The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

***

Continued from Part Two...

'

Part Three

For whatever reason, Hermione’s heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she placed a hand over her mouth to keep in the scream. "Oh, God," she whispered. Why had Ron come to see her here? Why not go back to his own rooms? This was not good, this could not be good…

Ron looked sour as he watched her gasp. "I won’t touch you," he said finally. "You can tie me to a chair if it makes you feel better." He sat down in one of the large armchairs and held out his hands. "I’m unarmed."

That shut her up. "What?" she asked, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "You don’t know?" he asked curiously. "You haven’t heard?"

"Haven’t heard what?" she replied harshly. Pansy’s words rang in her ears. "Did you hear the latest news about your boyfriend, Mudblood?" Oh, dear Lord, what now?

Ron sighed and stood up. "Well," he said uncertainly. ""I guess it’s better that you don’t know just yet. It’ll be easier for me to tell you." He walked over to Hermione and stood in front of her, so close that they were almost touching. She stared at his face, worried. He looked so thin. And pale, like he hadn’t been out of doors in weeks. He reached out one hand and lightly touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and let him put his arms around her and pull her to him. She wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. He smelled so good- shampoo and mandarin oranges.

"I missed you so much," Ron whispered in her ear. "I almost ran away from the hospital just to see you, or talk to you. Or just watch you. You listen to me, you don’t just look at me like I’m some sort of nutcase." He stroked the back of her head, winding her ponytail around his hand.

She blinked tears out of her eyes and sniffed. "Why did you come to see me up here?" she asked. "Why not just come back and see everyone?"

He squeezed her, then let her go quickly, stepping away from her. "It’s a long story," he said without emotion. Then he brightened. "But I’ve go lots of time. Sit down, make yourself comfortable," he added sarcastically, gesturing to a chair opposite him.

She sat slowly. "What’s going on?" she asked quietly, almost whispering. She was almost afraid to know the answer.

Ron sighed heavily, his hands in his hair, pulling his face into odd shapes. "I guess I’ll start at the beginning," he said finally. "Do up your seatbelt, sit back and enjoy the ride." He stared at her for a moment, then opened his mouth and began speaking.

"It all got kicked off in August, about three weeks before school started. When the Death Eater found me, and took me to Voldemort. But you know that story. In fact, you know the whole story up until I left. So I’ll start up at when I got to the hospital.

"They stuck me in my own room, no roommates and no visitors. I guess they didn’t really know what to do with me. Didn’t know if I was actually sick or just mad. Besides, they didn’t want me bothering the other patients. So, I got my own room. It really sucked. The only person I ever saw was the doctor or anyone on TV. Yes, they had a TV. Don’t ask me why.

Anyway, cut from contact, I didn’t really know what was going on. All I could do was sit aroud, draw, read, and wait for the attacks to come. And they came, all right. Got up to five hours at a shot, I’m told. They had a potion they’d give me to put me to sleep, so I wouldn’t feel the pain. I could still feel it pretty well, though, and the dreams they induced were none too pretty. And boy, did it ache like hell when I woke up. Some kind of side effect from sleeping through it, I guess.

"About three weeks ago, I started noticing that the doctors were looking at me oddly. Suspiciously. They didn’t say anything, of course. Too damned polite. But they shot me weird looks, and they were always whispering about something. I didn’t get it. What on Earth more could possibly go wrong? But, exactly one week after that, a bunch of guys from the Ministry showed up and carted me off with them. They didn’t say why, it was just, ‘You’re going with these guys, now.’

"So, off I went. Now, let me tell you, the Ministry people are brilliant when it comes to politics- well, most of them- but they no absolutely nothing about medicine. Didn’t even clue in to put me to sleep when the attacks came. Therefore, I got to stay awake through the whole thing. They just stood around. I think I passed out a couple of times though, so that’s a blessing. But still, no one tells me what’s going on.

"One day I lost my temper and just yelled at them to tell me what the hell was going on. That was two days ago. They told me basically this:

"The spell I was placed under- the Malady Curse- has a funny little twist that is often not mentioned. After a certain period of time being under it, the victim begins to give off the aura of a Dark Artist. They absorb darkness. Suspicion grows around them, and even just saying their name can arouse it. That’s how the rumors started, you know, people feeling the gradual building of evil in me. In any case, the doctors noticed it, and they sent me off to the Ministry for holding and questioning. I made them nervous.

"So I sat around the Ministry building for a while, and everyone started to get their own ideas about me. Rumors spread like wildfire. ‘You know that kid they’ve got up there in the Department for Dark Research…’ You get the idea. I never heard any of them, and I think Dumbledore must have blocked the school from the news, so you never heard them.

"So, when I asked them to give me the truth, they gave it to me. They thought I was evil or something. The rumors had become fact. It was all over the papers that I had sold Harry and Ginny to Voldemort in exchange for my lying ability. Now everyone thinks I’ve come back for you."

Hermione sat there, speechless. What was she supposed to say? "So that’s why you said I could tie you up," she breathed finally. "You thought I believed you were a Death Eater." She closed her eyes. "But how come I never felt it?" she asked. "I never noticed any of the darkness."

Ron frowned. "You did, in a way. You felt the pain of it when you touched me. But about not knowing it was me- I think it was that whole psychic thing. Lavender told me about it before I left. Said I had the right to know. Anyway, I think that let you see through the curse. So you just couldn’t see the darkness."

She frowned. "But- now that they know about the curse and its effects, can’t they just say that they were wrong and let you go?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know Fudge, Hermione," he said sarcastically. "Doesn’t like to admit that he’s wrong. Therefore, no, I doubt I’ll be released anytime soon."

She could feel him nudging the line. He was leaving something out. "Well, what are they going to do with you then? Keep you with the Ministry for the rest of your life? Toss you in Azkaban?"

Ron got out of his seat and sat on the table in front of Hermione. "They told me you sent the book," he told her. "That’s how they found out what the curse was." She nodded. "And you read it- you have to have read it to find the bit about the curse." She nodded again. "Then- then you ought to know where I’m going with this.." He trailed off when he noticed Hermione looking lost. "Did you read the section on Malady curses?" he repeated.

"I didn’t read the whole thing," she said, suddenly remembering. "I only read the short term effects. I didn’t read the rest. It was too hard." She looked straight at him, and saw that his eyes were very green. "Where are you going with this?" she asked, frightened. "It talked about possession. How much of the rumors are true? Are you here to hurt me?"

He jumped to his feet, incredulous. "What? No, of course not!" He sat back down, frowning. "Well-"

"Well what?" Hermione whispered. "What are you saying?"

Ron closed his eyes, wincing as if she’d slapped him. "I’m not going to kill you, Hermione. I didn’t come here to hurt you. But- I don’t think the news that I have for you is going to make you especially happy."

She pressed back into her seat, but Ron pulled her out and made her stand in front of him. He held her tightly by the shoulders. "Hermione," he whispered. "Don’t ever believe that I don’t love you. I love you more than anything in the entire world, Hermione. I would give my life if it meant saving yours. Always remember that."

She could feel the tears coming, and she blinked them back. "What are you saying?" she whispered, so quiet that she could barely even hear herself. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He let go of her and looked down. "It’s the punchline of the whole thing, Hermione," he said flatly. "Aside from pain, illness and insanity, the Malady Curse also results in eventual death." He paused. "I’ll be dead be noon tomorrow."

'

Hermione collapsed. Her knees actually buckled, and she would have fallen, but Ron caught her and held her up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tightly as she fought to retain her breath.

"No," she whispered hysterically. "It’s not true, it can’t possibly be true…" Ron stroked her hair and whispered soothingly in her ear. He eased her back into her chair and squatted in front of her, holding both her hands between his.

"It’s not true," she whispered firmly, after a long pause.

"It is," he replied.

"Then they lied to you." She raised her head to look at him, but he shook his head.

"I believe them. You’ve never felt the curse, Hermione. I can feel it killing me." He pushed a couple of strands of hair out of her face and sighed. "I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this," he whispered.

Hermione took a few deep breaths. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. "Why are you here?" she asked, and he leaned forward to hear her. "Why did you come back?"

Ron closed his eyes. "I promised you I’d come back. So I came back." He sighed again. "This- this is private Ministry information, Hermione. You have to realize that. You can’t tell anyone what I just told you. They told me I was allowed to see one person before I died. I would have gone to see my mum or dad, but I promised you. They can hear it from the Ministry." His voice broke suddenly, and he looked down. "Try to understand, Hermione, please."

"Understand what?" she asked harshly. "What’s there to understand? Harry’s gone, Ginny’s gone. You’re going to be gone. My whole damned life is falling apart!"

Ron’s features sharpened suddenly. "And what of me?" he demanded, angry. "You’re only losing three people. I’m losing everything. Don’t you get it? Everything and everyone that I love, I have to leave behind. I’ll have nothing!" He choked. "Understand, dammit!"

He stood up and turned away, walking over to the window, not saying anything. Hermione sat in her chair, hiccuping, trying to stop the tears. She finally got to her feet and stood beside Ron at the window. The wind pounded at the glass, spraying snow in every which direction, sparkling in the distant light of the fire.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" Ron asked quietly. He reached out and traced a line under her eye, over her ear and down the back of her neck with one finger. He turned to face her, and she shivered.

"Hermione," Ron whispered. "You know I love you. I’ve told you, I’ve shown you and you’ve felt it. You know." He was talking so quietly that he may as well have just mouthed the words, yet she could hear him perfectly. His eyes bore hole through her and into her skull, but she didn’t look away.

"You know dark magic," Ron said. "It’s fed by hate, fear and anger. But nothing fuels it more than the anger of loving someone, and knowing that they don’t love you back."

Hermione gaped at him. "But-"

He cut her off. "You never said anything to make me believed you loved me, Hermione" he whispered. "All the time I’ve known you, you’ve never told me you loved me."

She tried to speak, but found that she couldn’t get the words out. Love you? Ron, you have no idea how much I love you, how much I need you…

"Ron," She finally choked out. "Of- of course I do. What ever made you think I didn’t?"

"Say it," Ron whispered fiercely.

"Ron, I-"

"Say it!" he hissed at her.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, opening them again quickly. "I-" she whispered. "I love you, Ron."

Do you still remember

How we used to be?

Feeling together, believing whatever

My love has said to me

He choked and let go of her, and she could see him struggling to keep control of himself. "Ron," she whispered, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ron looked back up at her, and his hands went to her face. Hermione closed her eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. Moving one hand down to circle her waist. "I almost wish you hadn’t said that," he whispered huskily, kissing her forehead. "Before, I thought at least I didn’t have much to leave behind." He kissed her temple and her cheek. Oh, how it felt good to have his lips on her skin again. "Now I know that I’m leaving you here and- oh, God, Hermione…" He kissed her nose and her eyelid, and trailed down until he was a centimeter away from her mouth. She could feel his breath on her face, and he hovered there for a moment, his breath ragged in anticipation.

Both of us were dreamers

Young love in the sun

Felt like my savior, my spirit I gave ya

We’d only just begun

She ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, and he pulled her closer.

"Hermione," Ron whispered huskily. His hand stroked her cheek, and ran over her ear to the back of her neck. "I love you so much."

She could feel the tears coming, trickling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Ron kissed her tears, then her forehead, leaving the salty liquid between her eyebrows. "Don’t cry, Hermione, please," he whispered in her ear. "I don’t want this to be my last image of you." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"How long are you here?" Hermione whispered into the fabric of his shirt. It was rough against her face, but strangely comforting.

"It’s ten now," he replied quietly. "They’ll be back to get me at ten o’clock tomorrow morning."

"Twelve hours," she whispered. Yesterday, twelve hours would have been forever. But now it wasn’t nearly enough. Only twelve hours more with Ron, and then she would never see him again.

Hasta Manana

Always be mine

Ron opened his eyes and looked at her, and she stared right back. He seemed to swim there in her eyes for a moment. Then he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, bent down, and kissed her mouth.

Viva forever, I’ll be waiting

Everlasting, like the sun.

Live forever, for the moment.

Ever searching, for the one…

It was a gentle kiss at first. Soft, loving, and almost hesitant. But then, the months of fear, worry and desperation kicked in, and the kiss intensified. Hermione trembled as Ron’s tongue teased hers, and she savored the taste of him, trying to seal it into her brain. He tightened his arms around her waist, and bent more to get closer to her. And she surrendered.

Yes, I still remember

Every whispered word

The touch of your skin giving life from within

Like a love song that I heard

Kissing Ron, holding him, even just being near him, had always felt unfathomably perfect. As though nothing on the world could possibly make her feel more loved, more cherished. Like she belonged there. She was used to that, to the point where she expected it.

Now, though, as she kissed him, standing on tiptoe to get as close to Ron as possible, Hermione realized that it didn’t feel perfect anymore. Something was missing, something wasn’t being fulfilled. Ron tightened his hold on her, apparently feeling it, too. His fingers pried the elastic out of her hair, and it cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She pressed up against him as his fingers ran through her hair.

He pulled away for a moment and kissed her ear. "Hermione," he whispered her name like a prayer, putting all his soul into that one word. She pulled him back to her lips, and he kissed her passionately. She could feel his love and hunger for her, matching her own feelings for him.

Slipping through our fingers

Like the sands of time

Promises made, every memory saved as

Reflections in my mind

Twelve hours. Twelve hours was all she had to memorize him, to absorb his every aspect. The panic that filled her was like that that you feel when you realize you haven’t studied for the final exam, and the test is in two hours. His hands drew weird patterns up and down her back, and he pulled her even closer. But she could tell that it still wasn’t right. Then she felt a surge of passion- from Ron or herself, she wasn’t certain- and lost control.

Hasta Manana

Always be mine

She felt her fist tighten around a handful of Ron’s tee shirt, and without any furthur thought, she pulled it over his head. Ron broke the kiss just long enough to let the shirt pass, then pulled her back. She ran her hands up his bare chest and around his neck as he unbuttoned her sweater. It slipped off her shoulders, unnoticed, leaving her in the camisole shirt she had changed into after dinner.

Viva forever, I’ll be waiting

Everlasting, like the sun.

Live forever, for the moment.

Ever searching, for the one…

They stumbled backwards, and she felt her legs collide with the edge of the bed. Ron eased her gently onto her back, and carried himself down over her, still kissing her with indescribable passion. Hermione pulled him down on top of her, her hands sliding through his fiery hair in a vain attempt to memorize it.

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist, pushing her back onto the pillows. He caressed her back feverishly, pulling the fabric along with his fingers, stretching it into odd shapes. He paused once, with his hands resting on the hem- waiting, asking- then slid his hands up the back of her shirt. He breath shortened at his touch, and she sat up slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

Ron started to move his hands around to the front of her torso, then stopped. He pulled away from her mouth and rolled of her. "No," he whispered. "We can’t."

Hermione just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the fire drain from her body like pop from a spilled can. She rolled over into Ron’s side, feeling the tears well up again and spill from her eyes, trickling down his shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her, brushing her tears away with a finger.

"Why not?" she demanded finally. "Ron, I’m never going to see you again." The words tasted foul and bitter in her mouth. She wanted to spit.

"Hermione," Ron whispered pleadingly. "We- we’re too young for this to be happening to us. But it is. But that doesn’t mean we can just go and do whatever- oh, Lord, Hermione. Please."

He leaned over into her and kissed her again, pulled her onto his chest. He ran his hands through her hair- so neat a few minutes ago but a tangled mess, now. But he pushed her away again. "No," he whispered fiercely, more to himself than to her.

"Ron," she whispered, so quiet she could barely hear herself. "Ron, please."

He pushed her gently on to her back and lay on his side, looking at her. "No," he whispered. "There’s too much that could go wrong. It doesn’t feel right, Hermione. I’m going to be dead tomorrow, but this could affect the rest of your life. You could get pregnant, or- or- just try to see it from my point of view."

She sighed. "You’re right," she whispered, feeling even more tears on the way. He pulled her onto his chest, and wound his arms around her waist, holding her tightly. She lay across him, feeling the shuddering breaths rippling through his body.

"You know what today is?" Ron asked as he stroked her back.

"What?" she asked.

"December fifteenth," he replied. "It was exactly two years ago today when I kissed you for the first time." He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulling them up over the two of them.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself, remembering how happy she had been on that day. "It seems like so long ago," she whispered. "Like decades."

Ron smiled into her hair. "I can remember," he said. "Sometimes feeling like my life was like a little rowboat stuck out in the middle of the ocean, drifting all over the place. When I kissed you, it was like one little piece of the puzzle fell into place. Like I was destined to have done it all along, and it just clicked." He stroked her hair and tightened his arms around her. "That was a long time ago."

But we’re all alone, now

Was it just a dream?

Feelings unfold, they will never be sold

And the secret safe with me…

Hermione closed her eyes and willed the tears to save themselves for later. "I love you, Ron," she whispered.

"I know," he replied quietly. "To be honest, I think I always did."

She buried her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed. She knew Ron was right about not sleeping with her. There were so many things that could go wrong. She was smart, she always knew what the right answer was.

Just this once, though, she wished she could have been wrong.

'

Even when she came around again, Hermione knew that she was still sleeping. Dreaming, but still asleep. She couldn’t see anything, her "eyes" were closed, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay asleep forever, never wake up, just so long as Ron didn’t have to leave.

She finally sighed and opened her eyes. Her body was in the bed across the room, lying across Ron’s chest, the covers down around both their waists. Ron had his arms around her waist, and she had one hand on his shoulder, the other curled up underneath her. Hermione stared for a moment- it was decidedly odd to see yourself in front of you- and realized that she could vaguely feel Ron’s arms around her, and his skin against her face and hands.

Ron stirred and opened his eyes. He just stared at Hermione for a moment, then reached up and smoothed her hair. She could feel that, too, even from her post beside the window. She ached to walk over and touch him, or to wake up, but she couldn’t do either. She just watched as Ron ran his hand down her neck to her back, finally letting it rest between her shoulder blades. He wrapped his arm around her waist again, and held her tightly, face against her hair.

Hermione screamed at herself to wake up, but no sound came from her. Her body twitched slightly, though, and squirmed fitfully in Ron’s arms. He noticed, and stroked her hair again, whispering comfortingly in her ear. It calmed her, even from across the room.

Ron finally looked away from her after some time, and picked up his watch from the small table beside the bed. Hermione could just barely read it from where she was standing. Nine thirty. Ron swore quietly and replaced it. He cautiously eased her off his chest, careful not to wake her, and lay her gently down beside him. He stared at her for a moment, then sighed, pulled back the covers, and got out of bed.

He walked over to a small desk in the corner of the room, and took out a quill and a sheet of paper. She watched silently as he wrote enough to fill the page, then returned the quill in the drawer. He reached into his back pocket and pulled something out- she couldn’t tell what it was- and placed it on top of the paper.

Hermione watched as he got up from the desk, and her eyes followed him along the wall until he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She heard the shower start, and looked back at the window. It was grey and dismal outside, and the snow was still coming down heavily. She watched it fall, silent.

The sound of the shower stopped, and shortly afterwards, Ron emerged from the bathroom, wearing a pair of white boxer shorts, and his red hair darkened and dripping from the water. He pulled a pair of white pants and a plain white tee shirt out of a bag beside the bed. He pulled the pants on, then walked over to stand in front of the mirror, and stared at his reflection. Hermione longed desperately to go and stand beside him, to put a hand on his shoulder- anything.

Her body stirred in the bed, and Ron looked over at her. He closed his eyes, then pulled the shirt on, and walked over to where she lay and sat down beside her. he reached out and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, smoothing her hair out of her face.

He finally stood up and walked back to the desk. He picked up the paper with the token on it, and crumpled it up in his fist. Replacing it on the desk, he walked back over to the bed and just stood over her, watching her sleep. He reached down and smoothed the covers over her body.

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione looked sharply at the clock above the fireplace. It was ten o’clock. Dammit! She screamed at herself to wake up, to wake up and get out of bed and scream and fight until they agreed not to take him. But all she got was a tiny twitch of the hand.

Ron opened the door, and three men in Ministry uniforms stepped into the room. Two of them looked unpleasant. They scowled at Ron- he scowled right back- and eyed her form in the bed suspiciously. Ron glared at them, and pulled back the covers from her body to reveal that she was indeed dressed. They simply grunted and went back to their whispered conversation.

The third man- a boy really, he couldn’t have been more than nineteen- approached Ron cautiously. That must be the intern that Ron had told her about last night before they went to sleep. Jeffery, his name was. He walked up beside Ron, and gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"That your girlfriend?" Jeffery asked quietly.

Ron sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he replied.

Jeffery was silent for a moment. "She’s beautiful," he said finally.

Ron opened his eyes again, and stared at her. "Yeah," he said again.

"All that you have to leave behind, huh?" Ron nodded. Jeffery sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "I wish there was some way around this, man," he whispered. "Some way to make this work for you. I’m sorry."

Ron pulled away from him and walked over to the desk, picking up the crumpled note, then returned to the bed. He gently pried one of Hermione’s hands open, placed the note inside, and closed her fingers around it again. He squatted beside her, took her hand between his, and kissed it. Wake up, she screamed at her self. For God’s sake, wake up! It was no use. He stood up and walked over to the door. One of the men took his bag, jerking his head at Jeffery, who followed him out the door. The other roughly took Ron’s arm.

Hermione blanched. This was the dream, the same dream that had haunted her sleep for two years. She watched, helpless. Ron’s face was pale and set, and the man started to lead him out the door.

Ron! she tried to scream, but… He turned. He looked over his shoulder, and stared right at the spot where she was standing. Something of a frown crossed his face, as thought he could actually see her standing there, an he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and turned back around as the man yanked his arm. He looked ahead of him once again, and kept on walking. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in her ears…

Her eyes snapped open, just as they always did when the door closed. But this time, it was real.

'

The first thing that Hermione noticed when she woke up was the usual disorientation that encompasses a sleeper upon awaking. For a moment, she forgot where she was, and actually thought that all of last night had been a dream. But then, she felt the note against her palm, and realized that she would have to get up.

She glanced around the room, taking in the setting. It was still snowing outside, but now the snow appeared wet and heavy. The clock read 10:07. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to go back to sleep and forget that any of this had happened.

The feel of the notepaper against her skin brought Hermione back to reality. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, and sat up slightly on her elbow. She unfolded the crumpled paper, and the object that Ron had left fell out onto the sheets.

It was a ring. A wide, pale gold band that fit perfectly her index finger. Carved on one side of the ring was an odd sigil. She frowned and looked at it more closely. She didn’t recognize it, even from all her Ancient Runes studies.

Tears stung the inside of her eyes, and she spread the paper out in front of her. Ron’s messy scrawl jumped out at her from the page, shaky, like the hand that had written it had been trembling uncontrollably. She could almost hear his voice as she read.

A tear trickled down her cheek and dropped off her chin. It hit her hand, and Hermione sniffled and wiped her eye. She turned the ring on her finger, and with a sigh, she folded the note back up and shoved it into her pocket. She then pulled back the covers and sat up.

Her vision clouded for a moment, and she put a hand to her head to keep herself from fainting. Bugger, she thought absently. I got up too fast. She stood up and got her balance, then walked over to the mirror and stared at it.

She looked horrible. Her eyes were still red and slightly puffy from crying, and her hair was a mess. Her shirt was twisted slightly around her body.

A draft crept through the room from the direction of the window, and she hugged her shoulders, shivering. Where was that sweater? It had to be in the floor somewhere. She felt around under the bed, wondering if maybe it had been kicked underneath.

Hermione’s fingers collided with something. It was a shirt. She pulled it out and held it up. It was Ron’s tee shirt. He must have forgotten it while packing. She held it to her face and inhaled. It smelled like him.

She choked back a sob as she stood up, holding the shirt to her chest. Her sweater was lying on the floor beside the bed, and she pulled it on, yanking the hood up over her disheveled hair.

I’m never going to see him again. Ever. The realization chewed at her soul, nibbling away at any optimism that might be still clinging. Hermione looked at the ring again, fingering the etched runes on its surface.

A knock on the door brought her back to reality, and she silently opened it. Parvati was standing in the hallway. Hermione jumped when she saw her- Parvati was possibly the last person she expected to see right then- but didn’t say anything.

"Feeling better?" Parvati asked kindly.

She frowned. "What?"

Parvati raised an eyebrow. "Professor McGonagall said that you slept up here because you weren’t feeling well," she said. "She told me to come up and get you."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Oh- yeah, I guess so." She followed Parvati through the hallways back to the common room. They sat down in front of the fire with the others, and she curled up in her chair, shutting out everyone else. She half-listened to the conversations around the room, not really paying attention to any of them.

"Hmm?" Hermione asked absently, realizing that Lavender’s last question had been directed to her. "What did you say?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "I said, when do you think Ron is coming back?"

Well, if that isn’t the worst possible question you could ask me right now, she thought wryly. She laughed. She laughed so hard it almost hurt, each breath tearing through her lungs like racecars at the Grand Prix. She leaned over in her chair, putting her head between her knees, laughing like the world would end tomorrow.

Parvati reached out and touched Hermione’s shoulder, and she raised her head. She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying anymore, and tears stream down her cheeks onto her sleeves.

"Hermione?" Lavender asked tentatively.

"He’s not coming back," Hermione said hoarsely. "He’s never coming back. He’s dead. Ron’s dead." She jumped to her feet and faced them all. "Don’t talk to me," she whispered. "Don’t come near me." She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her room, collapsing on her bed.

How long she lay there, crying out all the tears she had, trying to let him go and knowing she would never be able to, Hermione didn’t know. She didn’t notice when her sobs began to quiet, when she began to run out of tears. It just occurred to her at one point that she wasn’t crying anymore, just lying on a damp pillow, staring at the wall with a headache she wouldn’t wish upon her worst enemy.

"Hermi?"

She looked around and saw Lavender turn the corner into the room. She sat up and leaned against the headboard, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I’m OK," she said quietly.

Lavender walked over and sat on the side of the bed. "You are not," she replied. "People who are all right don’t go postal on their friends and run off sobbing."

Hermione shuffled forward on the bed and lay back on the pillows, defeated. "I’m not OK." she whispered. A moment ago, she would have thought that she had cried all she possibly could, but apparently she was wrong. Tears welled up behind her eyelids again, and ran down her cheeks. "Why did he have to leave?" she whispered quietly.

Lavender put her arms around her friend, and Hermione rested her head on her shoulder. Lavender didn’t say anything, as Hermione silently cried into her shoulder, just hugged her and stroked her hair.

"You loved him, didn’t you?" Lavender asked at last.

Hermione sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "Oh, God, Lavender, you have no idea what this feels like." She pulled away and lay down on the bed.

Lavender sighed and leaned against the wall. "You weren’t sick last night, were you?"

She blinked back more tears and chewed her knuckle. "No."

"You were with Ron?"

She blushed. "Yes."

Lavender paused for a moment. "Were you- did you…"

Hermione closed her eyes. "We didn’t sleep together," she said flatly. "Well- we did sleep together, literally, but we didn’t do anything. Do you get my drift?"

Lavender raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t do anything? Nothing at all? You just talked a bit and then fell asleep? Do you expect me to believe that?"

Hermione rolled over. "Do I have to give you the play-by-play?"

Lavender sighed and looked away. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I guess I’m in shock." She was silent for long enough to let a cloud pass, then said, "I do have some good news."

"And what’s that?" Hermione asked, sitting up slowly.

She was silent again. Then she sighed and pushed hair out of her face. "I got a letter from the Ministry of Magic. They’re going looking for Harry and Ginny tomorrow."

'

Hermione was dreaming again, and she knew it. It felt the same as it always had. But- something was different. It wasn’t the same place.

She looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. It was outside, this time. In a forest, with the sun just beginning to poke through the treetops. She turned and looked around wildly. Why was she here? What was the significance of this?

A sound from behind her made her spin around. Behind her was a rise in the landscape, and the forest stopped at the bottom of a small hill, and just coming over the rise was-

Harry and Ginny.

Harry Potter and Virginia Weasley rounded the top of the hill, Harry holding Ginny’s arm and shoulder, leading her along. The bottom of Ginny’s shirt was torn, and the fabric tied around her eyes. She stayed close behind Harry, letting him lead her along.

As the sun cast a bright ray across Ginny’s face, she stopped and held Harry back. She stood still and just let the sun kiss her face. Then she opened her mouth and started to sing.

"High in the sky

Through the clouds and rain

Every familiar field seems like an old friend.

When every hand that you shake

Is like a warm embrace

Could only be one sweet place

Home and the Heartland."

Hermione watched, aghast, as Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and began running down the hill. He was laughing, and cried out, "Wait, Gin, you’ll trip on something!" But she just kept running and singing.

"Sing out your songs and

Bring out your stories and rhymes.

Weave from your dreams the mystical dances that lead us to

Bind in heart and mind."

They ran past her, and she spun to watch them go. Harry was ahead, now, pulling Ginny along, holding her up so that she wouldn’t fall. Ginny’s voice was slightly halting from running, and every now and then she would stop and laugh, but she kept singing.

"As we circle the world

With our wandering airs

Gathering here and there, leaving behind our share

Like the leaves in the wind

They are blown along

Melodies rising from

Home and the Heartland."

And as they faded from view, Hermione just caught the last strains of the song.

"Sing out your songs…"

The scene changed just then, so fast it made her head spin. Hermione looked around again. Where was she now? It looked like just a room. A very plain, beige, absolutely-no-decorations-allowed room, but a room. She frowned. What was this?

She turned around. And almost fell over. Ron was lying in a bed behind her. He was either asleep or dead, because he wasn’t moving. She took a couple of deep breaths to get her bearings straight, the moved closer to get a better look.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was still wearing the same white pants she had seen him in last. Was he breathing? She tried to see, but she wasn’t close enough, and couldn’t get any closer.

He moved. He kind of sighed and turned over. Hermione jumped slightly. She hadn’t expected that. Well, she thought. At least now we know for sure he’s not dead. Not yet, anyway. He did nothing more, so she just stood there watching him.

It was some time later when she started to notice herself being pulled back into sleep. Normally she would have protested, but today she simply hadn’t the energy. The image before her faded, and she found herself back in her bed at school, slightly trapped in the covers.

"Oh, God," Hermione moaned. She detangled herself from the sheets, then rolled over to get a look at her clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. What was the date? She poked around in the dark for her calendar. December nineteenth. Ron would have been dead for three days, now. Three days since the Ministry began the search for Harry and Ginny. No results yet, of course. They hadn’t looked where Lavender had told them to, yet.

But the dream, Hermione thought suddenly. Are they still at the castle? She stared at the wall. Oh, probably. It’s not like my dreams are written-in-stone truth, after all. What are the chances of them getting out of a place like that, anyway?

What about Ron? her brain demanded. Did that mean nothing to you? Don’t you feel any hope or anything?

Wishful thinking, she retorted. No one says that one was true.

She wished the voice in her head was a mosquito, as opposed to her conscience. Then she could have smacked her ear and made it go away. But instead, all she could do was lie there in bed and argue with herself, hoping that the voice would shut up soon, and let her get some rest.

'

It was very early the next morning when Hermione felt someone shaking her gently. She rolled over slightly, waving the hand away. Hadn’t these people ever heard of sleeping in?

"Hermione, wake up!"

She rolled over completely and sat up. "What?" she asked, her voice muffled by the hand as she tried to push hair out of her face. She opened her eyes to both Parvati and Lavender standing beside the bed.

"Get up," Lavender instructed. "We just got an owl from the Ministry. They found Harry and Ginny."

That woke her up. Hermione jumped out of bed and scrambled around the room trying to get dressed. "Where is my hairbrush?" she demanded frantically. "Where is my bloody hairbrush?"

It was thrust into her hand by one of them- she didn’t notice who- and she proceeded to attack her hair. They found Harry, she sang in her head. They found Ginny. They found Harry and Ginny! She pulled her hair into an unruly ponytail, and spun to face her friends. "Well?" she demanded. "What are we waiting for? Let’s go!"

She started to the door, but Lavender caught her by the arm and held her back. "They aren’t here yet," she said. "They’re coming by car."

Hermione frowned. "They’re not here yet? Then why did you wake me up?" she turned back around and flopped on the bed.

"The Weasleys are here," she informed her. "They want to see you."

"Oh," she replied. "OK. Let’s go, then."

When she reached the Great Hall, the Weasleys were all there. All of them, even Bill and Charlie. All except Ron and Ginny, of course. Hermione stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. But then she took a deep breath, and stepped forward to stand in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was barely louder than a bird chirping, but she knew Mrs. Weasley could hear her. She raised her head and looked at the woman, biting her lip at the pain she saw deep in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes.

"Hello, dear," was all she said. Then, before Hermione had a chance to react at all, she had wrapped her up in a massive hug equaled only by enthusiastic grandmothers at Christmas time. Hermione felt the tears come as she hugged Mrs. Weasley, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

When she finally pulled away, Hermione knew she had tears running down her cheeks at an amazing rate. She looked around at Ron’s brothers. Fred and George, whom she was used to seeing full of life and energy, both looked drained and joyless. Bill and Charlie were somber, and Mr. Weasley was simply sitting on a bench on one side of the room, his face tight and emotionless.

Fred stepped forward and offered Hermione a hand. "Ron said the two of you were together," he said quietly. "I’m sorry."

Hermione squeezed Fred’s hand and hugged him. "The Ministry told you what happened?" she asked.

Mr. Weasley stood up at last, and brushed off his shabby cloak. "Yes, we got the whole story," he said bitterly. "If Fudge wasn’t the Minister and guarded by twenty men…"

"Well-" Hermione started to say, but trailed off. She could just see a car coming up the road to the school, through the window in the front doors. A Ministry logo was emblazoned on the side door, and she could see someone in a uniform through the window. "They’re here!" she cried, breaking away and running outside.

The man driving got out and opened the back door of the car. Ginny got out first, led by another man in uniform. She had been dressed in fresh clothes, and the shirt hem that had been around her eyes had been replaced by a clean black band.

Harry followed shortly after. He, too, had been dressed in new clothes, and his hair had been cut back to its usual length. It was still as black as coal and as wild as a spring wind, but it looked more mature, now, somehow. He was about the same height as Hermione, which wasn’t short for a boy, but not tall either. He reached out and took Ginny’s hand, then turned to face everyone else.

Hermione finally found her energy, and ran over to stand in front of Harry.

She just stood there for quite a long moment, unsure of what she ought to say or do. He stared right back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Going to say anything?" he demanded finally.

Probably to her own shock as much as Harry’s, Hermione threw hwer arms around Harry’s neck and hugged him tightly. He laughed and hugged her back, letting go of Ginny to put both arms around her. She was laughing and crying all at the same time, and Harry spun her around and put her down again.

"You’re OK," Hermione gasped finally. "Both of you, you’re both OK." She reached out and grabbed Ginny, hugging her, too. Ginny laughed and returned the hug. Hermione finally took a step away to get a look at them. They both looked very thin and pale, but happy.

"We’re OK," Harry affirmed, grinning. "If barely." He looked up and his grin widened at the sight of the sea of Weasleys that was pouring out of the front doors towards them.

The moment the Weasleys appeared on the scene, there was an immediate strong sense of family. Ginny had been wrapped up in a huge hug by all members of her family and, to Hermione’s surprise, someone had reached out and pulled Harry into the lot with them. She remembered Harry saying in one of his letters that the Weasleys were beyond being a second family to him. They were his first family, now.

At some point, someone pulled Hermione into the fray, and she was hugging and being hugged with everyone else, forgetting all about dignity or the state of her clothes. She just let herself be wrapped up in this sea of love.

Well, the old saying, "what goes up must come down" holds true in all situations, and the good mood could not last. They were all starting to break apart, laughing and crying, and simply hugging whoever was in reach, when Harry suddenly looked around and asked, "Where’s Ron?"

End good mood.

Everyone immediately sobered, and Harry looked around worriedly. "Well, where is he?"

Mr. Weasley looked up from his shoes, where his gaze had been fixed a moment before, and looked at Hermione. She had closed her eyes and was backing towards the doors slowly. He sighed and gestured foe her to go, and she dashed away. As she sped through the front doors, she just heard Mr. Weasley say to Harry and his daughter, "I think you’d better come inside to hear this."

'

It was quite some time later when Hermione heard Harry coming into her room that afternoon. He came and sat down beside her on the bed, not saying anything.

Hermione was silent. She just lay there, not moving or even acknowledging Harry’s presence at all. She hadn’t been crying, but she felt rather drained just the same. It wasn’t until he finally reached out and touched her shoulder that she actually sat up and looked at him.

"You got told the whole thing, then?" she asked quietly.

Harry nodded, but said nothing. He simply sat there beside her, staring at the wall.

"Who told you?" she asked.

He sighed. "Fred Weasley," he relied flatly. "You have no idea how weird it is to hear him sounding serious."

Hermione didn’t reply. She stayed still for a moment, then rolled onto her back. "Well?" she finally demanded.

"I knew, I think," Harry said, unexpectedly. "When they took us to the Ministry building, there was a lot of talk about some Hogwarts student that was being held there. Or something."

"But you didn’t know it was Ron," she paraphrased.

"No," he replied bitterly. "I had no idea it was Ron."

Again they were silent. Hermione didn’t know if she ought to say something to Harry, or just let him sort himself out on his own. She decided she had better be on the safe side and keep quiet.

"I guess you want to know how we got out?" Harry asked finally.

"It would help," she replied.

He sighed and looked at the wall. "You’ll never believe it," he told her. "I’m still doubtful. I keep thinking that I’ll wake up in the cell again, and it’ll all have been a bizarre dream." He paused again, as if waiting for her to comment, but she said nothing, so he continued.

"We had pretty much given up on ever getting rescued," he said. "No one knew where we were, and even if they did, they would never be able to get in. We were just waiting for someone to come and kill us." He smiled wryly. "We were so optimistic.

"One day, about a week ago, someone just came up and, out of the blue, let us out. We thought we were dead, but he just said to follow him and keep our mouths shut if we wanted our lives. I think we were both convinced we were dreaming. The guy brought us through a bunch of passages, until we got to ground level.

"When we came out into the sunlight, it really hurt Ginny. We’d been in the dark for so long, the sudden light was too much for her eyes. That’s why she’s got the blindfold.

"Anyway, we managed to get ourselves stuck in the middle of a crowd of Death Eaters, which wasn’t too smart, to say the least. Just managed to get out of it. Ginny did a pretty good job, actually, for a blinded kid. She just did the old ‘point-and-stun’ method, which worked great.

"We got out, which was amazing, and started to walk home through the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry guys found us there, a day later. I think it startled them." He stopped and looked at her. "You’ll never guess who it was who let us out."

Hermione frowned. "Who?"

He grinned. "Draco Malfoy."

If she had been holding anything she would have dropped it right then. "You’re kidding," she sputtered. "Malfoy?! He let you out? Why?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied. "When I asked him, he bit my head off. Basically said he wasn’t doing it for me or Gin, and to shut up."

They were both silent.

"How did you find out about… about the student who was… about Ron?" she asked haltingly.

"They held us at the Ministry building for a couple of days, like I said," Harry replied. "I overheard someone talking about it." He paused. "They didn’t mention a name."

"And Ginny?" Hermione inquired.

"She’ll live," he replied. "I hope her eyes are OK."

"Was there… anything… between the two of you?" she asked. She knew (as did almost everybody) that Ginny had adored Harry for years. And in their fifth year, Harry had pronounced that Ginny was "cute".

For the first time since he had learned about Ron, Harry smiled. "Not telling," he replied. "So there."

She was silent again, and Harry put a hand on her shoulder. She leant against him gratefully, and he put his arms around her, not saying anything, just letting her cry.

'

Talking to Harry helped. It didn’t completely cure her, but it helped. The Weasleys left a few days later, taking Ginny with them. It was Christmas, after all, and she wanted to be at home. Harry and Hermione were both invited, but Hermione thought that the Burrow would bring back too many memories, and Harry wanted to stay with her.

Gryffindor house felt very empty in the days leading up to Christmas. Almost everybody had gone home, as their parents still weren’t convinced it was safe at school. This suited Hermione just fine- she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

For the first time in years, Hermione noticed that even Malfoy had gone "home" for the holidays. This didn’t surprise her. She expected he was about as "home" as she was- he was likely at Voldemort’s headquarters, polishing up his Death Eater training. She wondered irritably why no one recognized what danger he was in, or tried to help.

Draco Malfoy or no Draco Malfoy, she was still miserable. Every time she turned around, something was there to remind her of Ron. A shirt, a certain corridor… everything called up memories.. And with no one around, there was nothing to distract her.

Harry was very understanding. It seemed that the years had done wonders for his maturity. He knew when she needed him to talk, and he knew when she needed him to shut up. They actually didn’t do a lot of talking, and if they did, it was just about the classes Harry and Ginny had missed.

It was Christmas Eve before she knew it, and here she was at school. It would be the third Christmas in a row that she would spend alone. Another Christmas spent miserable.

The lamp, it’s burning low upon my table top

The snow is softly falling

Hermione sat in one of the large chairs by the fire. It was around 11:45 on Christmas Eve, and the snow was coming down outside.

The air is still in the silence of my room

I hear your voice softly calling

Some Christmas I’m going to have, Hermione thought. And it starts in, what, fifteen minutes? She glanced at the clock. Yes, about a quarter hour, and Christmas cheer would fill every soul. Every soul but her own.

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

II would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you

Hermione’s fingers twined around something that was sitting in her lap. It was Ron’s shirt, which she still had. Usually, it stayed in the back of her clothes drawer, but, without noticing, she had brought it downstairs with her. She bit her lip and held it up in front of her, trying not to remember.

The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead

My glass is almost empty

She ached for him. Every sense in her body craved him, needed him. She wanted to see him, she wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to smell him, to taste him. To feel him against her. She needed to sense him again, the way she had gotten so good at doing. She needed him.

I read in between the lines upon each page

Words of love descending

This had to stop, or she would go mad. Hermione grabbed a book from off the floor beside her, and frantically tried to read. It was no use. The words blurred and ran together, and she couldn’t make sense of it.

If I could know within my heart

That you were lonely, too

I would be happy just hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you

She finally threw the book onto the floor in disgust. There was nothing she could do but try to get some sleep. With a sigh, she curled up in her chair and closed her eyes.

The fire is dying, my lamp is growing dim

She opened her eyes some time later. The fire was reduced to faintly glowing embers, and a glance at the torches on the walls told her that they weren’t any brighter.

Shades of night are lifting

Was the room brighter? What time was it?

Morning light steals across my windowpane

A warm beam of early sunshine touched her hand, and she looked out the window. The sky was clear.

Where whims of snow are drifting

Someone was coming down the stairs from the boys’ dorm. It was Harry, carrying his presents from the Weasleys, as well as her own. Bugger, Hermione thought absently. I forgot to get him a gift.

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

He sat down beside her, and laid her gifts on the table, but said nothing. From a pocket in his sweater, he produced an envelope. It had already been opened, she saw, but he placed it on top of the gifts for her.

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you…

"This was addressed to Dumbledore and McGonagall," Harry said finally, gesturing to the letter. "They read it, but they told me to give it to you." He handed it to her, and she looked the envelope over. The Ministry of Magic seal caught her attention, and she looked at the address again.

And to be once again with you…

Silently, she opened the envelope, unfolded the letter and read.

'

To Whom It May Concern:

A student of Hogwarts (namely Ron Weasley) was recently taken into the custody of the Ministry of Magic for questionable behavior. It was released that he was guilty of the charges against him, and he is supposed to have died. However, he is still living, and there seems to be no trace of illness in him.

We at the Ministry are forced to admit our mistake, and are therefore returning said student to school at 3:00 PM on Christmas Day.

Please accept our most humble apologies at the inconvenience.

Sincerely,

Wolfgang Boozier

Minister, Magical Law Enforcement

She stared at the letter. Hermione stared blankly at the letter that she held in her hand. She couldn’t believe it. Ron was alive?

Harry’s voice cut into her stupor. "What does it say?"

"Ron’s alive," Hermione whispered. "They’re sending him back."

Harry was beside her in a moment, nabbing the letter and reading it frantically. "Oh my God," he whispered. Then he grinned. "It’s two-thirty, Hermi," he said happily. "They’ll be bringing him here in an hour!"

He jumped to his feet, and tried to pull her up. She didn’t budge. "Hermione, come on!" She was still. "Come on, Hermi, what’s wrong?"

Hermione said nothing. The feeling that she had- it reminded her of when she had first learned that Harry and Ginny were missing, or when Ron had told her that he was going to die. She was frozen. It seemed as though there was a shell around her that nothing could penetrate. Only- before, it had always been something bad. This was very different. She thought she ought to be jumping up and down, and dancing and singing, at the very least. But she only felt one thing: disbelief. Something in her refused to believe that Ron was alive. Something kept telling her to resist, and save herself the disappointment.

She finally got up, still silent, and walked slowly up the stairs to her room, flopping face first on her bed. The Fates are playing with me, she thought distractedly. Like a cat plays with a mouse. I think I’ll go and drown myself. She got up, and promptly immersed herself in a hot shower.

How long she stayed in the shower, thinking her scattered thoughts, Hermione didn’t know. But it seemed like a long time when she finally got out and got dressed. She looked at the clock when she got back to her room again. It was 3:15.

Silently, Hermione plodded down the stairs. Harry was waiting for her by the portrait hole, along with Dumbledore and McGonagall. No one said anything as they made their way through the hallways and out to the front of the school. They settled themselves on several benches to wait.

Hermione looked at her watch again. It was 3:30. He should be here, she thought absently. Even now, her thoughts were detached and floaty. Without a word to either Harry or the Professors, she got up and began walking down the dirt path that led to Hogsmeade. That would be where they would take him, if he was really coming back.

The sun was beginning to set- it was winter, after all, the sun sets early, then. It cast eerie shadows through the trees and across the road and her face. The snow crunched under her feet at she made her way down the path, not thinking about anything in particular, just walking.

Hermione had just turned the last corner when she saw him. He was still wearing the same white clothes she had seen him in last, with an open bomber jacket overtop. The evening sunlight glinted off his hair, and reflected in his eyes. He didn’t see her at first, but when he did, he smiled.

The smile froze her. She stopped in her tracks and just stood there, hugging herself in the cold, and staring at him. He kept walking towards her, and she strained to make herself believe that this was real. That this was actually happening. He stopped when he was right in front of her, but said nothing.

Hermione stared at the ground. She could feel tears beginning to well up behind her eyelids, even though her eyes were open. She finally felt his need for her to look at him, and she met his gaze.

His eyes were the same as she had always remembered them. She searched them thoroughly, looking for any sign that might give him away, something to say it wasn’t really him. Nothing. They grew greener as she looked at him, and he silently held up one hand, palm facing her, patient and quiet.

Excruciatingly slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers lightly brushing his…

What happened next, Hermione could never afterwards be sure. It was all a blur of her fingers interlocking with his, and then being pulled to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him as close as she could, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling his arms around her waist, as tight as they had ever been. She didn’t fully register on all this, though- her brain was concentrated on one thought: this was defiantly Ron.

Tears were streaming down her face. How she could go from being completely dry-eyed to having her face completely soaked in a matter of seconds was beyond her, but that was how it was. Ron was holding her so tightly that she was sure the grain of the fabric of her shirt would be forever imprinted in her skin. The hand that gripped her shoulder was almost painful. But she didn’t care.

What she cared about was that Ron was there. He was there, safe in her arms, and she could feel his arms around her, and smell him, and see him… She wanted to scream and cry and dance and sing all at the same time, but instead she just held him tighter and cried silently into his shoulder.

"Hermione." Ron’s rough voice reached her ears, and Hermione looked up and met his eyes. He had been crying, too, but his face was lit up by his signature grin that she loved. She smiled shakily back at him, still a little grimace-y from crying. Ron; hand came up and softly touched her cheek, then he pulled her close and kissed her, swiftly but intensely.

"I’m never letting you go again," she whispered huskily when they drew apart, still holding each other tightly. "If I have to handcuff you to me, so be it, I’m not letting you go."

He grinned, and kissed her again, pulling away only so that their noses were touching. "Fine by me," he responded cheerfully. "Fine by me."

'

Epilogue

The next hour or so was a little blurred. Harry and Ron were enthusiastically reunited after two years of time and a century’s worth of worry. The Weasleys arrived en masse, by Floo Powder and Apparation, and there were hugs and kisses all around. But all the time, Ron never once let go of Hermione. No matter who he was hugging, he always had one hand clasped in hers, one arm around her shoulders… they moved as one, always maintaining the contact.

The celebrations lasted late into the night, and at last the non-Hogwarts-attending Weasleys were hustled off to the guest wing, for some much-needed rest. Harry and Ginny retreated to their respective dorms, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the common room.

Hermione smiled, snuggling against Ron’s shoulder as they lay back on the couch beside a dying fire. It had only been ten days, really, since he had left, but the pain and shock had stretched the days into an eternity. It was so good to be close to him again.

Finally, the question that had been put aside all evening bubbled up, and Hermione asked, "How on earth did you get out of dying?"

She could hear Ron’s grin as he replied. "I have no idea. The Ministry officials all had their theories, which I vaguely remember and do not in the least bit understand." He paused and gave her a squeeze before continuing. "The main fuel for the curse was my not knowing if you loved me or not," he said. "When you told me you did, told me in a way that made me know, I think that pretty much cancelled out the evil that was killing me. Dark magic is no match for love."

He paused again, and Hermione took the opportunity to stretch up and kiss him lightly before lying back down. "Finding out about Harry and Ginny helped, too," he continued. "It’s hard to be eaten alive by evil and hatred when you’re ecstatic that your best friend and sister are alive and well, and the person you love most in the world loves you right back."

She inched up his chest until her head was tucked under his chin. "I can’t believe you didn’t know I loved you," she chided him. "How thick are you?"

"Pretty thick," was his cheerful response. "You’re the brain around here, not me."

Hermione smiled into Ron’s shoulder, and wrapped one of her arms around his neck. "I love you, Ron," she said with conviction. "I’m glad you’re back."

"I’m glad I’m back, too," he grinned. "Merry Christmas, Pixie."

That was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep…

…THE END…

'