A/N: We're back! Between HPRomione Discord Secret Santa fic writing, the holidays, and everyone in my family being sick multiple times over the last month or two, it's been hard to find time to write. I'd hoped the break between Parts wouldn't be so long, but what can you do. Anyway, now we're ready to go again and officially starting Part 2 of this fic entitled "Backslide". As I did with Part 1, I'll post one chapter per week between now and the end of April (potentially with a one week delay over spring break). Part 2 (like every Part) will be 8 chapters long.

Thanks as always to adenei for being a super helpful and supportive beta!

I left you all with a pretty sad state of affairs last time - if you haven't read Part 1, you'll definitely want to do that first, and I'm sorry in advance :)

Now we're jumping forward a bit in time from the end of summer to just before Christmas. Let's see how everyone's been coping in the meantime…

Part 2: Backslide - Chapter 1

"Hermione, pass me those earrings, would you?"

To herself, and making sure her friend couldn't see her, Hermione Granger groaned. In her mind, the sooner the next couple of hours were over, the better.

Ginny, on the other hand, was practically bouncing off the walls, thrilled at the prospect of the upcoming party. Typically, Slug Club events weren't the type of thing that anyone got too excited about. Lots of dull conversation and crusty old stories that were merely tolerated in the name of networking. At least the food was good.

The annual Christmas party, however, was a much bigger deal to Hermione's redheaded friend. Not only did it give Ginny an occasion to dress up and escape the mundane drudgery of daily life at Hogwarts, but celebrities and other VIPs were common visitors as well.

As a cherry on top, one particular celebrity had promised to come as Ginny's date for the event. Harry Potter himself, the Boy Who Lived. He was supposed to meet them at the party after having a quick meeting with Professor McGonagall, and Hermione couldn't recall seeing Ginny more eager. Hermione was happy he was coming as well; it had been months since they'd last caught up in Hogsmeade.

Still, while her friend was counting down the seconds, Hermione herself wished she could fast forward through the entire evening. It was hardly worth looking forward to.

"Which ones, the red?" she asked.

"Yeah, the dangly ruby ones. I think they'll look great with my hair up, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think that's a good match."

Truthfully, Hermione couldn't care less. Fancy outfits, makeup, and jewelry never held much importance for her, so when Ginny had asked her to go dress shopping the last time they'd visited the village, she'd declined, opting to wear the same dress she'd worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was the easy choice, and of all the places Hermione could choose to direct her energy, evening wear was low on the list.

"We only have a few minutes left, you know. Are you planning on doing anything with your hair?" Ginny asked, frantically straightening her own.

"No," Hermione replied with a straight face. "Do I need to?"

"Of course not! I've just…I've seen you wear it differently for big events before. I promise I didn't mean anything by it; you look great!"

"Thank you. To be honest, part of me just wants this night to be over with."

"Ahh. I understand," her friend replied, briefly turning away from her with embarrassment. Hermione was sure that Ginny recalled the events of the last time she'd attended the Slug Club Christmas party. "But…still, it's a different year, and it's a different party. Much different."

A memory shot to the front of Hermione's mind, one that she wished she could get rid of permanently. It was Cormac McLaggen and his disgusting lips approaching her as she stood under the mistletoe in Slughorn's office exactly two years prior. One of the worst nights of her life, without a doubt.

"I guess so."

"Well, Terry Boot may not be dashingly handsome, but he's a nice enough date, I'd say. Way nicer than that tosser Cormac."

"Everyone short of Voldemort himself was nicer than Cormac," Hermione reminded her friend, prompting an amused snort.

"When did he ask you?" Ginny asked as she dropped her hairbrush onto the dresser and turned her attention to her dress.

"Not long ago, actually. Couple of days, maybe."

"Cutting it close, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose. But honestly, I didn't think I was going to go at all, or maybe just for a moment or two. Not exactly my idea of a fabulous evening…"

"Did you say yes right away?"

Hermione shrugged with nonchalance. "I did. Nobody else asked, so why not? As you said, he's nice enough, and he seemed very excited. It'll be fine."

"Sure, he's nice enough," Ginny agreed, clearly hesitating. "But he's not–"

"No." A warning flashes across Hermione's face. "Ginny, no."

"Hermione, come on. I'm still not sure why you didn't just ask–"

"Let's…not do that, shall we?" A blush crept onto Hermione's face against her will, and she turned away from her friend, ostensibly adjusting the straps of her dress shoes.

"Fine, fine. I bet he would've said yes, though."

When Ginny's voice became cryptic like that, there was never any doubt to whom she was referring. Only one person could ever be the subject of such speculation, and not just because he happened to be her older brother.

In Hermione's mind, there was no way of knowing what Ron would've said if she'd asked him to come with her. The point was, there was no way that was ever going to happen, either. He'd seen to that when he broke things off with her the day before she left for Hogwarts, leaving her confused and devastated. The start of the school year had been immeasurably hard, and while she'd caught up quickly from an academic perspective, the social aspect of school never quite stacked up to the old days. How could it? Ginny was a wonderful friend, but her best friends weren't there to share it with her; one excelling in Auror training, and the other…well, who knew?

The more she thought about him, the more her bittersweet memories began flooding back…

Hermione wasn't sure she couldn't hold all of her feelings in any longer. As soon as she walked through the back door of her parent's house, they threatened to come pouring out of her.

Just make it to my room, just make it to my room.

"Back so soon, dear?" Mrs Granger called as Hermione hurried past the kitchen.

"Yes, just tired," she managed to squeak out. "Going to take a nap."

Fortunately, her father was still at work, meaning as long as her mother bought her excuse, she was likely home free. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her and collapsing onto her mattress before releasing a guttural sob into her pillow. The noise may have been muffled to the outside world, but she heard every painful note of it inside her head.

How could he say those things? How could he take everything they had and everything they'd built over seven years and simply throw it out the window without a care in the world? Hermione had accepted the fact that a long-distance relationship with someone like Ron Weasley would be difficult–the dangers and pitfalls were fairly clear to her. Considering they'd rarely spent time apart in the last few years, starting a new relationship with nothing but notes flying back and forth attached to owls was definitely suboptimal. And if history was any guide, Ron's letters weren't guaranteed to be particularly frequent or comforting. Add to that the stress they'd both be feeling about their respective classwork, the need to make new friends in their new environments, and worries about the future and she'd be crazy not to fret.

Still, she never thought he would give up without even trying. She thought she actually meant something to him. She thought they would be together forever!

How naive.

All of her books and classes and professors and exams had failed to prepare her for anything like the emotions she was dealing with. Anger, despair, disappointment, longing, rage, and yes, even love all swirled through her at once, and the tempest showed no signs of slowing down. How was she supposed to get over such a monumental loss in her life? Especially for it to happen right before going back to school!

Minutes passed, she thought. It might have been hours for all she knew. Time became irrelevant; what did it matter, after all, when life as she knew it had ended anyway?

When she finally pulled her head out of her pillow and looked around her room, it was dusk, the evening light shining in her west-facing window. Smells from the kitchen below began to waft up to her room. Her mother was making cottage pie from scratch, one of Hermione's favorite foods. The problem was, Hermione had next to no appetite and didn't think she could stomach one bite. It wasn't fair to her parents that she spend her last night with them in such a foul mood, but what could she be expected to do about it? Ron Weasley had ripped out her heart, thrown it into the pond outside his house, and let it sink to the bottom.

After all that, what use did she have for cottage pie?

Flash.

"So that's it?" Ginny asked the following day as they zipped through the British countryside aboard the Hogwarts Express. "It's…over?"

Hermione opened her mouth, pausing for a second and searching for the words to adequately wrap up the most confusing twenty-four hours of her life. "I suppose?"

"No more explanation than that?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I didn't really take the time to ask."

"Right. Sorry. I just…I can't believe it."

"That makes two of us."

While most of the previous night had been spent crying into her pillow, Hermione managed to get up and moving in time to be on Platform 9 by eleven o'clock in the morning. The train had been rolling for about an hour, and Ginny and Luna were doing their best to help her make sense of her bewildering situation.

"And you're sure it wasn't a kind of 'we'll see how it goes' type thing?"

"I specifically told him I'd be fine with that, and he still said no."

"You're sure it was Ron? Maybe it was someone impersonating him with Polyjuice. Or maybe he was under the Imperius curse."

Sadly, Hermione shook her head. "No, it was him. I'm sure of it."

"He could just be nervous," Luna chimed in, finally shifting her gaze away from the passing landscape. Hermione hadn't even been sure she was listening. "Intimidating figures can dampen all emotions good and bad, and in a certain light, you're as intimidating as they come."

Oddly insightful lines were almost expected from Luna on occasion, and Ginny and Hermione both stared back at their friend in amazement.

"Alternatively," the Ravenclaw continued, "he might just be infested with Wrackspurts. Once they get into your amygdala, all bets are off the table."

The three of them chuckled, although Hermione was barely holding back tears at the same time. Laughing seemed so foreign as heartache weighed heavy on her, but it wouldn't do to pout the whole way to Scotland. Nobody wanted to share a compartment with the weepy, depressed girl, and Hermione didn't have enough friends left that she could jeopardize the relationships she had with the remaining few.

"Just do me a favor?" Ginny asked, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's arm.

"What's that?"

"Never say never, okay? Keep…you know, an open mind or whatever."

Hermione sighed, tracing her finger along the chrome lining of the train window as she stared out at the scenery. "I will. Well, I don't know, I'll try to. I–I can't imagine my life without him, but I also…never want to see him again. Does that make sense?"

"Of course! I felt the same way when Harry got on his high, chivalrous horse last year and broke up with me before going out on the Horcrux hunt with you and Ron. It's completely natural."

"That's good, at least. I suppose…"

"And that's why I feel confident in telling you not to give up. Look at me and Harry now. Things will work out in the end, I reckon."

"Wish I shared your confidence," Hermione murmured.

"We're there for you," Ginny said in a reassuring tone, throwing an arm around her friend's shoulder. "You know we've got your back one way or another."

"I know you do. Thank you both."

Luna nodded with a smile, and Ginny patted her on the back before adding, "Of course! Now, if you'd like to move on to the bashing him part, I'm more than happy to help."

Flash.

School had been underway for six weeks. Classes were even easier than Hermione had anticipated, and despite a lingering sense of dread about NEWTs at the end of the year, academics were the least of her problems. Head Girl duties were stressful; it suddenly seemed as though rule-breaking was occurring everywhere she looked, and she had already grown tired of calling it out. Finding study space was more difficult as the library was one of the few areas of the castle that was still significantly damaged after the battle, so Hermione found herself holed up in random classrooms most nights instead just to have a quiet location to read and concentrate. And if all that wasn't enough, many of the younger students had taken to following her around, eager to bask in the glow of her celebrity, occasionally even bucking up the courage to ask for autographs. How ridiculous. Who on earth would want her autograph? Why would her scrawling her name on a piece of parchment make their lives any better?

But of all of the challenges the year presented, the hardest one by far was completing it without the people she had grown to depend on the most. Harry kept in touch, sending owls at least once a week with updates from the Ministry and his Auror training, and Hermione always appreciated seeing his new owl approach during lunchtime.

Ron, on the other hand, had gone completely silent. Once in a while, Harry would mention him in his letters, likely just to make sure Hermione knew he was alright. But in terms of direct communication? Apparently, that was a bridge too far.

Which was not to say Hermione hadn't considered writing to him first. Dozens of thoughts streamed through her mind every time she sat down and put quill to parchment, but nothing ever came out quite right. Most were too hostile, a few were too forgiving, and one or two made her seem downright pathetic. They all ended up crumpled in the bottom of the nearest bin long before she had a chance to sign her name at the bottom.

Regardless of her conscious opinions, he was almost always the first person she thought about every morning and the last one that ran through her mind as she fell asleep. Some nights she hated herself for allowing him to occupy so much valuable real estate in her brain, but usually she gave herself the grace to understand how important he actually was to her. She missed him, there was no doubt. She missed the way he held he when they spent time together at the Burrow, the way one side of his mouth curled up for than the other when he was proud of himself, the way his eyebrows raised right before he became indignant about something completely insignificant, the way his cheeks puffed out when they were full of his favorite food, the way he tasted like chocolate whenever he kissed her, and the way her head fit right under his chin when he hugged her.

Not that it mattered.

So it was a shock to her when a tiny scops owl flew into the Great Hall during dinner one evening, flapping its wings furiously trying to remain aloft while carrying a letter. It was Pig, Ron's owl, and it landed with a crash right next to Hermione, knocking over her pumpkin juice and upending a bowl of mashed potatoes. Shaking the food off of his feathers, he held out his leg, and Hermione untied a long roll of parchment before giving him a quick pet. The bird flew off, making a mess of the pudding and prompting groans from Hermione's fellow Gryffindors.

Unfurling the parchment, she immediately recognized Ron's handwriting and jumped up from the table. Her heart started racing, and a tightness gripped her chest. A letter was the last thing she expected, and regardless of what it said, she was sure she didn't want to read it in public. It took a moment for the initial shock to wear off, but once it did, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time en route to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady quickly admitted her after she recited the password, and after she climbed through the portrait hole to whispers from a group of second year students, she dashed up the stairs to the seventh year dormitory. Her hands were shaking as she sat down on her bed, staring at the slightly battered roll.

For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to open it. As long as things continued in their ambiguous state, she could still hold out hope. Once she read the letter, however, everything might become so…finite. Even though she was still furious with him for the way he'd acted at the end of the summer, she still knew how important he was and how much she cared about him. She wasn't sure she liked what it said about her, but despite everything that had happened, she still wanted him back in her life. What if the message revealed that he wanted to end things permanently? How was she supposed to just…go back to class the next day?

Taking a deep breath, she forced her hands to move before she could talk herself out of it.

Dear Hermione,

It's funny, I've tried writing this letter a bunch of times and I can never figure out how to start it. Especially when I'm probably the last person you're expecting to hear from. I'm still not sure it'll come out exactly right, but the more I try, the more I fail, so I think I might as well just jump right in, yeah?

I messed up. By the end of the summer, I was really nervous and not thinking straight, and I hurt you in ways that I never thought I was capable of. Hurt both of us, really. I think I was still really sad about Fred and worried about the future and stuff, but I'm not trying to make excuses. What matters is that I acted like a raving lunatic, and I hope you can forgive me someday.

If you can't, though, that's okay. Honestly, I never deserved you in the first place, so what right do I have to be depressed about it now?

Still, even with Harry around, it's weird without you. You go from spending every day with a person to never seeing them and you're bound to feel different. Like we're incomplete. Like I'M incomplete. Not that that's your problem, of course. Sorry.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take back the things I said and the way I behaved, but I can't. I'll understand if you don't want to, but if you respond, I'll write you back, I promise. Even if it's just about practicing shield charms and eating mincemeat pies.

Hope you're having a good year at Hogwarts. I know your marks are excellent, but I hope it's fun too. You deserve to have a great seventh year.

Ron

After rereading the letter four times, she dropped it onto her bedspread, allowing it to curl back up into a roll. There were so many warring emotions flowing through her body, she couldn't even keep them straight. He'd apologized for the way he acted, which was what she'd hoped to hear for the last several weeks. He'd wished her a good year, which was all she'd wanted when she left in the first place. And he'd said he'd keep writing if she wanted to.

But was that what she wanted? So many of his ugliest character flaws were laid bare in the letter as well. His insecurity, his tendency to blame himself for everything, his insistence that he didn't deserve love. It was exasperating, and there were only so many times Hermione was willing to talk him off of various ledges before she tapped out herself.

It didn't take long for the stinging to start up behind her eyes. More than anything, she was so relieved to hear from him at all. Harry's updates had been one thing, but seeing his handwriting, reading the letter with his voice in her head…it made a big difference. Maybe the situation wasn't hopeless after all.

Still, one letter didn't exactly outweigh all of the pain he'd caused over the last couple of months. One letter didn't suddenly excuse all the sleepless nights, the silent sobs, and the general misery he'd put her through.

His proposal piqued her interest, naturally. If she wrote back to him, he'd reciprocate. It was a tempting offer, and one the rational part of her brain thought she should take him up on. Either way, a small weight had lifted from her body just knowing the lines of communication were back open. But in the end, her heart overruled her head, and instead of reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment, she tucked the letter into the bottom of her trunk and crawled up into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

All of her feelings came pouring out of her as his face flashed before her eyes, his ginger fringe flopping over his forehead and his lopsided smile staring back at her. It was just too much, too much to think about, too much to deal with. She could only hope that something would come along and provide answers or offer a solution to the problem that was Ron Weasley. Before she could stop herself, she started crying into her pillow. The poor feather-stuffed sack had seen plenty of tears since the start of classes, after all; why should that night be any different?

"Anyway, are you almost ready?" Ginny asked, slipping into her sparkling high-heeled pumps and adjusting her lipstick one last time in the mirror.

Hermione nodded, tossing her frizzy hair over her shoulder. "Yes, all set."

"Okay, just give me one…more…second."

One second turned into two, which turned into a few minutes before Ginny declared herself ready. Touching up her makeup one last time, she stepped away from the mirror and did a quick twirl. "How do I look?"

"You look perfect, Gin. Harry might literally pass out when he sees you."

"Oh, stop it. Now you're just being dramatic," Ginny responded, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

The girls laughed, and Hermione grabbed the clutch she was planning to bring with her. She didn't need an Undetectable Extension Charm for the bag; there wasn't much to carry, after all. With any luck, she'd use the lipstick to freshen up once or twice and be home in an hour or two anyway.

Her face must have given away her lack of enthusiasm, and Ginny reached out and took her arm, pulling Hermione around to face her.

"Hey. Just do me a favor, okay? Try to have some fun?"

Hermione sighed and glanced around the room, eyes lingering on her suddenly inviting bed. "I know. I will."

"Hermione, you're doing better in school than you've probably ever done before, you're handling Head Girl responsibilities with ease, and you still have time to continue your efforts with S.P.E.W. You're absolutely on fire this year. You deserve a night out more than anyone."

"I don't know if that's true, but–"

"It's true. I know I can't force you to enjoy yourself, but just…try, okay?"

With one last deep breath, she nodded. "I'll try."

"Good. Now come on, let's see if Terry's here yet!"

The pair of them walked down the spiral staircase together, coming out in a common room full of sharply dressed students. Professor Slughorn's party was the event of the season, and there was a palpable buzz among the lucky few who were invited to come. A few stragglers watched on from the sides of the room in normal attire, looking irritated and put out. While many of them probably wished they were in her shoes, Hermione would gladly trade with any of them if it meant a night of reading instead of forced socialization.

Ginny tucked herself through the portrait hole and popped out the other side, and as soon as Hermione followed her, Terry Boot was standing with his arms tucked formally behind his back, smiling at her.

"You look beautiful," he said, holding his hand over his heart and pretending to fall backward.

She shot him a small smile and tucked her head, trying to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. "Thank you. You look quite nice yourself."

Holding out his arm, Hermione had no choice but to take it, laying her palm on his forearm and starting down the stairs. It was wrong, all wrong. He smelled wrong, he looked wrong, he walked wrong, he smiled wrong, and he was being almost too gentlemanly. For a second time, none of her Slug Club Christmas party experience was turning out the way it should have. Because it should have been with–

No. Not him. Not now.

"I have to say," Terry offered, snapping her out of her thoughts, "I was positively elated when you said you'd come with me."

"Oh. Well, it was very kind of you to ask."

"Slughorn's parties aren't always the most rousing affairs, but at least with you at my side, I'm assured of some stimulating and intellectual conversation."

"I'll, erm, do my best," she replied, trying to muster enough energy to be convincing.

"You know, I've always been so impressed with you. Your academic performance speaks for itself, but your poise, the way you carry yourself…it's truly incredible. You'd have done well in Ravenclaw, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you. Maybe so…"

"Oh, definitely. Top of the class no matter what house you landed in, I suspect."

An awkward pause carried forward, Hermione having no idea what to say. Who came right out and started praising people like that? She could easily get excited about praise from professors, but it was incredibly odd for another peer to be telling her how smart she was. Especially someone she barely knew.

"Hermione's great to talk to," Ginny piped in after clearing her throat, sensing her friend struggling already. "She especially likes talking about elfish welfare, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, but Terry shook his head. "Hmm. Can't say I'm that familiar with the subject. I did just read a fascinating excerpt from Hogwarts: A History about secret passageways within the castle, however. I wonder if anyone's ever found them? Someone must've, don't you think?"

Sharing a quick look with Ginny, Hermione shrugged. "Hard to say. It is interesting, though."

The rest of the walk to Professor Slughorn's office was more of the same. Terry came up with a few other intelligent topics of conversation that under different circumstances, Hermione would've gladly entertained. Instead, she found herself murmuring agreement with his viewpoint, barely even listening most of the time as they made their way up and down through the castle maze toward the party.

Just as Terry was discussing the role of the Ministry in the Goblin Rebellions, they turned the final corner and Ginny caught sight of Harry, waiting patiently at the end of the corridor. He was looking dapper in his dress robes, hair slicked back except for the one part in the back that never behaved. For the first time that evening, Hermione broke into a genuine smile. Ginny wasted no time, sprinting down the hallway as fast as her heels would allow.

By the time Hermione and Terry caught up, Ginny and Harry were already several snogs deep and showing no sign of stopping. Eventually, though, they broke apart, both breathing hard as Harry's attention turned to Hermione.

"Great to see you, Hermione," he said, wrapping her in a hug.

"You too, Harry! How've you been?"

"Doing well, yeah. Hey, one quick thing I feel like I should mention. Didn't know until the last minute, but–"

"Oi, Harry, you try these sausage rolls?"

Hermione froze.

Her heart skipped a beat, and an icy chill crawled down her spine. The voice was unmistakable. She would have recognized it anywhere; it was the only voice capable of making her feel every emotion in the spectrum.

She glimpsed his hair first, bright ginger as always and still drooping into his face despite his attempt at styling it. One freckled cheek peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of his narrow face, his mouth clearly full. It took a moment for his eyes to work their way around the corridor until they finally landed on her.

A faint, primal urge called out to Hermione from the back of her mind, urging her to throw caution to the wind and just kiss him. Another part of her wanted to rear back and smack him in the face. Rising above both of those sentiments, however, was an even louder warning, preparing her fight or flight response and attempting to guard her against incoming pain.

All the while, neither of them moved, gazes locked on each other like they'd each seen a ghost. Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry that nothing happened. Ron barely moved, and surprisingly, he even stopped chewing.

Harry gulped before finishing his thought. "–But just so you know…Ron's here."