Much thanks to menz815 for betaing this for me. Please review and tell me what you thought. : )

Disclaimer: I don't own any, but my writing.

It is dark, the kind of dark that consumes one's soul. She fights to keep her eyelids open, but they flutter closed. Pain floods her senses and she lets out a strangled cry that sounds less than human. Everything is hazy and disoriented and her head begins to spin. Without a fight she lets herself be pulled back into the engulfing blackness.

She is running. Hermione's feet pound the ground harshly as her heart races frantically. The adrenaline tears through her veins as she hears the rustling of leaves all around and feels the increasing wave of doom surround. Her lungs heave, desperate for breath. As a wail fills the air she resists the urge to look back and instead quickens her pace towards a steep incline. She scrambles on hands and knees up the wet leave covered floor. With frantic desperation her hands claw at the muddy ground, as she slips, gravity pulling her back down the hill. She curses under her breath, before laboriously gripping at roots, pulling herself back up. A clammy hand grasps her ankle and she lets out a terrified scream.

"You can't outrun me, my pretty," a cool voice whispers, as she fights against the restraints that encircle her.

His bony fingers trail across her neck and his dark eyes meet hers before he mumbles a spell. This was not how it was supposed to end.

The second time Hermione slips back into consciousness it is due to a terrifying blood curling scream. She fights to stay under, but is pulled back into the land of the living as the yells become louder and louder. She clasps her shackled hands to her ears, trying to make the agonizing sounds stop. Her throat is dry and her lips are chapped beyond repair. Her mouth is filled with the metallic taste of blood. "Make it go away," she whispers into the blackness. She sits there huddled on the stone cold floor. Her hands clasped over her ears for hours until the cries become strangled and Hermione once again drifts off into a nightmare plagued sleep.

"Hermione."

She stirs slightly at the fatigued voice.

"Hermione." She whimpers, not ready to face the world.

There is a fit of coughing followed by her name choked out again in a very familiar voice. The room is lighter than before, a ray of sunlight filters through a sole barred window. The cobbled floor is cold and rough against her bruised and battered skin. It doesn't take long for her to find him as her eyes scan the small grungy prison. Her lips struggle to emit his name, but she manages to choke out a hoarse "Ron."

She scoots towards him and he begins to crawl towards her. Their chains restrain them within feet of each other. They sit dejectedly in silence for awhile. She struggles with what to say to him. What do you say to the boy you love when you are both chained to a dungeon wall? What can you do to ease his pain when you can't even touch him? What can you say to make all of this disappear?

"I thought you were dead," he finally mutters. "You didn't move for days."

He looks like he is about to cry and she pleads with him silently to hold it together. If he breaks, she knows she will give up. She needs him to be strong.

"I thought I'd lost you."

She pulls her lips into a tight smile. "I'm right here."

He mirrors her slight smile. "You need to eat."

With much difficulty he slides a shallow tin plate across the gap between them.

"These Death Eaters have a real knack for cooking. I think I'm going to need to take away your title of Worst Chef because I think I've found a new winner."

She throws him a smile as she picks at the rotten food on the plate.

"How long have we been in here?"

He shrugs. "I've been in here for a day or two. But you...I don't know how long they've had you."

She surveys him. He looks ragged and his hair falls across his face in a greasy matted mess. There are cuts and burns all over his pale freckled skin.

"What do they want from us?" She knows there is another part to his question that he doesn't voice because she wonders the same thing. Why aren't they dead yet?

"The only reasonable explanation is that they want information or are using us as bait."

Ron ponders this for a moment.

"Harry will come. We're going to get out of here."

She fakes another smile. But deep down inside, she knows he won't come and even if he is foolish enough to try she knows there won't be anything left to save.

They both have nightmares. His are always worse. Some nights no matter how hard she yells, he doesn't wake up. Those nights are hell. She listens to him writhe and scream, unable to pull him from his misery. She feels useless and powerless. Those are the nights she sobs for him, for herself, for Harry, and for all the people broken by the war. She only cries when his yells are loud enough to cover her bone rattling sobs. She refuses to let him see how weak she truly is.

The days are not much better than the nights, yet they fall into a routine that is oddly comforting. Once a day a masked death eater enters and sets a sole plate of food next to Ron. He takes a few bites and then pushes it over to her side, where she forces down the disgusting filth. It goes on like that for awhile. The days run together and they lose sense of time and space.

They tell each other secrets they wouldn't dare whisper to another human being. She bares her soul to him and he reciprocates. So many times the three words she longs to say almost spill out, but the logical side of her keeps them locked inside. What if she says it and it scares him away? So she bares all except the one thing she wants to let out the most.

"Do you ever want a family?" She asks casually.

Ron is laying on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling.

"Yes."

She wasn't expecting him to answer back with such certainty.

"Really?" She says surprised.

"Well I did...I still do, but only when the wars over and he's dead for good."

He pauses for a moment and then continues. "I want a big house in the country with room for a Quidditch pitch in the backyard. I want a wife, a garden where she will grow delicious food, and a big dog that will follow me around."

She listens intently, hanging onto every word. It sounds picture perfect and she tells him, "that sounds nice."

"How 'bout you Hermione?"

He turns on his side to face her.

"Yes, more than anything," she whispers. "I want it all." And I want it all with you she thinks.

"What would your house look like?"

She tells him about the home she has perfectly mapped out in her mind. They talk about what jobs they would have and if they want kids. They both agree that three sounds just about right.

They fight. They fight a lot. They argue to release their anger and frustration. They fight about the annoying clanging sound he makes by throwing the food plate against the wall when he's bored. They fight about Lavender, and Crookshanks, and his foul choice of words. They fight until they can fight no more.

On the days Ron is especially brooding she picks fights with him. She hounds him until he explodes and releases it all out on her. Curses fly in both directions and they scream at each other until they collapse in exhaustion. During those heated moments she almost feels alive again.

As she wonders what month and day it is the metal door flies open, causing both of them to jump. She is filled with a horrible sense of doom, before she even knows what is going to happen. Three Death Eaters flood in, their black capes billowing around them. Her heart rate accelerates as they march determinedly to her. She can hear Ron shouting at them.

"Don't you touch her you dirty filth," he spits out, but they pay no regards to his heated command.

One of the death eater's wands runs down her arms and legs, releasing the cuffs which have rubbed her skin raw. Before she knows what is happening she is thrown violently to the center of the cell before being levitated, and slammed back down again.

"Stop it!" He screams as they continue their abuse. A deep throaty chuckle comes from one of the monsters.

White hot searing pain engulfs her as she is thrown into wall. It hurts to breathe, her ribs clearly broken.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill every one of you."

She hears his shackles clanging as curses fly freely from his lips. Her body begins to burn, growing increasingly painful by the second. She writhes, trying to escape the fiery sensation.

"Stop. Please stop," she whimpers. It hurts. It hurts more than anything else she has ever felt.

"Fuck you! Can't you bloody see that you're killing her. Take me."

She claws at her body, screaming.

"Are you deaf?" He says even louder. "Take me instead!"

The pain suddenly stops and Hermione begins to sob. Seconds later the sound of Ron grunting breaks the silence. She tries to open her eyes, but everything is blurry and out of focus. He lets out another tormented scream followed by a string of curses.

She tries to yell at them to stop, but no words come out and she is left gasping for breath. The world begins to spin as Ron's screams increase. Silent tears stream down her dirt stained cheeks as she listens to him being tortured. With every yell her heart breaks and for the first time in her life she wishes she was dead.

She doesn't remember when she passed out or how long she was out for. All she feels when she wakes is emptiness. She lies there for a moment, trying to recall what happened and why her body aches so badly. Then it hits her. Ron.

She sits up quickly and looks around frantically. His body lies prone on the cold floor. She searches for any sign of life, but can't find any movement. Oh god. He sacrificed himself for her. What if he was dead? What if he died in place of her?

"Ron," she whispers and when there is no response she tries again and again until she is practically screaming his name.

He stirs slightly and then moans. Her heart rate returns to normal and she is flooded with relief, which doesn't last for long. He turns around to face her very slowly. She gasps as she sees his face which is beaten to a bloody pulp. His left eye is swollen shut and there is a trail of dry blood coming from his nose.

"Ron," she gasps.

She wants so badly to touch him. To lay his head in her lap and run her fingers soothingly through his hair. She wants more than anything to hold him, and to make his pain disappear.

"Are you okay?" He sputters, looking disoriented and groggy.

"Am I okay? Who cares about me, you're the one who's hurt."

"I care about you," he says in a deep tone that sends chills down her spine. "Besides I'm fine." He winces as he says this and she laughs at him.

"Could have fooled me."

He chuckles lightly which sends him into a violent fit of coughing. She swears she sees blood when he wipes his mouth as the coughing subsides. His face is ashen and he looks as if he is on the brink of death. His breathing becomes more labored and his face contorts in pain.

"Ron, tell me about your favorite birthday."

"My birthday?

"Yes"

He blinks at her, confused, but complies.

"I was 7 and everyone, but me and dad had some kind of stomach thing. Mum wouldn't let us in the house so dad and I decided to go camping."

She watches as his eyes close and a slight smile splays across his face. She listens to him talk for hours, the memories transporting them both away to a happier time and place.

Hermione wonders what it feels like to be a zombie and she concludes that it must not be very different from how she feels now. She often checks her pulse, just to make sure she is still alive. Day after day a numbness spreads through her body, until she no longer feels the pains of starvation, or boredom, or any of her multiple physical ailments. A silence grows between them and very soon words feel foreign on her lips. She tries to remember what human touch feels like, but her memory is hazy. It's just a matter of days now, a matter of days before they both disappear.

They lay down cheeks to the floor staring at each other. She notices how his skin has a translucent appearance to it. His eyes are hollow and empty, mirroring his soul. He stares at her intently, as if memorizing every aspect of her. She can only imagine how absolutely hideous she looks yet he is looking at her with something akin to desire. They don't say anything for the longest time, his coughs the only thing that breaks the silence. She knows he's dying. She knows it could only be a couple of days, maybe even hours before he is gone. She also knows, that she will be close behind, following him into darkness.

"I love you."

She wonders if she's heard him right, if he's finally saying those words she's longed to hear for so long. His eyes are still trained on her. By the look on his face, she knows he said it and she knows he means it.

"I love you too. I always have and I always will."

They both smile. Both content. Both at peace.

She is woken up once again by the metal door flinging open. This time she is not filled with fear, but with relief. Perhaps, they can put them out of their misery. They have suffered enough. What she doesn't expect is Draco's face peering at her through the darkness. He looks terrified, his eyes darting around frantically.

"Draco?" He doesn't venture in, but stands frigid in the doorway.

"We're leaving you to die," his voice cracking slightly. "There won't be any more food or water." He looks frantically over his shoulder before raising his wand and muttering "Alohomora". After repeating the incantation on Ron's sleeping frame he backs away quickly form the door, bolting it shut.

She doesn't waste any time. She begins to crawl over to him, her muscles weak and fatigued. She manages to prop herself against the wall and slowly reaches her hand out to touch his face. Her touch on his face is tentative and gentle. He stirs as her bony fingers trail across his fevered forehead. When he opens his eyes he smiles up at her.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"How?"

She doesn't waste the precious words they have left explaining how the good in Draco won out. Instead she puts her finger to his cracked lip and shakes her head.

"Come here love."

She obeys, lying down on the floor facing him. His hand reaches out and his thumb brushes against her cheek lightly. She mimics his actions. Their touches are so calculated and precise. His fingers leave trails of fire everywhere they touch. Each touch is amplified and her senses are assaulted by even the faintest whisper of his breath on her skin.

Amidst the darkness they study each other. He touches every part of her face, as if memorizing every pore and freckle. He licks his lips and cradles her head in both hands. Slowly, he leans in until his lips brush gently against her. He pulls back after a second, a grin spreading across his ashen face.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

She beams back at him. "I think I do."

He lays an arm across her waist and pulls her closer to him. She snuggles up against him as he buries his face in her hair.

"God, I love you Hermione."

Tears flow freely down her face, pooling on his tattered shirt.

"I love you too, Ronald Weasley."

They don't fall asleep, both too afraid to miss even a second of their remaining time together. They don't talk about what is to come, but it is at the forefront of their mind. Instead they whisper things they never had the courage to say to each other. Their words are sweet and loving. Their caresses tell each other things that words cannot express. The clock is ticking. Their time is running out.

When it happens it is painless, almost peaceful. They whisper to each other, but they don't say goodbye because they both know that this isn't the end, but rather, the beginning. They exhale their final breaths in symphony, their hands clasped tightly together, ready to face what lies ahead.