Follow Through

How can you see into my eyes like open doors
Leading you down into my core
Where I've become so numb without a soul

My spirit sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up inside
Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark
Bid my blood to run
Before I come undone
Save me from the nothing I've become

"Wake Me Up" Evanescence

**

"Stay with me, Ron--your name is Ron Weasley--remember that, Ron--your name is Ron Weasley!" Her voice had been steadily rising in pitch and volume until it ended with a frantic squeak just before the arm that had been around her torso moved up to slap over her mouth. But that didn't stop her from shrieking Ron's name over and over again into the sweaty palm as she did the same in her mind, praying and willing that somehow Ron could hear not only the sound of his beautiful name, but all of the love that went behind it.

"That's enough!" the Death Eater holding Hermione roared furiously. He jabbed the wand so forcefully into her skin that a fine trickle of blood dribbled down her throat. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, all the while still screaming Ron's name. She knew that a fatal curse was about to be uttered at any moment.

"NO!" Dolohov ordered, jumping up to his feet and averting Ron's face from the scene. He strode over as fast as he could. "We cannot hurt her now," Dolohov hissed. He nodded surreptitiously over at Ron, who had somewhat recovered and was mutely watching the three of them with curiosity. "If anything is going to snap him out of it, it'll be seeing us kill his little bitch."

"We don't need him anymore," the Death Eater growled as he once again tightened his hold on Hermione. "We got Potter--why should we keep him around?" He cast a scornful look at Ron, who was still dazed. "He's useless."

"That boy," Dolohov reminded him coldly, "is an empath. He may be a Weasley, but he's anything but useless. The Dark Lord wishes for him to stay on our side, even after Potter's killed." Hermione was still croaking out Ron's name, much to the Death Eaters' annoyance, so Dolohov decided to put a stop to the Mudblood's interference. He pulled her from the other Death Eater's slimy grip into his own. "I'll take care of her back at the house--you get Weasley back to the others." The very marrow of her bones was shivering with the chill of having Antonin Dolohov's body pressed against hers. "Go quietly, my Mudblood," he crooned warningly, "otherwise Weasley here will find out just how awful that curse I used on you really is."

Hermione couldn't suppress a whimper as Dolohov forced her half-frozen legs to walk forward--he would do it in a second, she knew he would. She had to go quietly; there was no way on earth she would ever do anything to risk Ron's life. And now, Dolohov was finally going to fulfill his wish of killing the ugly little Mudblood who had outwitted him two years ago. As terrifying as it was to know that she was only moments away from death, she exerted all of her remaining energy on shouting Ron's name one last desperate time before the hand clapped over her mouth to silence her and she was propelled forward even faster out of the forest and toward the house.

There was nothing more she could do for Ron. She had given him all of the love that she had, and now he had to use it to finish the battle on his own. As connected as Hermione was to Ron's mind, it was still his mind, and Ron was the only one who could break it free of Voldemort. Harry had to fight Voldemort on his own, and so did Ron. As awful as it was to accept, there were just some battles you had to face alone.

As Hermione was pushed into Harry's parents' kitchen so forcefully that she collided with a thud into the counter and stumbled to the floor in an exhausted heap, she knew that her best friends weren't the only ones who had incredibly difficult battles to win.

She was about to face her own.

Dolohov kicked the back door shut as Hermione pushed herself up to a sitting position, scooting backward on her hands and knees as he menacingly approached her, one deliberate step at a time.

"Do you have any idea how disappointed I was when I was told that Lucius Malfoy was the only one allowed to touch you?" Hermione winced and swore under her breath when her back hit a cabinet. "But now that he's dead," Dolohov grinned widely, "you're all mine."

Hermione barely registered the fact that Lucius Malfoy must have been murdered; she was too busy shuddering in revulsion at his tone of voice. Ron, please...

"And if I remember correctly," Dolohov continued, "you are the only one of your little friends who hasn't felt the Cruciatus curse." Hermione's stomach instinctively turned over in recollection of the descriptions she had read in various textbooks about the spell, but she kept her face decidedly blank as she stared up at him. He tutted and shook his head unremorsefully. "Now, we can't have that, can we?" Hermione jerked as his hand shot out to grab another fistful of hair to hold her in place. "Little Mudblood has to understand every spell in existence, right?" The wand jabbed through her mass of curls and poked into her skull. "So here's lesson number one...

"Crucio!"

So this was what dying felt like.

Every nerve, tendon, muscle, and bone in her body was surging with a ten thousand volt electrical charge, while her very skin burned to a blackened, charred crisp. The heat was consuming her whole, and it felt as though her skin was falling off in huge, sizzling chunks while all of her bones melted away into a boiling puddle onto the floor; the conflagration was burning her alive. Her brain bubbled, fizzled, and fried as the strongest portion of the spell flowed directly into her skull, and everything failed her completely: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, thought, everything was gone, and all that was left was the abysmal inferno of pure, painful torture. Her very life was spilling out of her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it; all she could do was just writhe on the floor and scream out for anyone to make it stop, please, just make it stop--stop--stop--

A burst of air suddenly returned to her lungs, and the pain abruptly vanished. Hermione instantly went limp and buried her face into the cold tiled floor, limply kicking her throbbing legs in the air while gripping her hair with both trembling fists. Although the source of the fire had passed, the stinging burns still remained, and she was rendered incapable of coherent thought for a few more moments. She wished she could summon the concentration necessary to Apparate, but there was no hope of that now. In fact, there was no hope of anything now. When the haze of agony finally passed enough for her to have one lucid thought, it was to pray that Ron had broken free and had finally come to her rescue, and when she heard a second voice echoing throughout the kitchen, her heart soared with hope: Ron?

"That Mudblood is mine--she was promised to me!"

Hermione moaned and tried to bury herself deep into the floor in a desperate, idiotic attempt to disappear. Nausea abruptly replaced the glimmer of hope--Malfoy.

"Your father betrayed us--we have no obligation to him any longer!"

"My father is dead," Malfoy countered flatly. "He's paid his debt." Hermione knew it could be because she was more than slightly delirious from pain, but she thought she detected actual, sincere sorrow in the heartless voice of Draco Malfoy. "Besides, it was his debt, not mine. I have always been faithful to our master."

Dolohov obviously did not agree with this point, and as the argument intensified, Hermione stopped listening. Her frazzled brain was now only emitting one important message to her weakened muscles: get out, get out, get out...

She didn't how on earth she managed it, but she somehow was able to slither on her stomach over to the door ten feet away from her. Luckily, the island at the center of the room shielded the quarreling Death Eaters from view as she made her escape into the foyer. She let out a small wheeze of relief as she continued to stumble falteringly on her hands and knees across the entrance hall, and she only reached up when it was absolutely necessary to open the front door.

But it was too damn high.

NO. Hermione couldn't suppress a wail as her limbs simply refused to allow her to raise her arm high enough to open the door. Freedom was so close. All she had to do was reach up, grab, twist and fall forward, and then she would be outside where the fresh air would undoubtedly revive her. But when she raised her hand a mere three inches off of the floor, her remaining limbs began to shake violently, unable to cope with the extra weight. She needed to keep both of her hands and knees on the floor, or else she would keel over. She was so useless that she couldn't even open a door.

It took a massive amount of energy, but she managed to roll her head to the side, desperately seeking another option. With a curtain of hair impairing her view, the only possibility she could see were the stairs leading to the second floor. But she didn't want to go up there--she would still be trapped in the house.

"Where'd she go?!"

Hermione didn't think. She just went. Scrambling as fast as possible with her entire body still on fire, she stumbled toward the staircase, still on her hands and knees, and attempted to climb up. It might as well have been Mount Everest, however. The wooden corners of the moldy stairs dug sharply into her shaky knees, impeding what little progress she was making, so she had only made it a quarter of the way up before Dolohov's furious face rounded the corner.

"There you are," he crooned maliciously. Hermione tried to scuttle up the staircase even faster, but his hand had already closed around her ankle. Instinctively, she kicked and grabbed one of the railings so he couldn't drag her back down. For some reason, the acts of defiance eased the pain and made it easier to struggle against him. "Come on, little Mudblood," he cajoled laughingly, even though her foot had caught him painfully in the shoulder once or twice. "Don't you want to play some more?" he taunted in a sickening baby voice.

"Get off!" she wheezed. He twisted her ankle in an effort to break her foot, wanting to stop her from struggling, but Hermione managed to kick him with her other foot just in time. He doubled over to the side and was completely oblivious to the fact that there was someone behind him until his collar was grabbed and he was flung back down the staircase. Hermione coughed weakly and blinked in amazement. Perhaps the curse had damaged her brain cells. She must be seeing things.

Draco Malfoy had just pulled Antonin Dolohov away from her. He had just stopped Dolohov from seriously injuring her, and might have just saved her life. She continued to pull herself up the stairs weakly, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the two Death Eaters, now locked in a death grip as they struggled viciously on the stairs. Dolohov's hands were around Malfoy's neck, and the Slytherin was turning a bright purple-blue from the lack of oxygen. Malfoy jabbed his wand into Dolohov's stomach and croaked out a curse just in time. Both men stumbled away from each other momentarily before barreling into each other once again, but Hermione wasn't about to watch any longer. Her brain was recalling important information only after a lengthy delay, so she had only just remembered Malfoy's entrance in the kitchen a few minutes earlier. He wasn't stopping Dolohov to be noble; he was stopping Dolohov because he wanted to have her all to himself.

Hermione didn't know how on earth she would choose if she were given the option of being killed by either Draco Malfoy or Antonin Dolohov, and she frankly was not about to make that choice. She turned around and devoted all of her attention on half-crawling, half-climbing her way up the remaining stairs. Perhaps if she got to Harry's nursery, she could risk jumping out of the hole in the wall. It would only be a two-story fall, and she really didn't think it would make her feel any worse than she already did.

"Oh, no you don't!" Malfoy growled up at her. Hermione let out a squeak of terror as her hand flailed out, trying to find anything that might pull her up to the landing a little faster. She wouldn't look back because it would only waste precious time, but if she had risked a glance over her shoulder, she would have seen the curse in time.

"Impedimenta!"

"No!" was all Hermione was able to get out before the sparks hit her on the side of the head and sent her flying up the remaining stairs. The upstairs wall painfully stopped her flight. The little air her tight lungs had regained was roughly expelled when she landed jarringly on her stomach. Her jaw slammed against the floor with bruising force, and once again, Hermione had been rendered useless.

However, this lasted only for a few seconds. The Impediment Jinx never lasted for long, and Hermione had a history of being able to shake off the effects rather quickly--especially when a certain pointy-faced Death Eater was the one administering the spell. Shaking her head to clear the curse as quickly as possible, Hermione wiggled forward on her stomach like a snake, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth. She could hear his footsteps pounding up the stairs, and setting her teeth very tightly, Hermione fought a cry of defeat. It might be unavoidable that she would face him again, but she wasn't going to let him see her despair over that inevitability.

Dolohov didn't even waste time making his typical menacing threats. He merely wrapped his thick fingers around her curls and dragged her through the nearest doorway. She twisted to the side in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Malfoy's limp form lying at the bottom of the stairs, but Hermione couldn't muster up an ounce of energy for sympathy. She was flung into the room with great momentum, tumbling dizzyingly fast until she hit the far wall. Dolohov was locking the door to prevent Malfoy from getting in. Hermione used the opportunity to roll over onto her back and fight to regain her breath. She wouldn't be able to escape if she was struggling to breathe.

He was striding back toward her, and she tried to sit up or move away or do something to avoid the meaty hands reaching out to her. She twisted as fast as she could out of the way, but he still managed to catch one of her wrists and wrench her arm under his knee. She winced as the weight of his body came down on her wrist, but flung up her free hand in a desperate attempt to steal Dolohov's wand. There was a brief struggle of two hands against one, and no matter how fervently Hermione prayed to overcome the odds, her other wrist was soon relegated under Dolohov's other knee and Hermione groaned slightly--he was straddling her. She continued to struggle as fiercely as she could while Dolohov attempted to pry her mouth open. Hermione had no idea why on earth he would want her mouth open, but she didn't plan on finding out. She bit down as hard as she could and couldn't help smiling slightly in satisfaction when he let out a howl of pain. Hermione tried to use the opportunity to yank her arms free, but Dolohov had already recovered. She squirmed and clamped her lips together, but when Dolohov grabbed her jaw, which was still extremely sensitive from the impact of the floor, it hurt so badly that a gasp fought its way out of her clenched teeth. Dolohov seized his opportunity to stick his wand down Hermione's throat. Shaking her head as much as she could from side to side, Hermione gagged reflexively as she tried to forcibly expel the wooden stick from her mouth. However, he was already uttering the dreaded curse once again.

"Crucio!"

Hermione's entire body convulsed as her chest heaved upward with the electrifying shock of pure pain. Every single part of her was fizzling into nothing at a much faster rate than before, because this time the fire was inside of her. It was twisting around every nerve, throttling every bone, squeezing every muscle, and devouring every organ. Hermione couldn't even feel herself anymore--all she had left was sheer agony. She choked, gagged, and retched, hoping to heave the pain out of her, but there was no hope. She was dying; there was nothing left to do but die. Just let me die, Hermione begged vehemently to whatever higher power may be looking down on her. Please...

And either she died and was whisked away from the ensnaring confines of pain, or Dolohov stopped. Hermione didn't care--she only rolled over onto her side and retched again, this time gagging up flecks of blood. She brought her knees up to her chest, hoping that the gentle pressure would ease the throbbing torture imbuing her entire body. Although her eyelids felt as if they were welded shut, she managed to pry them open to find that she was still in the room with Dolohov, but he had somehow been tossed away from her. He was panting on the floor, staring at the window above her head. She could feel the reverberations of an explosion that must have just rocked the house, and Hermione wondered if that had been the reason Dolohov had been thrown off of her.

Dolohov swore under his breath as he got to his feet, stumbling slightly. The homicidal mania was glowing vividly in his eyes, and sickeningly, Hermione knew that the next curse he used on her would be the last. He was tired of playing with her; the next curse would be the one that spelled her death. So this is it, she thought numbly. She wanted to take control like she always did, she really did, but damn it, she was so tired. Hermione had been fighting for her life for days now, and she was sick of it. She had been brave for so long and she hurt so much--she had never felt so terrible in her life; it was as though she was being beaten by a Graphorn, a mountain Troll, and a Chimera for extra measure. The logical part of her knew that she had to get up, she had to save Ron and Harry, but that would involve getting to her feet, and Hermione knew she couldn't do that at the moment. She very well knew that the world could be ending any second, and the awful thing was that she didn't have anything in her to make it stop. It was over.

No.

Hermione gnashed her teeth as she sniffed hard and fought to keep from vomiting up even more blood. Ron, please, she scolded, just let me go--

The delayed reaction finally kicked in and she twitched hopefully, her eyes swinging toward the door. RON?

I'm right here, love. Ron's voice sent a soothing tranquility resonating throughout the length of her aching body. I've been trying to find you, but I couldn't get to you... His thoughts cracked as Hermione caught the hell he had gone through trying to find her mind. He had never been unable to connect with her, but Hermione reckoned that since her brain had been so fried with the Cruciatus Curse, she hadn't had any energy left for anything else. Where are you?

You're back... Hermione wished she had enough energy to convey to him just how overjoyed she was to have him back in the world, but all she could do was send him that wispy thought, smile slightly, and hope with all of her aching heart that he knew, as always, just how she really felt.

Yeah, Ron returned sharply. I came back for you, and now it's your turn. Do not be giving up on me, Hermione, you hear me? It's never over--at least not for us, do you understand? Hermione nodded dumbly, but Ron somehow got the message. Good, he said with utter relief. She could somehow feel the wind whipping through his hair as he hurtled his way across the backyard. Now fight!

Right. Hermione focused her hazy vision on Dolohov's face and let out a squeak when she realized that he was almost upon her once again. She didn't know what had prevented him from attacking her sooner, but she didn't care. All she could see was his looming form bearing over her, but Hermione knew what she had to do. Remaining on her side, Hermione feigned overwhelming nausea and weakness and moaned in defeat. Dolohov's eyes burned with savage mania as he reached down to pull his victim ruthlessly to her feet

He never saw her fist coming.

BAM

Dolohov's head snapped back with a sickening sound as Hermione's knuckles caught him dead on the chin. His teeth clashed with an awful thud, and he was knocked completely off balance. Hermione panted and glanced down at her bruised knuckles. Ron had warned her that it would hurt if she punched with her knuckles, but it had certainly been worth it.

Hermione collapsed to her knees so she could fight for Dolohov's wand. Her groping fingers found the wooden handle, but Dolohov found her wrist, and once again a bitter struggle ensued. They were both too exhausted to get to their feet, so the Death Eater and young witch crawled, kicked, and thrashed out in sheer desperation as they each fought to gain control of the wand. Hermione had no idea how she had lasted so long against a man that was a great deal stronger and twice her size, but perhaps the thought of Ron had been giving her the strength to resist.

She couldn't last much longer. She knew that. She needed help. With a sharp kick to keep Dolohov at bay, she positioned the wand underneath her back and pressed herself as hard as she could against it. Hermione twisted away from Dolohov's hands, turned her neck toward the door, and risked wasting some of her precious breath to cry out. "RON!" she screamed with everything she had. "RON, UP HERE!" Dolohov grabbed a fistful of her hair, and her entire scalp burned from the savage yank. She could practically feel the rage boiling out of him, and she knew that her time was running out. "RON, PLEASE!"

"Shut up!" Dolohov hollered furiously. He opted to mimic Hermione's earlier action by dealing a sharp blow to the side of her face.

Hermione let out a half-scream, half-moan as bright white bulbs of intense light flashed across her vision. She unconsciously rolled to the side with her hand cupped over her injured cheek, exposing the wand she was shielding. Dolohov let out a crow of triumph, and Hermione's heart sank when she realized what she had done.

No, Hermione thought dimly as the bright spots started to dissolve into blackness. That one punch had been the final straw, and Hermione knew that she was only seconds away from passing out. If she fainted, it would all be over. She would lose, and she would have failed Ron. She had promised to fight for him, and she was not about to give up now, especially when she had just gotten him back. She had to do something, anything--desperate times caused for desperate measures--and she had to do it now before she lost consciousness completely.

Churning waves of dizziness were crashing down upon her, but Hermione still somehow managed to muster up the energy to reach out and grab Dolohov's hand with her wrist. His twisted, sneering face spun and blurred in front of her while her hearing gave out completely. Her heart sank. She could feel her lips moving, but she couldn't hear a sound. She prayed that she had somehow wrenched the wand tip away from her and had aimed it at him. She had to curse him; she had to incapacitate him before she fell--

As she fell into a whirlpool of darkness that sucked her away from the world, Dolohov fell forward on top of her as if he had been hit with an extremely powerful curse.

**

"...so Snape is evil and responsible for every foul thing that ever happened to us at school..."

Even through the swirling blackness, Hermione fought the urge to sigh. Was Ron really still that stupid? Wait--RON?

"...and a boggart is a fuzzy, tiny, cute little bird that does cartwheels..."

Hermione wished she could laugh, but she had a feeling it would hurt too much. Everything hurt too much right now to do anything. She knew who it was, of course, from the moment he had smoothed her hair out of her face, but she just couldn't let him know that she could hear him. As much as she wanted to open her eyes and fling her arms around him, she could only lie there for several, long minutes, her heart breaking as she could listened to Ron fighting to keep from crying and trying to stay strong for her. Now this was the only torture that could surmount what she had just been through.

She was racking her muddled brain, trying to find a way to let Ron know she was all right, when a more overwhelming need consumed her. Opening her eyes partway, Hermione was forced to roll over to the side and retch once again. This time even more blood spurted from her lips, and Ron's palpable terror at that sight whacked Hermione like a Bludger. Her throat and chest burning, Hermione struggled for breath and tried to fight off the panic that was overwhelming her.

"Ron," she rasped groggily. "Snape is not evil."

He had been rubbing the small of her back in soothing circles the moment he had realized that she needed to throw up, but his wonderful hands froze at the sound of her voice. "Hermione," he whispered. He gently rolled her onto her back and examined her face. It helped more than Hermione could articulate to see those eyes back to normal: bright blue, full of unadulterated emotion, and alive with the Weasley spark and passion. Granted, his eyes betrayed him and told her that he was absolutely petrified at the moment, but anything was better than those cold, harsh eyes that were devoid of any spark of humanity. "I thought that would wake you up," he said with satisfaction.

"It--certainly did," Hermione conceded weakly. It was becoming difficult to speak again. He had stroked her hair out of her face, and Hermione closed her eyes to focus solely on reveling in his touch. She had always known that Ron would find his way back to her, but damn, it was so wonderful to see him again.

"No, no," Ron ordered sharply, breaking the spell his presence always cast over her. "Stay with me, Hermione. You stay right here."

"I'm here," Hermione croaked. Although her face ached, she managed a ghost of the special smile she reserved just for him. "Hi."

Ron laughed, although his eyes once again betrayed his real emotions. This situation was anything but humorous. "Hello to you, too." His fingers slid lovingly down the side of her throbbing cheek. "You feeling any better?"

"No," Hermione said honestly. Her mind was becoming clearer with each passing second, but nothing was dissolving the agony she was in. She had to see a Healer fast, but she also didn't want Ron to leave her in order to retrieve one. He was the best medicine she could have at the moment. Hermione knew there was only one option, however she had a feeling it was going to make her feel even worse. "Help me up."

"No bloody way," Ron insisted as he easily prevented Hermione from raising herself even a half-inch off of the ground. "Hermione," he protested when she continued to attempt to push herself up.

"It--might--help," Hermione bit out. Every centimeter she moved, a fresh stab of pain jolted through her, and her stomach turned and folded even more. Ron had seized her the moment she had started moving, and she gratefully wrapped her fingers around his forearms before her heavy forehead fell into his knees. Her shoulders and head were the only things that were raised from the floor, but that was as much progress as Hermione could make at the moment.

"Lie back down," Ron begged. "That can't be comfortable." Hermione had had to twist herself into a rather awkward position to remain lying on the floor with her head buried in Ron's knees. Hermione moaned her disapproval and nestled her face deeper into Ron's pants. Yes, her muscles were twitching from the awkward angle, but she just wanted to stay as close to him as possible. "Come on," Ron insisted as he started to lay her back onto the floor.

For the first time, as he picked her up from his knees, Hermione saw what lay behind Ron. It startled her so much that without thinking she jerked backward, ending up in a full sitting position with her fingers digging into Ron's arms. "Hermione," Ron protested wildly once again, but she wasn't listening.

"Ron," she whispered. "What happened to him?"

Antonin Dolohov was crumpled in the corner, lying on his back, his wide unfocused eyes riveted to the ceiling. There were only a few minor bruises on his pale, ugly face, but it was clear that he was dead. The man who had almost killed her had died somehow, and Hermione had a sinking suspicion about what had ended that horrible man's life, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know just how and why it had happened.

Ron glanced over his shoulder and winced. "Oh. Him."

"Oh, him?" Hermione hissed savagely. The breath she had just regained was burning in her tight lungs, and she knew she was close to hyperventilating. She didn't even want to conceive of what had happened while she had just been lying here oblivious to everything, but she had to know, even if it was going to make her want to throw up. "Did you do that? Did--did he hurt you?" she demanded fiercely. God, if Dolohov had touched Ron she was going to find a way to bring him back from the dead just so she could torture him herself.

"No," Ron said quickly when he realized how upset she was. He hadn't even considered that possibility, and he certainly hadn't realized that Hermione was just as protective of him as he was of her. "No, Hermione, he--" His voice broke, and for some reason, he couldn't look at her. He also couldn't lie to her, which was making this all the more difficult. "He was like that when I got up here."

Hermione could only stare, her body suddenly cold as the impact of his words struck her. "He was?" her voice creaked fearfully.

"Yeah," Ron replied thickly. His eyes were on something on the floor, and Hermione followed his gaze. Dolohov's wand lay near Hermione's thigh. It was lying there as though it had fallen out of her limp hand after she had passed out. She had had the wand when she had fainted. She had been in control. She had been the one to end it. And that meant--

Hermione flinched violently. "No."

"Hermione, sweetheart, it's okay." Ron quickly moved to pacify her. His hands went up to gently but firmly force her face up to his. "He was going to kill you. There was nothing else you could do--"

"NO," Hermione burst out. The raw intensity of her voice almost caused her to topple over again, but Ron held her steady. Her eyes rocketed back over to Dolohov. Her chest constricted, and her world collapsed, but she didn't notice. She could only stare at the whizzing, hazy memories that were rushing past her eyes. With agonizing clarity, she remembered how she had been struggling with Dolohov, how she had actually thought that something had to be done before it was too late, how she had twisted the wand toward him, and how she had been trying with everything she had to whisper a spell. Whenever she set her mind to something, she always managed to do it, so she must have done it. She had killed Dolohov. She had taken someone's life.

Even though it was someone as awful as Dolohov, it still felt as though a white-hot blade was being jabbed into her heart as she realized that she had just committed an act that went against everything she lived for. The one thing she had stressed to Harry when she learned about the prophecy was that he couldn't kill for hate. If he killed for the wrong reasons, he would be just as bad as the Death Eaters. And yes, it had been self-defense, but for some reason, it just felt wrong. The idea that she had actually ended a person's life; she was the reason why his chest no longer rose and fell with breath, why his empty heart no longer drummed beneath his chest, and why his eyes no longer glowed and burned with sadistic malice. A horrible person was dead, yes, but Hermione had never wanted to be the one to end him. She had never wanted to kill anyone.

"Hermione." Ron's firm, frightened voice burst through her thoughts. "Hermione, breathe." With a pained hiccup, Hermione realized that she was hyperventilating, and she struggled to concentrate on returning air back into her lungs. She felt his mind touching hers again. As always, he was expressing all of the love, devotion, and adoration he had ever felt for her, and it was that reminder seeping through her heart and soul that allowed Hermione to finally begin to breathe properly.

Air wasn't enough, however. She needed him. Her eyes and throat were burning and itching, but the tears wouldn't leak out. She just didn't have the strength. With a half-sigh, half-wail, Hermione collapsed into Ron, her face mercifully falling into the comfortable point where his neck met his shoulder. His arms went fast around her, and she wished that she could return the gesture, but she just couldn't. She couldn't do anything. It was taking all she had just to maintain a constant flow of air into her body. Even though her eyes were closed, she could still see the sneer on Dolohov's face as he openly mocked her from beyond the grave, because he knew he would still live on in her nightmares. He would haunt her forever. He had accomplished his goal of driving the little Mudblood insane. Antonin Dolohov would lurk in Hermione's mind forever, and he would thereby be torturing her for the rest of her life. He had won.

Hermione pressed her ear against Ron's shoulder as the laugher echoed in her brain. She let out a little cry again, and Ron reluctantly pulled away from her to inspect her condition. Hermione tried to look only at his open, beautiful face, but she still caught sight of her murder victim. Her stomach heaved and jolted, and it took all of what little willpower she had left to keep from throwing up all over Ron.

He hadn't asked her if she was all right, but she knew that he was about to, and she didn't want to waste any more time. The horrors of the room were practically strangling her, and if she stayed in here a second longer, she didn't know what would happen to her. "Get me out of here," she begged weakly.

If he didn't think she was strong enough to be moved, Ron didn't voice it aloud. "Okay," he said softly. "Do you want to try walking, or do you--"

"Yes," Hermione mumbled quickly. She wanted to feel as normal as possible.

Ron looked as though he disagreed, but mercifully, he knew not to argue with her. She had a feeling if they got into a row, the tears she was working so hard to suppress would explode out of her. He crouched on the floor behind her, his hands under her shoulders. "On three," he told her. "One, two, three--up you go." Hermione winced as Ron easily lifted her onto her feet. She had somehow forgotten that her muscles felt as though they had been ripped out of her, tied into several tight knots, and stuffed roughly back inside her body. She swayed, but Ron was already draping her arm over his shoulder. His other arm went around her waist, and her head lolled onto his shoulder as he guided her toward the door. He swiftly brushed her hair back into her face, successfully hiding the dead body from view as they hobbled out of the room and back into the corridor.

Hermione managed a deep, shaky breath as they started toward the staircase. She had hoped that being away from Dolohov's body would help, but it didn't. Ron was trying to keep her talking and moving, but Hermione couldn't focus on him, and that was saying something. Putting one leg in front of the other took a great deal more energy than she had ever known she had, and Hermione knew she would never take the simple act of walking for granted ever again.

Then Hermione took one look at the stairs swirling and blurring in front of her, and she almost lost consciousness right then and there. A massive attack of vertigo seized her, and Hermione started to imagine falling head over heels and cracking her head on the wide expanse of empty floor looming at the bottom of the staircase. Great black spots loomed across her vision as the stairs taunted her.

She burrowed her face into Ron's shoulder and clutched him as tightly as she could. He had always been her rock, and right now, she couldn't lose the one strong, secure thing in her life. "Ron, I can't," she admitted in a small, embarrassed voice. Although she knew it was necessary, Hermione Granger still hated to ask for help.

Once again, Ron knew not to say another word. He took Hermione's limp arm and wrapped it around his neck. Positioning his long arms behind her back and knees, he lifted her easily off of her feet and carefully descended down the stairs. Hermione's breath caught in her throat; goodness, Ron was strong.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, and when he spoke, she could feel his wonderfully deep voice reverberating in his chest. "Do you want me to--?" He shifted her slightly so she could cuddle even closer to him. "Because honestly, Hermione, I don't mind," he added sincerely.

Hermione wanted to say yes. She wanted to let her hero whisk her out of danger and into the sunset so they could live happily ever after. She just wanted to curl up against him, let the soothing warmth of his body flood her completely, and drift away. "Ok--" she began, but she heard hurried footsteps thudding toward the foyer. Someone was coming. Her heart clutched with pure panic as she realized something she should have considered before allowing Ron to carry her: he couldn't get to his wand if he was using both hands to hold her up. "Ron," she said edgily.

"Yeah." Ron reluctantly set her back on her feet and whipped out his wand. He kept his arm around her waist when he felt her wobble and sway. "Stay ba--" He started to warn her, but then a head of shocking red hair jogged into view, and Ron blew out a relieved breath. "George," he said gratefully. "Can you--son of a bitch!" He broke off when Hermione swayed so violently that she would have fallen to the floor again if he hadn't caught her in time. She seized him about the neck and hung on as tightly as she could as the world rocked and swirled once again.

She steadied herself and let out a long, shaky, miserable breath. George's arrival had just reminded her of what she was going to have to do as soon as she got better. She was going to have to tell everyone she knew that she had killed someone. Her parents, Harry, Ginny, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, the Weasleys--she groaned as Mr. Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody joined George in the corridor and gawked at the two of them standing there. She couldn't do it; she couldn't look these people in the eye and admit to using an Unforgivable Curse. She couldn't tell anyone that she had killed someone. She could barely admit it to herself.

She didn't realize that she had been babbling these panicked thoughts aloud until Ron gently shushed her. She glanced over at George, Mr. Weasley, and Mad-Eye, and to her relief, she saw from the baffled expressions on their faces that they had no idea what she was talking about. Only Ron knew what she had done. She dug her nails into Ron's shirt, probably hurting him rather badly, but Ron didn't complain. "Give her a minute," Ron shot over to the three men. They were all poised to do whatever necessary to make sure that this obviously delirious girl received the proper medical care.

"Ron," Mr. Weasley tried to intervene. "She needs a Healer--"

"You can't crowd her right now. Let me handle this. I'll be right back." He tried to guide Hermione away, but Moody was still fast approaching, and Ron finally snapped. "JUST GIVE HER ONE BLOODY MINUTE!" Ron roared with a fierce scowl. Even Mad-Eye was properly stunned into submission as Ron half-dragged, half-carried a grateful Hermione away; she wasn't ready to talk to anyone but Ron just yet. He guided her into a dusty, dingy dining room, and he set her down in the nearest chair. He knelt down in front of her and held her shoulders. "Hermione," he said in a very hoarse, serious voice. "It's not your fault. You had to do it."

"No." Hermione shook her head vigorously from side to side. She could practically feel her mashed brain thud against her skull, but she didn't care. The tears were finally starting to come, and the horrible pressure in her eyes and chest was finally being released. "No, Ron, it is. I could have hurt him or Stunned him or incapacitated him in some way, but I didn't have to kill him. I chose to. I chose to be a murderer. I killed somebody Ron!" Her voice cracked and she hiccupped violently before rambling on. "I never wanted to kill anyone, Ron. I would never want to do that." She stared wide-eyed at Ron's heartbroken face, wild tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "Would you? Would you kill someone?"

"If they caused you to feel this way, yeah, I would," Ron replied automatically.

Hermione's nausea intensified at the thought of Ron killing someone for her. She wasn't sure if she would ever forgive herself if she caused Ron to become like her. "Well, don't," she ordered fiercely. "Never kill anyone, Ron, promise me that you won't, because I know you, and although yes, you can get very angry and you think with your heart and your fists, I know it would you eat you alive." Ron was getting her hair away from her face again, and Hermione grabbed his wrists to drive her point home. "I never want you to feel like this," she said passionately.

Ron blanched and almost broke down himself when Hermione allowed him to experience was she was going through. It was like he was physically being torn into little bits; the guilt was tearing her up inside. And from the raw intensity of her suffering, Ron didn't know how and when this pain was going to abate. It would plague her for the rest of her life, and it would never stop hurting her this badly. His face crumpled, but he pulled himself together as quickly as he could as a solution struck him.

"Sit back," he ordered flatly. Hermione blinked at his abrupt change, but she meekly obeyed. Ron slid his hands down to hers and squeezed her fingers tightly.

"What are you doing?" Hermione choked out between her violent, sporadic sobs when she saw him going for his wand again.

Ron looked up at her and Hermione shivered slightly. She had never seen his eyes so serious. "Do you trust me?"

"More than I trust myself," Hermione answered immediately.

He straightened up on his knees and lovingly touched her cheek. "I think I can make it better," he told her. "You may hate me later, but--" He hesitated, but he steeled himself after staring a minute longer at her tear-streaked face. His jaw clenched determinedly. "I have to do something, Hermione. I can stand a lot of things, but I can't watch you tear yourself up like this. So please let me make this better."

Hermione had to hang her head to stifle another vicious sob. If she kept looking at his earnest, adoring eyes, it would only remind her how lucky she was, and it would only make her cry even harder. She didn't deserve to be loved this much. "Yes," she agreed with a sniff. She raised her head, biting her lip. Hermione didn't know what she could do to get over this, and if Ron had a solution, she was perfectly willing to let him do whatever it took. She sure as hell couldn't do it alone. "Please make it better, Ron."

Ron looked infinitely relieved, but still rather nervous. Abruptly, he grabbed both sides of her face and kissed her soundly. Hermione had to gasp for air afterward, but for once, she didn't care that she was completely breathless again. He had made her feel something besides pure misery and guilt for a moment, and for that, she would be forever in his debt.

"Close your eyes," he requested gently. Hermione complied. One of his hands moved from her cheek to retrieve the wand he had dropped, and he cautiously aimed it at her forehead. Hermione frowned, hoping that Ron would hurry up and do what he was planning to before she passed out again. The darkness was already tempting her back into its inky recesses, and if she succumbed now, she didn't know if she would ever come back. "I'm so sorry," he whispered painfully. He took a deep breath and concentrated intently on the spell he was attempting to perform for the first time.

"Obliviate!"

Hermione's eyes flew open and she bolted upright. No. Her face contorted with horrifying disbelief. It wasn't true. She must have done the spell wrong. It was just a bad dream. Ron wouldn't--she wouldn't--

But he did. And she had.

And she was so furious, she wondered if she was ready to kill again.