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Who: Ron and Hermione
Where: The Safehouse on Hoy
When: 20 March, 2002 - Close to moonrise
Status: complete

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[waningred]

Stepping forward until he could go no further, Ron pressed the very tips of his fingers against the invisible barrier, flexing them to check for any sort of give. He hadn't previously tested the boundaries of his confinement, only nodded, somewhat distractedly while Hermione - using her wand like a pointer - had drawn out the borders for him.

He'd expected it to do more than just give him the very mildest of shocks; sort of a tingling sensation that travelled up to his elbows and countered some of the itchiness. But then again, the strength and stability of a ward wasn't always measured by whether or not it brought you to your knees. Or worse.

Some were much more subtle. Like this one.

"Friend?" repeated Ron, the word sounding so alien when used in context with what (little) remained between them. "You sure about that?"

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Forgetting all propriety or his privacy, Hermione spun around and looked at him aghast. "Ron... from the moment you and Harry knocked that mountain troll senseless..."

The hurt that seemed to creep up her neck and take hold of her throat was visible on her face. That he would even question how sure she was about being his friend was the worst part. Yes, she wasn't his girlfriend anymore. However, she still loved him and she certainly hadn't stopped caring about him.

"You've been my friend for years! Over a decade! Everything... everything I've done has been because I was both yours and Harry's friend

[waningred]

Seeing her turn away like that, pain etched into every fibre of her being, felt like a swift kick in the gut to Ron. She'd always been Hermione the tag-along; Hermione the problem-solver; Hermione the bossy mother hen; Hermione the know-it-all; Hermione the long-suffering object of his affection. So many layers blurred together by half a lifetime of familiarity.

She'd occupied his world for so long that he'd taken everything about her for granted. Just like he'd automatically assumed she would fold his clothes when she wasn't obligated to do anything of the sort. Not anymore. Not after what he'd done.

It made him pause and rethink what he wanted to say. After everything they'd been through together - from trolls and a Basilisk, to Death Eaters and Umbridge - he'd never truly thought of her as simply Hermione the friend.

"I've really made a right cock-up of things again, haven't I?" His tone was that of a man defeated by his own blind stupidity.

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Hermione's shoulders dropped. She hated where they were and she didn't know how exactly to get away from it. Everything always managed to turn into this sloppy mess that only served to drag them deeper and deeper into a horrid abyss of loneliness

[waningred]

"But it's true and I--" Ron's whole body contorted in pain as the first real twinges of the transformation began. Instead of paying attention to the telltale signs, he'd focused on Hermione's every move, and now he was going to pay the price.

Maybe it was because the rage wasn't there; a driving need to kill replaced with... oh, it was too hard to describe at the moment around the white-hot fire that suddenly ignited his blood and seared his brain. But it did feel different this time, and thus why it had so easily crept up on him.

"Ah!" he whimpered, clutching the sides of his head as he collapsed to his knees with a hollow thump! Ron had planned to be across the room when this happened, curled up in a corner and far enough away to give Hermione a head start to safety if the wolfsbane hadn't worked and the wards were somehow breached in the process. But it seemed he'd be stuck here until the shift completed.

Shame the potion didn't dull that part of the whole rotten affliction.