Enjoy! (This chapter rated T++/M)

New Years and New Years Day passed uneventfully for Ron: He'd seen Hermione once since Christmas Eve, the 27th if he remembered correctly, but when he'd visited her at her house to fix a lunch date, she'd mumbled something about a court date that she was "too busy preparing for," and hadn't responded to any of his letters since. But Ron, feeling as though Hermione's behavior was a little childish unless she really did have important court date to focus on, knew that Hermione would be at Ginny's baby shower on January 10th, so he planned on seeing her then: He didn't care if he had to kidnap her, as long as he got her alone long enough to talk about things.

...

The morning of the 10th, Ron woke up early, so he took his time showering and making himself a fried egg. He apparated to the Burrow half an hour before the party was set to start.

A large tent had been set up outside, and judging by the temperature outside, Ron guessed they'd place some kind of enchantment on the tent to keep all its inhabitants warm. He found he'd guessed right when he lifted the far edge of the white cloth, and peered inside, a gush of warm air flooding towards him: It was empty except for a table with a light blue tablecloth.

Once inside, Ron called up the stairs for Ginny and Harry. They came slowly down the stairs, Harry carrying a set of assorted napkins and silverware. Ron took the utensils from him, and asked, "How's the set up going?"

"Good," Ginny said, as she pulled Harry into the kitchen behind her. "You take those outside Ron, and Hermione should be right out with the plates."

Sighing, Ron made his way outside and ducked under the tent once again. He'd been arranging a set of forks around the table when Hermione came into the tent: She

nearly stopped short when she saw him.

"Oh, Ron," she said nervously, "I didn't know you would be here."

Ron wanted desperately to kiss her right then, but he held back, because he didn't think that was the right way to start this particular conversation. He noticed she was wearing his necklace.

"Hermione," he said, setting a handful of forks on the table, "Are you avoiding me?"

Hermione said nothing, but Ron watched as she blinked a few times in quick succession.

"I'm sorry about Christmas night," he said, closing the distance between them just slightly. "I should've asked you how you felt about," he blushed, "that before I expected anything from you."

Hermione looked as though she wanted desperately to say something, but couldn't find the words. She took a minute, putting the plates she been carrying in a stack on the table, and then turned back around to him.

"It's alright, Ron," she said quietly, as if ashamed. "I encouraged you… I wanted it as much as you did."

"Then why-" he began, but she cut him off by raising her hand.

"I was scared," she said, "but not for the reason you think."

Ron didn't know what to say: he was clueless. He decided on, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes already overflowing with tears as she looked down at her feet. Ron resisted the urge to pull her tight too him, because he was desperate for information, but he held her at arms length and rubbed her arms, through her blue sweater, with the tips of his thumbs, encouraging her.

Hermione looked up at him.

"About a month after you got married," she began, "I was in a pub- that pub we saw that first day shopping. I was, well, upset, to put it mildly, and there was a- a man there. He paid for my firewhiskey, had one of his own. We kept drinking together, all night long, and we, I guess, ended up, at my place."

She blanched at the look of pure terror on Ron's face, and hurried to say, "I went with him, he didn't make me," and thenshe huffed, her tears falling faster now. Ron was still scared, and he pulled her closer to him as if to shield her from her own past.

"He was… He didn't… He didn't rape me," she said, nearly a whisper, nearly collapsing in Ron's arms, "But he was so rough."

Silence.

"And then he left me even more broken than I'd been before."

She put a hand to her mouth, and sobbed then. Ron wrapped his arms around her, too shocked to cry, though he wanted to burst into tears along with her. He couldn't imagine… his Hermione, and that bastard.

"Who was it?"

Hermione shook her head where it rested on his chest, her fingers coiled tightly around the fabric of his shirt. "It doesn't matter," she managed to whisper.

"Yes it does," Ron said, loosening his hold on her arms in anger. At that moment, he wanted to hurt the man who had hurt her more than anything in the world.

Hermione shook her head again, continuously, as if disturbed. Ron pulled her against him again.

But she pulled away, her arms hanging limply by her side. "You'll hate me."

"Never."

Hermione whispered the name so quietly Ron almost didn't believe she'd said it: But she did.

"Draco Malfoy."

...

Ron didn't remember apparating. He didn't remember walking up the long drive, his hands in fists by his sides. He didn't remember pushing the house elf who answered the door aside, or storming through the various rooms until he found what he was looking for.

But he would always remember pounding Malfoy so hard that blood ran over the carpet. He would always remember Malfoy's pleas for mercy, his mother's screams. He would always remember the taste of revenge, though not nearly sweet enough, on his tongue.

He could hardly remember Harry pulling him away and forcing him back to the Burrow.

But he'd never forget the look on Hermione's face.

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