A/N Hello all! I want to thank everyone for their patience. It's been months since I've posted anything (thanks Grad school for kicking my butt) but I've finally been able to get some done over break! I hope everyone has had a great holiday season and a happy almost new year! Thanks for sticking with this! Only two more chapters left!

~Dot

Chapter 7: Malfoy Manor

Ron stared at his blood-covered hands. He watched as a drop trickled from his finger and landed without a sound on the wood floors.

"Help," he croaked, his voice barely audible.

"Ron," his brother said, taking Ron's face in his hands. Ron couldn't help wincing as Bill touched his bruised face. "It's okay, you're safe."

Bill stared intensely at Ron, gently moving his hands from Ron's face to his shoulders as Ron looked around frantically.

He was at Shell Cottage. He could just make out the deep blue water as he looked through the glass front door.

Hadn't he left? Wasn't he back with Harry and Hermione?

Hermione.

He whipped his head to his left and saw her laying on the sofa, lifeless, the source of the blood on his hands.

"Help!"

Ron didn't feel his mouth open to scream, but he couldn't be sure he wasn't the origin of the noise. He couldn't be sure of anything. He felt dazed, like weeks had passed since he had dragged Hermione out of the water, running as fast as he could to make it to Bill—to their sanctuary.

"You got this?" Bill turned to Fleur, releasing his grip from Ron's shoulders.

"Oui," Fleur responded. "Go."

Bill was gone in a flash and Ron stumbled to Hermione.

"I need to see 'er better," Fleur said. "Let's take 'er upstairs."

Ron wasn't sure how he stood up or how he carried Hermione's body up the insurmountable amount of stairs for such a small cottage. But his legs moved without him trying, automatically knowing what to do, even if his brain didn't.

"I need to undress her," Fleur said. "I can't tell where she is injured."

Ron couldn't be sure if he answered Fleur or just kept staring at Hermione. Her eyes were shut and her face was covered in small cuts, with pieces of glass still embedded in her skin. If it wasn't for her chest moving up and down, for her frail-but-still-there breaths, Ron would surely be panicking more.

He stared at her chest, trying to find comfort in its rhythm.

Up.

Down.

Up.

With a bolt, Hermione's eyes shot open.

"I'm sorry," Fleur said, holding a bit of Hermione's jeans in her hands. "I was trying to be gentle."

Ron looked back at Hermione, whose face seemed to be stuck in a frozen and quiet scream.

"It's okay," Ron pleaded, gently holding Hermione's head in his hands. "We're okay, it's over. We're safe."

Hermione's eyelids seemed to relax, but her mouth stayed wide open.

"Take this," Fleur said, almost pushing a vial of potion into Hermione's mouth.

Hermione sputtered as she gulped the noxious-smelling liquid. She coughed and sprang up, immediately grabbing her side and hunching over.

With a pitiful squeak, Hermione whispered: "ow."

"I know, my choupette, the pain potion should kick in soon," Fleur said, pushing Hermione's matted hair away from her face.

As if on cue, Hermione's hand slacked and she rested her head back on the pillow.

"Hermione," Ron shouted as Hermione's eyes closed.

"It's okay," Fleur comforted, "let her rest."

With a flick of Fleur's wand, Hermione's shirt unbuttoned itself and flew off of her body.

Hermione's arm had slid off her body, displaying a purple and blue torso. There was a smear of blood down her side leading to her bloodied arm.

"Mon Dieu," Fluer exclaimed, immediately taking Hermione's arm and placing drops of dittany on it.

Ron grabbed Hermione's other hand, which was thankfully blood-free, and squeezed it.

He felt sick. He felt like he was going to faint.

He felt angry.

Angrier than he had ever felt. It took everything in him not to jump up and start throwing furniture around. If only he could get his hands on Bellatrix, he'd be just as sadistic as she was.

"Put this on her cuts," Fleur instructed, breaking Ron from his anger-induced fantasy. "Make sure you take the glass out first."

Ron took the dittany from Fleur and began meticulously dropping dittany on Hermione's cuts.

He started with her face, using the wand he had to extract fragmented pieces of glass before watching as her skin sizzled and healed over. It became a routine, his eyes blurring as he seemed to work for hours.

When he reached the cut on her neck, he wavered. It was still bleeding like it was freshly made, a river of blood pooling in her clavicle.

But, it wasn't the amount of blood that stopped him. It was the thought that if Dobby hadn't been there, if the timing hadn't been exactly right, that cut would have been it–Bellatrix would have killed her.

With a deep breath, Ron carefully put dittany on the neck he had been kissing not 24 hours ago.

It sizzled but didn't heal over. So, he squeezed another drop. The same thing happened again.

"Merde," Fleur cursed. "Merde, merde, merde," she said under her breath.

"What?" Ron nearly shouted.

"It won't heal," Fluer said, lifting Hermione's injured arm to show Ron. "No matter how much dittany I use."

"Same," Ron said, looking at Hermione's still-bleeding neck.

Fleur sighed and looked Hermione's body up and down.

"I need to attend 'er other injuries," She grabbed some gauze and bandages from her medical bag and began wrapping Hermione's arm up.

"Come over 'ere, and hold this tight," Fleur instructed as she moved to bandage Hermione's neck.

Ron did what he was told, and put pressure on Hermione's arm, slinking down onto the unnecessarily plush chair beside her as he did.

"I need some dittany and Skelegro," Bill said as the door to the bedroom whipped open. He walked to the medicine bag and grabbed what he needed.

"I messaged the family, they're all at Muriel's. And I checked in with Appoline, they're still safe."

Fleur nodded, her face twisting in an attempt to not cry. "How is everyone else?" Fleur asked in a tone meeker than Ron had ever heard her speak.

"Worse for wear, but okay," Bill said, briefly hugging his wife as he stood to go.

"Everyone's alive?" Ron asked, his voice still raspy from all the screaming he had done minutes before.

"Everyone's okay," Bill softly, pausing for a moment, "except for the house elf. I know you cared about him, I'm sorry."

"Dobby's dead?" Ron asked in disbelief.

Bill nodded his head, placed a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder, then turned to leave.

Ron couldn't believe it. Of everyone, Ron didn't consider Dobby as a possible victim of Voldemort's return. He was sturdy, a house elf with magic that even wizards couldn't do, he couldn't possibly die.

"I think they are broken," Fleur said, softly brushing her hands across Hermione's bruised ribs.

Ron stared at her chest, at the bra he had seen the day before, in very different circumstances. They had been so happy, so foolish.

Ron choked back a sob.

"Help me put this on her," Fleur said. She held up a nightgown. A silky white one that he could never picture Hermione owning, except in his fantasies.

They carefully pulled the nightgown down Hermione's body. Ron was shocked to see that Fleur had healed all her cuts, even the bruises on her ribs had lightened.

When had that happened?

"'Ere," Fleur said, walking over to Ron.

She handed Ron a towel. "Put this on your face."

As soon as the wet towel made contact with his swollen face, he felt relief. With the relief, however, was the realisation of just how much pain he was in.

The snatchers had beaten him well, to the point he wasn't sure he still had all of his teeth. He took the towel off his face, which was now pink with his blood. His vision wasn't blurry, and he could now move his jaw without a shooting pain in his cheek.

"I'm going to 'elp the others." Fleur said, taking the towel from Ron and handing him a vial, "give this to her if she wakes."

Ron nodded and squeezed the Skelegro in his hands until Fleur closed the door behind her. Then he collapsed, his head falling beside Hermione's chest, his own body racking with sobs even though no sound came out and no tears fell down his face. He didn't think he had any tears left to cry.

"Ron," Hermione cried so quietly that Ron almost didn't hear her.

"Hermione," Ron stood, then sat back down, not sure why he stood up in the first place.

"It's okay," Ron muttered. It felt like a lie—like the worst kind of lie. The one that eats you from the inside, twisting your organs and squeezing your stomach until you have to tell the truth.

But he didn't know what else to say.

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut.

"You need to take this," Ron said and handed the Skelegro to Hermione.

Hermione's hands shook as she tried to reach for the vial. There was no way she could lift the potion, so Ron took Hermione's hand and placed it back on the bed.

"It's okay," he said again.

He lifted the potion to her lips and held her head up as she sipped it. With a grimace, Hermione swallowed, and Ron put the vial on the bedside table.

He didn't know if she was grimacing from the slightly pickled cucumber taste of the Skelegro, or because she was still in pain.

Another squeeze of her eyelids and a small gasp told him she was still in pain.

"Let me get Fleur, she can give you more pain potion."

"No!" Hermione called out, her voice as hoarse as Ron's. "Please stay."

"Of course," Ron said, taking her hand.

Hermione's face contorted, and Ron began to think he made a mistake—she really needed the pain potion.

But instead of screaming, Hermione began to sob.

Ron wrapped his arms around her as carefully as he could.

"It's over," he repeated; "it's all over now."

He held her and shushed her, trying his best to calm her down, knowing that his words were wrong.

It wasn't over yet. Voldemort was still out there. He could still kill the lot of them. Hermione wasn't healed yet. She could never heal, she could be like Neville's parents.

The thought hit him like lightning. Surely she wasn't insane? Yes, she wasn't herself. She wasn't fully lucid. But that had to be from the pain. She would be okay—she had to be.

Hermione gasped and Ron instinctively pulled his hands away from her in case he had hurt her.

"How did we escape?" Hermione asked as if she had just remembered why they were there. "Where's Harry?"

"Dobby saved us," Ron said, trying not to let his voice crack as he did. "Harry's okay, he's just downstairs."

"Oh," Hermione muttered as her shoulders visibly relaxed. "Harry's okay," she repeated, "and Dobby…Dobby? How'd he find us?"

"No bloody clue," Ron said earnestly.

"And everyone else?"

"Yeah, they're all okay," Ron said, deliberately not mentioning Dobby's death, she could find out about that later. "And Luna and Ollivander were there, he got them out too."

"Oh no," Hermione gasped. "That's terrible, how long had they been there?"

"I'm not sure," Ron said, feeling more useless after each question he couldn't answer.

"But they're all okay?"

Ron nodded, feeling guilty as he did.

"That's good," Hermione said, her eyelids starting to close.

"Yeah," He said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

For some reason, he was brought back to his last visit to Cottage place, of him writing that letter that he hoped to Merlin she would never read. It was probably still in the crack in the wall.

He had been too scared to tell her then, hoping that he would never have to see her face when he said the words he so desperately wanted to say. But he had told her over and over again last night.

And she repeated it back to him.

It would be a waste not to tell her every day of the rest of their lives, even if that wasn't much longer.

He finally had the courage, and he couldn't back down now. No matter what happened, no matter Hermione's prognosis.

"I love you so much, Hermione," he said.

He wasn't sure if she heard him before she fell asleep, but a slight smile on her lips made him think that she had.