Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope everyone's holidays have been going spectacularly. I hope the snow hasn't gotten in anyone's way yet - we've already got half a foot and freezing temperatures! And alas, finals are next week. Then, CHRISTMAS AND FAMILY AND FRIENDS! I'm so excited. I hope all of you are, too, no matter what you celebrate.

Anyway, another chapter! I don't have much to say about it, because it's almost two in the morning and I desperately have to get to bed. I hope you all enjoy it. I have also noticed I have said 'I hope' a lot in these past sentences. Thank you all for putting up with me. Also, there is some romance! :)

Ron would always remember the way the vast line of people would look against the glare of the emerging afternoon sun. The light would burst forth from the grayness and make him squint and stare at the black wall slowly encroaching upon them. For a split second, the rest of the world dropped away – the sharp intake of breath, swearing, panicking, all of the hurried movements that were usually amplified by fear – and he only knew of the breath in his lungs and the sight set before him. Had the end come? Had the Shop witnessed the abduction of their agent and decided to retaliate?

They would all know soon enough.

Then, reality settled back on his shoulders – the noise surrounding his head and immediately drawing his attention to his counterparts. Harry stood stoically against the horizon – as a hero like himself should do – his shoulders heaving with suppressed emotion. Hermione was glaring up at him with the last half of a question on her lips.

"-do we do?" her brow was wrinkled together worriedly. "We can't possibly outrun them, but I won't stand for surrender." Her words came out as gasps, as if the panic had taken the voice from her throat completely.

Ron could not find an answer as he stared at the woman who had brought him this far. Of course Hermione 'would not stand' for anything less than what she had originally expected. She held the curse of being so unbelievably stubborn that no other offered conclusions could permeate her consciousness. In this moment, Ron marveled at her set, sturdy face. Hermione's mindset was not worried that they had failed – had brought themselves to ultimate death – but how they would go about detaining their defeat. She was so beautiful as her lips crumpled into a tight, white line and her cheeks flushed with worried anticipation – the visage of obstinate ideals. She continued to stare up at him and without meaning to, revealed that she – in some small way – that she still depended on Ron for input.

This meant that he could not falter, break down, or give up. This would mean failure and she would never forgive him. He had to keep his wits, his tact, and whatever was left of his courage to provide her with the hope she required. Of course, she did not need a savior. Harry would play that part if necessary, but Ron was fairly certain it would not come to sacrifice. They faced this new challenge as equals – Hermione did not need him to fend off the bad guys anymore. It was now that Ron truly realized that fact, that vital bit of information that had hounded him for so many months previous.

"Well?" she snapped. Hermione's tone was so hard that Harry was pulled out of his revere.

"D'you think they've seen us?" he wanted to know gravelly, spinning around to survey the landscape that was their backdrop. His heart fell when his eyes were met with a long, wide span of white ground merging unremarkably with gray sky. Four bodies would stand out on the horizon line plainly. Of course they were in sight, noted, and were finally being sought out. Here they stood, waiting for their capture. Harry's head tilted to the left and right. He found nothing that could offer places to hide. That only left magic – but could they outrun wizards in their own element? His mind stirred over the options, considering his Auror training and Hermione's handicap.

Neither Hermione nor Ron bothered to answer the question as they watched Harry's expression fall. Hermione was growing very impatient. Were these two men – trained escapists equipped with wands and wits – going to simply give up? They had made it so far. They had taken Seamus and killed Rivers all by themselves. Her mind went to magic. The quartet would apparate to someplace safe and take off again on foot. It would be risky, but it was their only option. Her thoughts were temporarily jumbled when Ron's rough hand slid into the curvature of her curled palm. She glared at him again and found a solemn expression on his wan face.

"I think it's time," he said under his breath, "to just rest for a while. We did what we came to do. It might not be what we think."

With this, Hermione tore her hand away from his with a furious twist of her lips. "How dare you!" she accused loudly, uncaring of the attention it brought. "Don't say those things. I won't condone-"

"Stop."

Hermione whirled around with blazing eyes, feeling her familiar anger building in her stomach. It was quite empowering to find her old self in the rubble that was her body. "What?" she demanded, her head swimming.

"I said stop it," Harry spat. His face was as serious as hers. "Let's wait a few moments before blowing our tops." He turned to Ron and said, "We can't expect it to be the worst. That could be anyone - even Muggle. You know they lead troops on walks all the time." To Hermione he shook his head, "But we can't run away. There's little chance we'll make it out of sight, even with magic. If that's not the Shop, they'll certainly be alerted to our recent presence if we apparate."

"So we're stuck," Hermione replied quickly. She was quite taken aback at Harry's sour mood. He had told her that she was wrong and she did not care much for that. Who was Harry to make all the decisions when it affected all their lives?

"We're waiting," Harry corrected.

"We're waiting," Ron confirmed, turning his face from Hermione's scrutiny.

"Well," Hermione decided in a thick voice, "I'm not." She began heading off in the direction of the people – as if to meet them head on – and drew her wand from her pocket. Sudden rage had filled her mind and drowned out most of her reason, not that she would have listened to it faced with so much opposition. In her earlier years, she had always been correct - book smart and taking life as it came – and she was tired of the boys making the decisions. She was no longer an invalid or a child, but a functioning adult woman.

"Don't you dare," Ron growled. He lunged forward without thinking and grabbed Hermione's wand arm in a vice-like grip. He pulled her back with unexpected strength and she stumbled over her feet. He grabbed her other arm and forced her to face him. "You are never going to do something so foolish ever again," he hissed, his own brand of anger blooming in his chest. Ron shook her. "You're not going to risk the life I saved in such a stupid manner. Come on, Hermione, you're smarter than that. You are not alone anymore – this is me and you. I won't watch you walk away again."

Ron did not let go, holding up Hermione as she stared dazedly at him. Her scowl came back quickly, but she had been wounded by the truth in Ron's words. Her guilt over leaving before began to swell and her determination faltered around the edges. "That's so cliché," she returned, trying her best to look swelled with anger. In truth, reality was ballooning in her stomach and pressing out all the previous rage that clouded her judgment so conveniently.

Ron threw her an exasperated glare, but did not remove his hand from her arm. He was determined to keep her only inches away for the time being. He didn't give a damn if it was cliché – it was the truth. To watch Hermione walk willingly to her death would destroy him and he would have no other choice but to follow. He inwardly cursed himself for falling so deeply again into love. It was an intense, stubborn sort of feeling that hounded him throughout each day. Eventually, Ron had accepted that he had found his old sentiments and they ruled his body and mind. He cared for Hermione more than he had before the whole accident – yes, he had begrudgingly accepted that it had not been entirely anyone's fault – and that caused pain as well as elation.

It was then that Harry became a part of the couples' consciousness again. Their spat had been dealt with and now it was time to be worried about the Bigger Picture once more. Harry was standing slightly ahead of them, surveying the wall of people coming closer. He could watch the bob of heads and the rustling of uneasy shoulders. He gripped his wand instinctively, but knew that even he could not measure up to the sheer number. He prayed it was not the Shop – for he was fairly certain no one had seen them make their escape in the valley – and it could be Muggle. It was quite uncommon to see a large amount of people traveling together in such a manner. His heart was not as heavy as his counterparts, because he did not expect imminent death. Yet, still, he stood over Seamus protectively.

"I don't think it's the Shop," Harry finally said aloud.

"And why not?" Hermione demanded.

Harry did not turn to look at her, but kept his eyes on the horizon. "If it were the Shop," he mused, "they would be here by now. The element of surprise trumps this method. A march? I hardly doubt they would take the time to come all the way around and then herd us back."

Hermione paused for a moment. This had not occurred to her, but as the thought was mulled over in her head she found the truth in it. The Shop was sporadic and violent – not accustomed to patience when facing danger. She had been there herself, hadn't she? Of course. Hidalgo would not do this. Hidalgo would have found the quartet and slaughtered them on the spot, no questions asked. Of course, he would bring help, but not… an army. Suddenly, Hermione felt slightly foolish. She felt Ron's grip on her arm tighten for only a moment.

"Alright," Ron surmised with a noticeable amount of doubt in his voice, "then, what are they? Who are they?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, feeling weight lift off as he did so. It felt good to make a decision. It accomplished something.

"They're coming awfully quickly to be Muggle," Hermione noted dutifully. She had turned her face away from the men. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment as her previous actions settled in her mind. How foolish, indeed.

They were silent for a while. Ron let his hold on Hermione slip until his hand rested against hers. Harry restructured his shoulders and cast a glance down to Seamus. They had laid out a coat and a blanket for him to rest during their break. His body was sprawled out, mangled, and ugly against the plaid and snow. Harry flinched – an action that had become foreign in recent years – and looked away quickly. If these people were Muggle, then he would deliver Seamus to them on the spot. He would demand medical supplies and proper clothes. No one would refuse a man who looked like Seamus. Ron watched the people draw closer. Now, he could see individuals, body sizes, uniformed clothing. This meant they could probably see him as well.

They waited.

---

Ginny sat under the safety of the tent with her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Most of the cold was blocked by the tarp, but she was still freezing. Her body shook and quaked with no regard for her pale face or teary eyes. She supposed there was something even colder inside of her chest that radiated outward until her limbs could no longer resist temptation. She squatted and then fell backward. Her teeth chattered and her eyes wanted to close. Her mouth wanted to open and let loose the shrill scream that was building in the back of her throat, but her lips were dry and stuck together. If she let them part they would crack and bleed and only add to the agony she felt now.

Seamus lay before her swaddled in white gauze and flesh-colored bandages. Muggle concoctions to mask the real injustices he had suffered. Empty potion bottles and peeled paper littered the ground around his head, a halo of garbage. He slept with his head tilted to the left and showcased his lack of an ear quite vividly. Dried blood ran crusty rivers down his neck and disappeared beneath the blankets. Ginny could not bring herself to move her hands to tuck up his coverings higher, to further mask his injuries. She did not want to look at them, but could not tear her eyes away. They were wide and red and scared. She was in shock as she sat in the small tent and marveled at the man who had confessed love only months ago.

For a moment, Ginny thought she loved Seamus. There were a brief couple of minutes where her heart reached out replayed every moment they had shared together in the past. It was like a slideshow with Seamus' beaming face as the theme. They dissolved quickly as she began raking over his present state. The gore was too much. She felt bile rise in her stomach, but her mouth remained firm. Ginny was disappointed to find that she held no such feeling. She wanted to so much, but love would not come. It was loyalty and devotion that brought her to tears. It was their fierce friendship that shook her body. She wanted to tell him she was so, so sorry.

---

Hermione and Ron sat around a small fire pretending to warm their hands as they stared into the flames. Huddled together, the wind wasn't much of a bother and the cold did not nip through their coats. Hermione nudged at the crease between Ron's arm and torso and was allowed into the space allotted. Ron's hand hung limp over her shoulder and she noted the freckles that speckled the tops of his fingers. There were so many things she wanted to talk about, feeling completely exhilarated. The Order had come, Viktor had shouted, they had set up camp three towns away, and it would only be hours before the downfall of the Shop came. However, Ron did not want to talk about any of these things.

"I want a break," he mumbled into his hand. His fingers pressed against his temples and cheekbones in an effort to break the headache that lurked there. "I haven't been this active in years. Not since the Aurors. I almost forgot how consuming it is."

Hermione kissed the space between his wrist and thumb. She turned back to the flame and held out her own hands to collect its warmth. There was electricity running through her veins and she quite enjoyed it. They were so close. Only a few more hours before the final march. They all planned on her staying behind, but Hermione of course had other plans. She desperately wanted to tell Ron this, but knew he would adamantly disagree.

"You'll do just fine," Hermione managed. She worried for Ron – he looked exhausted. Convincing him to stay and rest would work just as much as it had on her. They would face this battle together, whether they liked it or not. The thought of it assured some part of her – together. That's what they were. Together.

---

"All right," Viktor growled in the light of the sunset, "I've had enough of this goddamned stop. We're moving out now." He turned to the vast assortment of men standing at attention. "Move out!" he barked with a final sweep of his arm. It was war.

A/N: Did you like it? I hope you did!! :) Please leave me a comment, question, or suggestion. I love getting them mixed in with my student loan e-mails and the such. Have a great rest of the week!

Also: saw Twilight. ajkslfjskdfj kl Robert Pattinson. But meh. It was alright. I liked Laurent, because he was the black mormon doctor on House for a while. I also liked that he was shirtless. ;)