Ron messed with the radio like he did every night trying to find Potterwatch, while Hermione busied herself trying to tidy up the tent, as though it would do much good. His upbeat attitude was almost infuriating to Hermione who couldn't help feel discouraged and worried about their search. But standing there, watching the intensity on his face as he prodded his mind for the correct secret word, she found her temperament change instantly. She knew it was Ron the last few weeks who kept them going when they didn't think they could go on anymore. If she was really honest with herself she would admit the only infuriating thing was all the sexual tension filling the small tent. She knew she had to focus on their mission, but couldn't stop herself from focusing on his persuasive lips when he had another suggestion of where to look, or the way his arms moved animatedly when he was telling a story, or the way he smelled when he sat so close to her, or the warmth she felt at the touch of his skin. Stop staring, Hermione, she thought hastily, looking away and busying herself by polishing the table where half her books now lay. But it was too late, from the corner of her eye she saw a smile break out over his face as he studied her over.

"Any luck?" she asked, trying to distract him.

"Not yet," he replied, while turning the knob again. The static cut out and a soft pop song, Hermione recognized, suddenly took over the air waves. Ron began to sing along, playfully, making ridiculous faces that Hermione couldn't help laugh at. He began to move around, side stepping to the beat, his arms held out before him, as if he was dancing with an invisible partner.

"Nice moves. Been practicing?" she asked teasingly.

"Are you saying I didn't sweep you off your feet at Bill's wedding?" he asked aghast and then flashed her an adorable smile. She gave him a look debating the question as though she wanted to say no, squishing up her face and fluttering her hand in a so-so manner. Ron's jaw dropped as though he was now even more offended. "Oh, I've got moves, Hermione," he told her, closing in on her. "Perhaps I need to remind you."

"Oh no, keep back. Can't you see I'm busy?" she cried, backing away.

"You've been polishing that table for the last 15 minutes," he scoffed, which caused Hermione to throw the dirty rag at him. It landed on his face, concealing most of it and blocking Hermione from his view. Ron noticed his new look pleased Hermione because he could hear her start to giggle. She reached over, stifling her laugh, and pulled it off; while doing so, Ron grabbed a hold of her wrist and began dancing with her. She used the rag to swat him off, but only until Ron intertwined his fingers in hers, pinning the forgotten rag between them. He led her across the tent floor and then back again, twirling her as he continued to sing along. "Come on Hermione, sing with me."

"Have you been drinking Firewhiskey when I wasn't looking?"

"What? Can't a guy serenade his girl without being three sheets to the wind?" he asked without thinking. Hermione's eyes got wide and a blush spread across her face; For once she couldn't think of a witty reply and Ron still seemed unaware of his little slip. "I know you know this song. Just one line," he goaded.

"Absolutely not!" she exclaimed.

"I can always force it out of you," he told her in such a devious tone that Hermione was actually nervous. "It's over on your cot," he informed her when he saw her looking around for her wand. "Think you can reach it before?"

"Before?" she asked slowly, her eyes darting from Ron to her cot and then back again. She took her chances, diving onto her soft sleeping bag, kicking the small radio, that carelessly sat in her path, in her attempt to beat Ron. Her fingers scrambled over the surface, coming up empty handed. "No," she cried, realizing it wasn't there. In the background static rang out from the old radio and Ron was briefly sidetracked by it, worried it might have gotten damaged in the scrimmage, but only very briefly.

"Ha. I knew you'd try for it. It's on the chair over by the door," he explained victoriously, pinning her down and tickling her sides, a place she was severely ticklish. Hermione squirmed under him, erupting in a fit of giggles.

"Ron—stop—I. can't. breathe," she panted out between painful giggles.

"No, not until you say Ron Weasley is my king," he teased mercilessly.

"Ron! This…isn't…fun—funny!"

"Say it," he commanded her, drawing out his words. "Ow!" he cried out when she was able to knee him as one of her legs broke free. The more Hermione struggled, the more tangled up they became, but both were so lost in the struggle they didn't fully notice, at least on a conscious level.

"Ron Weasley cannot sing," she grunted out, before giggles again consumed her.

"Close but not quite. Is my king. Ron Weasley is my king," he singsonged. Ron felt Hermione's leg hitch up around his waist and his mind suddenly shut off, all the blood rushing to another place in his body. Hermione felt Ron relax over her and pushed off him with one hand, reaching behind her head with the other. Her hand landed on a sturdy metal object, which she knew instantly. She drew the object to her, rushing to sit up, a scathing look on her face to go with the Gryffindor Sword, which she now had pointed down at Ron, who was totally caught off guard by the action. In an instant, surprising him further, Hermione jumped on top of him, straddling him just below the waist, the sword in one hand by his head and the other pressing down on his chest. She was panting, trying to regain her breath; a look that could kill still drawn on her face. Ron didn't seem to notice the hostility due to the compromising position Hermione was putting him in.

"Now it's my turn," she told him, flashing the sword, seeking payback for the injustice done on her. Ron was just staring up at her with a suggestive look she had come to recognize. Her cold look melted into one of yearning as she eyed him, and a shudder ran through her as she felt Ron's hands lightly glide up her legs to her waist, where he planted them firmly. Hermione let go of the sword, and both her hands now gripped his t-shirt, as her face bent down toward his. Ron's hands moved up father to the small of her back, as she stretched out against him. Hermione clasped her hands behind his neck, her face lingering in front of Ron's temptingly. He let out a groan as Hermione's hands ran through his hair, and her lips repeatedly darted towards his mouth, only to be slightly pulled back at the last second.

" 'Mione, stop torturing me. I give. Whatever you want. I'll say anything," he begged. Hermione just smiled wickedly, thinking it over; her lips brushed over his once, provoking another agonized moan. "Hermione is my queen! Hermione is my queen!" he whispered frantically.

"Mmmm, not good enough," she whispered seductively in his ear.

"Oh, Bloody hell, Hermione, You'd be more merciful running me through with that sword right now than this. A man can only take so much," he exclaimed.

"How about Hermione is the cleverest, strongest, most brilliant witch I have ever the pleasure of knowing?" she teased him.

"You forgot stubborn, troublesome, and of course, the most beautiful witch I ever had the pleasure of knowing," he replied, the words catching her off guard.

"Well, I can do without the first two," she told him wryly and then pressed her eager lips to his. The kiss intensified quickly, a sense of urgency and longing felt within it.

"Ron, wait," Hermione gasped, after what could have been forever, breaking for air. He looked at her concerned. "We shouldn't be doing this. This is wrong. Harry's—"

"Harry is on duty for at least another hour," he replied, crushing his lips upon hers again.

"He's right outside the tent!" she struggled to say through kisses.

"And I promise to keep this PG-13," he explained, kissing down her neck. Hermione had a hard time arguing when he was doing that so well. "Getting to second base, that's in the PG-13 vicinity, isn't it?" he asked distractedly, his hands already on the move.

"No," she told him after a few more minutes of snogging. "We can't do this right now. We are supposed to be helping Harry. We have a mission. We have a purpose. We cannot let our…urges take control of us," she resolved, but then went right on kissing him again the second she finished.

"Mmmhmm. You're absolutely right," he replied into her mouth.

It took some time before Hermione gained enough self control to truly put a stop to their impulsive actions. "No,no,no," she shouted, frustrated and with a little too much force, she pushed Ron off her, sending him toppling onto the floor, completely taken by surprise.

"Hermione!" Ron yell, confused, what is it?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she told him apologetically for knocking him to the floor, "but we can't let ourselves get carried away. That can't happen again, not while we're still in the search." She finished, thwarting any hope Ron had that their tryst would be repeated any time soon. "Harry entrusted us with his plan, only us, and we can't let him down. When this is over then we can think about us, but it isn't fair to…I mean think of everyone putting their lives on the line while we just…Dumbledore, he died for our fight and we owe it to him—" Hermione sat tinkering with the sword by her side as Ron raised himself to his knees, and placed his hand on her leg, waiting for her to look him in the eye again.

"Yes, Dumbledore—the great Albus Dumbledore, but remember Hermione he was just a man when it comes down to it and I think he would want us to be happy—"

"Shhhh. Did you hear that?" she asked, nervously, "That voice?"

"It's probably just Harr—" Ron stopped talking when he realized what it was that was making the noise, the radio sitting by his feet was talking to them, a familiar voice now came over the airwaves. "We did it! It's on. Oh, brilliant. You'll love this," he told her enthusiastically, squeezing her hand. "I should get Harry," he added and ran to the entrance, shouting Harry's name. Hermione clumsily began cleaning the Sword of Gryffindor.

*

How quick it can happen; that the end is upon you. One minute, talking excitedly about what they just heard and then next minute they awaited the unknown terror that called to them from outside. They had no choice but to do as they were told. Ron gripped Hermione tightly to him as they followed Harry out. These weren't like the dimwitted, novice snatchers Ron happened upon before. These ones were the real deal and out for blood. Blood, which they got early as Ron refused to let Hermione go. They punched him roughly and kicked him on the ground. He could taste the blood filling up his mouth, but his only concern was getting back to Hermione. For a brief second the three each thought they might have caught a lucky break, maybe they could even talk their way out of this one, but the thought only lasted a second before the truth was clear to everyone there and the three were thrown together with the rest of the enemy party. Hermione wished she was at least able to sit next to Ron as they awaited their death, perhaps then she could at least hold onto his hand. Ron agonized over the same fact, turning his head past Harry, trying to keep Hermione in his sight.

Things only got worse when they reached the mansion. Ron thought his head would explode when they marched him away from her, leaving her there with Belatrix and Greyback, to fend for herself, while he was incapable of doing anything. All his promises to her, that he would keep her safe, gnawed at him, knowing he was failing her. He knew it was madness, knew it was of little use, but he couldn't help pound the hard solid walls holding him captive, while crying out for her. He thought if she could at least hear his voice, it might help give her some strength, reminding her that they were still there. His cries did in fact help her. Hermione could hear the terror and pain in Ron's voice and refused to give up. So she lied and she fought against the strangling pain, not sure what she was waiting for, but just buying as much time as she could get. She couldn't think of a way out of this mess, but knew she couldn't just give up, not with Ron's voice ringing out below her. But the pain was overwhelming and soon became all she was aware of. She thought she saw Ron charge into the room, but she decided it was more likely a hallucination; Before she could really process the image all thoughts of any possible rescue were extinguished, as her neck suddenly commanded all her attention. Belatrix's knife was cutting into her and her eyes rolled back; her body was beginning to give out on her. She fell in and out of consciousness. She heard multiple shouts and Belatrix's distinct shriek through the darkness. She opened her eyes for an instant and was positive Ron was really standing before her. Then she felt herself spinning downward as light danced behind her eyes, then there was darkness— nothingness again. Ron, she called out desperately, but only in her head; she felt a heavy weight pushing down on her and endless amounts of pain coursing through her. He seemed to hear her somehow, though no sound escaped her lips, for he was suddenly with her, holding her to him and telling her to hold on. The next thing Hermione was aware of was the lovely French voice of Fleur Weasley, as her soft delicate hands surveyed her body for damage.

"Ron?" Hermione called out in a weak panic, her eyes finding it hard to focus in the light.

"I'm here," he called from a short distance away. He was standing behind Fleur as she worked on healing Hermione, his hands knotted in his hair and his agonized look reflected how he felt inside as well. He lowered his hands and came closer. He had been afraid of getting in the way, so he held back, while Fleur healed Hermione. It was hard to keep a distance, but he didn't want to take any chances with doing something to hurt her. Hermione reached for him and it was all he needed. In a flash he was by her side, her hand clasped in his own.

*****

*

Okay that's it for chapter 4. I have at least 2 more to go. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought!