A/N: Uh, where to start... This thing came from a conversation with a few Tumblr buddies, wherein the words "angry sex" and "horcrux hunt" kind of... were part of the same paragraph. I realize that's borderline insane, and my attempt to spit out what I imagined that to be got quite, quite dark. Maybe the darkest thing I've written. But there will be a part two, in case you feel like shit when you get to the end...

I also just want to say that in no way should you take these words and Ron's actions as me thinking he's a bastard. He's not. He's the best. He's my favorite. He's beautiful. The locket is a son of a bitch. And this is pretty much AU, so... enjoy if you can, escape now if you feel apprehension. Be gentle? Unlike Ron... and kind of Hermione... *clears throat*

Oh, one last thing - shout out / thanks to callieskye for "midges."

I (Don't) Need You
Part One

His trousers were soaked to the knees. How long had he been following them, through the weeds?

A cool drizzle misted the air, had done for hours, surely. His stomach grumbled. He thought of his brothers, his mum, his dad, his sister... shoved them away, far away.

Chewed fingernails clawed at his neck as he scratched a patch of midge bites raw. His boots squelched in the mud, and the locket was heavy, metal held separate from the skin of his chest by threadbare cotton.

The monochrome gray sky reflected in a pool of clear water as they reached a tree line, his sodden hair plastered to his forehead, tufts behind his ears. He hadn't noticed her slowing down, syncing her pace with his as Harry led them toward a winding, overgrown path.

"You should give it to me now," she said in a small voice. Damn her voice... like he could break, like he was fragile.

"M'fine," he said too roughly, regretting his tone as her forehead creased, looking away from him.

"Oi," Harry called over his shoulder, "up here."

Their noisy footsteps on crunchy leaves and branches filled the space he could have used to say more. A part of him was glad. Another part couldn't watch her jumper ride up anymore as she climbed through brambles, patches of silk-smooth skin-

"Ron, c'mon," Harry gestured, coaxing him out into a hidden clearing as Hermione dropped her bag, circling the perimeter.

Damn Harry, too.

He tried to clear the cobwebs from his mind, helping Harry with the tent. Who was he blaming, really?

Hermione finished the wards before they'd got the tent done, so she crouched and started a small fire, charming the smoke from traveling into the trees overhead. Ron trudged to the edge, retrieving her bag for her where she'd left it, and he returned to tower over her hunched form, extending his hand as she looked up. Her eyes watered as she reached to take it from him.

"Thanks," she mouthed, and was he imagining her lingering touch against his hand?

A gust of cold air blew through their space, and his hair whipped across his face, returning his attention to Harry.

"I'll find dinner," Ron said, but Harry halted him with a hand to his forearm.

"Locket."

His odd hesitation to comply began to dissipate as he felt Hermione stand behind him, eyes on the back of his head. He nodded once and removed it, looping the chain over Harry's outstretched hand.

His bunk was cold, the fire had died, Harry was taking watch outside. Their canvas walls swayed like the hull of a ship, and he reckoned the rain would never stop.

She was reading by lantern light, back toward him, on the sofa. She tapped her foot anxiously against the leg of the table in front of her, and he saw that ruddy chain as she swiped her hair away from her neck, over her shoulder, sniffing. She'd had it too long.

He slid out of bed, ignoring his low-riding pyjamas, foregoing a shirt. He shivered, on cue, rationalising he was underdressed... he should find her bag and his jumper. But he was too close, viewing a text of heavy black ink on tea-stained pages, frayed at the edges, over her shoulder.

She sucked in a breath as his fingers touched the back of her neck.

"Shouldn't read that dark magic rubbish with it on."

She turned to glance up at him.

"You shouldn't sleep with it. Harry-"

"-needs a break."

She couldn't argue further, or she lacked the energy. She closed her eyes, and he moved around the sofa to face her properly.

"Don't think I care?" he challenged her, a furrowed brow angling up from her tired face in response. "Harry's watching, you're reading, I'm taking the bloody horcrux."

Her eyes suddenly flicked down his half-naked body, her lips parted... as if seeing him for the first time just then. He recognised this look from a deep concentration on her work, interrupted. Nothing more. Couldn't be.

"Hermione-"

She stood abruptly, cutting down his next words as she reached for the chain around her neck, tugging it over her bushel of tangled hair, a shaky hand offering it to him.

"I should get you a jumper. You'll catch cold," she said, as he took the locket and slipped it over his own head.

A cloud lifted, strangely. He could see the dark circles under her eyes more clearly, the way she didn't quite meet his gaze.

"M'fine," he said hoarsely, turning back toward his bed, climbing in and settling on his side, away from her.

But he could hear the tick, tick, tick of his watch, and it mesmerised his softly dying sensitivity. He flipped to his back, seeking her image in the lantern glow.

She was still standing, facing away from him, and he convinced himself he couldn't hear her crying.

"Ron, shh."

He'd woken to a chill, mumbling something he couldn't recall. She was sitting on the edge of his bunk, in velvet dark. He could just barely make out her eyes as she reached for his injured arm, carefully sliding the thin cotton band serving as a sling off his shoulder.

"I have to check it."

He turned toward her, automatic in his half-asleep state. She smiled and touched his skin so gently that his eyes fluttered shut again, despite the locket.

The locket.

He opened his eyes quickly and reached up with his good arm to feel the metal against his chest, directly.

"Don't like it on your skin," she whispered, eyes completely averted now, on the pretense of checking his splinched shoulder, peeling back his bandage.

"Help me with a shirt?"

She sniffed, nodded, and wrapped a new piece of cotton around his injury, methodically. Once done, she reached overhead to tug down a plain white shirt, hanging off the top bunk.

He sat up halfway, stomach concaving as he pushed his weight to his good elbow.

He didn't really need her help, a little voice faded in at the back of his mind. He was taking advantage of everything.

But she bunched thin cotton in her fists and gestured for him to duck his head through the neck hole. Static attacked his shaggy hair, sending it spiking at random angles as he emerged. Sitting the rest of the way up, he slipped his good arm easily through the right side, shifting his left shoulder as she silently held his wrist and guided his other arm through. She helped him with the narrow sling again, finding a relatively comfortable position.

"Cheers," he said through an exhale, as he lowered himself to his back again.

She reached without explanation, for the locket. Out of deeply buried instinct, he snatched her wrist, startling her to gasp and flick her eyes to his.

"I was just moving it for you…" she began in a shaky voice.

His heart was beating much too close to the locket, and he released her, understanding and trying to look as apologetic as he could in the dark, without speaking.

Eyes still holding his gaze, she lifted both hands to his shirt collar, tugging the chain out from between cotton and goosefleshed skin.

"You can go back to sleep now," she said softly, moving to stand, but he grabbed her forearm, his long fingers wrapping around the wool of her jumper sleeve.

He realised, immediately, that he had nothing to say. But she stared back at him, not asking for an explanation.

"Hermione?" Harry's distant voice called out for her, and she slipped her arm from Ron's loosening grip.

"What is it?" she called back, heading for the tent flat without looking back.

She doesn't need you. They… don't need you.

Worthless.

Worthless.

Worthl-

She'd been watching him as he moved in his sleep. A subtle shake of his head against his pillows, and she suspected bad dreams. She'd had them, too. Too often.

From her bunk, she could see his face, upside down. She'd moved her pillow to the end closest to his head, lying on her stomach, propped on her elbows.

His lips parted, his arm twitched, he rolled his head to the side.

She held her breath, a garbled word exhaled from him.

"Wrthlss."

She narrowed her eyes, unable to understand. But she only needed to know one thing - it had been too long. Sod him. She was taking control.

She slid out of bed and moved to hover over him, deep and lost in uncomfortable sleep.

"Just try to stop me…" she whispered, fingertips feather light on his neck as she twisted the chain so slowly, looking for the clasp. Finding it, she unhooked it, feeling him move. His hand clenched halfway into a fist… before relaxing.

She tugged the unfastened chain out from behind him, snatching the locket in her palm and closing her fingers around it.

Worthl-

He was suddenly standing in a large, open field, alone. The sun was shining brilliantly, lighting his copper hair on fire.

His feet were bare, warm grass blowing against his toes and shins.

His pulse was slowing down, vision fading to pleasant amber…

Eyes. Someone's eyes. Watching him.

He blinked and found her, corkscrews of curls around her face, draped over her shoulders… the only beckoning image now in a sea of rolling clouds.

He woke to post-dawn light striking his eyes through the open tent flap. He could hear Harry and Hermione speaking softly outside. The locket-

-was missing.

He sat up quickly, haze of sleep receding as he shuffled out of bed, heading toward her voice.

"Ermynee," he called as he stepped into harsh light. The storm had stopped… for now.

She was sitting on a rock, holding a mug of tea, steam still swirling from the amber liquid as she glanced up over her shoulder at him.

Amber eyes.

"You alright?" Harry asked him, turning to face him, too. Sitting close to her… close.

"Yeah, where's the locket?"

Hermione touched her chest at the centre and he saw it, gleaming up at him.

"When'd you-"

"While you were sleeping. It was giving you bad dreams."

"How do you know?"

She shrugged, self-conscious.

"I could tell."

Words of gratitude tried to surface - she wanted to help - but Harry stood before he could get them out.

"We should move again, tomorrow," Harry suggested, brushing his hands down the thighs of his jeans as he straightened up.

He moved to pass Ron and go back inside, but Ron followed with a long stride, clutching Harry's elbow. Hermione turned her back to them, sipping her tea. Ron leaned in close to Harry's ear…

"She needs to sleep. She's wearing it too much."

"Says the same about you," Harry whispered back, directing Ron deeper into the tent, fully out of Hermione's earshot.

"She's the one sorting what the hell we're doing. She's stretched too fucking thin up all night reading, worrying about us…"

"She thinks she's fine."

Ron almost rolled his eyes.

"Bollocks. Harry, honestly… you don't notice like I do."

"Cheers."

"S'not your fault, exactly… but we've gotta get it off her."

"Good luck. She wouldn't let me have it this morning."

He sighed, frustrated.

"What the hell am I even for then if I can't wear a fucking necklace while she saves our arses?"

"You've got loads of-"

"Here." Hermione's hand shot into his line of vision, chain dangling from her fingers.

He winced, shocked at her proximity. But he took the locket quickly, before she could change her mind.

"I'll make breakfast," she said, disappearing through the tent toward the tiny kitchen.

Harry raised an eyebrow up at Ron.

"That went well," Harry said hopefully, as Ron slid the long chain over his head.

"Yeah… maybe…"

He considered her carefully, quickly tumbling down a familiar, swirling tunnel of doubt.

He'd worn the bloody thing all day. Thunder crashed overhead, and Harry had charmed his glasses to keep from getting them wet as he moved toward the tent flap.

"Hermione," he called out, as she stooped to retrieve her pyjamas from her bag, "I've got first watch."

"I'm on second, Harry," she called back, as Harry slipped outside, lightning illuminating the gray clearing beyond.

"Oh, that's alright," Ron started, a bit spitefully, "just don't bloody wake me up at breakfast 'cause you forgot to switch with me."

She straightened up sharply, surprising him with her glare.

"What do you want, Ron? I gave you the damn horcrux! You've got a bloody splinched arm!"

"What's that matter?"

She groaned with sheer frustration.

"Don't you get it?!"

Eyes darting to the tent flap, she snatched her wand from her bunk and waved it furiously toward the slight opening, sealing it and silencing them from Harry.

"I'm trying so hard to make it alright, to get you home, I-"

"Get me home? I'm not fucking lost! I came out here by choice, same as you!"

Her lip quivered, and he hesitated, rage flowing freely but a small wall erected to keep it from tumbling over the absolute edge.

"You were shivering, in your sleep! You could have a fever, infection… your arm looked alright last night, but I- I can't lose you, and Harry, too! We might all die out here, but yes, I'm selfish. I want to go first. I won't make it w-without you."

"That's a load of rubbish! We thought Dumbledore told Harry exactly what to do. Well, he didn't. He gave you a bleeding children's book and let us fend for ourselves. He willed it to you 'cause he knew you'd sort it out while I was pratting around and Harry was brooding over his bloody scar."

"That's not fair, to either of you."

She twisted the shirt and pyjama trousers she was holding in her delicate hands.

"I really don't give a shit about fair," Ron continued, voice low and distant to his own ears.

Worthless.

He shook his head suddenly, a single word echoing deep.

"Ron?" she stepped closer, concern flashing across her face.

He ignored her, resuming.

"Fair would be you having your parents back-"

She flinched.

"-Harry living a normal fucking life, us all eating bloody Hogwarts feasts every day. So, no. It's not fair. But it doesn't matter! Fair'd also prob'ly be me being honest with you, but why the bloody hell should I start now?"

"Honest…" she repeated, face softening.

"You don't need me."

She forced out a heaving breath.

"Says who?"

Good question.

Says… me.

She stepped closer, absently dropping her clothes to the sofa.

"Harry needs you, to finish it," Ron said.

"And he needs you."

They… don't need you.

"Stop taking care of me," he said sharply, abruptly tugging his loose cotton sling from his arm, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the floor.

"Ron, don't-"

"You know why I think you don't want me wearing this?" He clutched the locket in his fist. "'Cause you think I'm weak. You've got to protect me."

"I want- Ron, I want to protect you! That's not the same thing." Her eyes were welling quickly. He should stop.

He couldn't stop.

"You're not my mum."

"W-Why are you doing this?" she cried, tears splashing down her face.

He wasn't supposed to hurt her. He fucking loved her.

He shook his head. This wasn't him. The words he'd heard himself say stung his ears. Her vest was thin… too short. He wanted to touch her. He wanted-

She silently sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself.

She doesn't need-

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

-you.

She swiped an angry hand across her eyes, huffing out an impatient breath.

Go home. Leave them. Leave her.

"No…" he muttered, and his hand was suddenly on her face, brushing tears away swiftly.

She froze, holding her breath and his gaze.

"Need to make you feel… better," he said, almost under his breath.

She shivered, very visibly. It wasn't quite dark enough to hide the curves of her body from his eyes, hungrily finding her pulse point, tracing the outline of her neck, down the centre of her chest to the light blue of her vest. He dropped his hand away from her face, unsure.

"I… I thought maybe… we'd be able to figure each other out here," she almost whispered. "I'm so… Ron, I'm so scared. You think I know everything. Well, I don't. I got you splinched. We barely have a plan. Harry's scar is… I don't know if we can do this much longer."

"But we will, for him."

Who are you? What can you offer that they can't find elsewhere, better-

"Of course we will. But I just… if we could talk, maybe if we could…" Her desperation shined bright in her eyes. "I think you know how I feel."

"Show me."

She hitched a startled breath.

"What?"

"Show me."

You'll learn. You're nothing, nothing-

He gripped her wrist, she exhaled an anguished whimper. What was he asking her, really?

His heart lodged in his throat. She leaned forward, tugged her wrist free from his grip, pressed both hands to his chest… kissed the corner of his mouth.

She dropped away from him as fast as she'd moved closer, but he couldn't let her go.

A rumbling growl rolled in the depths of his throat, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, ducking his head to press his mouth hard to hers. She squealed against his lips, tensing… before her arms flew around his neck.

All he could do was feel. There was a plague, inside, a darkness. But this… her lips, her hands on his chest, her warm body along the front of him...

What… the hell… was he playing at?

Least… you're the least.

He fisted a hand in her hair, drowning out the buzzing in his mind… opening his mouth to hers. She pressed her weight to him, unsteady on her feet.

She felt more incredible than he'd ever imagined. Pleasure coursed down his body, arousing him, her tongue tasting his bottom lip. He loved her. He loved-

I see… I see everything.

Not this. Please, please not this. This was his.

Mine.

"More," he mumbled against her mouth, and he only just realised she was shaking, furiously. They split apart, gasping in aching breaths, eyes roaming down each other.

Was it possible… could she want him? Could it be more than war and fear and desperation?

She reached for the hem of her shirt as he reached for his. They tore them over their heads, tossing them to the floor, meeting in the middle in a frantic haze of skin-to-skin, mouths colliding, one of her bra straps sliding off her shoulder as he dug his fingers deep into her hair. Her teeth clashed against his, and his erection pressed to her abdomen. He dropped a hand to her lower back, squeezing tighter, pressure increasing between them.

"Table," she panted into his mouth.

He took a step forward, pushing her back until her arse hit the edge of the rough wood tabletop.

You're afraid. I've seen it. I know.

He shook his head wildly, locket resting heavy on his sternum as he lifted her off the floor, to the edge of the table. A bolt of lightning shot through his injured arm, muscle tensing too tight. He grimaced, swearing nonsense under his breath. She gasped, reaching out for him.

"Don't use your arm! You'll hurt yourself more-"

"M'fine," he interrupted, moving in closer.

Her legs dangled over the edge of the table, one sock hanging off the end of her foot. But though she hesitated for a moment, brows knitted with concern, she dropped the subject and pulled him between her parted knees. Breathing in ragged gasps, she moved in for his lips again, teeth and tongues and hands in his hair. She grabbed his right hand, lowered it to her jeans zipper.

He pulled away from her, knelt immediately in front of her… She slid off the table again as he reached for her button, zipper… dragging it down. Her hands joined his, tugging denim off her hips, pooling to her ankles as she stepped out, clasping a hand around his neck as he looked up into her eyes. She ducked, claiming his lips as he held her, arms around her bare thighs.

Everything you want.

He had more than he deserved, just now. So much more.

He let her go, leaning in as he slowly stood, skimming the front of his half-naked body up her own until he reached her neck, sucking behind her ear as she arched back against the table again. He lifted her easily, hands under her arse, backing away again only to unfasten his belt, metal clanging as he worked his button and zipper free. She snatched his wand from his back pocket, but he hardly noticed. He'd lost some weight, evidently, out here… and his jeans slipped easily to the floor.

She tugged him between her legs with an ankle around the back of his thigh, aiming his wand over his shoulder.

"Accio," she said breathlessly, and her bag flew into her outstretched hand. She reached inside, withdrew a shiny potion vial, and downed the contents in one swallow.

Tossing everything, including his wand, carelessly to the floor, she reached for the elastic of his pants.

Mine.

"Fuckin' hell," he growled, fury boiling in his bloodstream. Sweat broke out across his chest, and he grabbed her hands away from his pants, tugging them down himself and kicking them aside, distantly registering her trembling gasp as he reached for her knickers, finding them completely soaked.

I know you. I know your dreams. She doesn't need y-

"Goddamn you," he slurred under his breath, and she searched his face, uncomprehending. He'd have been glad she'd not understood him, had his pulse not been racing, watching as she adjusted atop the table to pull her knickers down. Shaking.

Shaking too much.

He didn't have time to think about it, because she pulled him closer… too close, his erection between her legs, the perfect bloody height. She pressed a palm to the table behind her, ducked his head toward her, bit his ear lightly.

"Do it," she whispered. "If you want me, do-"

He clasped her hips in his hands and thrust inside of her.

She screamed, pulling his hair... hard. He winced with pain, pleasure simultaneously coursing through him, between them.

This is how it must feel for her, he reasoned, some rational part still left, trying to surface. Pain…

Pain…

"Worthless," he muttered, burying himself completely inside of her.

Her face suddenly morphed from passionate and overwhelmed... to horrified.

She-

"-doesn't want me."

"TAKE. IT. OFF." she shouted emphatically, pushing a hand hard to his chest.

His eyes bored into hers, heart pounding intensely against her palm.

She grabbed up the locket off his chest, closing her fist around it, eyes flashing from desire to mounting fear.

"RON. Take. it. off."

He wanted to obey, though a void cried out, distant. But he could fight it. He could still fucking fight, and he did.

He ripped the chain over his head… tossed the horcrux spitefully to the floor. And the room settled around him, suddenly quiet.

The only things he could hear, then, were the incessant beating of his heart and her unsteady breathing.

He pressed a trembling hand to the tabletop, gloriously free of that creeping, tempting darkness.

The words were lost. She brushed sweat-damp hair from his forehead.

"Don't stop now," she said softly, and he looked at her… really looked. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She moved her legs, locked her ankles around his waist.

But it was too late.

"I… can't…" he half-sobbed.

He laid a hand gently on her thigh and backed away from her. Sniffing, he wiped the back of his hand across his face, suddenly very aware of how much his splinched shoulder was burning.

He bent, avoiding her gaze, and he retrieved her shirt from the floor, moving forward again only to hand it to her.

"I'm sorry. So fucking sorry."