Ron focused on Shell Cottage with all the willpower he could muster and held Hermione close to him, as darkness surrounded him and he experienced the horrible feeling of being pressed through a narrow tube that came along with Apparition. Eventually, his feet hit solid ground and the impact made him lose his balance. He stumbled a few steps, desperate not to topple over and to drop Hermione, and finally managed to hold himself steady. He then let his eyes wander over Hermione's body, praying to Merlin that on top of it all, he had not made her splinch. He would never have forgiven himself if she had to suffer even more pain because of him. But much to his relief, no part of her seemed to be missing, and what was more, she was still breathing, though her breaths were alarmingly shallow and uneven.
"RON!" he heard a voice yell and he looked up. Bill was sprinting towards him, with Fleur in his wake, both their wands ignited, and with relief, Ron exhaled a breath which he did not know to have held. He had made it! He had really managed to bring Hermione to Shell Cottage! The familiar little house stood about one hundred yards away from them and with light radiating from all its windows against the starless sky, it looked unreally warm and welcoming.
"Bill! Fleur!" Ron shouted, rushing towards the pair as fast as he dared to with Hermione in his arms. "You've gotta help Hermione, she's really bad!" he added as they met. "Quick!"
"I know," Bill panted, as they led Ron to the cottage. "Luna and Dean have told... C'mon..."
Ron gave a curt nod. So the others had made it out of the cellar just fine. Things had been changing for the better for them once they had entered the cottage - surely it would be the same for Hermione, too, if they could just get inside.
When Ron had suggested back in the cellar that Dobby take all captives to Shell Cottage, he had actually only named the next best place that had come to his mind, but with hindsight, he realized how brilliant his idea was. Shell Cottage was protected by the Order's charms and Bill, as a curse-breaker, possessed the healing skills to fix up Hermione. Shell Cottage was safety. With this thought in mind, Ron accelerated his steps as they drew nearer.
But his impression of unrealness only intensified as the group entered the combined living and dining room through the front door. The house was warm, bright and quiet, apart from the gentle sound of occasional waves crashing on the nearby shore, and a light smell of seaweed lay in the air. It was almost peaceful and after all the grueling hours in the captivity of the Death Eaters, Ron could hardly believe that a place like this could still exist.
Luna and Dean were standing in the doorway that led to the hall. As their gazes fell on Hermione, Dean let out a gasp and cramped his hand on Luna's shoulder, and Luna covered her mouth with both her hands, her eyes becoming even wider than usual. Ron barely took notice of them as he passed by, marching along with Bill in great strides. They both followed suit as Bill guided Ron to the right where a couch in front of the lit fireplace stood covered in a heap of pillows and blankets.
"Put her down here," Bill said. Ron carefully placed Hermione onto the couch and then instantly dropped to his knees while Fleur, Luna and Dean remained standing behind the backrest, deep concern etched on their faces.
"You can fix her, right?" Ron pleaded, looking up at Bill. "Please... You have to fix her!"
"I'll do all I can, Ron, don't worry," Bill replied, though his expression was tense and there was a bit of a tremor in his voice. He walked over to Ron and, frowning, let his eyes wander over Hermione's almost lifeless form.
"Ron, Luna, Dean, I'd like you to leave the room for now," he then ordered, looking up. "I will need to take off Hermione's clothes to properly examine her. You should give her privacy. Fleur," he then added, turning to his wife. "Please get something for Hermione to wear. Something that's as comfortable and soft as possible."
Fleur nodded and followed Luna and Dean out of the room. Ron, on the other hand, was still rooted to the spot.
"You should leave as well, Ron," Bill said softly, when he noticed that.
"I... I can't," Ron chocked, shaking his head. His gaze was still fixed upon Hermione. "I can't. Not after..."
The words got stuck in his throat, but he needed Bill to understand that abandoning Hermione yet again was completely out of question. He had left her already once when she had needed him; now was the time for him to make it up to her. He had to stay with her, needed to be sure that she was okay.
A look of comprehension flashed upon Bill's scarred face.
"All right," he replied. Rising to full height, he turned back to Hermione and took a deep breath, bracing himself.
But all of a sudden, a terrible, pained yell from outside the cottage cut through the air. Ron immediately recognized Harry's voice and panic seized him. What had happened to him? Remembering how Yaxley had almost managed to Apparate along with them so many months ago, he yanked Pettigrew's wand out of his pocket while Bill did the same.
"I think that's Harry!" he heard Dean call. "It's Harry! And there's somebody with him! They... It looks like they're hurt!"
Ron's stomach turned over.
"Let's bid them all welcome," Luna said in the airy voice of hers.
A bustle of voices, footsteps and chair legs scraping across flooring ensued. From his position, Ron was not able to have a full view of the hall, but by the sound of the commotion, somebody opened the back door and people dashed out of the kitchen and into the garden. Ron was rather glad that the others were taking care of this; he did not think that he could bear the sight of yet another wounded person and what was more, he did not want to leave Hermione.
Bill turned towards him.
"You're staying, right?" he asked as though he had been riding on Ron's train of thought all along.
Looking Bill straight into the eyes, Ron nodded with determination. "I've got to."
"Okay," Bill said. "I'll be right back, I promise. But in the mean time-" he indicated at the nearby coffee table on which, among some clutter and washcloths, Ron could see a large brown bottle and a smaller, clear one. "Here's some Skele-Gro and Dittany. Try healing her wounds with the Dittany as best as you can. When she wakes up, give her some of the Skele-Gro. I can see already now that she has a couple of fractures, but the Skele-Gro should take care of the worst. But don't give it to her before she's awake. Understood?"
"Understood," Ron responded. Bill patted his shoulder and then turned to leave the room.
Having reached the doorway, however, he turned around.
"You're gonna be okay?" he asked looking back at Ron.
"Yeah," Ron said gruffly, threw Pettigrew's wand onto the coffee table and grabbed the clear bottle that contained the Dittany. "Go get Harry!"
And with that, the older Weasley nodded and stormed outside as well, leaving Ron alone with Hermione.
Ron remained standing still, his gaze lingering for several moments on the living room door where Bill had just disappeared. He suddenly felt strangely forlorn in the now unnervingly silent room, the sound of his own breathing resounding unnaturally loud in his ears. The presence of the others and their bustle had provided him with some comfort and distraction, but now that they were gone, all his fears and worries suddenly seemed to weigh down on him tenfold, licking inside him like gruesome flames.
He turned to Hermione and looked at her sadly as he crawled closer to the end of the couch where her head rested.
"It's okay," he whispered, half to Hermione and half in order to reassure himself, as he stroked her sticky hair as gently as his shaking fingers allowed him. "Harry's come... We're all safe... I will take care of you now and you'll be fine, too... You'll see..."
He clumsily unstoppered the bottle of Dittany and poured a generous amount of the liquid on one of the washcloths. Then, he bent over Hermione, washcloth in one hand, wand in the other.
"Tergeo!"
His charm cleaned Hermione of the blood, dirt and crystal that had covered her and now he had a clearer view of her injuries. Among several minor cuts, she had a long gash on her cheek and another one along her jaw line. Hands still violently trembling, he brushed the hair out of her face and discovered another cut on her forehead and a nasty-looking bruise on her temple. He swallowed and started to run the cloth over her wounds, desperately willing himself to be keep his nerves in check and to be careful and gentle; she appeared so fragile that he was certain that one wrong move of his would break her.
To his own surprise, he felt more at ease with his task the longer he did it. The corners of his mouth twitched when somehow, inadvertently, in the back of his head, he found himself thinking that under any other circumstances, tending to Hermione like this might have been a dream come true. Under any other circumstances, doing this would have made him feel unspeakably awkward as well, but now, awkwardness was one of the few emotions that he did not feel. His worry for Hermione and Harry and his hatred for the Death Eaters were claiming his entire emotional capacity and increasingly more.
"Focus, you stupid git!"
Having finished healing her face, he proceeded with her hands. He grimaced when he saw that they looked much worse for wear; Ron assumed that Hermione must have used her arms to shield her head from further harm. A wave of hatred ripped through him as his thoughts drifted to the bastards who had done this to her while he dabbed the washcloth over her wounds, forced to look at them. He noticed that the last three fingers of her left hand were broken and his face contorted with self-disgust. Healing her external injuries might be all he could do at the moment, but it did not even seem anywhere near enough. If Hermione woke up right now, she would be in tremendous pain due to her fractures and Merlin knew what other injuries he was not even aware of and he was in no position to prevent that. Why the fuck had he never cared to learn healing spells? He could have made Bill teach him that when he had been staying at Shell Cottage last year, instead of spending the whole time pitying himself.
But this was not the time for such pessimistic thoughts. He had to be there for Hermione. He had to be strong. He had to keep a cool head. But his feelings were overwhelming him and he did not know how long he could fight them anymore...
"It's okay, Hermione... I'll get you through this... Everything's gonna be fine..."
If only he could believe his own words. If only he was not such a useless idiot, unable to do anything right, to do anything by himself. He felt so helpless. This was so far out of his grasp and ability, magical or not. And even if he had been competent enough, he strongly doubted that he would have been able to properly help her still. He was shaking. He could not think. His mind was spinning and felt fuzzy, filled with a wild jumble of emotions that was slowly getting full grasp of him as he collapsed onto his knees, his face buried in his arms. Concern for Hermione took turns with anger at himself took turns with relief that they all were safe took turns with worry for Harry took turns with dread of whatever challenges they still had to face took turns with shock at the events of the last couple of hours took turns with blazing hatred of Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters took turns with a general feeling of nausea and fear, all in quick succession, alternating, mixing, swirling in his head, faster and faster, and in between, memories flashed in his mind of the dark clammy cellar, Bellatrix' ruthless voice and Hermione's screams...