~The Tent, Autumn 1997~

The only thing on Ron's mind was the all-consuming pain. Sharp, searing, burning, pain. His arm had nearly been torn off his body as they'd disapparated from the ministry, and he now found himself writhing on a bed of leaves in the middle of nowhere.

"Ron, be still, please," pleaded Hermione beside him. "Harry! Toss me that dittany!"

Ron heard a crunch as the tiny bottle landed on the leaves beside him. Hermione leaned across him and scrambled to uncork it before pouring it onto his wounds. Moments later, the pain in his arm began to cool and relief washed over him. His breathing returned to a normal pace. There was still a whisper of pain from somewhere under his shirt, but his heart rate had slowed enough to allow a few words to escape. "My side."

"What?" asked Hermione, her voice panicked. "Do you have another cut I didn't see?"

"On my side," he said, gesturing to his torso with his uninjured arm.

"Okay let me see." Hermione reached for the hem of his shirt.

No. That would be the first time —

"Ron." Hermione's hand brushed against his, which was still clutching the fabric of his shirt to his body. "Let me."

It wouldn't be the first time Hermione saw him without a shirt, but it would be the first time since they'd kissed. He'd hoped it would have been in the context of another snog session, maybe back at Grimmauld Place after a successful horcrux retrieval. They'd sneak away to one of the bedrooms, and Hermione would take his shirt off right then and there, and he'd soak up that flash of euphoria in her gaze when she laid eyes on him. But like this?

The last thing he wanted her to see was his pale, skinny body covered in blood.

"Not right now," he spluttered.

"Ron! I have to," pleaded Hermione. "You have to let me."

The pain on his side burned hotter, and Ron could almost visualize the cut in his skin deepening with each passing second. He knew she was right. She was always fucking right. Even when he didn't want her to be.

"Okay," he finally said, as he released the hem of his shirt from his grasp.

"Thank you," she said, before pulling the fabric over his head to tend to his wounds.

It was hard to describe the shift in the air since the trio escaped the Ministry. It was colder in the woods, and the tent wasn't well-insulated, but that didn't explain all of it. Something about the way the three spoke to each other felt icy and frigid, as if neither of them could muster enough words to respond to a question politely. Sometimes, even smiling at each other felt like an insane thing to do. There was a war, therefore there should be no joy or fun anywhere.

Ron blamed it on a few things. One — having his arm nearly torn off. That set a mood that was hard to break free from. Two — the ministry break-in once again reminded the trio how high the stakes were and how insurmountable their upcoming task of destroying horcruxes was. And three — that bloody locket. Ron couldn't explain it, but there was something weird about that locket. The three had been rotating who had to wear it, and the afternoon that Ron had it around his neck was his worst yet. It was like wearing a dark cloud that obscured any possibility of happiness.

Maybe he was overthinking it. Hermione seemed to think so. But that was how Hermione reacted to magic she didn't understand. She just pretended it didn't exist. So much for the brightest witch of her age.

Bloody hell. Stop it. Ron shook his head violently to erase the pesky thought from his mind. Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, no doubt about it. Where did the doubt even come from? He wasn't even wearing the damn thing.

As if summoned, Hermione pushed through the tent flap that separated their sleeping quarters from living space. Ron caught a glance at Harry keeping watch at the entrance, his face pale and solemn, the locket hanging at his neck. It looked heavy, like it could weigh him down to the floor if he let it.

"How are you feeling?" asked Hermione.

The tent flap closed, obscuring Ron's view of Harry. "I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My arm is feeling a lot better."

Hermione took a step closer and sat next to him on his bed. "I wasn't asking about your arm, Ron."

Ron inched away from Hermione to make space beside him on his bed. She responded by flipping her legs onto the blanket and nuzzling against his shoulder. Ron felt the heavy burden of stress leave his body, and even though it all made him feel lighter, he let his body relax into the mattress next to her, his arm draped around her torso.

This had become a routine for them while Harry was on night watch. "Honestly, I'd be better if you kissed me."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but obliged. When she turned toward him, he captured her lips with his and felt her body melt against him. He tightened his arm around her waist.

All of that cold, frigid air from before seemed to clear the room as Ron got lost in the taste of her breath and the tangles of her hair. He tugged at her bottom lip between his teeth and she shifted her leg to straddle over him. Ron's hands immediately slid from her waist to the back pockets of her jeans.

Fuck, this is new.

He deepened the kiss while his fingers found their way to the waistband of her jeans. They'd never done this before.

The physical part of their relationship had intensified with each night Harry spent on watch. Sure, they hadn't had a conversation about it yet, because the middle of a war was most definitely not the right time to define their relationship. But Ron thought there was something so freeing about letting his hands and tongue do the talking.

Hermione paused before detaching her lips from his. "We should stop."

Instinctively, Ron removed his fingers from her waistband. "Too much?"

"It's not that," said Hermione as she pressed her forehead to his. "I have to take over for Harry soon."

"Hmm okay," said Ron. "I'd rather you didn't."

Hermione laughed. "I'd rather not either." She planted a kiss on Ron's hairline before continuing, "I just came to check on you and you distracted me."

Ron groaned as Hermione stood up and straightened her jumper. "So you're leaving, and Harry's coming in here?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "How does that sound?"

"Honestly, not as good," said Ron.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair to tame her curls before sending him an apologetic glance. Ron shivered when she exited through the door flap, as she seemed to take all of the warm air with her.

Hermione shivered at the tent opening so fiercely that her blanket seemed to vibrate. The mug of steaming tea on the floor cast a haze of warmth into the air beside her, but it didn't seem to affect her. Around her neck hung the locket; its silver chain pressed into her skin like a pronged collar. As if following the trajectory of the green pendant, the corners of her mouth turned down into a glum expression.

Ron padded over to her with his own mug of tea in hand. With him was an extra blanket from his bed.

"You look cold," he said, as he settled down beside her. Ron draped the blanket over both of their laps.

"Where's Harry?"

"Bedroom," said Ron. "Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just don't want him to see us."

Maybe it was just the fact that they were cold and tired, but she sounded a bit terse to him. He shrugged it off — no reason to read into that any more than necessary. "We're just sitting under a blanket together," he said. "We would have done this before."

"Well yeah. Before there was a war."

Ron inched closer to her in an attempt to capture some of her warmth, but she felt like an icicle beside him. "We can still do this."

"It just doesn't look good."

Ron felt a knot grow in his stomach. "What doesn't look good?"

"Being cuddly. Happy. It's not right." As she spoke, she fiddled with the locket's chain around her neck.

Ron glared at the locket. "It's okay to sit next to each other under a blanket. Fuck, Hermione, just the other night you had your legs wrapped around me in bed."

Hermione seemed to wince at the memory. "We probably shouldn't have done that. It doesn't make sense right now."

Ron's heart sank. They had come way too far to backpedal now. Seven years of building up to a relationship for what? To write it off for no other reason than a war? As far as Ron knew, a war was the best reason to stop wasting so much time. "The locket is talking to you, Hermione."

"No it's not, Ron."

"Yes, it is."

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head. Although he was overwhelmed with the desire to argue her point, he held it back. Maybe she didn't know it was the locket talking, but he did.

"Come here," he said, as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against him. Her head landed on his shoulder, and Ron's spine tingled upon feeling her bushy hair brush against his neck. "We're going to be okay."

Hermione tensed up underneath him, but Ron forced his arm to stay put. If it was him with the locket, this is what he'd want. At least he thought he would.

He watched a montage of emotions play on her face and wished he could interpret them. Desire? Guilt? Disgust? Love? Which emotions were Hermione's? Which were the locket's?

After a moment of pause, she finally spoke. "I think I want to be alone right now, Ron."

Ron let out a sigh. "Do you really want that?"

"Yes," she said as she shimmied out from under his arm. "Please."

Ron didn't believe her for a second, but he bottled up his desire to protest and left her alone for the night.

Ron scowled toward the living area, where Harry and Hermione sat next to each other on the sofa. Hermione was deep into the Tales of Beedle The Bard while Harry glanced over her shoulder. Both were muttering about the locket, the symbol on the books, and the sword of Gryffindor, trying to piece together how to progress with their mission.

But… they were sitting very close to one another. A blanket stretched across the length of the sofa, covering both of their laps, and Ron had no idea what was happening underneath that blanket.

How did he not notice before? All the secrecy, Hermione not wanting to hold his hand in front of Harry. The fact they were still pretending they were just friends, when it was clear to him that they were so much more. Obviously it wasn't as clear as he thought.

Ron twiddled with the pendant at his chest. Sometimes putting the locket on felt like lifting a veil, and he could finally see things for what they were. And the reality was often much more grim than before.

He was tempted to shout out at the pair, but to what avail? To let them know that he saw them? That he knew?

Harry murmured something unintelligible to Hermione, and she burst out laughing. It was a sound that usually made Ron smile, but this time, it sent a shiver down his spine, and filled him with the desire to punch Harry in the face.

Do it. You know you want to.

That voice in his head sounded both like himself and like a stranger at the same time. But it knew what it wanted, and Ron liked that. It was the voice of clarity, and in a time like this, when the future was foggy and his relationship was blowing up in his face, clarity felt right. It felt good.

They're being so obvious.

"What's so funny?" Ron called from the tent flap.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Ron watched them complete a silent conversation with their expressions only.

They're trying to think of a lie.

"Nothing, Ron. Harry just said something funny."

"What did he say?" pressed Ron.

Harry shrugged. "It was nothing. I just made a joke about the sword of Gryffindor. I hardly remember what it was."

Likely story.

Ron grunted and tightened his blanket around him. "What's so funny about destroying horcruxes?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged another look before Hermione piped up. "Are you okay Ron?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Not as good as you two, but I'm fine."

Hermione scowled. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you need a break from wearing the locket?"

For some reason, her question filled him with rage. He felt his neck heat up, and was thankful he was wearing a scarf to hide the color. "Why? Do you think I'm weaker than you?"

"Excuse me?

"We all wear it for the same amount of time."

"I know, but if it's taking too much of a toll on you, one of us can take it for a while," added Harry.

They think they're better than you.

"I can handle it," he said through gritted teeth.

"Okay. Just let us know," said Hermione. She looked at Harry and both of them shrugged.

Ron shook his head. "Now carry on. I don't want to interrupt."

Harry and Hermione turned back to Beedle the Bard. Their whispers started up again, but this time quieter and more reserved. It didn't matter, Ron could see clearly now. His eyes narrowed to the blanket that covered their laps.

Just show me your hands Potter.

He couldn't prove anything, but he knew. They weren't subtle at all.

When Ron had removed the locket in the morning, the cold, dark, void of emotion still lingered. It took hours for it to fade, and even now, twelve hours later, it hadn't disappeared completely. It was as if he was stuck between reality, where he could see a hopeful future, and a parallel universe where the only emotion left for him was despair.

Harry was wearing the locket now, and it felt like he and Hermione had a stranger for a roommate. Luckily he no longer felt like he was crazy for claiming the locket changed everyone — Hermione admitted it now. But it was impossible to recognize that in oneself when under the locket's spell.

With a cup of tea in hand, Harry stumbled across the tent to the door flap where Hermione was keeping watch.

"My turn."

"Thank Merlin," she said as she stood up. Hermione handed off her blanket to Harry, who ignored her and sat down.

"Don't want this?"

"No."

"You'll get cold."

"I think I know how to take care of myself, Hermione."

"Okay, fine then." Hermione bundled up the blanket in her arms and shuffled across the room toward the sleeping quarters. As she passed Ron on the sofa, she nodded toward their beds. "Come with me."

Ron sprung to his feet and followed her, not caring how Harry might interpret his urgency. Honestly, he was probably too engrossed in his dark thoughts to notice.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron upon entering the bedroom.

Hermione groaned and plopped down on Ron's bed. "Harry's the worst when he's wearing the locket."

Ron laid down next to her and wrapped an arm around her. He had decided against sharing his locket-inspired suspicion that something was going on between Harry and Hermione. It was truly ridiculous. At least he thought so now. When he wasn't wearing it, he saw no reason to be suspicious. "We're all the worst with the locket. I was a right prat to you and Harry before."

Hermione chuckled. "That's true." She snuggled her head against his side. "Earlier, he told me my cooking is awful."

Ron laughed. "Has he tried his own cooking?"

"That's what I said! He did not take it well."

Ron reached for his blanket and spread it over himself and Hermione. He leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. He felt his body soften into the bed and Hermione's lean more heavily into him. Something about being next to her made it easier to push the locket's lingering influence to the back of his mind.

He just hated that there still was a lingering voice telling him to hold onto his suspicions. He could override it, though. Of that he was sure.

"I'd say I can't wait for the second he takes it off, but then it'll be my turn to wear it," said Hermione.

"A real lose lose situation." Something about Hermione's statement wasn't sitting quite right with Ron. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"How quickly after taking off the locket do you feel normal again?"

Hermione didn't need any time to ponder the question. "Pretty much right away."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Hermione sat up and turned toward him. "Is it different for you?"

Ron nodded. "It sticks around for a while, yes."

"How long?"

Ron shrugged. "Honestly, a little bit longer each time."

"Huh," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "Is it still… lingering?"

"A little, yes."

Hermione slid down against Ron's side again. "What makes it better?"

Ron's eyes darted to her lips. "You. You make it better."

Hermione smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Does this make it better?" She leaned in and captured his lips with her own.

A wave of warmth washed over him. He deepened the kiss and luxuriated in her taste before coming up for air. "Yes. Yes it does."

"Good," said Hermione. "What about this?"

Ron groaned as Hermione's hand slid down his chest and landed at the drawstring of his trousers. "Yes please."

She plucked at his drawstring to loosen his waistband. "Still okay?"

"Mmm hmm." To punctuate his answer, Ron tangled his fingers into her hair, and brought her lips down to his. Ron felt her smile through the kiss.

They hadn't explored each other below the belt quite yet — something about Harry being in the next room made that a bit more precarious. But at the moment, Hermione didn't seem to care.

Her hand slipped past Ron's waistband into his pants, landing on his erection. "Fuck, Hermione," he muttered between kisses. "You really don't have to—"

She paused, her hand gripping him like a warm glove. "I want to. But only if you want me to."

Ron nodded vigorously, his heart racing. "I do. Only if you let me return the favor—"

Hermione cut him off by crashing her lips against his as her hand gripped tighter and established a steady rhythm. Ron felt his eyes roll back into his head as he basked in the warmth of her hand, the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her breath. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and almost perfect.

Almost. Although it had been hours, and Hermione's presence quieted the voice, it still played in the background of his mind.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

She'll realize she's too good for you.

You won't be able to make her feel this good.

She'll be disappointed.

No, he couldn't let the locket ruin this moment for him. He parted his lips and let her tongue slide into his mouth. He gripped her hair between his fingers. His breath deepened, his heart rate quickened, and he let himself fade into this new version of reality, desperately trying to ignore the pesky voice that hissed from the darkest corners of his mind.

The chain of the locket dug into Ron's skin. There was a red mark on his neck, as Ron had been tugging on it for the last few hours while he awaited the return of Harry and Hermione. They had gone on a hike in search of food for dinner and left Ron to guard the tent, alone.

Like clockwork, when he had put the locket back on, he saw everything clearly. He was such an idiot. How did he fall for it?
The previous night must have just been a game for Hermione. The way she tossed him off had put him under a spell. Looking back, he could hardly remember it clearly. For a moment. it seemed like it was someone else in bed with Hermione. It wasn't Ron who pulled her knickers down to her ankles and traced a line of kisses down her neck while his fingers slipped between her legs. The way she had moaned into his ear and trembled beneath his touch basically transported him to a new dimension, one where he was completely at her mercy. In that moment, he truly felt like she was letting him in on a secret. He thought he was exploring uncharted territory. He was convinced she cared about him, and only him.

How could you be so dumb?

Why did they need to go on a hike? There was no food out there. Deep down, he knew the answer. On a hike, they could be truly alone.

Ron only got stolen moments in a cramped bedroom with Harry just on the other side of a canvas wall. But Harry? He got the whole damn woods.

In the distance, two figures appeared. Ron could hear the leaves crunching under each step, and their muffled chatter filled the otherwise silent woods. He felt his fists clench at his sides when he saw they were empty handed.

It's because they weren't looking for food…

As they came closer, Ron felt his heart pounding on his chest like a drum. Their chatter became clearer with each step, and Ron swore he heard Harry say something about perfume.

You know what they were doing.

"Oi!" Ron called once they were within earshot. "Where's our dinner?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged one of those glances, the kind that Ron had gotten to know all too well. "We didn't find anything, mate. We'll look again later."

"Seriously?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Ron. "We tried."

With a sudden burst of energy, Ron rose to his feet, which caused both Harry and Hermione to jolt back a pace. "I know what you're doing."

"What are you talking about, Ron," asked Hermione, her voice faint and tentative.

Ron took a step closer, his heart racing. "You and him."

"What about me and him?"

Ron laughed, and the sound of his cackle surprised even him at first. "You're not hiding it well."

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Harry.

"Sneaking off into the woods? Snuggling under blankets? Talking about me behind my back?"

"Ron—" said Hermione, taking a step toward him with an arm outstretched.

Ron cut her off. "You think I'm stupid?"

"Of course not, Ron!"

"You two can be alone if you want."

Ron stomped over to the counter where his jumper was crumpled. He shoved it over his head and stuck his wand into his pocket.

"Ron, there's nothing going on," pleaded Hermione. "It's only you. It's only ever been you."

She's lying.

Harry was silent, shock written all over his face. He seemed to fade into the shadows.

"Stop lying to me, Hermione."

"Take off the locket, Ron."

Ron laughed, another maniacal sound he didn't recognize. As if taking off the locket would change anything at this point. But if she wanted it her way…

"You can keep the fucking locket," he said, as he tugged it from around his neck and threw it at her. He watched Hermione's expression change to one of hurt, almost anger.

She's just angry you found out.

The voice was softer, but it was still there, crowding out any doubt about what he had to do next. He knew he was right all along. If taking off the locket was like putting on a veil, he wasn't going to let the veil shield reality anymore.

Ron stormed out of the tent, bumping her shoulder as he passed her.

"Ron, don't do this," she pleaded.

He only felt more determined with each step.

"Ron, please!" Hermione chased after him, tears streaming down her face, the locket dangling from one hand.

Don't let her convince you to stay.

There was only one way to avoid second guessing his decision. With each step she took toward him, everything only got clearer. He couldn't look her in the eye, he couldn't say goodbye, he couldn't think back to those nights spent entangled beneath the sheets. All he could do was leave.

So he snapped his fingers, and watched the surrounding woods, the tent, and Hermione disappear into darkness.