Shell Cottage 3

The next few days passed too quickly. Ron felt heavy, as if he had slept only an hour or so. The house was eerily quiet even during the day. Nobody wanted to talk about much of anything. At night the unfamiliar sound of the ocean's waves attracted much of Ron's attention, keeping him from sleep. He was haunted by flashes of the falling chandelier; images of its impact upon Hermione's small frame. The memory of her screams regularly ripped him from his sleep, sweat-covered and heaving. Hermione made progress but was clearly frustrated at her pace. Much to her dismay, Ron tried to keep her from doing too much too soon. She angrily told him she wasn't fragile to which he responded "yes you are". Perhaps she was too tired to argue further because she reluctantly spent most of the last forty-eight hours sitting up in bed, gazing out the tiny window toward the sea. She seemed to be focused on something although her eyes were completely still. It was a chilling sight for Ron who couldn't help but wonder about Neville's parents, locked away in St. Mungo's forever. Did they carry the same distant stare? He offered to find a few of Fleur's books but Hermione kindly refused.

Ron groaned loudly as he sat up in the uncomfortable armchair. He must have dozed off. He twisted and turned to crack his bones and was surprised to see Hermione awake and in generally the same position. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How you feeling?" He asked gently, his voice heavy from rest. She didn't respond, only closed her eyes tightly. Ron pulled her into his arms, tucking her into his safe hug. "I've got you."

She didn't speak for several minutes and Ron wondered if she had fallen asleep. Without warning her quiet voice broke the silence. "Will you walk with me?"

He sighed. "Hermione, I'm not sure if…"

"Please," she spoke into his arm, "I need to get out of the house for a while."

Ron helped her back into her now cleaned and repaired clothes and the pair made their way down to the beach. He could smell the salt invading his nose. "You're doing really well." He offered her, encouragingly. She had laced her fingers through his and kept her other hand on his elbow for extra support but, for the most part, was holding her own weight and wasn't struggling with their moderate pace. Ron breathed a bit easier. The wind howled roughly in his ears and so he almost didn't notice her asking to stop at a large, smooth rock. She looked beautiful with the ocean breeze dancing in her hair. If she hadn't been so weakened he would definitely try and kiss her right now. Definitely. Instead he offered her hand a small squeeze and she smiled at him.

"We should talk."

Ron's heart sank. Every man was weary of those words. "What about?"

She looked at him obviously; her big brown eyes steady on his own.

"Hermione, there's not much to say."

"Are you struggling with it?" She asked. She almost died, she was still recovering and yet she was still so…Hermione. He didn't answer. "I heard you waking up last night."

Ron ran his hands through his hair roughly. He did not want to talk about it, he knew that much. Talking about what was looping through his head continuously would require reminding Hermione of the monstrosities of what she endured and he refused to do that to her. But she looked at him as if she wanted nothing more than to hear his version of things. Dammit. He sighed loudly.

"How did you do it, Mione?" He asked, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat.

"Do what?"

"How did you stay so brave? The things she did to you…" Ron stood, pacing.

"I…I wasn't brave, honestly. I don't remember trying to be brave. I'd like to tell you I was thinking of the mission, of the bigger picture but…" her breath hitched and she let out a small, desperate cry. Ron stopped pacing and knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her arms. He looked up at her face, crunched up with emotion. She continued, the tears falling from her eyes. "For some reason I could hear you in my head." Ron's heart stopped momentarily. He couldn't remember what his reaction had been that night. His actions were a lost memory, swept up by the visions and sounds of Hermione in danger. Harry had told him yesterday of how he had yelled for Hermione non-stop. Ron realized this must have been the voice she heard. Hermione continued, "I thought the longer that I stayed alive, the longer I could distract them from hurting you." Ron felt his own tears now and he pulled Hermione into a crushing hug. Between sobs she persisted. "I knew once she killed me that she'd move on to you. I…I heard her say it. So, I held on as long as I could for you."

He squeezed her tighter, willing his tears to stop but it was no use. Ron felt his breath spike and labor as he dampened her hair. "And then, I woke up and…and I saw you and I was so sure we had died and…for a second…that maybe we ended up together in some sort of afterlife and it wouldn't be so bad. Sounds silly now, I s'pose."

Before he could stop himself, Ron placed a few small kisses on her collar bone. "It's not silly, it's brilliant. You're brilliant. I wish I could be more like you, Mione. I want to be brave but I keep hearing that night in my head. I keep seeing you laying there and…it scares the shit out of me each time."

"I'm sorry." She said sadly.

He lifted his head from her neck. "No. Don't you dare tell me you're sorry." He paused for a moment, his arms running shakily up and down her back. "I didn't know you heard me get up last night. I'll be sure to sleep in downstairs tonight so I don't wake you."

"No." She choked. "No, I like having you there. I don't care if I wake up."

He nodded, grateful. "I just…I felt so helpless when they took me away from you. It was the worst I've ever felt in my whole life. At night it's worse. I keep reliving it in my head. Maybe if I just had done something…"

"Like what?"

"Anything!"

"Ron, there was nothing you could have done. All we can do now is be grateful that we've made it."

"That's just it, Hermione. Have we?" He pulled back to look at her. "I know I'm supposed to say that this will all be worth it, that any sacrifice would be worth it but…I almost lost you yesterday and… nothing it the world would make that better." He was almost sobbing now and for some reason, Hermione had stopped crying all together. He was beginning to think the two of them shared some natural duty to be strong while the other was weak. He watched as her knees dropped to the sand below her, mirroring his own stance. He wanted to tell her he was in love with her. He could feel the words dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm not sure what to say." Hermione groaned. "Thank you, for sure. You're the reason I'm alright. You saved me from the manor and you're keeping me from going insane right now." She smiled as best she could. She settled awkwardly in his lap, listening to the patter of his tears on her head.

"I just can't believe we made it, that you're alright and we made it. I'm afraid someone will tell me this isn't real; that you aren't real."

"I'm real, Ron."

Ron watched the ocean over her back and suddenly realized why Hermione had been so transfixed by it over the past two days. The ocean was huge, and he and Hermione sat on the edge of it as tiny and insignificant as could be. Yet, if needed, they could cross it. By broom, apparition, by Muggle boats or planes. Whatever it took to conquer it. For the smallest of seconds Ron knew they'd be alright.