A/N: My first HP fanfiction! Thanks so much to my amazing beta, Pointless Nostalgic! You were wonderfully helpful =)

Summary: A missing moment between Ron and Hermione. The trio have escaped Malfoy Manor and Hermione, still recovering from Bellatrix's torturing, is troubled by a dream.

The Thrills

By: Cross-eyed Bear

Hermione found an uncommon thrill in things that others did not. Unlike most people, practical and functional things were responsible for rushes of excitement and exhilaration, which accounted for why books suited her so well. However, she would never readily admit the full extent of her obsession. Who else would understand the pleasure of cracking open a new book just to inhale that newly printed smell, wafting in its aroma as she flipped through it pages? Conversely, what Hermione had just lived through, writhing on the floor and experiencing the most excruciating pain she had ever endured in her life, had been far from thrilling. The wrath of Bellatrix Lestrange had brought no rush and had given her anticipatory adrenaline. Moreover, there was nothing practical or functional about her thoughts on ending her life just to find relief. She had trembled in fear after every torturing curse, wishing for it to stop. But, she would not stop.

Admittedly, despite the sting that lingered, she felt that dying was far from her thoughts. Sensible reasoning was coming back to her now that she was safe at Bill and Fleur's residence by the sea, Shell Cottage. However, that pain still lingered on even though the source, Lestrange's curse, had long since passed.

"Fleur said she will need to drink this potion to keep the pain at bay," she heard Bill instruct Ron.

She felt Ron's hand cover hers and squeeze it.

She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, but it appeared to be night-time when she finally rose out of bed. She managed to slip past Ron who was sleeping soundly in the arm chair near her bed, and made it out of the cottage towards the cliff. She assumed that it was well into the night by the looks of the pitch black sky dotted with tiny pinpricks of a few stars. Nonetheless, nothing seemed to distract her from her new battle scars; not even the sight of the peaceful night or the comfortable mat of soft grass she sat on could appease her sores and extremely tender bruises.

"Hermione!"

She jumped at the sound of Ron calling after her, and the sudden jolt caused her to yelp in pain. She clutched her side, letting out a groan.

"Are you mad? How did you get out of bed? Why are you out here anyways?" Each of his questions were asked breathlessly in rapid succession as his eyes widened, looking fearful. He ran to her side and held out his hand.

"Needed—fresh—air," she managed between winces of pain.

He knelt to her side, and offered her a tiny bottle, its contents emitting an iridescent glow. To her relief, the concoction she drank numbed her with a cooling sensation before relaxing her with warmth.

"There'll be enough fresh air in your room if I just open a window for you." He sounded anxious as he continued quickly without waiting for a response from her. "What were you doing so close to the cliff for?" With this, he moved her further away from the edge and made a move to lift her up.

"Wait," she said as she stopped his arm from propping her up to her feet. "Can we just...stay...for a bit?" she implored, looking up at him hopefully.

He looked down at her for a moment, and then took a seat next to her, and they sat in silence for a while. As she stole glances his way, she noticed that he seemed a bit uncomfortable, and even caught him once or twice looking her way without saying anything before abruptly turning his sights towards the sea. It was true that Hermione knew how she felt about Ron, but he remained too stubborn to release any details about his own feelings, leaving her perpetually questioning herself.

However, she was clever enough to put two and two together and she often wondered at times if he was trying to give her small hints. Perhaps he was providing her with chances to see a side of him that she had never seen before—a side that wanted her to know something that she was unaware of. She indulged herself with a smile, thinking of when he held her in his arms without hesitation or embarrassment when she needed him, when she thought with Dumbledore gone that there was no hope. She digressed from the thought quickly though, knowing how foolish it would be to assume that these trivial incidents meant anything. Any friend could embrace her without it meaning something. But, what about calling her name as he slept off a poisoning? What about his sudden outbursts of jealousy whenever someone seemed interested in her? As she mentally wandered back and forth through these clues, she noticed that her mind was foggier than usual.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back—" he started, but she interrupted him.

"I had a dream...about her," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I'd rather not rush back to bed just yet."

She saw him stretching his hand somewhat hesitantly over the small of her back from the corner of her eye, before he finally placed it there. She did not know whether it was the potion she drank or the overall fatigue that was starting to win over her body, but she smiled dreamily up at him, as if his awkward attempt at a comforting gesture was much more profound than it really was. She shifted closer to him until she could lean into his lanky frame. She heard him gulp and felt him slowly move his arm around her. She had a fleeting thought of embarrassment, marveling at how boldly she was behaving with her best friend before she decided to look up at him. She didn't know why, but she could not avert her eyes from his dangerously close face. Thankfully, he did not look mortified by this, but instead stared back. She could spot the freckles on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose even in the dimly lit night, which made her smile dreamily once again. She knew, despite the dark, that his ears had turned a familiar shade of red.

"How...How are you feeling?" he croaked in an unsure, quiet tone.

"Wonderful," she replied lazily. "You've got loads of freckles," she added casually, her goofy smile returning.

"Er...You've noticed, eh?" he questioned as he cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes, and you've got lovely blue eyes as well. Did you know that?" She grinned even wider.

She thought she saw him flush and she drew closer to his face. Again, he said nothing and did not object to her nearness. "See." She pointed her index finger towards one of his eyes, but he closed his hand around her finger and put it in her lap. She watched him with a perplexed expression before resting her head on his shoulder.

"Right," he said before clearing his throat. "So, this is why Bill mentioned that you needed to sleep when you take this potion," he muttered under his breath, perhaps thinking that she could not hear him.

"Why?" She suddenly perked up. "Is it a sedative? I have been feeling strangely uninhibited."

He could only stare at her, and she had a feeling that he must think that she was completely, barking mad. One minute she was unusually placid, and then the next minute she felt like her old self again, with cogs spinning lively in her mind with sudden urges to inform or inquire. Had she really told him that she thought his eyes were lovely?

"'Mione, I think you need some rest. I'll open the window, and I won't leave that armchair," he reassured her. "Unless—..."

"Unless I'd like to share my feelings with you to resolve any fears that I'm repressing?" she offered, suddenly looking sobered.

He nodded carefully. "If it'll help..."

She shrugged and stared down at her hands, hurriedly scouring her mind to find the right words before the fogginess would settle in again.

"What happened was terrible and I may be haunted by it in my dreams even years from now, but I will get over it. But, it's not that I'm afraid of feeling the pain or seeing her face again..." She peered up at him as she felt him make a fist of the hand he had resting in her lap. She was suddenly stilled by how close they were, engrossed by his long arms around her. Nevertheless, she shook these thoughts away to continue, for Ron looked as though he was waiting for more, possibly even holding her tighter in anticipation. "In my dream, I confessed all that I knew...and we were killed. All of us. I'm afraid of failing Harry...and you. If she went on longer with that curse, I—..."

"Don't. Don't say that you're capable of being…a traitor. You've gone through far enough and done more than your share to help him. Any mistakes we've made or will make are because we're not invincible or perfect. We've invested ourselves with each other now. Harry can't deny that. I know that. But, more importantly, I know you, Hermione." He unclenched his fist, and used his thumb to wipe a stray tear from her eye. "You're clever, you're true, and you're brave. You're not capable of failing Harry, or us."

She took a long moment before replying, "Thank you, Ronald." She rested her head on his shoulder again.

"You don't need to thank me. It's the truth and how I've always felt," he said as he rested his own head against hers.

"And I love you for that," she mumbled before yawning, and her eyelids almost immediately became heavy. She felt Ron become rigid from this reply, but she said nothing to question him. Despite the impending slumber she felt taking over, she smiled to herself, feeling an uncommon thrill that no one else would be able to feel. Knowing that she loved Ron and that someday she could properly show him, when all the chaos that surrounded them would finally disappear (and it would, she had to believe it would), gave her the most ineffable thrill of all.

End.