This will be my only trigger warning for Romione. I said from the start it'd happen! LOL.

Also, if you're in the Granger Enchanted Survivor's 18+ FB page, I'm being featured in a couple of hours for "Meet The Pename." If you'd like to know a bit more about me feel free to head over and check out the videos!

Special thanks to the admins for asking me and putting so much effort into the vids. Special, special thanks to SaintDionysus, who I believe has made a heap of aesthetics for my stories to be featured alongside my interview. I haven't seen them yet so I'll be just as surprised at you are!

Beta-love: Sandra-sempa X

Hermione wakes to the aches and pains of her tired body. Exhaustion has its reins wrapped firmly around her, pulling her in a tight embrace that is far from the comforts of a welcoming hug. Although she's not injured, her limited ability to move due to this enervation, is far less than she deserves. She vaguely remembers raised voices outside the tent a moment ago, one being the irate voice of Harry, the other - soft spoken in hushed tones too low to pick up. Nethertheless, they are arguing. It's pathetic of her, really, to be laid up on bed rest, for no apparent reason, other than the fact that she's tired, when her friend is missing/taken by Death Eaters on the eve of a Kill Order, one of which is rather lax about the death of blood traitors. The realisation hurts more than pain gnawing away at her aching bones.

She jerks herself into a sitting position, extending her arm to the bedside where she hopes to find her wand. Lacing her fingers around the thin wood, she mutters a lumosand is startled by Harry sitting in the chair opposite her bed. He's been waiting in the shadows, obviously mad, and the anger radiating off him is soul-crushing; the direct result of Hermione's actions has never triggered Harry's temper before. She knows she needs to explain but nothing she can say will fix this.

Peeling off the blanket draped over her, Hermione slips her legs out the side of the stretcher, her feet finding the cold, plastic tarped floor.

"Don't," her sudden movement is already too much for him. The guilt is back and takes on the form her best friend, his disdain unnerving her in a thousand ways. Sheshould have expected this…should have given the consequences more thought.

"Harry, I -" The way she says is name is almost as if she's pleading, who knew a name could be said with such regret. He doesn't look up at her upon saying it, but she can see the trails of tears rolling off his cheeks. Whether it be the betrayal of ignoring his order to stay behind, his missing girlfriend or both, there is no fight here. She merely has to accept whatever karma dishes out, even if that means the temporary loss of her best friend too.

The silence is deafening, and it only intensifies the gravity of her actions.

"Harry, I'm sorry" she manages to croak through her constricting throat. She's crying now too, but doing her best to hold back intermittent sobs.

Finally, his eyes glaze over her, bloodshot green, swimming dilated vessels pooled with simmering tears. Droplets of sheer agony yet to fall, threatening to spill over his cheeks and leave behind a trail of painful destruction.

"Just tell me why?" he mutters with resignation, his detachment is disheartening and it hurts her all the more.

"I don't have an explanation good enough to tell you why." Hermione considers pacing to avoid his questioning gaze.

"You're telling me it never crossed your mind that this was a huge risk?" His forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows furrow, his face laced with frustration. He stands curtly, pacing the end of her bed, each step making the weight of his woes fall heavier. "Did you ever step back and think maybe I should leave this one up to Harry? Did it ever occur to you that just this once, things had to be this way for a reason ?"

Hermione trembles in response to his distress, not having a clear answer for him, which she's knows is sure to aggravate him more.

"Yes, and No."

"What the fuck do you mean, yes and no? What kind of answer is that, Hermione? You're making it really hard for me to stay calm when in hindsight I want to -"

"- You want to what? Look Harry, we are ateam ! The three of us and you took away my choice. You made the decision to deny not only me, who has been by your side since we entered the magical world, but you also excluded Ginny. We are fighters, Harry, and stubborn Gryffindors at that. Can you honestly say you believed we would sit this one out and wait for you to come home?"

"Yes I did, Hermione, because I trust - I trusted you. Ginny is younger, you're supposed to know better. You're Hermione Jean Granger! You're not supposed to be reckless!"

"I am a Gryffindor ! Hastiness is in my nature, as it is yours! You can't ever expect that I'll sit by at any time and watch my friends do something life-risking without me by their side; if not to protect them, die alongside them, Harry. I can't and I won't , so screw you for asking that of me!"

The silence is back, ricocheting off them like deflected bullets failing to penetrate the heated debate. Harry sits in the chair at the end of her bed again, his head falling into his hands, rubbing the displayed anguish on his face with his fingertips. Hermione's chest is heaving, the strain of their argument taking it's toll on her being. She pauses, at war with herself once again; her past versus present colliding, causing havoc in her system in the form of what she knows is the right thing to say and what she wants to say.

"Harry, I should have thought twice...thrice. But you shouldn't have forced us to stay. Now, we could go on arguing or we can start implementing a way to figure out where she is and get her back. It's not your fault, Harry. I take full responsibility for my actions. Let me help."

"I agree," he removes his face from his hands to stare at her, his skin as pale as a ghost. "But as much as it pains me to say this, we have to prioritise the welfare of the people we have here. Ron is in a bad shape, we need more medical supplies and I need to give everyone the run down and decide how to proceed. If this is as bad as I think it is, then there's really no other way. I have to give orders to kill."

Unsure of what to say and scared to disagree, Hermione mutters the only question she can muster.

"Are you sure, Harry? Are you really sure?"

Harry nods once in confirmation, pausing before shaking his head as if he's internally debating his thoughts.

"We can't take prisoners, it's too dangerous. It's kill or be killed."

There it is. Words she fears most, kill or be killed; spoken like it's the only option they have for surviving. Having suffered so much loss already, anything to do with war and death is a not-so-sweet reminder of the sick game they are about to play. She sighs at the obvious - Harry knows it too. She almost resents Harry for the realisation, but the truth is, she understands. If things are really going to be as bad as they're predicting, than they need to be drastic too. If they need to go down this path, they can be smart about it.

Biting her lip, she puckers up the courage to voice her suggestion, the words escaping her lips with no hint of malice, which is surprising.

"If we set up a base away from here, we can take prisoners. It'll take some scouting and preparations but we can use this method to get information about Ginny. Just think about it some more, please. The situation is dire but it's our only shot."

Considering her words carefully, Harry gives Hermione a subtle nod of acceptance.

"I'll think about it before I speak to the others."

Relief floods Hermione, gushing from her wounds of betrayal like she's broken free from restraints.

"Thank you," she expresses sincerely before glancing at her feet in shame. "Do you think you can forgive me?"

Harry stares at her, leaving the pause between her question and his response long enough to make the fear for loss of friendship, residing in her, slowly creep up once more.

"Right now, I'm just really mad and disappointed in you - I don't hate you, I just need some time."

"I understand."

Harry stands, his unsteady feet taking him to the tent door. Before exiting he stops briefly to deliver a message, keeping his back to her, implying no change of heart.

"Ron has been asking for you… He wants to see you." His hands linger on the flap of the exit.

"Where is he?" asks Hermione at once, her previous feelings of rejection towards Ron dissipating as the tent doors billow in the wind.

As if he sensed the change in her, Harry drops his head over his shoulder, still avoiding her gaze.

"In the tent for magical mishaps and severe injuries."

"Okay," affirms Hermione with a nod. "If you need anything, please ask. I know you need some time, but I'll always be here for you, Harry." Her lips tremble, almost pleading.

Harry drops his head over his shoulder. "I know, Hermione," he murmurs in defeat as though he accepts her wanting to be there for him, but it'll never be enough. Not while Ginny is missing and Ron is injured.

He leaves her sitting on the side of the bed, contemplating their entire conversation on repeat, analysing exactly how mad he is at her. Each time their conversation replays, she is left feeling more broken and dejected. These feelings cling to her like a dementor latching onto memories, removing them from the ones she treasures most, leaving her for dead. Dementors don't exactly kill you, but Hermione can argue the metaphor, a life worth living is one filled with precious memories to hold onto, a life without the friendships of those you love the most isn't living at all.

As mentally and physically draining as it is, she can't let herself fall into the bottomless pit of doubt as it'll only drive her insane and hurt all the more. Still, she can't help but continue arguing with herself on the decisions she's made in the past few hours.

Shaking her head, Hermione decides she needs to be strong, if not for Harry than for Ron. At least he needs her. Summoning her shoes, she slips them on before trudging through the pitch black campsite to find the tent he is resting in.

The walk feels longer than the three minutes it took to get there, her feet aching from all the running shes done. On her arrival, Hermione doesn't delay entering the tent, knowing she can't avoid the inevitable.

Her heart sinks upon seeing him lying there, his face grimacing and contorting to reflect the pain of the injuries inflicted on him. Whatever hex Malfoy hit him with is a violent one at that, because she doesn't believe she's seen anything like it. The realisation daunts on her: this has to be a sick joke Malfoy's playing. How dare he point his wand at her like that, then turn it on Ron and follow through with some dark, ungodly hex. How fucking dare he imperius her! Ron was only trying to help and all she was trying to do was get to Ginny - to rescue her , he had no right in doing that!

Tonight, Hermione has battled so many conflicting emotions: anger, resentment, fear, hate, pain, heartache. She's beginning to feel like she has a role in some dramatic muggle soap opera, her life a daily episode, played blatantly for the entertainment for others.

She must have been standing in his doorway for a while because her thoughts are disrupted by coughing and spluttering.

"Herm - Hermione, is that you?" Stutters Ron croakily, his breathing raspy and breathless.

Hermione wants to rush forward, to be by his side, but for some reason she is held back by her fear of being judged by the only other person she cares about.

"It's me," she says dejectedly, her hands sliding up and down her arms to brush off the chill causing her skin to pimple, though it's mainly done for comfort than to ease the chilly air blowing into the tent. She raises her wand swiftly, and a quick swish of her wrist seals the door with ease, allowing heat to regenerate the room. Summoning courage from Godric-knows-where, Hermione walks towards him slowly, eyeing him cautiously to assess his wounds.

"I thought it was you… I can smell your perfume," admits Ron somewhat sheepishly.

Lighting the tent to see better, Hermione is in shock at the brutality of his injuries. Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes rake his bare chest… His bandages need changing, already soaked through with blood.

"Ron - what did he do to you?" She stutters intermittently between sobs. Rushing toward the trolley at his bedside she grabs a fresh pair of rubber gloves, pours ointment into a small steel bowl and starts placing bandage strips in it. Casing the trolley, she finds tongs, scissors and a knife. I won't be needing those, she says to herself before stepping closer to him.

Gently, her fingers trace over the bandages on his chest, she wants to help take away his pain. Tearfully, she allows her shaky hands to peel back the materials covering him. His chest rattles as he coughs and shudders, trying to hold in the scream that is threatening to make its release.

"Hermione, you - you don't have to do that."

She does. Of course she does. He's hurt because of her - because of Malfoy . She can't just let him suffer.

"I want to," is all she can muster as she makes herself busy tending to him.

Once his bandages are removed, she sees the full extent of his injuries. His pale chest, once lined with muscular abs; his stomach, once a snail trail of ginger hair, is now covered in purple bruises. Bloody bubbles are raised under his skin, some weird looking mutation that is unheard of even to her. She can see by the rise and fall of his chest, that his short, breathless pants of his breathing means his heart is beating erratically. Some of the bubbles have changed in colour: a sickly yellow, and the disgusting smell clearly indicates infection.

"Is your whole body like this?" Her brittle pitch cracks fearfully.

"No, just my chest. It's where the hex was absorbed." Weakly, he points to his heart, "straight through here."

Hermione nods in understanding.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt?"

"Infinity."

Hermione looks like she's about to chastise him for using the word infinity as a method of measurement before her common sense recognises what's really important - Ron is in excruciating pain and its her fault.

"Oh Ron, I'm - I'm so sorry!" She blubbered through sobs. She is now dipping a medical grade cloth in the bowl filled with a healing potion, carefully dabbing it over his chest.

He trembles under her touch, but not in a good way. She can tell by the sweat forming on his head that he's holding it in. Usually Ron's a whiner. The fact that he's trying to put on a strong front around her only points out the seriousness of his injuries.

"You need help," she says matter-of-factly.

"I know. We're a bit tied up with the supply and demand of medical maladies here."

"I know that. Who's seeing to you? Maybe I can help push things along," insists Hermione thoughtfully, her face lifting slightly in hope.

Ron pauses as if reluctant to tell her. Of course, it's obvious why.

"Romilda Vane."

Hermione's eyebrows furrow, her lips pouting in unison. She's hated the girl since she tried to poison Harry with a love potion that ended up affecting Ron. Of course he'd fall for something like cauldron cakes laced with a love potion - the boy is practically a walking fridge with an abyss for a stomach.

Sighing, she resorts to the obvious. "I'll speak with her, perhaps I can get a list and talk to Harry about plans on acquiring what's needed."

"Hermione." Says Ron flatly, causing her to stiffen as if she's waiting for the blow.

"What?" she demands incredulously.

"Don't you think you've done enough for one night?" He asks as if trying to reason with her, but she recognises the not-to-subtle hints and falls victim to the insecurities of her failures.

"No, not you too - Please, don't do that ."

"I'm not doing anything, just being honest is all."

"I don't want your honesty. I have to help, Ron. I have to do something. I can't take back my mistakes but I can help make it right."

While placing the last of the fresh gauze dressings over his chest she goes off on a tangent, expressing her true thoughts. "I can't sit here and watch you in pain, redressing your wounds as they worsen by the day… I can't wait around in hopes that Harry will miraculously forgive me while Ginny is missing. I can't -"

"Wait. What? Ginny is missing?"

"Ron, don't you remember? Did Harry not tell you?

"The last thing I remember is what real pain feels like. Harry hasn't told me bloody anything."

Of course he hasn't. He's almost in denial about it himself.

"Ron, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Yeah, you went behind his back… But you both did, Ginny included. She's my sister, being left out is not something she takes well. Of course I know you got her there. I blame you - but carrying on about it isn't going to help. The sooner I'm fixed, the sooner I can help find her."

"Why aren't you mad? You should be angry at me, you should be worried about her."

"Just because I'm not screaming at you, doesn't mean I'm not worried about her. I am. I'm scared shitless. But I can't do anything like this ," he looks over his wounds, his eyebrows furrow at his lack of mobility. "Besides, this is Ginny we're talking about. More than half the camp is scared of her, she takes her training to the next level. It's like she becomes a different person. Whoever has her will get a shock dealing with her," he chuckles amusedly, as if reminiscing a time Ginny has been difficult to handle.

His laugh is inappropriate at such a time - Hermione's reaction solidifies that, so he gets back to the point at hand.

"If you want me to be mad, and you want to make it up to me, fine. Help fix me. Heal me, 'Mione, so I can get out of this fucking bed and do something to find her. If you can't, maybe I'll reevaluate."

Ron's reaction has caught her off guard. She expected ranting and raving - for him to be an emotional mess. Perhaps his injuries are so significant it's been somewhat of a wakeup call to him.

"I'll do whatever it takes," she means everyword.

"I know you will, thanks. It's not safe out there for you. Or anyone for that matter, so please, Hermione, whatever you have to do, be smart about it. I can't lose you, too."

Ron's hand reaches out to take hers, his fingers lacing between her own.

His raw honesty pierces her soul, as if he knows her heart doesn't belong to him. Truthfully, her heart belongs to no-one , but the pang of guilt for wanting to leave him in the first place takes a backseat. With his severe injuries and Ginny missing, Hermione leaving him could be the final trigger to him falling apart. She can't risk that, not when he's so ill.

She nods, finding his attempt at giving advice uninspiring and weird. It's unbelievable how he is taking the news and how easily he dismisses the danger in her wanting to help. Maybe he's doped up on that much medication he's not thinking straight. Either way, she's not going to wait around for him to change his mind.

"I'm not going behind Harry's back again. He'll let me go because I'll not only persuade him, I'll plead him to let me."

"He won't stand for it."

Hermione stands abruptly, already feeling guilty for the anger she's feeling towards Ron.

"If I present him with a plan too good to pass up, he will. Now, if all you're going to do is remind me of my failure and tell me I can't do something, not only will I do it, I'll come out on top."

Ron stares at her with pleading eyes. "That's not what I was saying."

Briefly, he looks like he wants to make some sexually implied comment about her coming out on top, but thankfully he refrains. Unable to stare into his eyes any longer, she turns, making way for the exit. She's done with this conversation, she needs an out before she says something she'll regret.

"I'm going - I've got lots to organise."

It was a poor excuse to leave so abruptly, but an honest one.

"Don't be like that. Please Hermione, don't go yet. Stay - at least until I fall asleep."

She stops in her tracks, his vulnerability sounding different with her back turned, and it triggers her guilt once more.

With a change of heart she murmurs, "I'll stay," retracing her steps to his bedside.

She pulls up a chair, placing it close to his bed. His eyes are straining in the brightness of the light so he rests them for a minute. Hermione stares intently at him, wondering what thoughts are circling his mind. Whatever it is, the combination of pain, the light and his woes, his eyelids clench in response.

His hair is a bit of a mess, she leans forward aiming to brush the matted hair from his sticky forehead. At the feel of her touch his eyes fling open, finding hers. They meet each other's gaze, lust swirling in his, concern swimming in hers. With his hair brushed out of the way, her hand rests on his head while his fingertips tremble reaching for her face. Her close proximity makes it easier for him to reach her and she lingers there longer, almost as if waiting for his touch.

It would be rude for her to pull away now, and she doesn't have the strength to hurt him so she stays, his fingertips tracing her jawline before cupping her cheek. He guides her towards him, the desperation in his need to feel her lips more prominent than ever. He moistens his lips with a swipe of his tongue, his eyes dancing between her left and right. She feels light, like his eyes are a magnetic force drawing her to him and she can't look away. Maybe her guilt and his fragile state is her weakness. In fact, yes - it's her kryptonite.

She feels powerless as her lips close on his. If this is the only way she can soothe his pain, if this is what it takes for her to forget her problems - even for a few seconds than it's worth it

Their lips collide softly and she takes care not to aggravate his injuries as they move in unison. He seems to be giving her the subtle exchange she needs, his lips melting into hers, his thumb gently wiping away the wet streaks of tears on her cheeks. The moment between them is far more intimate than she imagined it would be, having not felt tenderness like this for some time.

Hermione parts her lips, inviting his tongue in and he obliges with ease. Her fears and failures float away, causing her to melt into the freeing feeling as they work to soothe each other. How could she forget the mental and physical healing power of something as dispensable as a kiss. A kiss with a not-so-significant other whom she was ready to ditch just hours ago. She's been lying to herself, to think she doesn't want this. If he can make her forget with the simplicity of a kiss, than maybe she was wrong to deny herself of love - to deny him what his heart aches for. It really is magical, a kiss like this. The kind that makes her question every decision she's made about their relationship; it affects her more than she ever thought it would. She no longer feels empty and alone… She feels warm, momentarily happy and at peace. She wants to stay in this moment, with no consequences of war, no pain… No more lies, no more denying. If this is what she's been missing than she's ready for the fall. If he can make her feel so good like this than she was wrong to ever doubt their relationship.

It occurs to her that maybe she just needsthis, it doesn't befall to her that she's usinghim for it. All that matters is that he can take away the bad, and if he keeps doing that, she decides then and there she'll keep coming back until it runs out.

Eventually, they separate but her eyes remain closed, she's not ready to face him just yet. As if he senses her turmoil, he edges his nose tip to brush hers in an affectionate eskimo kiss before resting his forehead against hers. The move emits a long breath, sighing in a mix of relief and sadness.

The act leaves Hermione feeling confused as reality comes rushing to the surface again and she pulls away. She's overwhelmed by the return of every bad feeling she had before the kiss melted it all away and she shamelessly blinks, breaking their connection.

Breathless, Ron wheezes, "Hermione, that was -"

"Don't… Don't ruin it." She's adamant, her pointer finger pressing over his lips to cease him from talking.

Ron only nods slightly in response, but she can tell he gets it. The tender act proves exhausting for him; his half-lidded eyes droop heavily with pending sleep. Hermione stays until he drifts off, his faint snores becoming louder each minute he dives deeper. He looks quite angelic when he's relaxed, and she finds peace in knowing he's painless and resting.

There's something attractive about people exposing their vulnerabilities to her. Especially like this, when one is wounded, or even unintentionally as Malfoy had. Strangely, being unguarded in a world fighting a war is comforting. Even though they are surrounded by a desolate future in this sometimes hopeless war, the fact that people are still human enough to show that kind of openness is admirable. She only hopes she can give something more in return.