Disclaimer: I still don't own HP :)

A/N: Hello everyone! Can you believe it, me actually updating on a Wednesday... on time? Haha, I really appreciate all of you who continue to read this story even through the sparse, sporadic updates. It was brought up in a review by TheDivaDevine that my work has been pretty lackluster these past few chapters and I must say I looked back at them and agree with the critique. There's no reason for it and I'm shamefaced about it. Usually I spread the writing of the chapter around all week - working on a few paragraphs here and there everyday - but in the past month or so I've written entire chapters in one sitting. It's because I've got somewhere to go or a deadline to meet and the actual content of the chapter is really suffering because of it. As an apology and promise to try harder, I rewrote the last chapter - it was big enough to warrant it. If you'd like to click back to chapter twenty-five right now, you won't be disappointed. I worked really hard this time and I feel proud about it. I want to thank TheDivaDevine for WRITING IT TO ME IN ALL CAPS! It got my attention, trust me. :)

Anyway, hopefully this chapter will work its way back up to par. There were some questions about why the couple couldn't use magic in their journey and I tried to weave the explanation into the story. There's some good Ron/Hermione stuff that I really enjoyed writing. I hope you like it!

The hills were the toughest part of the hike, Hermione had decided. After crossing clear, cold streams and after picking their way down rocky shorelines and after trekking through damp forests, the endless amounts of rolling hills were definitely the worst part. They never ended – even now as she looked out across the bright country – they just kept going up and down and sprawling into each other and amassing. Her legs were burning, as was her chest. She huffed quite loudly to show her reluctance to continue.

"Break?" Ron's voice rang deep through the misty morning air. He was leading, his face turned towards the sun and the unpredictable. His lungs filled with chilly breath. It invigorated him beyond his own belief. His body was pushing to keep on, amazingly. His legs took him longer; farther than he had imagined they would. It felt like an old mission trip, only with Hermione by his side. Unlike his old crewmates, she needed rest frequently. Sadly, his shoulders turned him and his eyes focused on her weathered face. He saw why he had put up with her nagging and whining – just the look in her eyes made him feel more exhilarated than nature ever could.

Hermione nodded, her head bobbing carelessly on her shoulders. Her face collected the tiny beads of dew floating freely through the breeze. The mist kept the sheen of sweat that had appeared on her forehead at bay. Sagging, she threw down her pack and then took a seat atop the bulk. She pressed her hands against her forehead and the ache that resided there seemed to lessen. It was a trick that she had learned early on in the duration of the trip. She listened as Ron's feet rustled through the fresh grass and stopped next to her. He squatted and took out a tiny flask of water.

His fingers twisted over the cork. It popped out easily and Hermione accepted the carafe obligingly. Though her first swing would have emptied the bottle, the water poured over her lips in a steady stream. It was another one of Ron's charmed inventions found in the depths of her pack. She took the few seconds of silence to glance over at him. It seemed that she spent most of the journey staring at the soles of his shoes or the back of his coppery head. He was watching her, his face drawn in concentration. She blushed, still sipping from the flask.

"Does any of this look familiar?" Ron asked, tilting his chin to the scenery all around them. His eyes remained on hers, a concerned look on his face. They had been walking for days and the vast span of land was certainly foreign to him. It made him doubt if they were really in the correct spot. He certainly didn't want a whole week's worth of traveling to be for nothing, but really had no concrete idea of where they were.

Everything had been strange from the start – it had taken a whole day to realize they were in Spain and headed in completely the wrong direction. Hermione had wanted to apparate, but it simply wasn't possible. Hermione was the only one to have a clear picture in her head of exactly where to apparate, but unfortunately that glimpse was the living room of the Main House. There was no safe way of getting to Russia with magic. Ron certainly didn't want to be found by Viktor, either, so their wands were tucked closely next to his hip. They had walked and taken trains and hitchhiked under assumed names until their money supply ran out. Ron was worrying all the time now that their food supply had gotten low as well.

Hermione blinked as she swallowed, feeling the chill buzz throughout her entire body. It was no longer just on the skin, but inside as well. She shook inside her jacket. Her mind would not stay put for more than a few seconds – always reverting back to the fact she was cold – and it frustrated her to no end. Her eyes scanned the damned hills determinedly and she was almost surprised when a vague sort of recognition tapped in her mind.

"A bit," she replied softly, testing her voice in the open air. Hermione turned away from the sun and saw the morning shadows of the tall grass. The way they sounded when the wind blew through the reeds… that was familiar. Her ears perked.

Hermione twisted back to face Ron. His face was worn and long – he was tired. They were both weary. They were both scared, though Ron would never admit to it. She did not fear the unknown – she knew The Shop perfectly well – but she did dread what was to come. It was her own knowledge that frightened her. To comprehend The Shop's complete and total power was unnerving and fantastic. Hermione had to will her feet to carry her beside Ron, though her heart railed heavily against the decision. He was so headstrong, so confident – it hurt to keep up her appearance.

Ron frowned a bit and Hermione realized her answer wasn't exactly thorough. She sighed and really looked around; drawing on her brief memories of the place she once called home. A slight nausea accompanied the reminiscence. She had only been allowed outside the grounds of the Main House a few times and recalled mere pictures, glimpses from outside dirty windows and peeks out of cracked doors. She shuddered.

"We're definitely in Russia," Hermione confirmed. They had passed a crumbling sign posted on a tree a few towns ago that had a message in Russian. The letters were twisted and garish and something neither of them could decipher. Hermione had put her trust in Ron and followed him quietly. "Things are getting clearer as we keep going, but I really don't have a concise vision in my head."

"How much longer, do you think?" he asked, wanting to push her farther than he knew she would go. He just wanted an idea – some tiny thing to keep them going – and it was frustrating having to rely on another person to give it to him.

Hermione shrugged, feeling her tired bones resisting. She would have asked to take a nap, but Ron had snapped at her the last time she had asked. She sort of understood – Ron had traveled like this for a whole year with half the rest stops and food breaks – but didn't appreciate the tone he took. He knew she wasn't exactly up to par, especially with her legs in the condition they were in.

"Great," Ron sighed, dipping his head low. He gathered a few breaths. "We're in Russia."

"At least we made it this far," she snapped bitterly. Regretting her outburst, Hermione's face softened a little and she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Sorry," she mumbled, blushing. Her little spats were not needed and she felt a bit childish.

Ron only nodded, his eyes unfocused on the horizon line. He squinted and suddenly, his body froze. There was something out there – a dip in the landscape, a ripple in the grass that no wind could 

cause. The breeze was not the only sound rushing by his ears. There was water nearby – the trickle of a brook was not easily mistaken. Ron shot to his feet, unthinking. Auror training had taught him to stay close to natural features – rocks, streams, trees. Anything that could provide cover and food was worth following.

"I'll be right back," he muttered before trotting off. Hermione stared at his back confusedly. At least it was Ron doing the running and not her.

There was something out there, Ron discovered after walking a mile or so. Respite filled him as his eyes caught the glinting light that flickered and flowed off the water rushing westward. It was a beautiful sight, that little torrent. He reached down and dipped his fingers carefully beneath the surface. It was cold and pure. Ron practically ran the distance back to tell his companion.

"So?" Hermione responded after hearing the good news. She crossed her arms and hunched her back, disappointed that the news was not better. Then again, what exactly had she expected him to find?

"So," Ron responded hardly, "it should flow towards the ocean."

"That's not where we need to be," Hermione reminded him tartly. "We're heading east."

"Exactly," Ron stressed, "it's a straight shot. As long as we follow the river back to the heart, we'll make it there." He sort of expected her to understand… seeing as how she was always so much smarter than he was. He glared at her.

Fear shot through Hermione and made her sit rigid on her pack. Back to the heart, Ron had said, we'll make it there. She didn't want to go back. Her fingers clenched her flask and she hoped that Ron would not see how white her knuckles had become. The hunch in her back began to ache.

Ron had already started his way back to the stream, weaving through the calf-deep grass with his mind lost in thoughts. He realized he did not hear Hermione's familiar footsteps stamping close behind him. He turned and called, "Coming? I want to reach some sort of cover before nightfall."

"It's morning," Hermione bit, but rose stiffly to her feet still. Hoisting the pack on her shoulder, she began tramping through the damp weeds after the man who was going to drive her crazy. She had agreed to do this, she had to remind herself. Ron shot her a smile and she rolled her eyes. Her fear fell to the bottom of her stomach and began to fester slowly.

--

"Wait," Hermione's voice was quavering with chill and panic. The weather had grown miserably wintry as the day had passed. They had crossed over barren lands and they quickly became covered in ice. Now, they were trekking through half-inch deep snow. Feet frozen, Hermione stilled. Her head whipped from left to right, the scenery completely enveloping her senses.

The wind howled all around her, but she could not shake this feeling. This place was… familiar.

"What is it?" Ron's voice was muddled with disuse and he had to clear his throat on the back of his shaking hand. His eyes, however, were alert and focused on Hermione's dazed face.

"I've been here before," she whispered. Once upon a time. There was no arguing with the looming, purple mountain range thousands of miles in the distance, the rushing of the Kalaus River, the wood to their right. This was almost the exact spot Hermione's portkey had taken her to from England years ago. Back then, she had regarded the first sight as breathtaking and beautiful. It was certainly still breathtaking, but for a very different reason. The memory hit her hard in the chest and she stumbled backwards, reaching out in the arctic air. She had been filled with excitement then. Oh, how stupid she was.

Ron rushed forward and grabbed the straps of her rucksack. "Hermione!" he barked fiercely, bringing her to him. "Are you sure?" Could this really be it? How powerful could a memory truly be? His fingers rewrapped around her straps so he could pull her closer. Her face was flushed and her eyes were hazy and Ron wanted desperately to know.

Hermione refused to look him in the eye, her head rocking with the movement of his hands. She couldn't force the air into her lungs fast enough. She was reeling, choking on the past. Ulysses Nash had welcomed her with open arms not twenty feet from where Ron stood. She remembered how his hand felt in hers, the way his easy smile had almost charmed her. Hermione had to lean away to vomit. Tears slid down her face, hot at first but turning to ice before they reached her neck.

She had begun to recall several miles back, but had played it off as mere coincidence. The smell of damp leaves and mud mingled this specific way in places all over the world. Rocks all looked alike, anyway – even the elephant-sized boulders that littered the river. The damn grass rustled in fields spanning whole continents. She had not wanted to believe that she was nearing the very essence of her nightmares. She did not want to meet evil again.

Why – why God? – had she agreed to come to this place? Hermione moaned and opened her eyes to see if it was truly real. She had certainly dreamed of this place before. However, she met Ron's worried stare and realized the reason she had bucked up the courage. He was standing right in front of her.

"Are you alright?" he was asking hurriedly. "Is this the place, or not?" Hermione had slouched beneath his grip and it was all he could do to keep her up. He brushed the hair back from her face as it softened, regretting that he had brought her along. He could barely feel her skin through the numbness in his fingertips, but the sensation of actually touching her was no less damaged. A slight thrill shot through his body. She shouldn't have come, but he couldn't turn her back now… not ever.

"Yes," Hermione swallowed. She stared back at Ron's bulbous, cobalt eyes and tried to memorize the way his wrinkles mapped the dips and planes of them. She never wanted to forget his gaze, if the end really was coming for her. "This is the exact place."

Ron ripped his look away from her and now it was his turn to survey their surroundings with frenzied interest. He saw nothing wrong – no houses, no people, no smoke, not even wind stirring up snowdrifts and dirt. "Are you good to walk?" his voice was gruff and distracted. He did not like being out in the open like this – it made him feel too… vulnerable. His suspicions kept rising, his pulse increasing alongside it.

"How much further?" Hermione asked, exasperated. Couldn't he appreciate how hard this was for her?

"Just to that wood," Ron replied, pointing to the trees in the distance. "That's all I'm asking, Hermione." He pleaded with her, his lips tight against his teeth. They needed to move, needed to hide, needed to plan. His instincts were practically pulling him towards the shelter, with or without Hermione. His feet stayed rooted for those precious seconds, though, knowing that he would never do such a thing.

Hermione nodded in quiet acquiescence. She could feel the urgency radiating off Ron's tall body and knew the time to put up a fight had long passed. Ron's fingers slipped from her lapels and she sagged backwards, but his hands laced with hers tightly a moment later. He tugged her the two miles, talking to her in a strangely gentle voice. "You can make it," he would repeatedly tell her, "It's just a bit further and you can rest for the rest of the night. I promise I won't make you walk any further. We're almost there. C'mon, you can make it." His thumb slid warm friction over the back of her palm. He would turn back and smile brightly, illuminated by the setting sun. He was her beacon, her encouragement.

Ron set up a small camp in a clearing deep into the forest only an hour later. It was a place touched lightly by snow, but sheltered from most of the loud, bitter wind. He ducked to avoid smacking his forehead against fir branches as he stretched a tarp from one trunk to another. It wasn't much, seeing as how he didn't want to practice magic so close to Headquarters, but Ron knew it would hold up for a night or two. He had bared much worse during his time as an Auror.

Hermione came toddling into sight only a few minutes later, hugging scrawny branches to her chest protectively. Her mouth was tight, but it held the trace of a smile – triumph. She grinned through the burning stiffness in her kneecaps and the ache in her ankles and the pounding in her head. "Here," she breathed, extending her grip and allowing the wood to scatter at her feet, "I found these. For the fire."

Ron gathered the wood silently, studying the sticks with a sour look he tried to hide. The branches had become wet and were basically useless as a starter. He piled them into a teepee anyway and pulled a lighter from his pack. His wand poked the side of his hip as a reminder that he could choose to use magic at any time, but he resisted as he remembered the danger that accompanied practicing. It attracted too much unwanted attention, especially if the Shop was looking for it. He had to remind himself he was no longer on home turf – they were situated on the threshold of their enemy, right under their nose. It sent a chill down his spine, but he tried to shake it off as the sharp evening chill.

Ron really tried to get the meager fire to spark, but it refused to live for more than a few seconds before disappearing into thick, gray smoke. He smiled apologetically up at Hermione, who sat only feet away with her knees drawn up to her chest and a grimace on her lips. He crawled over to huddle next to her and said nothing of their collective discontent. He did not want to incur yet another verbal lashing. So, instead, he sat and held her hand in his and pulled her close to his chest.

Hermione sighed, disappointed, but too tired to genuinely care. Her head throbbed and her calves stung terribly. She felt Ron's chin fit onto the crown of her hair and felt his breathing through her jacket and felt his warmth enveloping her in long, lanky arms. If only things could be different, she thought sadly, if only it was home they were searching for. She felt Ron's lips touch the part in her hair and she could not shake her melancholy.

The wind howled and raged around the pathetic tent for what seemed like hours. Ron was torn between attempting another fire or staying put to create a warmth only their bodies could create. His body was finally slowing and his belly was beginning to rumble softly. He would skip his meal tonight to save rations for tomorrow, but it would not last for long. Nothing would. The only thing he could do now was hold Hermione close and breathe in her scent and try to remember how her hair felt against his skin and her voice in his ears.

He spent almost every evening completing a ritual like the one he was practicing now – the memorization of Hermione. If something were to happen – the way it had three years ago – he would not be stranded with faint recollections. He would have strong pictures and sounds and smells. It was an awful thing to consider, but the alternative was something he refused to deal with again.

Hermione's breathing had evened and her eyes had shut. She had wanted to stay awake to spend more time with Ron, but her body would not allow it. She would have to settle for being held safe and warm while she slept. Her last thoughts had slipped away from her dreary regular self and had not dwelled on what was to come the next morning – only of the way Ron's coat smelled like his nutmeg scent and the way his knuckles were larger than the rest of his fingers as they rested on her shoulders. It was a lucky time.

Ron soon began to sway with slumber, his eyes glazing over as he stared out into the midnight that was as black as ink. It did not frighten him as he thought it might have, only steeled his resolve to find the man who had Seamus and who once had taken his Hermione. A silent promise ran through his head and he felt more relaxed. It even seemed like the wind had stopped blowing so hard against the trees. The tarps barely rippled in the breeze. Their blankets would hopefully keep them warm until morning.

There were footsteps. They were close. Ron's heart thudded, trying to convince the rest of his body that he had been hearing things. Yes, the crunching of ice and leaves was quiet, but it was too constant to be anything other than human. His body would not work fast enough to slip Hermione off his lap and rise to his feet in seconds. He grunted with the effort, but he was quickly thrown off course.

"Ron?" a voice hissed into the darkness and a small light flickered in the distance beyond the makeshift tent. "Hermione?"

"Who's there?" Ron growled hoarsely, reaching into his pocket. His fingers wrapped protectively around his wand – he would not hesitate to use its power now.

"It's me," the voice whispered back, "Harry."

A/N: Did you like it?? I tried to build some suspense at the end and I hope it worked! :) This story is first and foremost a love story, as I've tried to make pretty clear from the beginning, so no matter what situation Ron and Hermione are in, they will always take time out to think about their love. I'm so happy to be writing about a somewhat-resolved love.

Have a great week, everyone! Please leave me a review, questions, or suggestions. I greatly appreciate them - especially if they are a kick in the butt. :)

ALSO PS: Has anyone finished Breaking Dawn? I read it the night it came out! I am bursting with joy, even though I have to admit I was rooting for Jacob.

Katie