A/N: I do not own anything in this story, except the plot. All characters, basic concepts, and the Harry Potter world belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Something Worth Fighting For

Chapter 1

Ron slammed into the hard-packed sand. He felt something fall out of his hands and realized that he had dropped Hermione from the impact of apparating onto the beach at Shell Cottage. Ron's vision suddenly went blurry; the only thing he could see was Hermione's pale, thin body, collapsed at his feet.

Ron immediately dropped to his knees and scooped up Hermione's fragile frame. He ran as fast as he could in the general direction of Shell Cottage. His ears were pounding, his breaths were ragged, and his lungs were burning. His thoughts were traveling a mile minute, a continuous stream of prayers and pleads:

Hold on 'Mione, we're almost there, keep fighting. Stay with me, please stay with me. Don't die. Oh God, please don't die. I don't know what I'll do if—

But at that moment, Ron reached the wooden door of Shell Cottage, which looked almost white in the milky moonlight. Because his hands were occupied by holding Hermione tightly to his chest, he started kicking the door as hard as he could, praying Bill and Fleur would come to the door and help him save his best friend.

The door whipped open. Bill, who was wearing a worn nightshirt and whose hair was disheveled from sleep, looked frazzled as he took in the sight before him.

"Ron, what are you-?"

Ron interrupted him and hurriedly made his way into the living room of the cottage.

"Bill, you've got to help me-" Ron said between ragged breaths, "Hermione—help—she's hurt—help—hurry!"

At that moment Fleur came rushing into the room. She was wearing a silk robe that made her look more iridescent and beautiful than her Veela blood already made her.

"Bring 'er upstairs. I 'ave potions dat weel help 'er. Quickly! In ze room you used when—"

She didn't even get the chance to finish. Ron bolted upstairs, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and his arms clutching Hermione's too-cold body against his. He kicked open the door to the spare room he had used when he had abandoned the horcrux hunt just weeks before. He looked around the room- at the open window near the bed where the sea breeze was blowing the thin curtains softly towards him. He also saw the neat white sheets of the bed he had tried to sleep in while he was away from the hunt. During those weeks, Ron couldn't force himself to sleep. His guilt, shame, and especially his thoughts about how much he had hurt Hermione…and Harry of course….. had continuously gnawed at his stomach, and he was always feeling too hollow and empty to fall into a slumber.

Ron snapped out of his reverie and briskly walked across the room, where he gently laid Hermione on the bed. He felt her neck for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Ron let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

Suddenly, the reality of everything that had just happened started crashing down on him. Ron lifted his hand to wipe fresh tears off of his cheek. Why? Why did this have to happen to them? Why did they have to be the ones to find the horcruxes and take down the most evil wizard known to the magical world? They've already been through so much hardship, and they were only barely adults. And why did it have to be Hermione who was tortured? Why couldn't it be him? Ron sobbed as he took Hermione's bloody hand in his. He would have done anything to not let this happen to her. He would have taken her place in a heartbeat. She was his rock, always the one telling him that everything was going to be all right, always telling him that there was a logical solution to everything.

He smiled as he thought of all the times she nagged him to do his potions essay before the day it was due, to stop stuffing his face with as much food as he possibly could. He thought of the way she would smile at him when she didn't think he was looking, and how he secretly enjoyed watching her cheeks flush pink whenever they got into another row.

His grip on Hermione's hand tightened as he thought of all the times he had hurt her. Ragging on her about Victor at the Yule Ball. Making her cry in their first year at Hogwarts, when she overheard him telling Harry she was a bushy-haired know-it-all who didn't have any friends. Seeing her tear-streaked face contort with rage as she sent a flock of angry birds at him. The sound of her broken voice, begging him not to leave her, which he did anyway. And tonight, her blood-curdling screams that tore his heart into a million pieces every time she was cursed. Every time he wasn't able to save her. Every time he wasn't able to take her place….

Ron's thoughts snapped back to the present as Fleur burst through the room, carrying a tray of what appeared to be healing potions.

She tossed a vial to him, and numbly, he caught it. It was a vial of Essence of Dittany, the same thing Hermione had used on him when he had splinched himself.

"Take zis," Fleur instructed, "Start applying it to all of ze cuts."

Ron did as he was told. He started dabbing all of the cuts on Hermione's arm with the Essence of Dittany and watched them heal into faint scars immediately. He moved onto Hermione's left arm and gasped when he saw the word Mudblood carved into her skin. A fresh set of tears streamed down his face as he tenderly started dabbing the medicine on the hideous insult Bellatrix had carved into Hermione's fair skin. As the wound scabbed up, Ron knew that the scar would never disappear, that Hermione would always have a constant reminder of the horrors of not only that night, but of the brutal war they had been fighting for so long.

After he finished applying the Essence of Dittany to all of the cuts he could find, he helped Fleur force a vial of potion down Hermione's throat.

"zis potion weel 'elp ze pain, and ze other weel 'elp wake 'er." She explained.

Ron suddenly heard shouting downstairs. Harry. How could he have forgotten Harry was down there too? A wave of guilt washed over Ron. Fleur stood up.

"I weel go down zere to make sure everything is alright." She handed Ron the other potion vial.

"Wait ten minutes before you give zis to 'er. It weel wake 'er up. Call me when she wakes, and I'll help 'er change into some clean clothes."

Fleur quickly floated toward the bedroom door. And just before she left the room, Ron was finally able to murmur a strangled "Thank you, Fleur."

In response, Fleur gave him a caring look he had never seen before. She flicked her bright eyes between Ron and the unconscious Hermione.

"I know you weel take good care of 'er." Was all she said before heading downstairs to help Harry, Dobby, and Griphook.