Chapter 15

A/N: Hello there people! How's it hangin'? Good? Good! Yes, I know, I'm an awful person for not updating, but killing me won't help the past. However, a couple of reviews might just make me write faster?! You never know! Anyway, I'm in the middle of my GCSE year, so don't hurt me too much, it's painful right now! And not to mention stressful! God! Any of you doing your important exams this summer? Let me know, we can complain together! Enjoy:

Ron's POV:

I hadn't expected her to just forgive me straight away; I knew that life wouldn't go back to normal straight away, of course not. And yes, we'd had many fights before, and after a while things would just smooth themselves out and everything would be fine. But this argument was on a whole new scale.

"When do you reckon she'll start talking to me again?" I asked Harry when she went for a shower a few hours after I came back.

"Give it time mate," he half smiled, looking over at the bathroom door. "The good news is that it can't last forever, and she knows that she can't always be mad at you."

"Yeah," I sighed with a shrug as Hermione came back in and shot daggers across the room. Still mad at me then, the water couldn't wash that away. She moved over to her bunk, picking up and putting on her jacket.

"I'll take the first shift, 'Mione; you did it last night," offered Harry, grabbing his jumper and a blanket off his bed and heading out the piece of canvas we called a door, leaving Hermione and I alone in the tent.

"So," I began to say as she walked into the kitchen on the other side of the tent, so I could still see her, but she was as far away from me as possible without actually being outside. I noticed that she'd kept her jacket on, as if that extra layer of fabric separating us gave her comfort as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"So…" I tried again, desperate to kill this awkward silence.

"Don't even attempt to think about talking to me, Ronald." She'd used my full name. Not good.

"I'm just…" I began again, before being interrupted again.

"Just what? Huh? Just nothing! There is nothing you can say to me! Absolutely nothing! There is nothing that you can possibly come up with that will make this any better!" she shouted at me from across the room. There was a couple of minutes pause before she slumped to the floor, leaning against the counter. "I'm so tired," she whispered weakly, her head falling between her legs so I almost couldn't hear her. I sighed and got up, hoping not to be pushed away again.

Hermione's POV:

Oh shower water, why are you always so cold? I bet Ron's taken all of the hot water up already. So what if he hasn't actually turned on a tap yet, he did it with his mind!

I'm not making any sense.

I turned off the water, squeezing my hair free of its residue, and stepping out into the dank bathroom air, turning to the mirror above the sink. Not pleased with the image coming back at me, I continued with the drying the mess that I called my hair, and proceeding to put it into a scruffy bun on the top of my head. Lots of it had fallen out over the last few months; I regularly had to empty the shower drain, and I kept finding it everywhere! It wasn't exactly patchy, but it wasn't as thick as it used to be. That's what malnourishment and stress gets you I suppose.

While thinking all of this, I completely forgot about the ginger one piece of canvas over, and I was about to walk out into the living area in just my towel like normal when I realised. Quickly getting changed, I rechecked my hair and set my face into a scowl; I was still mad at him!

I walked out of the bathroom to see him and Harry on the latter's bunk, all chatter suddenly coming to a halt as I entered the room. Meaning one thing that any person who had been bullied in a past life would understand: they were talking about me. Not a good thing to be doing if you're trying to get back into my good books, I'm telling you.

Harry made a quick exit, using the excuse of the night watch to its full ability, leaving me and Ronald Bilius Weasley alone, in the tent that happened to have a good supply of kitchen knives. Not a smart move, Harry. Great work.

As a distraction, I went to make a cup of tea, the diversion lasting for about two seconds until he tried to start a conversation. I ignored him, continuing with the art of cup of tea making before he tried to start again.

"Don't even attempt to think about talking to me, Ronald." The use of his full first name was absolutely crucial in letting him know where we stood: with me holding the collar of his jacket over a cliff that led to a fiery hole of despair. Or something like that.

We continued with this hostile exchange until I sank to the floor, the adrenaline I had been running on finally expiring. I heard footsteps coming towards me slowly, tentatively, as if he were scared. And he had a right to be; he knew I would lash out if he provoked me too much, like that time in third year with Malfoy. And I would have done it again, if I hadn't been so…low. I was completely finished, and I'd never felt this weak.

"Let's get you to bed," he whispered in my ear. I began to protest when he stood up lifted me into his arms. On an ordinary day, like last year, then I would have been the happiest girl ever. But I can be happy later; right now I needed an energy boost. He lowered me into a bunk; I say 'a' bunk because I knew straight away that it wasn't mine; it was his. Everything smelt of him, and I fell asleep almost instantly.

I could be mad at him tomorrow….maybe.