Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter & co., nor am I making any money from the writing of this story.

Nothing to Talk About

A frigid breeze swept through the clearing, causing Hermione Granger to shiver and hug her thick wool jacket closer to her body. She looked to the east, where a dim glow just along the horizon signaled the very beginning of a new day. She'd heard the old expression that it was always darkest before the dawn, and lately it was feeling like that was when it was coldest as well. It was too dark to read, even by wandlight, and even if it wasn't she was too exhausted to focus. She was tired, she was bored, she was lonely. And she was so, so cold. Tears welled in her eyes in a moment of self-pity, but she collected herself before they could fall and pave icy trails down her cheeks.

She sighed heavily, as if her misery could be expelled and dissipated as easily as the white cloud of her breath, but it was not to be. Despite the fact that she'd been wearing it for hours, the locket felt like a lump of ice against her chest. Now that it was only her and Harry, she spent more time wearing the locket than ever before, not to mention more time keeping watch. Neither of them were sleeping enough, nor (for months now) eating enough, operating in a constant state of high-pressure, low-morale isolation. And the longer she sat huddled in the darkness, wearing Voldemort's painfully-intact horcrux around her neck, the more she felt like she was fighting a losing battle. The end was coming, and nothing she or Harry did would make any difference at all.

She wondered if Harry felt this way when he wore the locket as well, if it made him feel as cold, useless, hopeless as it did her. Certainly it didn't affect him the same way it had used to affect-

Hermione gritted her teeth together in a way that would have made her parents cringe—at least, it would have back when they were dentists—and forced herself not to continue that train of thought. If she wore the locket long enough, she always turned back to thoughts of Ron... though if she was being truthful, she thought of him quite often when she wasn't wearing it, no matter how much she tried not to. Tears threatened again, and again she suppressed them. He didn't deserve her tears, no matter how much she missed him.

Standing, she stuck her wand in her back pocket and walked a little ways from the tent, hoping some movement would get her blood flowing and keep her warm, and more importantly, awake. Feeling slightly more invigorated after a few turns around the clearing, she was about to head back to her seat when a faint glow caught her eye in the distance, between the trees.

Her breath caught in her throat as the light moved closer and closer, until she could make out the wispy silver shape of a four-legged animal. It was a Patronus, she knew that immediately, but it was not one she recognized. She suddenly felt paralyzed with fear. Who had conjured this Patronus in the dead hours of morning, so close to where Harry Potter just happened to be hiding? Had they been discovered? And by friend or foe? The shimmering animal looked so peaceful and graceful that Hermione almost couldn't believe that it could be there to do harm. And yet, with enough practice, any wizard could produce one, couldn't they? The beautiful animal could have been cast by a Snatcher, or worse, a Death Eater. But why?

Suddenly Hermione became aware that the silvery light was fading—the Patronus was retreating. Glancing back at the tent, she found herself having to make a split second decision. If she followed the Patronus, she could be walking into a trap. But if she went back to wake Harry, the animal would be gone. If she stayed, they would never know who cast the Patronus, or what it meant.

And Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something terribly important.

Sending up a silent prayer that she was doing the right thing, she drew her wand and took off after the glowing figure, crunching the snow-covered leaves beneath her feet. Slowly but surely, she began to gain on it. After a few breathless minutes she burst through the trees and found herself nearly face-to-face with the animal, which she could now clearly identify as a doe. As she watched, the beautiful doe shimmered out of existence, leaving her alone in the darkened clearing.

She stood, puzzled, for a moment, breathing heavily. She had been so sure that the Patronus would lead her to its caster, but there was no one here. Only-

Hermione blinked hard at the spot where the doe had disappeared. Was she imagining it, or did she see a tiny glint of light shining on the ground?

She took a step forward and her foot slid. Hermione gasped as she nearly lost her balance, realizing for the first time that she was not standing on the ground at all, but on the frozen surface of a snow-covered pond. Stepping tentatively, ears perked for the sound of cracking ice, she made her way to where the doe had vanished and brushed a thin layer of snow off the ice, squinting into the pond's dark depths.

Her gloved hand stifled another gasp as she realized what she was seeing. Beneath the ice, sitting on the bottom of a pond in the middle of nowhere, was a magical artifact that was instantly familiar to all Hogwarts students. It didn't seem possible, but the silver doe had led her to the Sword of Gryffindor!

Heart beating fast, Hermione stood, not taking her eyes off the sword. If she could get the sword, they could use it to destroy the locket and be that much closer to killing Voldemort. But how?

Taking a few steps back, Hermione pointed her wand at the ice above the sword. "Diffindo." she whispered, and the ice began to crack, leaving a clean hole through which the sword glittered brightly. "Accio sword." she said next, but the sword did not move. She'd expected nothing less- that would be much too easy. She looked around the clearing, hoping to spot a long tree branch she could use to retrieve the sword... or better yet, Harry, coming to help her. But there was nothing, and Hermione knew she didn't dare leave the sword to go get help. For all she knew, it could vanish as quickly as it had appeared.

She had known from the minute she saw the sword that it would come to this, but that didn't stop her grimacing as she shrugged out of her coat and sweater and tugged off her socks and trainers, exposing herself to the bitter cold. After a moment's deliberation she worked off her jeans as well, leaving them with her wand and the rest of her clothes on a rock by the lake's edge. Clad now only in her underwear and a flannel shirt, she padded back onto the ice barefoot, shivering with every step. As she stood by the hole she had made, gathering courage, the locket around her neck became restless, rocking against her chest and making its metallic scritching noises, as if it could tell that its destruction was close at hand.

Hermione removed the locket and bit her lip, studying it carefully. It was clearly evil, and also quite violent in its own tiny, ominous way. She didn't want to jump in the lake wearing it, but neither could she let it out of her sight. What if something happened to it while she was in the water... perhaps the unknown caster of the Patronus was waiting for her to leave the horcrux unguarded! Harry would never forgive her if she lost the only progress they had made on the hunt. She would never forgive herself. Quickly deciding on a compromise, she wrapped the chain around her left wrist securely, holding the quaking pendant in her hand. Before she could change her mind, she slipped into the freezing water.

Her body exploded with pain. Every nerve ending was screaming. The deep breath she had taken was throttled from her lungs at the shock of the sudden cold, and she accidentally gulped down a mouthful of icy water. Trying to ignore the sensation of needles jabbing into every inch of her skin, Hermione opened her eyes, keeping them focused on the object of her quest.

The pond was not deep- she only had to swim down twelve or fifteen feet before her hand closed around the sword's silver hilt. Gripping it and the locket, which was frantically trying to escape by writhing unsettlingly against her palm, Hermione pushed her feet off the pond's muddy bottom and propelled herself toward the surface. Reaching out blindly, she felt the edge of the hole with the hand that was holding the locket. She struggled to pull herself up, but her fingers were numb and boneless with cold, and they scrabbled for purchase on the smooth ice with no luck. Her head broke the surface briefly and she gulped in a last breath before plunging under again, unable to find the leverage to lift herself out.

Desperately, she kicked her feet, trying to resurface, when her head made contact with the ice. Her face pressed against the sheet of ice painfully as she panicked, flailing around her for the hole and not finding it. With the last bit of air in her lungs, she screamed, the result coming out as a choked gurgle. Her hands pressed and clawed at the unyielding ice, the locket twisted evilly in her numbed fist, her eyes burned, her lungs burned... she was aware that she was drowning, that her vision was becoming dark...

There was a splash nearby and a rush of air bubbles tickled uselessly against her face. With the last of her energy, Hermione reached out towards the disturbance. A large hand closed around her wrist and began to pull her, and she neither knew nor cared whose it was nor where it was taking her, she was just floating, drifting...

The next thing she knew she was surfacing again, for good this time. The sudden rush of air on her face was enough to shock her back into alertness, and she gasped in air frantically, coughing and choking on the water pouring from her nose and mouth. Strong hands gripped her under the arms and manhandled her out of the water, laying her flat on the ice, panting.

"Hermione!"

Her vision was blurred, and she recognized the voice before she could truly see the face... but it wasn't possible. The voice was Ron's. Hermione turned her face away from him, it couldn't be him, he had gone. It crossed her mind that perhaps she had drowned after all, and that what felt like a rescue was actually only death, and that it was a shame he was here because that meant he was dead as well, but oh it felt wonderful to hear his voice again...

"Hermione! Merlin, Hermione! Please! Say something!"

Hermione rolled over and coughed up what felt like about a liter of water onto the ice. "No." she moaned.

The person-who-sounded-like-but-couldn't-be-Ron made a sound that was half laugh, half sigh of relief and rubbed her back comfortingly as she choked up the last of the water. "Good enough." he said.

"R-R-Ron?" she mumbled, and she felt his hands on her again, gently helping her to a sitting position.

"Come here." he murmured, and pulled her against him. His clothes were as wet as hers, but as she pressed her cheek to his chest she could feel the warmth of his body beneath the frosty dampness.

It took a few minutes before her breathing was normal and her brains sorted enough that she could finally push him away and spear him with a cold stare. "R-Ronald Weasley. What are yuh-you d-d-doing here?" she hissed through chattering teeth.

He first looked hurt, then angry. "Saving your life, wasn't I? Try not to be too grateful." he added sarcastically.

Hermione's eyes flared as she got to her feet. "S-so you think you c-c-can just sh-show up here, weeks after you abandon us, and save my life and everything will be f-f-forgiven?" Despite her sopping, shivering state, her haughty tone somehow managed to be as icy as the water dripping off the end of her nose.

"It seemed like a start." Ron returned, also clambering to his feet. As he looked at her his gaze softened. "You're freezing, Hermione. Can't we just dry off and talk about this?"

Throwing down the sword and horcrux that she was miraculously still clutching, Hermione reached for her wand and performed a drying charm on the clothing she was wearing. Her face reddened as she realized how little she was wearing, and that only made her angrier. Could a girl no longer drown in private, then?

Refusing to look at him, she stormed over to the rest of her clothes and began yanking them on. "No, we cannot talk about this." she finally retorted, trying not to sigh in relief as the warm garments restored feeling to her aching limbs. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing?" Ron repeated incredulously, performing a thoroughly lackluster drying charm on his own clothes. Hermione thought with satisfaction that he still looked uncomfortably damp.

"Nothing." she confirmed coolly.

There was a skittering sound from the ground as the locket she had dropped edged itself closer to the hole in the ice. With Keepers' reflexes, Ron scooped it up before it could disappear into the water, holding it up expectantly. "What do you call this then?"

"I call it another horcrux down." Hermione sniffed, still avoiding his eyes.

"You could have been killed!" Ron pointed out. "What were you thinking, trying something like this alone?"

She whirled on him. "I was thinking that I needed to get the sword, and that there was no time to get help, and that people are counting on me. So I stepped up and did what needed to be done, Ronald."

"Hermione..." Ron took a tentative step towards her. "I'm sorry I left. You have no idea how sorry I am."

Hermione turned away from him once more. "Why did you do it?" she asked quietly.

Ron cast his eyes down, at the locket in his hand. "I... It's hard to explain..."

Hermione shook her head impatiently. "Forget it. Just... just forget it." Shoving her wand back in her jeans pocket, she started to walk back the way she had come.

"Hang on, aren't you forgetting something?" Ron called out.

Against her will, she turned around to see him dangling the locket from one hand and the sword from the other. She scowled. In the midst of her traumatic near-death experience and the emotional upheaval of Ron's return, she nearly had forgotten. How annoying. "Go on then." she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Destroy it."

Ron shook his head quickly, extending the locket towards her. "I... No. I can't."

"And why not?" she questioned loftily, making no move to take it.

"You don't understand. It... it affects me worse than you and Harry." Ron said, a pleading look on his face.

"Oh! I don't understand!" Hermione cried. "Tell me, Ron, who do you think's been wearing the bloody thing twelve hours a day for the past few weeks?"

Ron pursed his lips and looked at her. Whether it was extreme remorse or hearing her swear Hermione didn't know, but for the first time ever, he forewent argument and simply did as she told him. He laid the quaking locket on a large, flat stone and raised the sword over it. When he brought it down there was a sickening grating noise... but nothing else.

Hermione took a few steps toward him despite herself. "Did... did it work?"

"Don't think so." Ron answered, bending forward to take a closer look. The thing bounced a few inches off the rock with a noise that sounded almost like a muffled snarl, and Ron jumped back in alarm. "Definitely not."

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "I think... I think we might have to open it first."

To his credit, Ron did not point out that they had already tried and failed to do that. Instead, he crouched by the locket, carefully wedging the tip of the enchanted sword into its crack. Once the locket was firmly wedged on, he lifted the sword again, banging it on the rock and splitting the horcrux open like a coconut.

There was a millisecond of deadly silence before all hell broke loose.

A thick cloud of dark fog roiled out of the locket's two halves, and hit them like a hard shove, knocking both teenagers off their feet. The sword flew out of Ron's hand and planted itself in the dirt a few feet away. Lightning flashed within the miniature storm, momentarily blinding them. The locket began to glow with sickly pale light, and Hermione gasped as she saw a pair of human eyes staring out from its now-exposed windows.

I have seen your heart, Ronald Weasley, and it is mine.

A sinister, oily, yet commanding voice. A persuasive voice. A dangerous voice. The locket wasn't speaking, exactly... somehow, the voice seemed to be surrounding them, issuing from everywhere at once, even within their own bodies.

I have seen your dreams, and I have seen your fears. All that you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible.

Hermione shuddered at the locket's cryptic words. She looked over at Ron, who was staring into the locket's eyes, transfixed. "Ron!" she yelled, but the voice talked over her, through her.

Least loved, always, by a mother who craved a daughter. Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend.

Ron's face turned ashen, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. "Ron, the sword!" He seemed not to hear her.

The black smoke swirled up in front of them in two columns, and then ebbed. Two figures stepped out of them. One looked like a pristine, sinister version of Harry.

The other was her.

Your mother confessed she would have preferred me as a son.

Harry stepped forward first, and the voice changed to a hard, empty, echoing approximation of Harry's voice as the figure spoke.

You are an eternal sidekick, Ron. An afterthought.

"That's not true, Ron!" Hermione cried, horrified by the Harry-figure's words. Logically, she knew that this wasn't Harry, and that Harry would never say those things about Ron, but hearing the words still shocked her... and they weren't even directed at her.

No matter what you do, you will always just be second best.

Second best. An involuntary whimper arose in Hermione's throat. Her eyes filled with tears as she suddenly realized what was happening- they were viewing Ron's deepest fears and insecurities, played out in front of his eyes to torture him. Suddenly it seemed indecent that she was here, listening. These were his private thoughts, the illogical, irrational feelings that haunted him in secret, no matter that he knew they weren't true.

We were glad when you left. We were better off without you.

That one sent a stab of pain through Hermione's chest, just because she knew exactly how untrue it was. The day Ron had left them had been one of the worst days of her life. She'd been angry at him, of course, and hurt that he could walk away from her so easily, even when she'd begged him to stay. She'd been frightened- that he'd be captured or killed while he was out on his own, and that she'd never see him again. But mostly she'd just been sad that he wasn't there with her. She and Harry needed him. Some days, after he left, they'd barely even talked to each other.

She scrambled into a crouch, intent on reaching Ron, shaking some sense into him... But just then the Hermione-figure stepped forward, chilling Hermione's blood as it passed straight through her, like a ghost, on the way to Ron.

The Hermione-figure's voice was beautiful, melodious, and brimming with disdain.

What woman would want you, when she could have the Chosen One? Who could choose you over Harry Potter? You are nothing compared to him. Nothing. Nothing.

Hermione froze. Over the years she had had plenty of problems with Ron- he could be lazy, jealous, bad-tempered... but she had never doubted his worth. He couldn't think she felt that way about him, he couldn't.

You mean nothing to me, Ron. It has always been Harry. Harry. Harry.

The worshipful way horcrux-Hermione said Harry's name was almost obscene. As Hermione watched in shock and horror, the two figures embraced each other intimately, their lips melting together in a hungry, animalistic kiss. Her and Harry... it was so wrong that the sight was almost comical. It took a long moment before Hermione was able to tear her own eyes away to see that there was nothing funny about it to Ron.

His face was hard and determined, but his eyes belied his despair. "No." he said lowly. "Hermione..."

Any remaining anger she'd felt at his desertion ebbed out of her at the heartbreak in his voice. One of Ron's deepest fears was that she would fall in love with Harry. Hermione had long suspected—hoped—that Ron's feelings for her ran deeper than friendship, but she was never able to be truly sure... until just now, when he'd said her name that way. A warm rush of feeling washed through her despite the freezing weather.

The fight seemed to have gone out of Ron as he remained despondently transfixed on the horcrux figures. Hermione crawled over to him and grasped his chin, forcing him to avert his eyes from the spectacle before them and focus on her face. "Ron... the sword! You have to finish it!"

"Finish it?" Ron whispered hollowly. "Hermione..." He blushed and looked away, his gaze drawn to the kissing figures.

She took his head between her hands and forced him to look at her once more. "That's a trick! Not real." She shook him slightly. "I'm real. This is real, Ron!"

She could feel it the moment she got through to him. His eyes focused in on hers and for a moment it seemed as though he was looking right through her, right into her, and she blushed hotly.

Reaching behind him, Ron grabbed the sword. The horcrux must have sensed the change in his energy, for as soon as he stood, Hermione saw the smoke converge on him, making him cough and clouding his vision. He let out a yell as he plowed through it, swinging the sword wildly above his head before plunging the goblin-forged metal straight into the locket's glass windows. The horcrux gave a shrill, final scream that echoed through the surrounding trees before fading into the dawn.

The smoke cleared as quickly as it had appeared and the figures swirled into oblivion. Ron stood over the destroyed locket, sword in hand and breathing heavily. Hermione lifted her head to look at him, but he was determinedly avoiding her gaze. "Ron... that was... you did it!"

"Barely." Ron mumbled darkly, still not looking at her.

She could tell he was embarrassed, humiliated by the exposure of his deepest secrets, but she didn't know how to tell him that it was okay, that she didn't think less of him after seeing his fears, that, if anything, she admired him more for the way he fought back. "Ron-"

"Don't." he cut her off, a pleading quality to his voice. "Please, Hermione. That was... Just... don't say anything about it. Please."

"Okay." It was still too raw to talk about. Hermione understood that, but when he knelt to the ground to gather the spilled contents of his knapsack, she placed a tentative hand on his elbow. "Okay." she said again, gathering courage. "But-"

"Herm-"

"It's not Harry." Hermione burst forth as he tried to interrupt her. "It's never been Harry for me."

Ron froze, still bent over his bag. There was an unbearably long pause before he said softly, "I wanted to come back the moment I left, Hermione. But I couldn't find you." He took a deep breath and looked at her appealingly. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, or Harry's, but... I'll never leave you again, Hermione. I won't."

She flushed again at his ardent confession, busying herself by picking up the fallen Sword of Gryffindor and wiping the dirt off its blade with her sleeve. "Well, you did save my life... again." she said slowly, picking up the lifeless horcrux as well and pocketing it. "I suppose that's worth my forgiveness."

Ron grinned in relief. "Save your life? That's all I needed to do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she started heading back toward the campsite. "This time." she said sternly. "But the next time you walk out on me, Ronald Weasley, you'll have to save my life twice to make up for it."

"There won't be a next time." he vowed again, falling into step beside her, and she had to bite back a smile. She believed him.

Sliding her hand into her pocket, she brushed her fingers against the warm metal of the locket. She didn't know how he'd managed to find her, or who had sent them the sword, or where they would go from here. But finally, she knew why he'd left... and most importantly, why he came back.