Hermione Granger stirred one of the two mugs of tea in front of her before carefully pouring the smallest drop of milk into both. They'd managed to sneak into a small Muggle village a few days earlier to grab some basic supplies, but those were nearly gone now.

Pulling on her hat and gloves, she lifted the two mugs and stepped outside the tent into the cold. It was barely dusk. A lone figure leaned against a tree, staring into the distance, clearly lost in thought.

"Harry?" she said quietly. "I brought you some tea."

He started, looking up at her. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Can I sit with you?"

"Of course," Harry said, patting the ground next to him. "Is Ron still asleep?"

Hermione nodded as she pulled out her wand and quickly dried a patch of ground beside Harry before sitting down. The bluebell flames she'd conjured earlier were still holding their warmth, but the air remained bitterly cold.

"I was thinking about the Hallows…" he began.

"What's new?" she muttered, taking a sip of tea. Then, louder, she added, "Harry, can we not talk about that right now?"

He didn't reply immediately, and the silence stretched between them. Finally, Hermione turned to meet her friend's curious gaze.

"I'm too tired to fight about your obsession," she said bluntly.

"It's not an obsession!" Harry said indignantly.

Hermione raised her hand in mock defeat. "Okay, okay. Truce. I just wanted some company."

"I'm sure Ron would be better company if you'd just forgive him," Harry muttered, then clamped his mouth shut as if regretting the words.

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes.

"He left us," Hermione whispered at last.

"He came back," Harry replied simply.

"How would you feel if Ginny had left you in the middle of all this?" she asked, meeting his gaze. She knew he understood her feelings for Ron—he'd seen enough to piece it together.

Harry raised an eyebrow, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I'm pretty sure in that story, I'm Ron. I did leave her. I thought I was doing the right thing, but honestly, now, I don't know if I did."

He looked nervously into the forest ahead before continuing. "When Ron left, watching you…"

"Fall apart?" she finished softly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, watching… that. I wondered if that's how I made Ginny feel, and if she'll ever be able to forgive me, assuming we survive all this."

Hermione shook her head, "That was different, Harry. You left to protect her. You left because you thought it was best for her. She knows that, even if it hurt."

"How do you know Ron didn't feel the same?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

She watched Harry closely as he hesitated to answer her. He hated being in the middle of her and Ron's arguments, but it seemed like he had something he wanted to say.

"Harry, it's okay," she offered, after a few moments. "We can talk about something else."

A look of determination crossed his face. "Hermione, we've been friends for a pretty long time now, right?"

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"And we've been through a lot together?"

Another nod.

"Well, I know while you and Ron have had your arguments, apart from a few minor disagreements, you've always had my back."

"You're my best friend," she said with a shrug. "Of course I do."

Harry smiled nervously. "You stood by me in second year when everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin. In fourth year, when I told you about my scar hurting and when I first got visions from You-Know-Who, you believed me and got me to seek help. In fifth year, after the vision of Ron's dad—and later, the Ministry—you stood by me. You never once made me feel like what I was seeing was my fault. You helped me forgive myself for…" His voice cracked. "For what happened to Sirius.

"And after Godric's Hollow, when I had those visions… you looked after me. Actually, I'm not sure I ever properly thanked you for that. Sorry.

"What I'm trying to say is, for all those things—and Merlin knows how many I've forgotten—you've always forgiven me or told me it wasn't my fault. So why is this thing with Ron different?"

Hermione course it was different. Harry's connection to Voldemort had been out of his control, and none of those things had truly been his fault. Even the Ministry incident had been driven by Voldemort's manipulation.

"But this is different…" she said softly. "Ron chose to leave us. You chose to go after Sirius. You chose to save someone you cared about. Ron didn't care about me… us… enough to 't enough."

Her voice broke on the last sentence, and tears pricked at her eyes as she voiced her deepest fear: that Ron didn't feel the same way she did.

Harry reached over and squeezed her arm. "You-Know-Who doesn't understand love, but he knows it has power. It makes sense that the locket—a part of him—would target the people we care about most."

Hermione met his eyes, understanding his point. The locket had whispered cruel things to her, too: that her parents would never forgive her, that Harry and Ron only valued her for her intelligence, and that they would leave her the moment she failed to find the answers they needed. Worst of all, it had said she'd never be good enough for Ron. He didn't want a "bushy-haired know-it-all." He wanted someone like Lavender or Madam Rosmerta—blonde, confident, and nothing like her.

But while the locket had eaten away at her confidence, she'd never thought of leaving. Her biggest fear had always been that they would leave her instead.

Harry sighed. "I won't betray Ron's confidence, but I was there, and I know what the locket said to him. If I were in his shoes, I honestly can't say I wouldn't have done the same. More than most people, I understand what it feels like to have You-Know-Who in your head, and it's awful. I think you managed to escape some of it by burying yourself in books, but Ron didn't have that. You-Know-Who played on that."

He paused, his voice soft but steady. "While it wasn't right, I genuinely think that, in that moment and in that mindset, Ron believed the best thing he could do for you was to leave."

Hermione felt fresh tears sliding down her cheeks as Harry gave her arm another reassuring squeeze. He stood and stretched, looking down at her with a gentle expression.

"Just think about it, okay? I hate seeing you two fight, but this time, it's because of You-Know-Who—one of the most evil wizards in history. Don't let him destroy what you two had. Don't let him win."

He picked up her empty mug and headed back into the tent, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Hermione wiped at her face, his words lingering in her mind. Maybe Harry was right. She'd never blamed Harry for the things he'd done while manipulated by Voldemort. Sure, she'd told him his ideas were reckless and dangerous, and that they shouldn't rush into things—not that anyone had ever listened to her about that—but she'd never blamed him for what had happened.

So why did she blame Ron?

Did she even blame him?

Maybe it wasn't blame at all. Maybe it was the shock of how much it had hurt, or even the fear of how much she'd fallen apart when he'd left. She'd always considered herself fiercely independent, but his absence had shown her how much she relied on him.

She wiped her eyes again. Maybe it was time to extend an olive branch—to tell him she forgave him. She'd fallen into her old habits, giving him the cold shoulder and throwing up walls, though she'd started to ease up a little after the incident at Mr Lovegood's. But she needed to figure out how to get back to where they'd been.

She missed him.

She missed the physical comfort they'd shared before the locket had taken over: the strong arm around her shoulders when they sat together, the playful nudging and joking, the quiet moments when he just made her feel safe. They'd even fallen asleep holding hands a few times, seeking comfort in one another. All of it had suggested to her that they were heading somewhere together—towards what her heart truly wanted.

But then the locket had stripped it all away.

Hermione sniffled and sat up straighter. She'd never been good at clearing the air after a fight, but this time, she wanted to. She was ready to.

As the forest around her became brighter, she heard voices coming from the tent. Ron was clearly awake. Pulling herself up from the ground she stretched her legs, stiff from the cold. She headed towards the tent for something to eat, determined to figure out how to tell Ron she'd forgiven him.

Inside, she found Harry plating up the last of their bread and jam, handing her some as she passed. Ron smiled at her, as he sat playing with his radio, determined to get tuned into Potterwatch.

Just as she finished her jam sandwich she heard Ron exclaim in excitement, "I've got the password!" Suddenly other voices filled the air.

Hermione sat down beside Ron, closer than she might have dared to a hours ago, listening to the familiar voices on the radio with quiet delight. Each name brought a small, fleeting sense of relief, as if a weight lifted with the recognition that these people were still alive, still fighting. For the first time in what felt like forever, a glimmer of hope flickered within her.

Until—

"HARRY, NO!"

The word was out before she could stop him. He'd said it. He'd saidVoldemort.

Panic surged through her as she felt Ron stiffen beside her. Her breath caught, her mind racing. Then she heard them—voices outside.

The tent plunged into darkness as Ron clicked the Deluminator. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was no time, no plan, only instincts. She turned to Harry, her trembling hand tightening on her wand. She had to act. She had to protect him.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she whispered desperately, her voice trembling.

Harry gasped in pain as his face swelled grotesquely, the jinx disfiguring him beyond recognition. Hermione felt sick, bile rising in her throat as she forced herself to watch the damage she had inflicted. It wasn't enough—not nearly enough.

Then the tent flaps were torn open. Light poured in, and rough hands grabbed at her, yanking her out into the cold. She barely registered the commotion around her—the shouts, the scuffle—as her wide, terrified eyes darted to Ron.

"Get off her!" Ron bellowed, struggling against the hands holding him.

Two of the Snatchers turned on him, fists flying. Hermione screamed as Ron staggered under the assault, collapsing to the ground.

"No! Leave him alone!Leave him alone!" Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her face.

Her pleas were drowned out by cruel laughter. Her stomach churned as Greyback loomed over her, the stench of his breath making her gag. He leered, trapping her between his towering frame and the Snatcher gripping her arms.

"Delicious girl," Greyback growled, his yellowed teeth glinting in the moonlight. "What a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."

Hermione's heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst. Everything around her faded, her world narrowing to the rancid breath on her face and the cold steel of terror in her chest. She forced herself to look away, to find Harry and Ron through the haze of her panic.

Harry was struggling against the Snatchers holding him, his disfigured face barely recognisable. Ron lay crumpled on the ground, blood smeared across his face, his gaze locked on hers. Even now, beaten and terrified, he was trying to reassure her.

She tried to convey her feelings in return—a desperate mix of apology and love. She hoped he understood.

"Who are you girly?" Greyback growled suddenly, his face inches from hers.

"Penelope Clearwater," she stammered, her voice trembling. "H-half-blood."

The lie rolled off her tongue, but it was fragile, barely held together by her will. Her mind raced through possibilities, searching for an escape. If they went quietly, perhaps they could stay …

A shout from the tent shattered her thoughts.

"What's this?" a Snatcher called. "In the Prophet—look at this!"

Hermione froze as the Snatcher stepped out with a page in his hand. Her heart sank as she saw the familiar face staring back at her.

"It's her, 'ermione Granger" the Snatcher said gleefully. "The mudblood known to be travelling with 'arry Potter!"

"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "It isn't me! It isn't me!"

Her desperate protests only made the Snatchers laugh. They didn't believe her—how could they? Her terror was written all over her face.

This was it. She'd failed them. She'd gotten them killed.

Her eyes found Ron again. His face was streaked with blood and fear, but his gaze remained steady, locked on hers. She didn't look away.

"We'll take them to Malfoy Manor," one of the Snatchers said, his tone triumphant. "You-Know-Who will want to see them himself."

Greyback's grin widened as he turned back to Hermione, his hand reaching for her. She flinched, bracing herself for his touch, but the Snatcher holding her spoke quickly.

"I've got her. Can you trust the others to get to the Manor? If it's him—Potter—we can't risk losing him."

Greyback snarled, clearly displeased, but he relented, turning to grab Harry by the hair.

Hermione barely had time to take a breath before the suffocating grip of Apparition closed around her.