The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you
I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

- "Wicked Game"- Chris Isaak (James Vincent McMorrow version)

Ron could see why his brother had wanted to live at Shell Cottage: the place was paradise. Having been here while, Ron was almost starting to think that he, Hermione and Harry could stay here forever and pretend that Voldemort didn't exist. That's what it felt like at Shell Cottage: nothing but peace and quiet- a place that did not deserve to be touched by the evil forces at work in the wizarding world.

"Can I come in?" Ron asked, slowly pushing the bedroom door open without waiting for an answer. What he found when he came in was not unusual: Hermione sitting at the window, motionless. She stared out to the sea with dead eyes.

"Hermione?" he tried again. She did not turn. Now he just felt silly, holding the tray of food he'd prepared minutes ago. What had he been thinking? She'd been bloody tortured. She wasn't as shallow or simple as he was to be distracted from all her cares by food. It had been days since he'd seen life in her eyes. Days since he'd heard her voice. He missed her. It was killing him.

"You should eat, Hermione. I... made you something."

He placed the tray on the nightstand. Like a cunning mouse avoiding the trap, she'd eat it when she was not being seen. Ron heard the creak of her chair. When he looked up, he nearly jumped out of shock. She was standing up, looking at the tray. Numbly, she walked towards it. Ron was almost scared.

"What is it?" she croaked. Her voice...

"Er... er... it's... a red velvet cake." He gulped and looked down at the soggy mess. "Trust me, it is a cake. I know it looks a bit like a deflated quaffle, but..."

"That's my favourite food."

"I know."

Hermione looked up at him. Ron tensed up in the same way that he might've done if she'd leaned in to kiss him. Something far back in the depths of her beautiful brown eyes ignited. His old friend and her old soul swirled back into existence. She was back with him once again and for a second he was relieved, before she flung herself into his arms and cried.

"Hermione?! What's wrong?!" he asked, wrapping his arms cautiously round her shoulders. Oh nice one, Captain Brain-Cells. Aside from being tortured and permanently scarred for life? Eh, not much... cheers for the shit cake by the way. Ron had kidded himself into believing that on any other day, Hermione might've found his cake gesture cute. Maybe a little awkward perhaps, or weird, but maybe romantic... Today, though, after all she'd been through, she was probably insulted.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I am so, so sorry!"

Ron blinked hard. "Hermione... what the bloody hell have you got to be sorry for?"

She hugged him tighter, her slender arms curling further around his body as she shook with sobs. An action that he would've otherwise been delighted at was now breaking his heart.

"I... Ron, I treated you like dirt! For months, I was horrible to you! And yet you save my life and look after me and the only time you leave my side is to bake me a cake!"

When she was finished, she waited for him to speak. She watched his mouth open and close as he struggled to find the words. Words always bloody failed him.

"I can't believe... Why would... you... Hermione, I..." he knew bloody well what he wanted to say. He just felt the familiar lump in his throat constrict him. He'd look a right prat if he started crying now, in front of her.

"You had every right to be angry," he said feebly. "I was a complete bastard."

When he looked at her again, she was sitting on the bed. She looked so sad. In a way, this was good. It meant she was still alive and feeling.

"How long ago was it, Ron? How long ago were we at Malfoy Manor?" she asked quietly.

"Four days. Why?"

"... it seems longer. It seems like years. I feel like I'm seventy years old. I feel like I've seen everything."

She turned away quickly to face the window. Without thinking, Ron surged forward and gently put a finger to her chin, pulling her face back to face him. He'd be damned if he wasn't allowed to see her face now. When she looked at him again, tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbled again, gathering up her pyjama sleeve in her hand, ready to wipe the tears away.

"Let me," said Ron, lowering himself onto his knees before her and gently brushing her tears from her pale cheeks. Inexplicably, she giggled.

"You know, it's funny..." she began, actually smiling for the first time in months. "You and I argue constantly. You frustrate me more than anyone, and whenever I cry it's usually because of you..." Ron swallowed his emotions. Guilt had become his constant companion these past few weeks. It could still catch him unawares. Then, Hermione put a hand to his cheek. "Yet you're the one person who makes me feel like we can win this."

After a few seconds of heart-warming amazement, Ron beamed at her. "Would it be cheeky of me to say that that sentence did wonderful things to my ego?"

She punched him playfully on the arm. Avoiding the areas where he knew there were scars still healing, he tickled her. She squirmed away from him, squealing in surprise. Laughing, they jovially battled together until they were both lying next to each other on the bed, side by side, with Ron feeling uncomfortable but very, very warm. The room was filled with sounds of their heavy breathing and fading laughter. Hermione entwined her fingers into his.

"We will do it, you know," Ron whispered to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We will win this."

They lapsed into silence. All of Ron's focus was on his right hand and how it burned wonderfully at her touch. It sounded so corny, so fake... but he would go to hell and back for her and his burning hand was a reflection of that.

"Thank you," she said, turning to face him. Their faces were inches apart. "I feel much better."

"Good. I'm glad," he told her earnestly. She smiled warmly, colour coming back to her face.

"How's the polyjuice potion coming along?" she asked suddenly, bringing him back to earth with a crash. He sighed.

"Should be ready in a few days," he replied. Hermione pondered this for a moment before sitting up.

"I want to take it."

"What?"

"I want to be the one to take the potion."

Ron sat bolt upright. "You're joking, right? You're actually joking..."

"Ron, please don't have some sort of gallantry fit. I'm perfectly capable-"

"Hermione, no."

"Ron!" She placed her hands on his shoulders, her face now closer than it was before. Ron inhaled sharply. "I. Am. Fine. If I take that potion, I'll feel even better. I'll look like a murderous psychopath, but I'll be strong."

She stood up, almost looking like her usual self: proud, and ready to win an argument over him.

"Besides, and I don't mean to sound big-headed, you and Harry need me."

Ron watched her closely for any signs of faltering. There were none. He groaned and fell back on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled. He didn't want to argue with her and as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. They wouldn't last five minutes without her. And he didn't want to leave her alone for too long...

"We'd better get started on this cake, then," she said purposefully, sitting back down on the bed. She pulled the tray in between them. "I can't possibly finish all this on my own."