"Ron!" she yelled.
Cursing herself for running so far from her Apparition point, Hermione pushed through the burning in her legs. She really needed to build her fitness back up—this was ridiculous.
"Ron!"
This time, heads snapped towards her. Harry's eyes widened in shock, while Dobby and a Goblin she didn't recognise stared at her curiously.
"Ron!"
Finally, Ron looked up and met her eyes. He scrambled to his feet, running towards her. She closed her eyes as they neared, bracing herself for the collision but not caring, not even knowing how he would manage to catch her. The next thing she knew, she was in a nearly bone-crushing embrace, her feet dangling off the ground.
"Ron!" Harry's voice broke through the moment, sharp with worry. "We don't know it's her!"
Hermione realised what he was thinking and quickly tossed the wand she'd been holding to the ground at Harry's feet.
"It's her, Harry!" Ron shouted, holding her even tighter. Then, so softly it was almost a whisper, he murmured into her ear, "If you're not her… just kill me now. Make it quick."
"It's me. It's me, Ron," she managed to gasp, her mind racing for a way to prove it. Her thoughts swirled, trying to piece together what he'd said earlier. "We've been best friends since you saved me from a troll in first year. We're hunting Horcruxes with Harry. You left, but you came back and destroyed the locket. We went to the Lovegoods' and nearly got blown up by an Erumpent horn. Harry's obsessed with the Deathly Hallows, and I never want to eat mushrooms again... And I forgive you."
She felt his knees give out beneath him, and they sank to the sand together. Her feet brushed the ground briefly before they both collapsed. His arms stayed locked around her, his body trembling with sobs.
"It's okay. We're okay," she whispered, repeating the words like a mantra, her hand brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck as he clung to her.
The whole time, Hermione could feel Harry's sceptical gaze boring into her. She wanted to roll her eyes but couldn't blame him. After all, she'd been taken by Snatchers; by all logic, she should be dead—or worse—and the idea of someone Polyjuiced to infiltrate them wasn't far-fetched.
Eventually, Ron's sobs subsided, and he loosened his grip. He leaned back to look her in the eyes, his own red and watery. "It's really you? You're really okay?"
She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. "I am."
She glanced down at her hands, shocked to see they were now streaked with blood. It wasn't hers—she wasn't injured. Her gaze dropped to Ron's jumper, where dark red patches spread across the maroon wool.
"Ron! You're hurt!" she exclaimed, panic rising in her chest.
He shrugged. "Yeah, Bellatrix threw a knife at us. Got me in the arm. There was also… a chandelier thing, but I'm fine, really."
Exasperated by his dismissal of his own injuries, Hermione turned to Harry. "Harry, please stop pointing that wand at me—he's hurt!"
Harry hesitated, glancing between the blood on her hands and her face. "If you're really Hermione," he said cautiously, "tell me about the time the three of us Apparated out of Hogwarts…"
"You can't Apparate out of Hogwarts!" she snapped, trying to hoist Ron to his feet. "Which you'd know if you'd ever picked upHogwarts: A Historyin the last six—offt." Her rant was cut off as Harry suddenly grabbed her in a tight hug.
"Thank Merlin," he muttered, relief flooding his voice. "Only you would get that annoyed aboutHogwarts: A History."
As he released her, Ron smirked at Harry, despite his obvious pain. "Told you it was her." Then he winced, clutching his arm.
"Now can we please get him inside?" Hermione demanded, her patience stretched thin.
Harry nodded, moving to support Ron's other side. As they headed towards the cottage, a tall figure with red hair came rushing out to meet them.
"Ron, are you all right?" Bill's voice was laced with worry.
"Never better," Ron quipped, though his grimace gave him away. "It's just surface stuff. A bit of Dittany will sort it."
Bill didn't look convinced and tried to take Hermione's place at Ron's side. When she shook her head, silently asserting her position, Bill met her gaze and stepped back. With a nod of understanding, he led the way to the house.
Inside, Fleur descended the stairs, her face clouded with concern. "Oh, Ron, what 'appened?" She approached, gently inspecting him.
"I'm fine, really," Ron mumbled, trying to wave her off.
Hermione noticed, with some surprise, that any lingering jealousy she might have once felt towards Fleur had completely faded.
Harry produced a short blade from his pocket. "This got him in the arm," he explained. "We think it might be cursed."
Bill took the knife from him carefully, studying it.
Fleur seemed satisfied with her initial check and motioned up the stairs. "Ronald, use our en-suite to clean up. I vill bring potions zat will 'elp."
Ron nodded, making his way up the stairs on his own. Hermione stayed where she was, uncertain if he wanted her with him. Before he disappeared, he turned back and gave her a small smile, which she returned.
Fleur turned to Hermione next, her expression softening. "'Ermione, eet is so good to see you." She gently cupped Hermione's face, inspecting her for injuries before pulling her into a warm hug. Hermione returned it.
"Ze only thing you need is a proper meal," Fleur declared. "Zat is an easy fix."
As Fleur headed towards the kitchen, Hermione felt Harry's gaze lingering on her. She turned, meeting his eyes, knowing he was still processing everything.
"What happened?" he asked.
She sighed, leaning against the banister. "A lot."Understatement, she thought as she rubbed her temples slowly. "I'll tell you everything, Harry, I promise. But I need to speak to Ron first."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It's complicated, but it involves him," she replied in answer to his questioning look.
"You're okay though? You weren't hurt?" Harry asked, his voice laced with concern. "That Snatcher told me to grab Bellatrix's wand… and this." He carefully held up a long strand of jet-black hair.
"Perfect," she said, reaching into the beaded bag, which had somehow not been separated from her. She pulled out a small glass vial.
Harry dropped the hair in, and she placed the stopper before carefully returning the vial to the bag.
"Are you okay, Harry? We need to talk about it properly later."
"I'm fine. The worst part for me was your jinx."
She looked at him guiltily. "Sorry, it was all I could think of doing."
"Don't apologise. It was a great plan, and it stopped them calling You-Know-Who immediately." He paused for a moment, his expression darkening.
"The goblin, Griphook, was the only one they physically hurt while we were there, but, Hermione… they really messed with Ron's head. When you didn't apparate with us, Greyback suggested that the Snatcher who had you… well, that he was going to do some awful things. Ron was in an awful state, as you heard. I had to take his wand—I was worried he'd apparate right back to the Manor to try and find you."
Hermione shivered at the thought. "I promise, Harry, the Snatcher didn't do anything to hurt me. You'll understand later."
Fleur reappeared, holding a tray of bottles and glasses, and handed them each a glass. "Drink zis. Eet is a tonic to help replenish some of ze nutrients you 'av clearly been without."
Hermione gulped the liquid without question. It didn't taste great, but it didn't taste like mushrooms. Handing the empty glass back, she motioned to the tray. "Are any of these for Ron? I'll bring them to him."
Fleur studied her for a moment before nodding and pushing forward another glass like the one she'd just drunk, along with two smaller ones and a bottle of Dittany. "For nutrients, for pain, for blood loss, and ze Dittany," she explained, pointing to each in turn.
Hermione nodded, carefully gathering them. "Thank you, Fleur."
She gave Harry a small smile before following Fleur upstairs. At the top, Fleur paused and turned to her.
"I am glad Ronald found you," she said softly. "I don't know e'zactly what 'appened before he came 'ere, but I know he was sorry. I 'ope you two are back together."
Hermione felt heat rush to her cheeks. "We aren't… we weren't… we're friends."
Fleur gave her a knowing smile. "For now." She gestured to a door on their right. "Zat is our bedroom. 'E should be in ze bathroom, if you knock."
"Thank you," Hermione said, heading to the door Fleur had indicated.
The bedroom inside was neat, with hints of pale blue reminiscent of Fleur's Beauxbatons uniform breaking up the mostly white décor. It didn't strike Hermione as very 'Bill', so she guessed Fleur had been in charge of the decorating. A closed door to the left of the bed drew her attention, and a low grunt came from behind it.
"Ron?" she called, giving the door a quiet knock. "It's Hermione. Can I come in?"
There was a pause before she heard the door unlock. Taking it as permission, she carefully pushed the door open.
Ron was perched on the edge of the bathtub. He was barefoot, still wearing his jeans and what Hermione assumed had once been a white vest. Now, though, it was mottled with red—some spots faint and dried, others still fresh and vivid. His exposed left arm showed an angry red wound on his upper bicep, dangerously close to his splicing injury, which peeked out from under the blood-soaked fabric.
Hermione gasped, taking a step forward. "Oh, Ron."
He glanced up at her. "It looks worse than it is."
"Stop it, Ron!" she snapped before she could stop herself.
The flinch that followed made her regret her tone instantly. She hated how withdrawn he'd been since coming back, how he apologised constantly, always backing down from arguments and taking her side even when she didn't deserve it. It was like all his confidence had vanished. And she knew she'd made it worse with the way she'd treated him after his return, letting her anger at his leaving drive her actions. She'd wanted to hurt him the way she'd been hurt. But Harry had been right—this wasn't Ron. This was the fault of the darkest magic.
She prided herself on her logic, and logically, she knew this wasn't a pattern of unreliability. This was Ron, whose most remarkable trait was his unwavering loyalty to the people he loved. When something reliable broke, you didn't discard it—you searched for the cause. And the cause wasn't Ron. It was Voldemort.
"I'm sorry," Ron muttered, his head bowed.
Her voice softened. "Please stop apologising, Ron. I meant what I said—I forgive you." She took another step closer. "I snapped because I hate how little you think of yourself. You keep saying you're fine when you're clearly not. Let me help ."
He hesitated before meeting her eyes. A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded.
She crossed the distance. "Drink these first—they'll help."
One by one, she handed him the three glasses and watched as he drained each. When he grimaced after the last one, the blood-replenishing potion, she quickly took the glasses to the sink. Rinsing one, she filled it with water and brought it back to him.
"Better?" she asked, noticing a little colour returning to his pale face.
He nodded, a small look of relief passing over him.
She took the water glass away and studied him, trying to form a plan. The knife wound needed cleaning, but he hadn't been kidding about the chandelier. Broken glass was scattered across the tile floor, especially around his discarded jumper and T-shirt.
Fetching a small bin from the corner, she used her wand to gather up the shards. Satisfied the floor was safe, she knelt to check the soles of his feet, ensuring he hadn't stepped on any.
Once she was certain, she turned back to the sink, grabbed a facecloth, and soaked it in lukewarm water, wringing it out carefully. She filled the sink with warm water, then caught Ron's eyes as she walked back towards him. She'd felt his gaze following her the entire time.
Removing her boots, she stepped into the bath, placing the bin and the bottle of dittany at her feet. Perching on the edge so she faced the opposite direction to him, she gently took his left hand, pausing to meet his eyes for consent before pulling his arm, palm up, onto her knee.
"I'm really sorry if this hurts," she whispered.
He gave her a lopsided smile and nodded.
She started by checking for shards of glass in his hand. Though the knife wound was the most serious, any embedded glass could have been pushed deeper by everything he'd done since arriving on the beach. She didn't want to risk long-term damage.
The beach. The thought struck her suddenly, and she gasped. "Ron, I hugged you! I didn't know. How much worse did I make this?"
Her voice shook as the guilt overwhelmed her. She'd hurt him. many scars would he have because of her?Her eyes flicked down to his hand, catching the faint crescent-shaped scars above his canaries. She blinked back tears that fell anyway.
"Hermione, this wasn't your fault. The hug was worth it."
"No, it wasn't. I hurt you… again." She traced the crescents with trembling fingers.
"Hermione, it's fine—"
When she opened her mouth to argue, he held up his other hand to stop her.
"It would've felt worse if you hadn't let me hug you. Like when I came back before."
Her breathing steadied as she nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Determined now, she refocused on her task.
One by one, she carefully plucked the visible shards from his skin and dropped them into the bin, applying dittany after each removal. For the smallest fragments, she used a softAcciobefore cleaning the skin and double-checking for any missed wounds.
As she worked up his left arm, her fingers grazed the familiar swirling scars left by the Ministry. His skin was a map of everything they'd endured together—history etched in pale, silvery lines.
When she reached the knife wound, she levitated the now-pink facecloth back to the sink, rinsing it before cleaning the deep gash.
Ron sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Sorry. I'm so sorry," she muttered. She applied dittany again and again until the wound finally closed, leaving behind an angry purple line. It was the best she could do, and she sighed at the sight.
Moving behind him, she knelt in the tub and saw shards of glass poking through his vest into the skin beneath. Gently, she began pulling out the largest pieces, though she couldn't apply dittany until the vest was off.
Her voice shook as she asked, "Can I cut this off you? I need to see the skin."
He nodded, and she carefully severed the straps and sides with her wand, leaving the front intact for now. With his back exposed, she finally treated the wounds she'd uncovered, working silently while Ron didn't make a sound.
When she moved to his right arm, the process became quicker—she now had a rhythm, determined to prevent any further scars.
Climbing out of the bath, she rinsed the facecloth again. Her gaze fell on his chest, and she hesitated. There were only two options: kneel in front of him or—
"Can you stand up for me?" she asked, turning back to him.
He nodded and stood, still silent, still watching her.
With their height difference, her face was level with his chest, giving her access to the larger shards embedded there. "Bend down a little," she murmured, gesturing as she worked on his shoulders, thankful nothing had reopened his splinch injury. Once satisfied, she carefully peeled away the remainder of his vest.
Her fingers brushed against his chest as she checked for smaller , clean, Accio, dittany, repeated the mantra in her head, trying to ignore the spattering of ginger hair that kept directing her eyes towards his waistband.
Finally, she finished and turned abruptly away, , Granger. Your friend is in pain.
"Thank you, Hermione," Ron said softly.
Startled by his voice after the long silence, she turned. His ears had turned an endearing shade of pink, and he smiled.
"I, uh… I think I really need a bath," he said, gesturing at himself. "It's been a while."
She let out a small giggle. "Yes, it's been a while for all of us."
For the first time in ages, she saw a smile that reached his eyes.
"I'll leave you to it, but we need to talk about what happened earlier. It's important," she said, lifting the empty glasses and potion bottle and stepping towards the door.
"Wait." His ears deepened to a redder hue. "We could talk while I'm in the bath. Just give me a minute to, er… get in and—bubbles. Under some bubbles."
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. I'll return these to Fleur and come back."