Chapter 55: To Bring You Back

Ron woke up to a clear, crispy blue sky above him and a gentle, soothing breeze all around. He was lying on an open ground; the grass wasn't trimmed and perfect but slightly overgrown with a peppering of dry twigs and leaves. He thought he ought to be tired, but for some strange reason, he felt really good, and more importantly, quite at peace.

He closed his eyes once more, soaking in the bliss of the present. The grass ruffled a little, and the dry leaves were twirled around in spirals by the wind before it blew them away altogether.

It was a pleasant day; something he hadn't had in as long as he could remember and he seriously wished to cherish it. Along with that thought came another, a slight bother this one was, but he could not ponder over it much no matter how hard he tried. His memories, all those voices and images, seemed hazy and faded. He thought he should remember or at least be worried about how he landed in such a place. But somehow, the magic of this place took away those bothersome thoughts and replaced them with serenity. So he looked around him instead. He thought the place faintly resembled the grounds ahead of the orchard at home, but he couldn't say for sure because he couldn't really remember what his home looked like. But, he did feel at home, safe and secure. Every wisp of air seemed to fill his lungs with the tranquillity that overshadowed every other thought.

He opened his eyes again, stretched his arms and pulled himself to a sitting position. With his legs bent at his knees, he rested against the large trunk of a tree which, quite possibly, hadn't been there before. Or had it? He could not really say for sure.

He felt very fresh and clean; a tiny part of his brain reminded him that it was different from what he was accustomed to, and perhaps this, whatever it was, dream, mirage or even reality, was binding him to this place, holding him on. There were faint echoes of his past that his brain wished him to remember, but some other, stronger force pushed those away. He realised that it meant that all his memories were still present, just hiding under some sort of a veil, perhaps. He stretched his arms, and for the first time, noticed something that cracked the peace that engulfed him. The familiar scar marks that ran his all over arms till his shoulders were gone. In place of it was pale and unblemished skin.

As if jolted by a bout of strong magic, he got up hurriedly at this and looked around. Where the fuck was he, anyway? He could see the wild grassy land, the trees and even a small hillock far beyond a brook, but this place resembled nothing he had ever seen before. And now that he paid more attention to it, he realised that thick silence shrouded everything. There wasn't even a hint of a bird chirping or the leaves blowing in the breeze, not the sound of another human, nothing.

He felt inside his pockets, all of which were empty, and despite the magic that lured him to forget it all and perhaps lie down again, he quickened his steps instead. With every step he took, he could distinctly feel a sort of pull backwards. It was an effort really, to keep walking ahead and not give in to the desire to just let it all go. He glanced back and saw that beyond the tree where he had been sitting, there was now a fog that was slowly getting denser. Some voices he could not connect with faces were beginning to call. It was eerie how much he craved to go and see what lay beyond the fog, but the instinct that pulled him towards the brook was stronger.

He couldn't say for sure how long it took for him to reach the brook, but something told him that beyond the water and the small hillock, lay the place where he was supposed to be. Before he could even make up his mind to swim across, a bridge swiftly appeared on it. He didn't know what kind of magic this was and decided that it was beside the point anyway. He had to cross this - he was needed there after all. The voices behind him were getting louder, though to be honest, they weren't making much sense. But now, there was another set of jumbled words that was wafting over from the other side of the hillock, words he still couldn't make out, but voices that seemed to pull him towards him with a greater force than ones veiled by the fog behind him.

He finally placed a foot on the bridge and touched the railing, and the very next instant, blinding pain shot through his arms causing him to flinch and let go. Once he could open his eyes again, he saw that the familiar white marks had reappeared on his arms. He took another step and his knees buckled as if it had hit solid ground, and finally, he thought he knew what crossing the bridge entailed.

By the time Ron crossed the bridge, his entire body was marred with cuts and bruises. He felt tired and weak. Something told him there was still time to go back, and he glanced once at the bridge that stood silently as if waiting for him to backtrack his steps, but he edged forward instead. It took him forever to climb up, and by the end, his breath was coming out in heavy gasps and every fibre in his body was crying in pain. As he slumped down on the ground to catch his breath, he noticed that the grass here was still green but marked with dark patches. Once he had taken enough breaths to appease his tired lungs, he looked up and froze.

He was sitting on the Hogwarts grounds.

Ron turned around and found that the brook had vanished, and it was now replaced by the Forbidden Forest instead. He picked himself up as dread like he had never known before filled his senses. Perhaps on cue, a high, shrill cry erupted from the castle. From where he found the strength to get up and start running, he didn't know, but it was as if the cry had torn apart the veil that shrouded his memories from him. He ran up the stairway towards the Great Hall, and once again, stopped in shock at what he saw.

Hermione was there, and so was Harry, Ginny, his parents and brothers. And then there were the Death Eaters- hoards and hoards of them. He screamed and dashed ahead just as one Death Eater swooped down on Hermione; he ran harder to hold her only to crash hard into an invisible wall instead that threw him off. He got up and tried again as the dark masses of smoke swooped down on every single person he loved, while he struggled to reach out and help, but could do nothing as the invisible barrier blocked his path over and over again. He cried and yelled, banging his fist against the wall and kicking it in an effort to breach it to reach out to his loved ones. But all his attempts led to nothing. One by one, everyone he loved was captured by the darkness.

He had almost lost hope, when all of a sudden, amidst all that chaos, there was a loud scream. It came twice, like someone calling his name from some far off land. But the sounds pierced through all, causing the barrier to collapse like cracked glass, and he barely moved to the other side, when the scene disappeared into nothing but darkness.

...

"BILL!"

Fleur's scream caused both of them to dash up the stairs to the small bedroom where Ron was put up.

It had been two whole days, two days of unnerving anxiety as they waited for the potions to heal, and for Ron to wake up. They had finally deemed it fit to shift Ollivander and Luna to the Weasley Seniors because it was getting seriously difficult for Fleur to manage two patients together, especially Ron being as serious as he was.

For the past twenty-four hours, Harry had done nothing but wait in the hall, lending a hand to the married couple as best as he could. But the fear had not left him for a moment, and he was sure it was the same for all four of them. He barely had the courage to face Hermione. She had not moved from Ron's side, assisting Fleur, administering potions and salves, and muttering incantations.

And now that the two days was coming to a close, he could almost feel guilt and pain strangulating him from inside out. Needless to say, that scream made both men rush out as fast as their legs would carry them.

Bill reached first with Harry at his heels, but once at the door, the younger man took a look inside and stopped. Fleur was talking to Bill in words he couldn't fully comprehend. Anguish was clearly making it difficult for her to converse completely in English, and her jumbled words mixed with tears and French. He turned at the other girl instead, but haltingly, terrified of what he might see.

Hermione was on the bed bent over Ron's face, tears streaming down her own. Her arms were cupped on his cheeks that still displayed partly healed wounds. His legs carried him mechanically towards his two best friends, and it was only once he was near enough that he could make out her words.

"Ron! Wake up!" she cried hoarsely like a person who had forgotten to use her voice.

"Please, Ron! Please, Ron, please stay awake!" She continued to sob, shaking the pale redhead by the shoulder. Harry was sure he could not process anything anymore. Tearing his eyes away from the two figures, and forcing himself not to give in to the fear that was intensifying, he turned back instead.

"What-?" he managed to ask Fleur, but it was Bill who answered.

"One of the potions given for healing his septic wounds reacted with something else. Fleur is not so sure, but it could be because of the dark curses they used to torture him with. They might have left some traces in his body, or it could be because of the dark spells that were used to injure him. It is hard to say," he replied glancing towards the bed on which his youngest brother lay, pale and weak.

"But, what now?" he asked. This could not be happening; Ron was supposed to get up and be fine. He always bounced back sooner than others no matter what, whether it was a broken bone or a tentacled brain attack.

"Hermione stopped the effect of the potion with a spell, but we need other potions, and we don't have them here. I've to go," he replied hurriedly, and rushed out of the door, Harry following him after a brief minute that took him to process the words.

"Wait, Bill! I'll come with you," he added pleadingly, rushing after the man who had already raced down the steps and out of the door.

"BILL! PLEASE, WAIT!" he called again, pushing the door open himself, and the man paused.

Harry quickened his steps to stand in front of him and thought he heard Bill release a soft, tired groan. The man finally turned around and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder with a soft sigh. As their eyes met, Harry could see the last strand of hope Bill was clinging on to, and also his desperation to get some help as fast as he could. He seriously hoped Bill could see the same in his eyes too.

"Harry, I need you to be here," said the eldest Weasley sibling in a tone much similar to what he used for his younger brothers. But more than that there was a trust Harry didn't think he deserved.

"We can't leave the girls all by themselves. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, and Harry couldn't decide if Bill was only pacifying him or saying the truth, but he nodded slightly in agreement nevertheless.

"I only hope Mum has what Ron needs," Bill added in a small whisper, and averting his eyes, walked away quickly to cross the invisible line that marked the beginning of the wards and Disapparated, leaving a sense of darkening gloom in his wake.

He remained standing in the garden for who knew how long, and then, finally, he too turned around, tracing his path back inside the cottage.

Harry returned to the room once more, this time, to find the girls huddled close to Ron. He might have made some noise, he didn't know, but Fleur looked up at him with a small teary smile and his legs moved ahead faster, clinging onto a thin strand of hope her smile had kindled.

On reaching the bed, he was pulled in closer by the French girl, and what he saw made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Ron..." he whispered softly. Ron's eyes that had been locked on Hermione moved at the sound to his face, and his lips curled ever so slightly in a weak attempt at a smile.

Ron' lips parted and closed again, a slight grimace flashing on his face before he tried again.

"Hey," he croaked, but for Harry, at that moment, it could have been the best sound in the world. He could have kicked Ron for scaring them to death, or perhaps punched him in the face for being such a sacrificing moron, but in the end, he only managed a watery, smile.

"He is conscious, that is a good start," Fleur told him, and he released a breath he had held on for a long time now.

"The two of you keep him awake, I'll get him some soup," she added, handing Hermione a small phial which their friend took silently. He turned around just in time to see the older girl rub Hermione's shoulders before walking out. The sniff he heard definitely came from her.

He turned around to watch his best mate and found Hermione carefully tipping a red liquid in his mouth. Harry noticed Ron's eyes on Hermione, but she kept her eyes downcast, and once Ron was done, removed the phial, re-corked it and kept it back.

Ron's eyes never left her as she moved back, sniffed and pressed her lips together to bite back the sobs that came anyway and shook her frail body.

He placed an arm around her, and she hastily wiped her tears off and sniffed again.

"You gave us a nasty shock, mate," he said turning towards Ron.

"Sorry... didn't mean to," he replied in a scratchy, throaty voice, and Harry was sure he saw Hermione glared at the redhead. He smiled despite himself. He was only about wondering if he should leave his friends alone when Hermione moved further away from the bed.

"Harry, do you mind sitting here for a while, I'll be back in just a minute," she muttered consciously, looking at him for only a brief second before averting her blood-shot eyes away.

"Not at all," he told her, and she rushed out of the door in quick steps. As he turned away from her, he saw Ron's eyes were busy watching her retreating form. There was something in his friend's eyes, something he could not exactly place a finger on, something he had never seen before. Finally, when the door closed behind her, Ron turned his blue eyes to meet his green ones.

"Thanks mate, for getting her out," he said, with difficulty, and Harry silently promised that once Ron was all fit, he would kick him in the arse for being the dumb-headed, brave but moronic idiot that he was.

"I see they have drilled unnecessary good manners in you too, Ron," he blurted before he could stop himself and smiled as Ron's half-smile half-grimace graced his scarred face.

...

She walked inside the kitchen with apprehensive steps, noticing Fleur busy at the stove, stirring a pot with a ladle. The French beauty looked nothing like her snobbish self during the Triwizard Tournament. And perhaps for the first time, Hermione truly understood why the Goblet of Fire had chosen her. There was some deep strength in the part-Veela woman, something that she had seen in Molly too. It did not present itself in that daredevil way it did for Ron, Harry or Ginny, but it was there none the less- a subtle, serene sort of resilience and a motherly heart. She held back a whimper that choked her on its way down and fresh tears pooled in her eyes once more. Hermione sniffed without realising, and that caused the older girl to turn around, concern and worry marking her beautiful albeit tired features.

"Hermione?!" she called, taking quick steps to approach her.

"Ron is alright, isn't he?" she inquired, and Hermione had to swallow hard again before she could find her voice back.

"He is awake, talking to Harry," she replied with difficulty, not bothering to hide her tears, and noticed Fleur release a sigh of relief, before giving her a sad, understanding smile.

"The soup is almost ready," she said kindly indicating back at the pot. "And I 'ave some fresh bread as well, he needs strength but can take only light food now," she added and Hermione nodded.

It was oddly conflicting how much she craved for Mrs Weasley now considering she had known the motherly witch only for a few months, but at the same time, she was more than glad that the Weasley matriarch did not have to see her son in the condition he was in. She longed for a womanly company, someone who would understand her pain without her having to express it in words.

"Are you alright?" asked Fleur and she nodded in negative, shaking her head slightly, head bent low and downcast eyes barely holding back the pools that were filled to the brim.

She barely registered when she was pulled and made to sit on a chair; the long held tears spilled over and ran down in streams.

"I can imagine how hard it must be for you," said the older girl kindly, rubbing her knuckles with her fairer palm, and Hermione's body shook with silent sobs that rocked her from within.

She did not bother to wipe away the tears but did look up at the woman who had stood by her for the past two days, fighting alongside to keep Ron from slipping away. The gratitude she felt could never be put in words, it could never be repaid back.

"Thank you, Fleur... for everything," she managed in a choked voice but only after a few long minutes.

Fleur sniffed a little herself and smiled sadly.

"He is family, and so are you and 'arry," she replied.

"I-I thought we had ..." she paused unable to go further as the memory of barely a while ago resurfaced. The way his chest wounds had glowed a deep red just after they had administered that new potion which was supposed to work wonders; it was a signal that something was wrong, very wrong. She remembered the way his eyes had opened in a flash and then closed in a slow motion, like it was performing that action for the last time, and that soft sigh that had escaped from his lips and almost stopped her heart. She barely heard anything after Fleur had screamed for Bill, and told her to keep Ron awake, and she had mechanically picked up her wand and cast a spell that stopped the potion from working, a small but crucial bit of information she had picked up from somewhere during her intensive research. And then she had called out for Ron, over and over again. The details were all fuzzy now. And when finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ron opened his eyes, she had cried- in relief and fear of what could have happened- what had almost happened.

"We almost had, but you brought him back," she said soothingly. Hermione could do nothing but shake her head.

"No... I-I almost got him killed," she sobbed, "It was my mistake that we were captured, and I only watched while they tortured him," she cried looking guiltily at the other girl. Could she hate herself any more?

"I should have never listened to him," she went on, "Never followed his plan of acting as if I was never with the Order. I should have never listened to Ron and pretended that I was loyal to the Dark Lord all this time, pretended like I was only bidding my time to get back to the Death Eaters! He said it would buy us time to escape. But what did we get? I could have lost Ron in that cell! I could have lost him today! I should have never let them do what they did to him... I should have been there, with him in that cell, taking half of everything they did to him..." she cried harder into her hands, not bothering to see if Fleur hated her for it. She deserved it, every bit of it.

"I don't deserve Ron..." she confessed once her tired eyes stopped producing more tears, while her head hung low.

"I can't understand everything, Hermione, but I can say one thing for sure. What Ron did, he did to keep you safe, and what you did, probably brought him back alive. No two people deserve each other more than those who are willing to take death for the sake of the other," Fleur declared firmly and pressed her hand over Hermione's. And despite all her guilt, Hermione realised she wanted to believe her.

"Bill should be back soon," she said looking away, Hermione was sure to hide her own worry.

"Take this soup to Ron, I'll come up in a while and help you with getting his bandages changed," she instructed, plating up food for her youngest brother-in-law and handing Hermione the same.

"I'll do it, you take rest," she answered with a tired but grateful smile and before she could rethink or analyse her actions, placed the tray on the table and hugged the older girl.

...

She went up to find Ron propped up on the pillows against the head-rest and both the boys chatting softly, so she cleared her throat, and as two sets of eyes turned to her, she focused on the tray and entered.

"You need to eat," she declared placing the tray on the table. Harry scooted away to take the spare chair, and she sat herself down on the bed next to Ron. She could feel his eyes on her, but could not still look up because there was a flood of emotions barely held in place by sheer will, ready to crack any moment. She wasn't sure if she wanted them out now, and especially in front of Ron. But keeping them in check while those eyes watched her so intently and unwaveringly was no easy task.

She picked up the bowl of chicken soup, and taking a spoonful, blew on it, feeling his eyes still taking in her face.

"Err... I'll see if I can grab a cup of tea for myself," mumbled Harry in the background, and soon, there were sounds of footsteps leaving the room and the door shutting with a soft click.

She placed the now moderately warm spoon next to his lips, watching only the article and the place it touched, and he took a sip, yet again without looking away from her face. Taking the spoon off, she broke off a chunk of bread, dipped it into the soup and brought it to his lips. He opened his mouth and took it, his lips grazing her fingers just about a little, and she felt his breath on her skin as her own breath hitched.

Hermione looked up at his eyes finally, realising that she perhaps had stopped living these few days. His blue orbs found and remained locked with her brown ones, speaking in a silent tongue all that he had expressed by his actions in that cellar days ago. It spoke of his love and his silent plea for forgiveness. His face was still heavy with scars that she knew would take long to dissolve and blend into his pale complexion. As Fleur had said a couple of days back, they were marks of his bravery, but in this case, they were also a stark reminder of her guilt.

She looked away as fresh tears pooled in her eyes once more, and her hazy gaze reached his bare torso that was wrapped with gauges and cotton, soaked in salves and ointments.

She looked away, forcing herself to concentrate on his meal. He hadn't had anything in days after all. But the next time he took the bread from her fingers, he brought his hand up to hold her tenderly in his own.

" 'Mione," he called, and the dam broke, causing steady streams to cascade down her cheeks only to be wiped away by his fingers. She knew his arms were still hurting, especially his shoulders, and sure enough, he winced a little as he brought his arm down to hold hers.

"Why are you crying?" he asked tenderly, although his voice was still raw and scratchy, and a few more drops fell down from her cheeks into his hand.

She sniffed away and tried pulling her hand free, but he held on.

"You need to eat, and then take a few potions," she responded without meeting his eyes.

"Have you eaten?" he asked instead.

She nodded in affirmative. She had had a couple of toasts; that counted as eating. But he laughed a little, and she sucked in a breath because she had feared she would never get to hear that sound again.

"And, did you sleep?" he asked.

"Yes," she murmured noncommittally and pulling her hand away, fed him another spoonful of soup and a couple of pieces of bread. He took them obediently from her before speaking further.

"And since when have you started lying to me again?" he asked with a soft chuckle, and she met his eyes this time.

"Ever since you decided it would be a good idea to die and leave me alone," she replied cutting off his smile.

"I only wanted you safe, 'Mione," he reasoned sadly. She could hear the pleading in his voice, see it in his eyes, but the dam she had held on to, had finally burst. She knew it wasn't his fault but the pain was rendering her insane.

"When will you ever realise that you are all I have, Ron?" she asked looking straight at his eyes even as they pooled up again, and her voice cracked. She hastily wiped the moisture off with the back of her hand and inhaled deeply. His eyes softened so much at her words that she had to look away, lest she lost her anger in that love.

"How could you doubt me, Ron?!" she cried, this time, looking away. "How could you let that Horcrux touch what we had? How could you fall for that trap?"

Her eyes found the wounds on his chest again and pulled them away because each one of those reminded her how he had got them, and how she had stood, watching.

"I am sorry... for everything," he mumbled, and the sincerity of his words pulled painfully at her heart strings. So he looked at him again, cupping his cheeks tenderly with her palm, careful not to touch any injury. He closed his eyes at her touch, and she panicked for a second and then relaxed noticing him heave a sigh and the small smile that played on his lips. That is when she realised that the pain and hurt the Horcrux had given them would not go away so soon, but they could heal each other together.

"I should have been there with you in that cell," she managed after a while and felt his hands grip her harder.

"NO!" he retorted, opening his eyes sharply.

"When will you realise, that I'd go through all that again if I have to, just to keep you safe?" he asked, and she lost it then. Pressing her face carefully on his shoulder, she grasped his hands in her own. She thought she heard him wince, but he pulled her closer when she tried to move, and there was a deep sigh from him that mingled with hers.

She allowed the pain to take over, knowing only this man could heal it.

"I'm sorry..." she breathed in between whimpers. She knew he wasn't fit enough to handle all this. She knew, he had almost got poisoned again, and all their hopes of his smooth recovery lay on Bill finding an alternate potion, but she also knew that some words in life had to be said when one had the chance, especially when one was in the heart of a war.

"Please don't leave me, Ron," she murmured, not caring if it sounded like begging, she only knew, she needed him and he needed to know just how much.

"Y-You don't know how it w-was for me to s-see you that way..." she said pulling him closer, needing his presence to envelope her, craving to feel his beating heart next to hers.

"I really love you more than life, 'Mione," he breathed quietly into her hair, and she almost choked on her sob.

"I'd die a thousand times to keep you safe, you know?" he added and she pushed him away.

"I'll kill anyone who tries to touch you, Ron. I mean it," she told him softly, fiercely.

...

Minutes later, when Fleur came up with her husband and opened the door to the small bedroom, she found a freshly bandaged Ron looking over a sleeping form of Hermione who lay on the bed beside him, curled over the blanket, holding Ron's arms in her hands.

Her husband looked at her questioningly, "Shouldn't we shift her to her room?" he asked softly, handing her the phial he had brought, and she only smiled and shook her head in negative.

It was the first time the poor girl had slept without being force fed a Dreamless Sleeping Draught; no one was going to wake Hermione as long as she had a say in the matter.

A/N: Immensely sorry for the delay, was caught up in multiple things.

I have done away with Fleur's accent because it plays havoc on the grammar editor. Thanks to each one of you who were kind enough to leave a review. Thanks for reading and needless to say, I am looking forward to your responses eagerly.