its sides. The momentum of the spell knocked the monster to its back, the impact vibrating her teeth. She pulled Ron's wand arm over her shoulder, forcing him to stand with her.

"Let's go," she urged, and though he didn't make a noise, his wince of pain was louder than anything she'd heard yet.

He grit his teeth and stepped towards the cave entrance, letting Hermione bear his weight. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the statue regain its footing. It threw its head back and growled as it tried to shake the chains.

"Come on, Ron," she said, fighting to keep the fear from her voice. "Hurry."

Her legs burning, she kept pushing, striving to get Ron to safety. Another glance over her shoulder showed her the enormous links of the chain she'd conjured straining to the point of cracking. She could feel more than hear the tension in the metal.

"Just a few more steps."

The final roar reverberated around them with such irethat she didn't have to check over her shoulder to know that the monster had broken free. She and Ron were metres from the cave threshold. The guardian slammed into the ground behind them with thunderous footfalls, reminding her of the giants from the gruesome fairy tales she'd grown up reading.

"Jump, Ron. Now, we have to move!"

With a final effort, they both leapt across the boundary of the cave, a massive stone hand sweeping so closely behind them that she could feel the movement of air in its wake.

Somehow, even with his obvious injury, Ron had managed to manoeuvre their bodies so that he'd cushioned her blow. His low hiss of pain had her staggering to her knees, the success of leaving the enormous statue behind forgotten as she took stock of all the blood.

There was so much of it.

Ron's face was pale as she bent over him. He grimaced as she clutched at his hand, pulling it from his ribs to survey the damage. His shirt was so soaked with crimson that she couldn't see anything.

"I need to remove this, okay, Ron?" She babbled, knowing he wouldn't be able to answer. "I need to be able to see under."

With a quick severing charm she ripped his shirt from navel to neck and dragged the soaking cotton away from his skin. The wound was open, flowing with a strong current of blood beneath his fingers.

"Puncture wound," she muttered, assessing its breadth. "It needs to be cleaned before I can apply the dittany." She pulled a vial from her bag, clicking her tongue between her teeth.

"Sterilise it," Ron groaned.

"No," she snapped. "You know that I can't. That spell holds no regard for pain."

He didn't say anything, but the taut lines of his face and tensed muscles spoke volumes. He was already in pain, and without cleaning such a deep puncture, they risked infection.

Still, she hesitated, her wand raised above his chest, her heart breaking with his silent suffering. His eyes snapped open; the grey starbursts were afire.

"Do it."

She nodded and climbed onto him, clenching his waist between her legs. She yanked his beanie off his head and shoved it in his mouth. "Bite down." He obeyed.

She grabbed his left hand with her own, cross body, wrenching it from his open wound, and then took a deep breath.

"Sterilitate."

Casting her wand aside, she found purchase with his other hand and raised both above his head, pinning him. He finally yelled, screaming against his gag, releasing aloud the pain of his injury. He bucked his hips against her as the spell took hold. She wound her legs around his and let her body stretch against his right side, keeping her weight off the wound while applying more force to his hands, attempting to keep them restrained above his head.

He could have outmuscled her at any time, and they both knew it, but he complied with her pressure, writhing under the intensity of the spell but letting her guide him as the magic ran its course.

Gradually, his muffled shouts became wheezes and his urgent struggles diminished until they were nothing more than involuntary spasms. She raised her face from his shoulder and released his wrist, pulling his beanie from his mouth. Pressing her hand to his sweaty cheek, she searched his face.

"Ron," she breathed. He groaned and she could have sobbed with relief, stress, or maybe concern. So many emotions coursed through her that it was hard to discern the most prevalent one.

She still held a hand pinned above his head, but with the other, he clutched at her waist, his grip like iron and fire, burning her clothes, her skin, to her core. She'd never been more aware of how close their faces were, or the commingling of their breath, hot against her clammy skin. His eyes bored through her, every inch of the piercing blue that used to drive her wild.

Who was she kidding? He still drove her wild.

She rolled her body against his and he moaned, sucking in a breath. Heat pooled between her legs and, feeling a tell-tale stiffness, she glanced down towards their colliding hips.

The blood-stained jeans and pools of sticky red around his waist were a rude awakening.

"Oh fuck, Ron." She sat, pushing against his chest to keep him prostrate. She conjured clean dressings for his wound and scrambled for the bottle of dittany, dropping a pipette full into the weeping puncture. It smoked as it mended his flesh. Still straddling his hips, she pulled him by the shoulders so he was sitting and she could reach to wrap the bandages around his torso, only satisfied when he had several layers of clean dressing protecting him.

She tucked the end of the long bandage in, smoothing it against his skin. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she let her hands wander over his skin. His beautiful, tattooed arms, the muscles twitching under his skin at her lightest touch, his broad shoulders, his perfect, marbled pecks, his insane abdominals, his masculine Adam's apple, his full, wiry beard…she let her fingers run over all of him. He sat, immobile under her scrutiny as her eyes roamed, drinking him in, not satisfied that he was okay until she was able to survey every inch.

She met his eyes, nearly sobbing with relief. "Ron, you…"

"I know."

He pulled her to him, and she let herself be folded into his hug. She'd been terrified. Not just for losing her protector and ally, but for losing…him. Ron. The world would be a worse place without him in it.

And her world? It would be nothing.

Nothing.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, pushing away from his embrace but cupping his face with both her hands. She searched his eyes, willing him to understand despite her apparent inability to verbalise it.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "For everything. I shouldn't have left you without explaining what was happening, but even more than that, I shouldn't have left. I thought I was being pragmatic. I thought I was considering my future, but I was taking the easy way out."

"No," he shook his head. "You don't need to apologise."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, this wasn't it. He took her hands from his face and held them between their bodies.

"Ron-"

"You don't," he insisted, hushing her protestations. "When you left, Hermione, my world fell to pieces. I can't deny it. The way you left, it was…hard. I had no closure. And for a long time, yes, I was angry with you."

He wiped a tear from her cheek with a rough thumb.

"But we were so young, Hermione. It's not an excuse, it's the truth. We were young and tactless, and to be honest? I forgave you a long time ago."

She was helpless to stop the fall of her tears. "How, Ron?" she asked, incredulous. "I was awful. How could you forgive such behaviour?"

"You were always destined for more, Hermione. I've known it since the first moment I laid eyes on you." He shrugged. "You can't love a person who's all fire and then get surprised when you're burned."

"All the same, you never should have had to be hurt."

Ron sighed, looking drawn and tired. "Do I wish it'd been handled better? Absolutely. I'd be fucking lying if I said otherwise. But-" He ran a hand over his face. "The outcome was the same, wasn't it? You needed to leave, to test yourself against the world. I can't begrudge you the leaving itself."

Hermione didn't know how to react. She licked her lips, managing one syllable. "How?"

"I wasn't going to let you haunt me for the rest of my life." His small smile was sad. "I came to peace with it."

"And, what about the Fields of Verity?" she pressed. "You were so angry."

He hesitated. "Sometimes old wounds reopen, even ones that are many years scarred over. A few drops of blood are just momentary pain. I'm better for my scars, all of them." He shook his head. "I'd already guessed why you left, and hearing it affirmed in the Fields makes no difference. You had every right to prioritise your career over a relationship. We were so young, Hermione. I wouldn't have wanted you to be held back by me."

"Held back?" She yelped, unable to stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck again. "Ron, are you crazy? You did anything but hold me back. You made me better. I would have been stronger if I'd kept you in my life. I can see that so clearly now. I was such an idiot."

He kissed the top of her head and held her. She lost track of how long they sat like that, wrapped in a tight embrace, neither relenting in their grip.

It wasn't until he grunted, a small, unassuming noise, that she remembered his injury and leapt to her feet, offering her hand to help him stand. "Come on, let's find a place to rest for a while."

In the end, they settled on a small offshoot of the cave that had enough room for them to be side by side in their sleeping bags. Hermione cast protection spells and laid down, handing Ron a small vial of a purple potion.

"Should have you feeling almost normal by the time we wake up," she offered with a weak smile.

He drank it without question, then settled on his back, sighing. "You could have escaped, you know."

"What?"

"You don't have the cuff anymore." His hand found hers in the dark, running his fingers over her wrist. "And I was more than distracted enough. You could have left me."

He seemed to be falling asleep with the effects of the potion, and Hermione was quiet as she considered her answer.

"I'm not going to make that mistake twice."

She tangled their fingers together. "You were amazing out there," she murmured. "Seriously Ron, I've never seen anyone move like that."

"Thank you," he whispered, fading fast. "Not just for that, for saving me, and for…for everything."

She pushed one more tear aside, squeezed his palm, and fell into a fitful sleep.