A/N: I have a pretty lengthy author note to share with you all but I'll put it at the end of this chapter.

Warning: Dark themes of sexual nature and angst. You have been warned.

All Characters belong to JKR, only the places/people you do not recognise belong to me.

Chapter 43: The Evil Within

They waited till Harry was fast asleep, exhausted.

Hermione had located a small potions cabinet and Ron was sure that a dose of Calming Drought had made into Harry's water goblet at some point; he wasn't exactly complaining. Quite the contrary, he wanted to get out of this room as early as he possibly could. The proposition of retreating back to his quarter alone was appearing to be a fantastic proposition at the moment.

He pulled himself off the bed and turned around to call her but stopped; a steady stream of tears was trickling down her eyes. Something inside his chest cheered at her anguished state while something feebler pulled at his heartstrings at the very same moment. The part that was stronger quickly forced the concern out of his watched her as she tenderly ran her fingers through Harry's hair and tucked him inside the covers a little better. The gesture seemed practiced and not something new or sudden- there was a sense of familiarity in that touch, in that care. A very old memory surfaced inside him as he watched- one in that old school chamber of hers, one in which she pulled him to rest his head on her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. It was obvious that he had been replaced.

"I'll be in my room," he told her in an emotionless voice; she nodded without taking her eyes off Harry. Ron spent only a moment to take in her form before walking out and closing the door shut after him. If they needed privacy, he would ensure they got it...

...

The bath was huge; it would fit in his old room quite easily. In fact, it would fit in his room twice along with Ginny's and also their kitchen and still have room to spare.

He peeled off his jacket and his jumper and threw them on the bathroom floor. The old button-down soon joined the heap along with the inner vest that had more holes in it now than it did a couple of months before. Next to go were his shoes and socks, pulled and thrown haphazardly next to his clothes. His jeans were the last and finally, devoid of all his clothing but his boxers and the locket, he stood in front of the mirror that covered one wall in its entirety.

Ron looked at his tall, pale and freckled form. He did not look malnourished, not yet at least thanks to all the meals Kreacher had fed them, but he did not look fit either. His pale skin and the freckles stood out in the bright light of the hundred candles that shone in their brackets. His lackluster hair was longer now than his Mum would have ever liked. But above all, his face looked... Sickly? Ugly? He couldn't completely decide. His blue eyes, the only feature that his Mum ever said she loved, shone like dying embers between those dark circles that lined them. Either he was imagining it or even they appeared as if a layer of dust had settled over them.

Dusty, yes, that was the word. Dusty, dirty and poor.

He did not belong to this place. Maybe that is what Hermione saw herself now? That he, Ron Weasley, was a misfit in the world she belonged to, and that was why she had chosen then, hadn't everyone chosen Harry? He was the bloody Chosen One, after all.

His Mum had said that Harry was as good as her own sons, and there was no denying that she cared for him just like one; did pay extra attention to him whenever he was around. Ron had always told himself that it was because how little care Harry received from his relatives. And it made him feel good too. But looking back, did he ever receive that kind of love and care from her? No, she was more of a stern parent in his case. Caring yes, but a little forgetful, a little less attentive towards him.

He exhaled softly and pulling the locket off, placed it on the small dresser that held soaps and vials full of shampoos and oils. Discarding his boxers and throwing them at the pile of dirty clothes, he walked away from the huge bath at the center of the room and made his way towards the shower enclosure. Intricate knobs tapped with his wand soon poured warm water down his body, soothing his muscles but not doing much for his cold heart.

He allowed the water to wash over him as he stood resting his palms on the black stone wall. His hair got plastered to his skull and fell over his eyes but he did not care to remove them; his mind wandering off to the old train of thoughts.

Ginny... she too had chosen Harry. As if there weren't enough brothers to compete against for her affections, there was his best friend in it too. Harry had taken that away from him as well.

And now, she was his.

The realisation hit him like a brick and a low cry erupted from his lips unawares. As the water flowed from the showerhead he allowed his tears to escape and join the thin streams that flowed on his body. It was only when the warming spell faded and the water turned from mildly cold to chilly that he turned the knob off. Steam escaped from his heated body in tiny spirals before they blended with the cooler air of the room and he noted that his entire body was tinged one of the many fresh and new towels that were stacked on the rack, he moved over to the mirror before tying it around his waist.

Ron pushed the fringe off his eyes with a rough hand. His eyes looked puffed and red and it only made him appear more gruesome. He watched the sickly young man who stood in the mirror as water dripped down his wet hair and torso.

Wasn't this what he had decided anyway? Hadn't he always known that he wasn't worth her?

She had come to him and he had been the one to push her away. What was wrong if she was searching for solace in Harry's arms now? If they survived, Harry could give her a better life. And they would make the perfect couple, the power couple in fact. He would not fit in the scheme anyway, he wasn't meant to be. He pulled the locket over and suddenly, the air felt colder than a moment ago.

'So you are okay with Hermione finding solace in Harry's arms, are you?' sneered the voice, louder and more malicious than before. Ron contemplated pulling it off and the voice only laughed harder.

'What a weakling!' it scoffed. 'Running away from your own thoughts, Ronald Weasley?'

"SHUT UP!" he bellowed to the empty room and tightened his grip on the thick chain.

'Oh, yes you are!' it added with a cold, mocking laugh. 'You can't even bear to hear the truth. No wonder she is looking for something better," it hissed and his hold on the chain slackened.

"She is looking for a man, Weasley. She is looking for a stronger man, someone who can make her feel secure and safe... of course, your empty pockets don't give her that assurance. I bet you can't even make her feel like a real woman..." it continued in his ears and his vision turned red.

"I'm sure Harry is doing that perfectly, though," iIt said in mock contemplation. "You are not even man enough to take a woman, Weasley. No wonder she is looking for better prospects to full-fill her urges..."

...

She sat next to Harry as the younger boy slept. He had woken up panting only a while ago and she had pressed her hand firmly on his wrist, soothing him. Surely, the Calming Drought had lost its potency. Watching him carefully and deciding that this time, he was indeed asleep, she delicately removed the glasses from his eyes and set them aside on the table.

Hermione was scared.

She was scared of this deadly mission they had been assigned and the image of pure evil that had lurked behind Harry's emerald green eyes. She had never seen something like this before and the lack of information made her uneasy and fearful.

How could she help them out?

She had read almost all the books she could lay her hands on and even the old copy Beedle the Bard, her own not the one Dumbledore had left for her, just to see if it was in any way different. But so far, she had found nothing; nothing to help finish the Horcrux, nothing to unravel the mysteries of the three strange gifts Dumbledore had left for the three of gripped Harry's shoulder lightly and allowed a muffled, helpless sob to escape. Time was running out and the dark forces were only getting stronger. She felt weaker and no matter how hard she tried keeping her morale up, her instinct kept indicating the presence of something sinister in their midst. And today she had seen a glimpse of it in Harry's eyes.

A few more silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

This place was her home, and Harry was the brother she never had. She wasn't willing to lose him. While the Weasleys all felt like family, there was something special about the relationship she shared with the scarred boy. They both had been orphaned and left without a family by the very same man. They both shared the reason to be in this fight. She did not realise it as much as she did today, Harry was almost like the only family she had. Ron was her future, Harry was a linked to her past - a reminder of who she was, of who she would always be- an orphan of war.

Maybe the Chateau did it, reminded her strongly that no matter how strong her home was, no matter how well protected by enchantments - the other side was stronger. They could still snatch away all that was hers, without warning – just like it had done before. They still had it in their power to rip her away from her home and the only person she could call a brother. And the worst part was that Harry was destined to face the Dark Lord one day or other, she could not hold him safe forever...

Dread seeped in through her skin, filling her pores and she felt an urgent need for warmth and security. So she got up, wiped off her tears, and rushed off to the only person who made her feel safe - Ron.

...

She entered the silent room, and for a minute panicked on finding it empty. But then the soft sound of the shower running came through the closed bathroom door and she relaxed visibly.

His bed was a mess. A small stack of fresh clothes lay in the same spot she had left them the day before. The cover was pulled away like someone had hurried away from it without bothering to set it straight. His wand and the Deluminator lay next to his pillow.

The shower still sounded softly behind the door, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she took her place at the farthest end, her back resting against the headboard. Her gown spreadout around her, the light blue blending in with the ocean blue coloured bedspread. It was both a little relief and a little uncomfortable wearing the robes she wore in her earlier life. But her mother had set her wardrobe here long before time and wearing these now almost felt soothing, familiar touches from her past.

She rubbed her arms, noticing that a slight tear had appeared on the sleeve. Hermione could not recollect how that had happened; perhaps she had bumped against something? Oh, yes, she had passed through the two bookshelves, not noticing that a tiny hook protruded from one of it. Her earlier self would have rushed back to her wing, changed the gown and thrown it off to be given off to some lesser mortal. But her present self only shook her head with a small chuckle and began tracing random patterns on the pillow with her fingers.

The door of the bath opened with a very small click.

Hermione turned just in time to watch the tall, naked and wet torso of Ron Weasley come into view and struugled with her breath. Her throat suddenly felt parched while liquid heat coursed through her veins. She lowered her eyes on instinct, colour moving up fast on her neck and cheeks, but those betraying eyes revolted and returned to lurk on his skin, watching the water drops dripping down in thin streams. She took in the faint covering of ginger hair on his fairly muscled chest upon which the dreaded locket lay, the slightly darker line of hair that ran down the centre and reached his navel and beyond. Her breath was caught in her throat for a good few seconds... Yes, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, but it sat way too low on his hips.

Ron shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. It was obvious he had not noticed her yet as he looked around the bed for his clothes, his fingers on the knot on the towel, inches from ripping it away from him.

She cleared her throat because, first, she wasn't sure she would be able to make any other noise. Second, because it would be mortifying if he changed first and then found out she was here, watching all this while.

He turned around sharply at the noise, his eyes scrunched into slits, brows creased and lips drawn into a thin line. It took him a moment for him to locate her.

Hermione could not decide if she was more aroused or scared for she was both. She could not put a finger on it but there was something dangerous in those blue orbs, something predatory in the way they took her in. It was like a deadly poison. Her instinct told her to run but the lure to taste it was way too great.

"What are you doing here?"

His words were rough, slightly scratchy around the edges, and she licked her lips and gulped down trying to find her voice.

Why was she here, exactly? Oh...

He walked forward slowly and she got up herself as if the bed was on fire.

"I-I wanted to see you," she stammered. She needed to leave right away. There was something painfully attractive in that gait, something that triggered her instinct to flee while keeping her rooted on the spot as well.

Ron stopped when he was barely a foot away. Hermione noticed she was trapped between the bed, the wall, and his tall frame. She averted her gaze from him because it made her feel those very things that Ron had asked her to hold back.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" he asked again, slowly, deliberately. She could feel his eyes taking her in and the realisation caused her to bite her lips.

"I...I should probably just leave..." she whispered without looking at him; hoping with all her might for him to move aside so that their bodies wouldn't touch if she moved.

"Your sleeve got ripped," he observed in a strange voice, and she glanced up at him in surprise while covering the gap in fabric with her other palm.

"Yes..." she murmured. He smelled of a fresh shower and it did strange things to her senses. What she could not figure out, however, was why it scared her so.

Suddenly he moved forward and his fingers were on her wrist, removing her hand away as he ran his long finger on the skin exposed by the tear in the fabric.

"How did this happen?" he asked. It was as if someone else was speaking in Ron's voice. It was cool and controlled but also deadly. If the charms in the house were not set to trigger in case of an imposter, Hermione would surely be running far away from him. She had the same idea at that moment too but held on.

"I was in the library when- when it got caught on a small hook," she offered trying best to sound casual, trying to ignore that his fingers had now moved to her shoulder.

"Were you with Harry?" There was a flicker of something she could not decipher in those orbs.

"Y-Yes..." she replied.

A small chuckle of sorts escaped him and she relaxed for a minute at the familiarity of that face before his finger made way to her lips, marking a line on her neck as it moved up.

He ran his finger over her lower lip and she watched with shaky breaths as his eyes lingered on the movement of his fingers. His other hand came up to entangle in her hair at her nape and a small pressure angled her face to him. She gasped quietly, expecting those still moist lips on hers, actually craved for them as her eyes fluttered shut. But the kiss never came.

A moment passed, the space of a few heartbeats and she opened her eyes to find his eyes on hers. He was taking in her features like memorising them or perhaps matching them with his memory, she couldn't decide. But something else lingered behind those orbs, a desire so strong that it could burn her easily, a flicker of pain so deep that it seemed to hurt her too.

She blinked in surprise and her palms moved up to rest on his chest, careful to avoid the locket and his eyes followed her hands. The next time when their eyes met, she looked away blushing crimson. There were no words necessary; his eyes screamed raw, unguarded lust. It was obvious what he wanted- he wanted to mark her, in every way possible.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes but the next instant a soft gasp escaped her lips. His finger was moving away from her lips and scorching her skin through the fabric. It moved on the exposed part on her neck and then moved lower to the swell of her breast in a delicate and deliberate motion. It circled over her left breast in a spiral and rested on the now swollen bud of her nipple. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him watching her, feel him watching what his finger was doing, where it rested.

Her chest heaved as the finger moved to the other side, repeating the same motion, arousing the other nipple. Her breath came out deeper; she could already feel the dampness between her legs.

Two fingers traced a line between her bosom, and lower they went in their search till they reached the heavily curtained space between her legs, and she gasped aloud this time. Ron was still silent as if he heard nothing, but the pressure of the fingers increased as they rubbed over her core, over her robes, over the soaked cloth that was her knickers.

"Open your dress." His words, or rather the command, made her open her eyes. His fingers had moved away and she whimpered at the loss.

"Open it yourself, Hermione. If I help, you might not be able to wear it again." It appeared as if he was clinging on to the last bits of his control to rip it out of her and she glanced at all the candles that flooded the room before shaky fingers made way to the hooks in front.

He let out a soft sound of impatience as she slowly opened the unending number of hooks that started at her neck and ended at little below her navel. She removed her hands away as soon as the last one was undone. Ron spared not a moment in ripping it off her shoulders and before Hermione knew, a gorgeous blue was pooled at her feet while she stood in the bright light, clad only in her pale blue lingerie.

She asked herself to relax. He had seen her before, in the dormitory, in the tool shed and also outside their tent. He saw you in shadows, never in a room full of light... her mind reminded.

He picked her up easily and the flannel slippers dropped down from her feet before he lowered her down on the bed. Hermione knew not what to feel mainly because there were so many feelings bombarding her senses simultaneously. Arousal, as she had never felt before, was flowing in her very blood along with a maddening sense of shyness on being watched by Ron. She knew the last bits of her clothing would be pulled off her soon and then, Ron would see her like no man had ever seen her before, he would take her as no man had ever done before. A feeble part of her brain called out that there was something dangerous here but Ron was luring her into him like a flame. She knew she would be burnt by the closeness but she was powerless to keep away.

"So beautiful," he murmured softly and she shook because it sounded dangerous rather than tender.

"And so perfect..." he added, rubbing his calloused palm over her arms and sides. The rough skin grazed the side of the swell of her breasts and she watched him watch her. He was taking her all in, scanning every part of her.

He flipped her around suddenly and soon, the clasp of her bra came undone. With her face pressed onto his pillow, she let out a soft cry while his fingers traced down her back till they reached the elastic at her waist... Slowly, with long fingers clasping the sides, he pulled the last clothing down and off her.

As the cooler air of the room brushed her naked backside, she felt a rush of liquid gushing out of her core.

He touched her then... all of her. His calloused fingers moved over every part of her skin, from the base of her nape down her back and waist to the curve of her bum, and from the firm and soft flesh between her thighs down her calves to her feet. He turned her around when he was done, and she continued to keep her eyes shut tight; the edge of the pillow fisted tightly on either side. She had an urge to cover herself up but a greater urge to be seen.

Hermione expected kisses but none came; his fingers only repeated the process. He rubbed the buds on her nipples between two fingers and cupped each of her breasts in his large palm before moving his hands lower. In the silence of the room, his breathing sounded loud and clear; Hermione was sure he could hear the maddening beating of her heart.

He let out a growl when his hands pried her legs apart and she whimpered, biting her lips in an attempt to hold her moan in. But the moment the large palm settled over her core, her resolve broke and she not only opened her eyes but moaned out aloud, her back arching up at his unspoken command. Their eyes met and she could not take her eyes off him. He radiated passion from every pore and an underlying whisper of controlled aggression. He was suddenly once more the Ron who had kissed her against the wall at Grimmauld Place; only this one looked far more- dangerous. She gulped hard, and at that precise moment, two long fingers found their way inside her already soaking entrance.

It was a like a spell that hit her hard, the pleasure and fear collided deep inside somewhere, leaving her shivering in their wake.

Once she could open her eyes again she looked at his face. Was Ron always so handsome? He appeared to attract her to himself with some kind of powerful magic which she was unable to resist. She looked at his sweaty form, the way he sat between her spread legs and her eyes were drawn to the one article that did not belong there with them- the locket.

With all the strength she could muster, she pulled him close and captured his lips in hers. It was a demanding kiss. He almost forced entry to her mouth and she obliged because the fragrance and sensation that was intrinsical 'Ron' flooded her senses; his fingers inside her worked more furiously than before. The moment the kiss was broken, however, she pulled the chain off him and chucked it away. It was the exact moment when the second orgasm coursed through her, and she closed her eyes and shuddered wildly.

If she her body and mind had not been as aroused as it was, she would have noticed the tiny flicker of confusion in his eyes and the slowing down of pace between her legs.

When she opened her eyes again, Ron was looking at her with something strange floating in his orbs.

"May I?" he asked softly and she nodded without knowing what he was talking about. But she soon found out. Slowly, hesitantly he removed the towel.

In the hundred lights that shone around them, she finally saw Ron as he saw her. Perhaps it was the loss of the last bit of barrier, she presumed, that he glowed red in the face and ears. And yes, he was hard.

He met her eyes seeking permission and she managed a small, shy, encouraging smile extending her hand to touch him. But before she could, he caught her wrist in his, and looking deeply into her eyes with more love than she could take, he placed a kiss on her palm.

The next few things happened so fast that before she knew, he had pressed her palm over her core and placed his hand over hers. He was both enticingly close and frustratingly away. She wanted his hand on her skin but couldn't deny that it was strangely erotic to be touching herself with his hand guiding her. As she began letting out small sounds of pleasure, Ron pressed her legs together and managed to squeeze his hard member in the gap between her thighs. It would have been very uncomfortable if he moved fast, and was not totally pleasurable but he bent lower capturing her lips in his own in a slow kiss that matched with the slow rhythm of her body. Their sexes were close but separated by their own hands as he moved slowly, carefully. He made her touch herself and after a while, they both came at the same moment when her free hand moved into his hair and her teeth bit his lip...

...

Ron looked at the sleeping girl under the covers. He wanted to touch her but refrained. Hadn't he done enough, already?

He felt over his chest where the locket had been. Even without it, his heart felt heavy.

What had he done? He had given into the mistrust that the locket had put in his heart... he had utilised her attraction for him and her trust in him to pacify his ego, to check on her, to see if she had indeed been sleeping with Harry... if their lovemaking had left any marks on her.

And what had he found out?

That he was unworthy of her trust and love. If she had not pulled away, the locket he would have perhaps taken her body, tainting his soul forever.

He knew the locket was evil; what he hadn't realised was how powerful it was- how it amplified his anger and mistrust, how easily it fuelled his jealousy, but more than that, how easy it made for him to use all those for his own benefit, how easy it made for him to channel his anger to lure his prey.

He lifted himself up and pulled away the covers off Hermione. She was fully dressed but he still felt guilty touching her. But he had to do what he had to do- keep her away from the locket, and himself. He magicked the door open before lifting her up in his arms and walked out, forcing the tears in his eyes not to escape.

Once in her room, he lay her down delicately and pulled the covers up. Gently he tucked a curl away from her face and after a moment's hesitation pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered with a heavy heart before turning away and leaving.

Neither Harry nor Hermione would ever know, how that one night, behind the locked and charmed door of Ron Weasley's room, the young man they knew, would smash every mirror with a heavy gold locket, how he would scream in agony, not because of the sharp glass pieces that pierced his skin but the flames that burnt his soul from within. And no one would hear him howl in pain till the night died.

It wasn't a question of her consent, but his intent...

A/N: Can't tell you guys, how terrified I am about putting this chapter up. I always knew this had to be in the story hence a million warnings. Were you prepared for this? I don't know.

Now for a bit of clarification:

I've always felt that the Locket was far more evil than it was presented to be. Maybe because the series had originally started as a story book for kids JKR had refrained from describing it completely? But it was a part of Voldemort's soul. I doubt his evil had any sense of limit or morality for that matter. I don't think he had any feelings of lust what-so-ever, but he was always the one to manipulate using his prey's weak points. But then, what can we expect from a soul who tortured kids before he was eleven, and murdered his family when he was sixteen?

Why they still wear the locket? I guess it's the charm of the Evil. Why else would a wizard like Dumbledore wear that ring otherwise? And yes I think each of the Horcruxes targeted the person who was destined to destroy it. I have a proper, thought-out theory for it. You can read my story –Daddy's Girl or read my Tumblr (Azaleablueme) post for the whole of it. (It's much too long to fit in an author note section.) .

Please let me know what you think of this chapter.

Thanks to all of you for sticking around!

Some more questions about the protection spells on the Chateau will be clarified in the next chapter. I see most of you have been horrified by all that Ron has taken upon himself, and I know it will have got only worse now after this.

Another question that most of you have is if Ron will leave. I can't tell you that, not yet. But most of the things will not be like in canon. I will only keep the parts that I can't chuck off.

Can't help but say that the dark times have only begun...

Thanks to each one of you who read this and especially those who leave me a line(Nichole O: Love you girl xoxox). I hope I won't lose my readers after this.

Another shout-out to two people who definitely need to update their stories because I love their work and can't wait! : notsing and JeanandBilius: please, please please update and longer chapters please!