A/N: Originally published 09/17/2011 for The Missing Moment challenge at The R/Hr Love

As always, zillions of thanks to my beta Urbanmama for being a rockstar

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

(If you happened to read this on 11/03/11 I had accidentally uploaded the un-beta'ed version and didn't notice until now. The story was missing a whole lot of stuff... so I'm super sorry, but thanks to the people who left awesome reviews anyway!)

29 December, 1997

She isn't sleeping. She got off watch hours ago, and she's supposed to be sleeping.

It's not even that she has nightmares. She has very pleasant dreams. Too pleasant. Beach holidays, her parents, fresh fruit, Ron. Ron. Ron everywhere. It made her reality seem like it was the true nightmare.

Is it possible to be numb and emotionally volatile at the same time? Hermione Granger feels like she's going insane. And she doesn't even have a Horcrux to blame it on anymore.

She climbs silently out of bed, feeling restless. Despite the warming charms in the tent, she can feel the frozen ground beneath her feet. Has winter always been this cold?

Her hair is a disaster. All the cleansing charms in the world couldn't untangle this frizzy mess. She hasn't washed it properly in over a month. The last attempt had gone horridly, the frozen water too much for her warming charms, which were mostly useless when she was chattering so terribly. The soap had frozen in her hair leaving it worse than before. She's done her best to pull the unruly mats into a neat plait, but even that's lumpy and lopsided. The bushy, brittle ends scrape against her back like tree branches.

She thinks maybe she's experiencing some type of hormonal imbalance. It feels much worse than PMS, and besides, she hasn't menstruated much this winter. Too thin, too stressed to support another life. Process suspended.

Her hipbones stick out impossibly far; they seem to have found every sharp corner in the tent. The sharp pain that courses through her bones makes her swear unexpectedly. She secretly loves the way her voice sounds wrapped around a swear word. She wonders if Ron would like it too.

He's been back for three days now, but nothing feels any better than it did when he was gone. But Ron is different. He's much kinder, and he never whinges like before. When he catches her eye, he smiles warmly and looks at her intently, as if he's waiting for her to answer a question he hasn't asked.

She walks quickly across the dim room to the rickety stove, pulling her jumper sleeves down over her hands. She reaches underneath for the box of teabags Ron nicked from a pub. The day he'd returned with Harry, Ron had dumped out his knapsack revealing a loaf of crusty bread and a box of tea. He bragged to Harry that the muggle pub owner had never even seen him - he was that fast. He would have paid, but he didn't have any pounds, he said in Hermione's direction – not that she was paying attention to every word out of his mouth. The three of them had torn apart the bread and treated it like their Christmas feast. Hermione had scowled at Ron, feeling complicit in his crimes. But the new feeling of fullness in her stomach had given her something else to think about for a few hours. She takes out her wand and whispers Aguamenti to fill the kettle with water and she can feel his presence.

"Would you mind putting on enough water for me to have a cuppa? "

She nods, unable to use her voice.

He crosses the room so that he's standing right behind her, but she doesn't turn around.

"So, how much longer should I expect you to give me the silent treatment?" he asks lightheartedly.

She will not answer that question.

Of course she's still angry. It makes her feel incredible guilt, but still, she's angry. Angry with Ron, a bit with Harry, but mostly at herself. Since the moment he returned, she's wanted to throw her arms around him and press her cheek into the spot on his chest where it fits so perfectly. But she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. And frankly, she doesn't feel she deserves the satisfaction either.

She feels Ron sigh deeply behind her.

"Will it ever be like before?"

She most certainly will not answer that question.

Hermione tried her best for weeks not to think about before. Before she spent weeks crying until she made herself sick. She spent every moment knowing she was to blame.

She hated to admit it, but Harry's turn on watch -– particularly if he had the locket - had been the only thing she looked forward to after their escape from the Ministry. Everything around them was a nightmare, but a third of the time it was just the two of them. She would sit close to Ron's side while he fiddled with his radio, she would fuss over his arm, he tried to make her laugh, and they bickered over her pathetic attempts at cooking, and how much Molly had coddled him.

And then he left because of her.

It had been a particularly hard night, early in November. Everyone was hungry, starving even. Harry was in a crap mood. He'd snapped at her for something that wasn't her fault before slamming that bloody Horcrux onto her neck. It wasn't particularly harsh, not warranting a scene. But the moment the dark magic rested against her chest there was nothing else to do but drop to the floor in a heap of tears. Ron had scooped her up easily despite a still-shaky arm. He sat them both in the threadbare armchair that sat in the middle of the tent. She tucked her face as deep into his neck as she could, breathing him in while his strong hands stroked her spine and traced circles on her knees.

"Sometimes, I just want to leave." She confessed in a whisper.

"Then we'll go." He agreed. She sat up slightly to look into his eyes, they were dangerously serious.

"Where will we go?"

"It doesn't matter." He answered quickly, "But I'll keep you safe."

He pressed his lips softly into the skin under her ear and it made her shiver, yet fills her body head to toe with warmth. She wanted to kiss him, really kiss him, but she couldn't. She quickly flashed her eyes to the front of the tent, the shadow of Harry's bundled form. Ron noticed this and rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why she didn't want Harry to see them like this. The scowl on his face made the metal on her skin seem to shake and burn. She jumped off his lap as quickly as she could untangle their legs. She had stomped away from him and flung herself into bed.

He left, without her, not five days later.

The kettle's whistle shakes her out of her memories, and she realized Ron is patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

"Do you want to take a walk or something? Get out of this tent for a minute?"

Oh, he's very clever. Surely he's trying to remind her of the first kiss they shared. That is what he's thinking about isn't it? She should know; It's one of the only things she ever thinks about.

She was sitting on a stump at an awkward angle to avoid getting splinters in her thighs. The morning was cool and the sun was streaming through the trees. The light caught Ron's hair just right and the copper strands were almost blinding. His arm still looked terrible though. She was carefully dabbing a salve into the deep wounds. She sniffled loudly, trying in vain to hold back the tears that were already starting to fall.

Ron huffed, "Come off the guilt would you? You saved us, Hermione, that's all that matters."

"But-" she began, but suddenly his lips were pressed to hers. They were warm and soft, and Hermione was frozen. Her brain finally clicked into place and she leaned into him just a bit, his bottom lip slipping in between hers. Before she could think to pull him any closer he was already pulling away from her. It was over much too fast.

"Sorry." He smiled in a way that showed he wasn't sorry in the slightest.

She was shocked, slightly sad that she hadn't been touching him hardly at all.

"We can't do that again." She blurted. It was the last thing she wanted to say.

"Sure."

"I mean it Ron. We have to focus-"

But he had already started walking back through the woods.

She had the impulse to grab his hand and turn him around. Throw her arms around his neck and kiss him long and hard. Let him know she didn't mean a word she said. But she didn't. She regrets it every day. She'll do it someday. She hopes it can be soon.

He's standing so close to her now she can feel his toes touching the backs of her heels and his hot breath in her ear. He isn't going to give up today. This Ron Weasley is different. She can't be sure if it's the overwhelming exhaustion or that she's tired of pretending she's stronger than this, but she leans back fully into his chest. She waits for him to tense up, to step away, and instead she finds his long arms wrapping themselves all the way around her. Hermione feels her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she takes a deep breath and allows him to envelop her.

For a brief moment there is peace. She is warm, comfortable, safe.

Suddenly his voice interrupts the silence, "You know why I never sleep at night?" even though he's barely whispering, his voice rumbles through her body. Hermione struggles to turn around and see his face. She has to stop him before he says something. She could barely handle polite tea talk. A sharp look will stop him, maybe a slap on the cheek, but he keeps his tight hold . "Because I have nightmares that you die before I get to tell you-"

"Ron!" it's meant to be a stern warning, but comes out a whispered sob.

"I just want you to know-"

Hermione jerks violently, suddenly claustrophobic, she can't talk about this.

She can feel him starting to back away from her.

No! Don't leave! I don't want that either!

Her fingers dig tightly into his forearm. "Please." She whimpers. It's the only thing she can think to say, even though she's not sure what she's asking of him. She breaks down, folding his arms further her body again. Her sobs shake the both of them.

"Tell me what to do."

Hold me forever, she thinks. "Let me go back to bed."

"Is that what you really want?"

"No. Of course it isn't." she pulls his arms away from her and immediately mourns their warmth. She turns quickly, but wont look up to meet his eyes. Instead, she chooses a jagged line in the floor beneath his feet. "It's what we need to do Ron."

She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. His pajama bottoms are much too short. She turns back to the stove before he can say anything else. Maybe if she ignores him he'll finally stop torturing her with his newfound maturity. She reaches for a cup with shaky hands.

Ron hasn't moved.

She slams the cup down on the creaky metal and reaches for another.

He takes a step.

The tears are coming back quickly.

"Don't." she barely manages to get it out, and still he takes a step closer and runs his palm down her arm. Suddenly the feeling of his touch fills her with desperate panic, "Don't touch me Ron!" the weight of actually saying the words aloud crumbles her, and her shoulders begin to shake with heavy sobs.

"Don't do this, Hermione. I'm not going to just stand here and watch you cry."

"Try." She responds curtly, still not turning to see his face.

Her mouth tastes like poison. He loves her with everything he has, she knows this now as certainly as she knows she loves him too. All she'd have to do is tell him she feels the same way, and he'll never leave her again. But she won't. She'll stay frightened, sobbing by the stove while he looks on helplessly.

"Hermione are you all right?" But it's not Ron; it's Harry, who's climbing into the tent.

"She burned her hand on the kettle." Ron answers. She's grateful for the little lie.

"I'm fine." She squeaks out.

"Well, try to be more careful." Harry yawns as he lands heavily on the camp bed. His eyes close instantly. His glasses remain lopsided against his face. He has no reason to believe she didn't burn herself. Hermione is almost positive that Harry understands her feelings for Ron, but they still haven't given him a reason to say anything to them about it. And besides, Harry is hopelessly distracted every minute of the day.

Even on the day that Ron got splinched, when Hermione had instantly crawled in beside him as soon as they had moved him to the bed in the tent. Harry looked as if he couldn't even see them, scrambling to get out of his ministry clothes, his eyes fixed nervously at the tent entrance, his wand gripped tightly. She tucked herself behind Ron, who was lying on his side, barely conscious and moaning slightly. She managed to stop crying when she realized how much it was shaking the bed, causing Ron more pain. She carefully curved herself around his back, her palm flat against his still bare chest. She spent hours that way, just feeling his chest rise and fall, assuring her he was still here. She didn't dare sleep. She had to keep him alive. And mostly, she worried she'd never get a chance to be this close to him again.

When Harry had come back inside a few hours later, looking haggard and worried, he told her he'd keep a close eye on Ron. It was her turn to huddle in the darkness, wait for trouble to arise. Harry reached for her hand to help her out of the bed. She waited to see some sort of smirk on his face, maybe even confusion. But he was just looking at Ron's bloody arm, his eyebrows knitted together and face as pale as ever.

That was the day the fear really set in. Maybe they would all die here.

"It's my watch now." Ron says and she instinctively turns to face him. He catches her eyes, and his stare is intense. He reaches for her wrist and pulls her hand to his mouth, his eyes still never leaving hers. He presses his lips firmly on her imaginary burn. Her whole body is on fire.

"I hope that feels better soon."

He turns from her to grab his trousers and a jacket from the floor, and Hermione is left stroking the place where his lips had been just seconds ago. She wants to feel better soon. She wants to cling to him desperately and revel in his love. She wants to feel their skin pressed together and hear him profess his love out loud. She wants so many things. She wants Ron Weasley.

But not until they're safe.

Not until he can promise her he'll never leave, not until she can tell him her heart has chosen him every day for years.

But Harry's war is their responsibility too, and until it's over, and they're free, she'll just have to keep dreaming of their next kiss.