Disclaimer – I do not own anything! This is simply my perception of what could have possibly happened. Every bit of copyright belongs to JKR.

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my first chapter. I've been stressed lately, and I'm hoping I can use this story as an outlet for any anger, irritation, or stress release. I've also decided that each chapter will rotate between the point of view of Hermione, Ron, and possibly Harry. As always, please don't hesitate to review! Just be sure to tell me what you liked and didn't like, and keep all criticism constructive. I certainly don't expect everyone to like my writing, so I won't get offended if you tell me so politely!

Some clarifications I feel that I should mention: Ron and Hermione are not dating yet. Both seem to be aware of the other's feelings, deep down inside, but they won't come to terms with it mentally. Even though Ron said, 'I don't they bought the "He's not my boyfriend," thing,' he was teasing.This is an AU story, but it will follow somewhat of the same plot as DH. It will be slow progressing, so if you are hoping for them to find Harry within the first three chapters, then you've come to the wrong place. I still don't know what I'm doing for the story. I'm just writing as I go along, keeping in mind my general plot idea. Also, please let me know if you would like me to rotate chapters between Hermione, Ron, and Harry, or just Hermione and Ron. - Erin

'Experience is a hard teacher. She gives the test first, the lesson afterward.' - Anonymous

Ron woke up to a throbbing pain in his side. His head ached, and he couldn't even see the freckles on his dirty skin. The realization that hit him was the fact that he and Hermione had escaped from Snatchers, and he'd had to fight for both of their lives with broken ribs and an excessively bleeding wound in his side.

Clutching his side, he sat up and looked around. Where was Hermione? "Hermione?" he weakly called out. No answer. He buried his face in his hands and drew in a shaky breath. He had lost Harry and had no idea where he was, and now he'd lost Hermione. Maybe it was the universe's way of telling him he didn't deserve to have any friends. Especially not someone like Hermione. How was he supposed to survive without her? Her creepy level of knowledge on almost every subject had been an invaluable aid to their survival, and he would surely die from a silly error within the first forty-eight hours.

Doing his best to ignore the grueling pain, he crawled out of the cave. Each time he heard the soft thud! Of his joints hitting the cold rock, he winced. Each movement was accompanied by severe pain. He had never felt so sore, but he had no right to complain. Harry and Hermione had been through worse. That was part of the reason he'd gathered up the courage to tell her how he felt – he thought she was going to die.

The sunlight hit Ron in the face like a pile of rocks. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dingy lighting of the cave, and the light was far too bright to not make his headache worsen. He looked around him. He didn't know what he was looking for. He wasn't a walking encyclopedia like Hermione, and he didn't know how to track people , or look for fresh prints, or disturbed branches. He was completely and utterly clueless. Just another thing to be failed by Ron Weasley.

Ron tugged at the shirt around his wound. It had stopped bleeding, and Ron figured that was good enough for him. He promptly removed it and placed the tattered rags back on him. He stepped carefully as he made his way through the trees. He didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what he found.

He stopped in his tracks as he peered down the cliff. He'd found her. She didn't look hurt or upset, in fact, she looked rather happy. He'd never seen her look so at peace or tranquil in all his years of knowing her. He was battling himself internally. He had never wanted to run to her and sweep her into his arms more than he did at the moment, but it felt like he'd be intruding a personal moment. He was awkward enough as it was. He didn't to give her any more reasons to just forget about him and fall into the arms of Harry, Viktor, or one of her many waiting suitors.

Ron smiled as he watched Hermione let her guard down, something they hadn't been able to do in a long while. Truthfully, he did feel a bit like a creeper, just standing there and watching her, so he gave her one last glance, and began working his way back to the cave.

"Ah!" he cried out as he stumbled over a rock. So much for being careful. He winced as he felt fire spreading throughout his abdomen. It was worse than when the wounds had been inflicted by the Snatchers. Now that the wounds were attempting to heal themselves, a heavy blow to them only heightened his pain.

Without a second thought, he instinctively placed his large palm over his side. 'Get back to the cave, Ron,' he told himself. 'Get back to the cave.' The pain was blinding now. His hand was red, doused in blood, and the blood was trickling down his side. Each step he took used a frightening amount of energy. He wasn't even halfway back when he realized that the only thing that was able to keep him moving was the idea of safety being back in the cave.

Fifteen strenuous minutes later, an exhausted Ron Weasley collapsed on the cold cave floor. Inhaling deeply, not even noticing at the dirt his face was in, he lifted his head. "Hermione?" he called out, desperation being the only thing present in his tone. "Hermione?" No answer. He was alone. He was alone, he was hurt, and he wasn't smart enough to fix it himself. He needed her, and he couldn't get her.

Wait... he knew wheres he was... He hadn't been taught how to make his speak yet, but surely he could direct it to her...

Lifting his wand, and remembering the peaceful times he had shared with Hermione in fifth year, he commanded as strongly as he could, 'Expecto Patronum.' A Jack Russel Terrier burst out of his wand, and he sighed with relief. He'd succeeded. He willed the dog to run down to the beach Hermione was at, and pointed the wand in the direction for good measure.

If she remember what his patronus was, he'd be lucky. If she didn't, she might worry someone knew she was there and apparate away, or most likely, come back for Ron. He was hoping she'd come regardless.

Ron willed the patronus to run about the beach for five minutes, hoping she'd seen it. He didn't have the energy, mentally or physically, to keep it going, so he willed the dog to run back to him. Before long, he saw the terrier, and it burst back into his wand. He was alone again. He was alone, and he'd never before needed help as much as he did now.

Thirty Minutes Later

"Ron?" a voice called, waking Ron from the unconsciousness he'd drifted into. It was soft...and feminine. It called out again. "Ron?"

Ron crawled to the side of the cave where the entrance was located, so he could see who the voice belonged to. His mind wasn't exactly in its best place right now, and he was still bleeding. He rolled over onto his back, sprawling out on the ground and breathing heavily.

"Ron!" the voice called again, and he saw a figure come into view. It was Hermione. She ran over to him and knelt down beside him. "I'm so sorry I left, Ron," she said. He could see the tears leaking out of her enchanting brown eyes.

"Your wound is reopened. I need Dittany," she said, fumbling about in her beaded bag. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she had no idea if he was awake enough to pay attention to her, and she was more comforting herself as she spoke, rather than him.

Ron let out a scream of pain as he felt the Dittany begin to heal the gash. It stung, which he took as a sign it was working. "It…hurts," he gasped, struggling to talk through the severe pain.

"I know it does," Hermione said softly, cupping his face in her free hand. "Just try to take deep breaths, Ron."

Ron let out an anguished scream that he had no idea he was capable of producing when Hermione put on another layer of Dittany. "Oh...gods...Why the...bloody...hell...does it...have...to hurt...so...much?" He struggled to form coherent sentences, and closed his eyes, gasping for air.

"Ron," Hermione said sternly, taking his face in both of her hands. "Open your eyes."

He did so, and looked up at the girl with bushy brown hair and chocolate eyes who was hovering him. "You need to take deep breaths. Working yourself up over it will only make it hurt worse. The sooner you recover, the sooner we can find Harry." Ron had completely forgotten about Harry, as embarrassing as it was to admit. Yeah, his best friend had been in the back of his mind through everything, but the last thirty-six hours of his life had been centered solely around his and Hermione's survival.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching up to rub his thumb against her cheek.

"Don't be," Hermione told him, placing her hand on top of his and giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked outside and then back at him. "Let's move away from the cave entrance. It looks like it's going to rain. Do you think you can manage to move?" Ron gave her a feeble nod and sat up with Hermione's help. She hooked her arm around his waist, instructing him to put some of his weight onto her as he limped, very slowly, back around to the small sanctuary in the side of the cave.

"I won't leave your side again," Hermione promised him softly, kissing him lightly. It felt weird for Ron that they were both able to show signs of affection now, without either one of their faces turning a blazing red. It was usually just the tip of his ears that turned red now. After so many years of loving from a distance, it was a foreign experience to be loving up close.

"Thank you, you've been amazing, Hermione," Ron quietly told her, avoiding eye contact. His thank you was weak at best. He owed her so much more than a thank you. He would have bled to death from bleeding - whether it be internal or external - had it not been for her. She had been so brave, braver than he could ever imagine being.

"You don't need to thank me," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "Now lay down. Relax." She patted her lap, gesturing for him to set his head there, and began mindlessly running her fingers through his hair after he laid down.

"Where do you think Harry is?" Ron asked after a moment of silence. He looked up at Hermione, and he could see the tranquility in her eyes transform into sadness. It was clear to him, the forever daft Ronald Weasley, that she was carrying a huge burden emotionally and mentally. He wasn't always clueless when it came to other people, especially when that person was Hermione. Seeing her like this upset him. She didn't deserve it.

Hermione pursed her lips and didn't answer him. Ron could tell she was holding something back. Either she was afraid of hurting him, or appearing weak. He could tell by the way her eyes lowered, her slender fingers found themselves wound in her frizzy curls, and the creases in her forehead. You weren't best friends with someone, hell, in love with someone, for seven years and not get to know little details like that.

"Hermione..." Ron repeated softly, nervous about upsetting her further. "You didn't answer my question. Are you alright?" It was highly uncharacteristic of Hermione to not answer a question, considering her reflex was to shout out the answer before the person could finish their sentence. And she always liked to give her input when it came to situations, especially something as important as this...unless she was upset. Then she retreated into her dark corner of the world, where she could hurt without letting her weakness lower the levels of optimism in others.

Before he had time to react, Hermione's tears were escaping her eyes and landing on his chest. She leaned over him, rested her elbows on him, and buried her face in her hands. Ron was dumbstruck. He didn't know what to do. Whatever he did to attempt to comfort her wouldn't suffice. Whatever he said was more likely to make her feel worse, rather than better.

"Hermione... don't cry, please," Ron choked out, unsure of what to do. He gently took her arms off of him and sat up. "Why are you crying, love?" He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, any space between them eliminated. He rested his chin on the top of her head and sighed. "Can you tell me why you're crying?"

"It's just...Harry..." Hermione said, her voice muffled as she spoke into his chest and sobs. "What if we don't find him? Snatchers could have him and we wouldn't know it."

Ron kept silent. He simply inhaled the smell of her hair, and thinking carefully about what to say - something he did so rarely he wasn't even sure quite how to go about it. "Harry's not dead, or captured," Ron assured her, stroking her hair. "Even if he is captured, he'll escape. Don't you have faith in him?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione protested, sounding offended that he would even suggest such a thing.

"Then you shouldn't worry about it," Ron told her. Yes, worry was an appropriate emotion, and on the contrary, he did think they should be worrying. If they didn't worry, they wouldn't have as much motivation to find him, and they needed to find him as quickly as possible so they could resume the hunt for the horcruxes.

"I have to worry about him. He's our best friend. He's more than that, he's my brother," Hermione said, the tears that had subdued returning fully-blown.

Dealing with crying girls, or women, as that's what Hermione was now, was never Ron's strong suit. He didn't trust himself to say the right thing, so he just held her. He kept her close to him and only focused on Hermione. When the wetness on his shirt stopped being consistently replenished by her continuous flow of tears, he pulled back and kissed her forehead.

"Harry's strong. He'll be okay. We'll be back together, the three of us, before you know it," he said. Even with her chocolate brown eyes tear-stained, her cheeks red, her hair disheveled, and her eyes puffy, she was beautiful. More beautiful than she would ever know. He couldn't believe it had taken him as long as it did for him to realize it...actually, it he did know it, he just wasn't able to accept the fact that he had been falling hard for Hermione Jean Granger. He had long ago surpassed the fancy stage. He was head over heels in love with her.

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said quietly. Ron could tell she was embarrassed and thought of herself as weak now. "For everything."

"Don't thank me," Ron softly replied, tilting her chin up with his outstretched index finger and slowly leaning in. The feeling of her tender lips on his was unbelievable. Her lips parted, granting his tongue access. The kiss was the opposite of the ones he had shared with Lavender in sixth year. The ones with Lavender had been hormone-fueled and released sexual tension he'd been bottling up for years, since the moment he first started fancying Hermione. Hermione's kisses were soft, and gentle, and passionate. Passionate in an entirely different way. They were passionate with genuine love, instead of pure lust.

He could actually feel his stomach twisting into knots as he moved his hands to the back of her head and gently ran his fingers through her hair. Oh, how he had longed to be able to hold her in his arms and kiss her for so many years. He never dreamed he'd actually be able to one day. He could feel fresh tears leaking from her eyes, and realized it must've been how Harry felt fifth year with Cho Chang. He hoped she wasn't crying because his kissing skills were horrendous.

Ron pulled back after giving her one last lingering peck. "It's your turn to get some rest," Ron gently said, wiping her hair out of her eyes and patting his lap. She slowly lowered herself onto the ground, using his leg as a pillow, and let her eyes close as she drifted into a deep sleep.

Ron sensed, just by the way she fell asleep so fast, that she'd been depriving herself of adequate sleep. Being her stubborn self, she insisted on keeping watch for as long as she could during the night, and she had apparently gotten out early, as when he had woken up, she'd been gone. He was worried. This was taking a toll of her. Just because he had a gash in his side didn't mean he was incapable of keeping watch. If he saw something, he had his wand, and he could wake her up. In the meantime, he just let her sleep while his fingers ran gingerly through her curls.