Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

A/N: Hey guys! I'm updating on time again. :) Anyway, THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed and told me what they thought. A lot of it was really helpful in forming the way the rest of the story is going to go. In response to Bonnie Radcliffe: what I wanted to say was that Ted was the only man close to being romantically linked to Hermione since she left Ron - he never really earned her full affection. And to Kashrlyyk: the Order would, of course, want frequent updates on Hermione's position, but they probably wouldn't let her send letters to anyone. It just wouldn't be safe - more correspondance means a greater chance of discovery.

ANYWAY, be forewarned that this chapter isn't as exciting as the others. I wanted to focus on Hermione and Ron's relationship in the present and how it has evolved since her arrival in this chapter. However, if you're not much into the mushy-gushy, the next couple of chapters are going to be very interesting. :):) ENJOY!

Ron found that he could not look Hermione in the eye any longer. When he would walk into her bedroom, his nostrils would fill with the precocious odor of metal, though he knew no such thing existed in the flat. There was something about her now that hadn't been apparent before – maybe it was the slow clearing of her innocence that did it – Ron could no longer hold his previous anger at such readiness. He felt like a part of him had vanished. That fact became almost tangible in her presence and it was unbearable, like his left leg was missing.

Ron kept mostly to the downstairs couch with a mug of ale in his slack hand. Gus would visit occasionally, but his stays became less frequent and shorter in length. The dog preferred to lay at the edge of Hermione's bed, either sleeping or watching for birds out the windows. He found it terribly boring at Ron's side. All his master did was watch the fire flicker in front of him and occasionally mumble to himself about the 'unfairness of it all.'

A whole week was spent without a single conversation. Not a 'good morning,' or a 'here's your dinner,' or a 'stop yelling, I'm here,' was spoken on Ron's part. Hermione, however, not being privy to his excursion into her past memory, tried speaking with her counterpart daily. She would smile and thank him after carrying her to the bathroom or bringing her lunch, but nothing would budge his stony demeanor.

A whole Saturday passed without any sign of Ron and Hermione began to become perturbed. She had only told him the truth. She hadn't known any other way to express herself – it was impossible to argue her point. Trying to fight a way to understanding was only going to make him worse. Becoming upset would only show him that she thought he was wrong or mislead, and that was something Ron would not face. However, Hermione had let Ron settle in his anger long enough. She had taken him fully for granted for too long. It was time she began doing things on her own terms.

Drawing up her strength – or that of which she could – Hermione picked up her seemingly sedentary legs and swung them onto the side of the bed. She almost cringed when she saw the white, almost transparent, quality of her skin and the bulging, purple veins running in tiny rivers beneath it. No wonder Ron wouldn't spare her even a glance. She was almost a skeleton, despite the fact she had been eating well and exercising the best she could.

Hermione groped underneath her matted pillow until her fingers grazed over her wand. She grinned involuntarily, feeling a wonderful rush of content sweep through her. She had purposely neglected to inform Ron of her newly acquired independence. Regaining her wand was the first step out of Ron Weasley's house and back into the life she had left behind. Her fingers shook when they grasped the handle, fitting perfectly into the worn grooves created years ago. Tiny slivers of magic crept their way up her arm.

Her mind groped over simple spells – calming, sleeping, focusing, relaxing, and many others. Hermione would only attempt the easiest, knowing in her condition one too large might kill her. "Recreo," she said forcefully, pointing her wand at her immobile legs. It was a simple strengthening charm.

Hermione instantly lost her breath and felt her chest caving in. Her energy seemed to rush downwards. Her legs twitched painfully. She watched with wide eyes as the skin darkened and the surface veins receded. Hesitantly and trying to catch her breath, Hermione ran her shaking palms smoothly over the skin and was pleased.

She decided to wait a few minutes before attempting to hoist herself up. Hermione drew the table next to her and determined it to be a sufficient height.

It felt weird, heavy, and awkward to be standing again. Her ankles were screaming as Hermione swayed sharply to the left and right. Her center of balance kept wandering. Hermione furrowed her brow as she tried to steady herself. It took a couple of minutes, but she was able to catch gravity correctly. It was a small accomplishment, but her frustrated smile conveyed more than a petty feat.

As she swung her leg out to take her first step, Hermione wondered how something so regular – so normal – could be so hard. It had only been seven months of inactivity and balance was balance, no matter the time. The fact annoyed her more than anything.

She stumbled, of course, upon shifting her slight weight. Again her whole body rocked with insecurity. Her knees began to shake and buckle beneath her. Her feet were only inches apart, but it seemed like oceans. Hermione swore in her mind and gripped the side of the table with white fingers. Her head was clear, but tired.

Hermione forced her feet to join together again, only further away from the safety of her bed. She knew it was a matter of time before she fell. There was a rug not far away that would soften the landing, but it would require at least two more well-placed steps. Hermione forced her weight forward and with it her leg. She landed funny on the side of her foot and fell forward, shrieking. Hermione threw out her arms and absorbed most of the fall with her palms.

Hermione rolled over on her back, moaning. The rug was near enough to touch. The wood floors were hard against her slim hips and shoulders, providing no relief no matter which way she turned. She relaxed and felt the coldness of the floor seep into her arms. She went to twist her hand through her hair and yelped again as a stinging sensation tinged her wrist. She could barely move it.

Relaxing, her mind teemed over solutions, as it was so apt to do. She could pull herself up, but she couldn't go anywhere. Her backside smarted and crawling was out of the question with a bum wrist. She could wait until Ron came to her rescue, but she guessed that wouldn't be for hours.

Luckily, not two moments later, Hermione picked up the sound of thunder outside her door. Ron pushed the door aside, his eyes surveying the room darkly. Whenever there was a commotion from Hermione, it always meant something bad – or so he had learned to expect. His eyes ran over her swiftly, but paused and came back. Surprise overtook his features.

"Are you alright?" he blurted, before the anger hit his belly. Ron took a few steps forward when he saw that Hermione wasn't moving to get up.

"Yes," she answered, gripping her wrist with her good hand. "I just fell."

"What're you doing out of bed?" he wanted to know, coming to her side. Ron helped her to sit up. He scooped her into his arms, just as he would when she wanted to go to the loo. She felt heavier somehow, but he pushed the notion aside. The touch of her skin was making him uneasy.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She folded her arms into each other as best she could. "I was trying to walk."

"Why?" he wanted to know, laying her down on the bed. Why would she be walking? He was confused. "I thought you couldn't."

"I can't, obviously," Hermione snapped softly, her eyes turned away. She wasn't trying to be curt on purpose, but her failure burned deeply. She couldn't do a single thing without his help.

"Sorry," Ron snapped back, stepping away from her. As his arms fell at his sides, he accidentally nudged Hermione's arms. She muffled a sore cry. "You hurt?"

"A little," she answered, glancing up at him. The fire that was usually present in his eyes was gone, replaced with nothing. They were only sad, now. She cradled her wrist to her chest protectively, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

"Let me see," Ron ordered in a low, but soft tone of voice. He was a bit concerned, but his real reason for the command was so that she wouldn't complain later of a phantom ache. His anger could be gone, but not his bitterness.

Hermione turned away, her mortification still digging deeply into the crevices of her mind. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Ron's face was hard. "Let me see your wrist."

"I'm fine."

Ron's hand touched her upper arm and grazed its way to her wrist. Her skin was warm to the touch, making him feel weird inside. He watched as Hermione winced under his fingers. "Your wrist," he observed.

"It's nothing."

However, Hermione let Ron unfold her arms and take her hurt wrist into his hands. She noticed for the first time a sickeningly large lump under the joint of her thumb. Her mouth twisted to lock in the cry that was about to escape. He didn't dare touch it. Instead, Ron held his finger over it and muttered, "Sanescere."

The pressure that had wrapped itself around her wrist began to alleviate instantly. Hermione watched in amazement as the lump lowered itself back into her skin. Ron backed away, feeling slightly pleased with himself. He was still the caregiver.

"Thank you," Hermione told him in a gentle voice. She began to extract her hand away, flexing her fingers and rotating the joints. Ron's hand was still on her elbow. That fact alone made her pulse leap.

Ron seemed lost behind clouded eyes, but soon realized his mistake. His fingers relished the feel of her and didn't want to leave. It took a small effort to draw himself away, make himself hard again. He cleared his throat as he watched Hermione tuck herself back under the covers. "I'll probably have to report this, you know."

"Really?" Hermione asked, her eyes flying up to see if it was the truth. Her thoughts raced to Heather and Seamus, the Order officials, paperwork, visits, crying, yelling. She chided herself for something so stupid. Of course she couldn't walk – look where she had landed herself because of it.

Ron was taken aback by the abruptness of her question. He scratched the back of his head and leaned to the side, trying to look casual, though he was slightly confused. "Yeah, I have to do lot when you get hurt."

"Do you really have to?" Hermione pleaded, trying not to look too desperate. She would try to dissuade Ron from writing the letter to Seamus, who would probably send Heather, who would probably give him hell about it and want to interrogate her some more. Her sessions were brutal and very unwanted. "Seriously?"

Ron shrugged, drawing up a chair. He sat uncomfortably, not really wanting to be with her. "Yeah, that's what Seamus wanted." He brushed imaginary dust from his trousers, before raising an eyebrow and peeking out at her. "Why?"

Hermione sighed and stared at the ceiling. It was now or never. Heather could keep coming back with her torturous rounds of 'therapy' or Hermione could put her foot down. She had been helpless long enough. "Would that report go to Healer McDowell, by any chance?"

It took him a moment to respond, but Ron eventually answered, "Probably. She's in charge of those bits." Hermione still wouldn't look at him, her eyes kept darting about on the ceiling and walls. "Is there something the matter?" he asked sharply.

Hermione drew up her shoulders and rounded on him. Her voice was still very raspy, but it held enough power that made Ron listen. "I don't like her. I don't want her to be my Healer anymore."

Ron slid back in his chair, both eyebrows raised now. "Oh, really," he answered in an interested voice. He crossed his arms. "And why is that? Heather may be a bit of a bug, but she's been with you for quite a while."

"Not that long," Hermione replied, "and I hardly know her. I don't trust her. I don't like her."

"It doesn't matter if you like her or not," Ron retorted. He didn't like McDowell either, but she was the Healer. Ron didn't have that much control of that kind of thing. He was just hospice. The thought burned into his head. "She's your doctor and that's that."

"No," Hermione said, "I should be able to confide in my doctor." She looked down, afraid of being snapped at. She was treading on dangerous territory and she knew it, but it wasn't something she was going to give up on. She had done that too much already with Ron.

Ron watched her for a few minutes. Her restless quality came back and she stretched and sighed and looked about listlessly. There was something much deeper hidden behind her initial words, he knew it. He almost wanted to smile as he recognized Hermione's stubborn streak returning. It was like a connection to the past and very nearly soothed him.

"Is that it? Because you can't tell her your deepest, darkest secrets? Because she's not your best friend? That's why you don't want her around?" Ron asked, leaning forward, his chin resting on his fists.

Hermione turned away from his gaze, reddening. "No, of course that's not why."

"Then what?" Ron was genuinely interested.

Hermione's voice was faint when she answered, "She's cruel to me."

"Cruel to you? What does that mean?"

Hermione rubbed her arms and sighed again. She glanced over at Ron and saw curiosity blazoned across his face. She was slightly relieved to find that he wasn't disgusted with her request and that assured her to go on. "Well, she… she… she makes you leave me and then asks disgusting questions. Questions that no Healer should need to know the answer to, things that have nothing to do with what happened to me or the mission. She says she's only trying to help, but her 'sessions' make me feel sick."

Ron digested the information slowly. Heather was very headstrong – that much was apparent – but could she really have the capacity to be cruel? She had told him before that therapy sessions would require work and tolerance, that they probably wouldn't be received by Hermione with open arms. Wasn't therapy supposed to be emotional? He had no idea and that left him swaying between the extremes.

Hermione rubbed her temples. She knew she would have to further her explanation to make Ron understand. "Heather would talk to me about the dark arts, ask me how John Rivers conjured up so-and-so spell. She would ask how the dark power made me feel. She would talk about Agent Skillen and Agent Nash as if they weren't the terrible men– undermined my fears of them." She shivered, "It may have been a ploy to make me realize the irrationality of my panic, but it didn't help at all."

Ron's mouth was pressed into a line, a crease on his forehead. His doubts about Heather were beginning to deepen.

Hermione continued, wrapping her arms around her frame. She felt the phantom pain in her wrist and winced. "She wasn't mean about anything really, but she was cold to me. It felt like she didn't care, just as long as she got what she needed. She asked more about the people and places than my feelings. I just want to talk to someone who really cares." She glanced up with tired eyes. "You know?" she asked meekly.

Ron scratched the back of his neck again, trying to draw out the pressure from the situation. He cared, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it. If only she could talk to him, but did he really want to hear it?

When Ron didn't answer, Hermione continued. "She asked a lot about Ted."

"That guy," Ron retorted evenly. "That guy you stayed with."

"I didn't stay with him," Hermione snapped back, not realizing the hurt in her words. "We were friends, or I thought we were. No one really liked each other there, anyway."

Ron stayed silent.

Hermione shook her head, her hair tickling the sides of her cheeks. She pictured Heather's stony demeanor in her last private visit. She never smiled or sympathized, only frowned. "She asked a lot about that, too. Who I was friends with, who knew me, who I knew about. I know it was probably just Order business – tying up loose ends and that lot – but she didn't act very nice. It was all business."

Ron pursed his lips again. His mind was whirring, catching and missing, pitting one woman's words against the others. He was more inclined to lean towards Hermione's version, even after all these years.

He nodded. "Well," he sighed, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. "Something has obviously got to change."

Hermione almost smiled with relief. He had believed her. It was a triumph in itself. She allowed the next few minutes for Ron's deliberation.

"Do you really think that giving up on McDowell would solve this?" he asked fairly.

Hermione shrugged, but she knew the answer. She never wanted to see Heather McDowell again. "Maybe if someone else came? Someone I knew?" Or even liked?

Ron shook his head. "The Order doesn't want anyone else visiting. Too many people attracts attention."

Hermione ducked her head, but felt content welling in her. She was going to get her way for the first time in a long time.

Ron sighed. He moved the chair forward and looked at her squarely. "Are you sure about this?"

Hermione matched his gaze, something steely shining in her eyes. She touched his hand, her fingers wrapping tightly around his palm. "Yes," she whispered fiercely.

Ron did not ask about it ever again.

Their gaze did not break until Hermione blinked and turned her head. She slipped her hand out of his and pulled the covers up on her lap. She didn't speak, her victory still fresh in her heart. If she opened her mouth she feared that she might laugh with delight. That would only plant doubt of her sincerity in Ron's mind.

After the initial shock of Ron's verdict, Hermione felt tired. The stress of the afternoon had taken its toll on her body. Her legs pounded and her lungs felt heavy. Her eyelids began to waver unintentionally.

"Is your wrist alright?" Ron asked in a low, gentle voice. He was still very close to her.

Her neck jerked up, honestly astonished that he would ask something like that. It was almost like he cared. If only. She held out her hand. "It still feels a little weird."

Ron nodded and quietly conjured up a strengthening poultice from his workshop below. He watched Hermione slip beneath the covers, he observed her hair splay out against the stark white of her pillow, he noticed how her blinks became longer and more deliberate. He set the cold concoction against her wrist, moving the limb itself to rest on her stomach.

"There," he murmured, focusing on the correct and effective position of the wrap. He wanted it to work, for her to be okay. It was a strange feeling that made his fingers shake.

Then, he felt warm fingers against his cheek. His eyes darted to Hermione's face. It was relaxed and serene, like she was already dreaming. He was very unsure of what to do – so very much so that he couldn't move, turn away. Instead, he swallowed his nervousness and felt it slide down anxiously into his belly.

Hermione's fingers ran smoothly over his stubble, against the strong curve of his jaw, on the curve of his mouth. She twisted some strands of his red hair between her fingers. It was surprisingly soft. She had noticed that he had been growing it out – due to laziness or on purpose, she could not determine – though she hardly cared.

"Thank you," she sighed sleepily. Her fingers trailed over his face and down the lean bend of his neck. She had to let him know her appreciation – it was a great accomplishment – and he was owed much of the credit. She didn't know how things would turn out, but Ron was hardheaded enough to make sure that Heather wouldn't come back. Her hand trailed down his shoulder and found comfort resting against his own hand. Her eyes closed as she drew his hand up to her lips and kissed it.

Ron tugged his arm away, but Hermione didn't mind. She was getting what she wanted. Ron was finally on her side.

Ron left the room quickly. He was jittery and upset, unsure. It seemed he would never escape that feeling.

A/N: Did you like it?? I feel like Ron has pretty much given up on being angry at Hermione -- that he's more ashamed of himself than anything else. However, that doesn't mean he's just going to go back to the way things were. :)

Let me know if you have any questions, thoughts, or suggestions in a review!! Have a great rest of the week, everyone. :)

Katie