Blazing Sands

Blazing Sands

~ Or if our paths should cross and I despised you

Would we meet again to fall in love? ~

Part VI:

Even in an organization as elite as the Aurors, there were always tentative rumours that floated about. Hermione remembered the rumours and gossip that went about when every one heard that Harry Potter joined the cadets. One such rumour was the Spectres. It was a name given to an apparent highly specialized, top-secret lot, which fell under the Special Operatives sector. Designed especially to track and kill.

An apparent lot.

There was absolutely no proof of their existence. Officially or unofficially. The rumour mongers said, they were ghosts, they're there, but you can't see them. 'Spectres' was always an electrifying way of addressing them, quite clearly generated by those who started the rumours themselves. Of course, nobody believed it. It would be rather odd and foolish to sub divide an already highly specialized and top-secret lot that the Aurors obviously were, into a more highly specialized and top-secret lot. Aurorhood was no joke, it was about as dangerous as dangerous could get. Their superiors agreed along those lines and within months of the rumours were quelled and those who seemed to thrive on rumours paid by expulsion. Mad-Eye Moody, who was the Chief of the Aurors at the time she had been enlisted, had a draconian rule about rumours. He would have none of it.

She agreed completely with him, and dismissed the questions in her mind when all the gossip was dismissed. According to rumours, they were not the 'typical secret-agent ruthless-man' type. They were scary. Blaise Zabini who by far happened to be the only Slytherin and only other girl from their batch had told her that they were primarily assassins and spies more than Aurors. Of course, Blaise always had a thing for the likes of Draco Malfoy, and acted more like Lavender Brown, so her credibility was far overrated.

As the thoughts flashed randomly in her head, Hermione stared in scepticism at the man who sat on her bed. She looked into his blue eyes, now finally being able to meet them and searched for a boy she once knew. A boy whose primary concern was Quidditch and whose secondary concern was his next sumptuous meal. A boy who spent most of his nights having warranted or unwarranted adventures with Harry and ended up sleeping most of the time in class; a boy whom she had watched grow from a 11-year-old with dirt on his nose to a mischievous Auror cadet who had constantly tested the patience of their superiors, so much that she had wondered if he would actually survive the training without being suspended at least once. The image of that boy shattered in front of her eyes as she was confronted with a flood of questions; in her dilemma to choose which one to ask, she raised his drooping head to meet hers.

"When?" was all she could manage out of her dry mouth.

"I was recruited into Auror training before we finished school," he answered, in a defeated tone. He groaned suddenly and began wheezing, forcing her rudely out of her shock to reach out to him. If there was anything she could finally understand, it was the need to keep a secret. Though she felt a little betrayed, she realized the weight of the responsibility when she was in her third year, and she could see that being a part of the Spectres, he had just taken the greatest risk by compromising his most valuable information, that he was a part of the Spectres.

She helped him settle into bed as he, without being prompted, then began to explain, "Do you remember that episode when we were coming to Hogwarts, on the train? Seventh Year? When I broke Malfoy's jaw?"

She nodded, feeling a little numb and unable to react, and he continued, "Remember that horrible detention that Dumbledore gave me? Apparently he was so angry that he gave me something so severe than no one knew, not even the teachers and you...the Head Girl?"

Hermione went silently towards the tray he had put aside on the bed, and picked it up, remembering that year very well. Ron's bravado had earned him a detention so severe, in exchange for expulsion, that he had been given a task that exhausted him completely. They only saw him during lessons and the few occasions he was able to eat with them or have a little fun. His trips to Hogsmeade had also been cancelled. Hermione and Harry had more than once gone to plead for his case with Dumbledore, who firmly declined saying that Ron would be fine. He was fine, technically, but both of them had observed his reduced intake of food and quite a few bruises and contusions on his body. Lavender had wondered, much to Hermione's alarm, if Dumbledore had Ron flogged, but they assumed then, it was some sort of physical work that involved intense strain, because they knew that their Headmaster would never inflict such a punitive result on him. She remembered telling Harry that the best support they could give Ron was by understanding when he couldn't do the many things they did together.

Of course, now that she thought about it, it all began making sense.

"I was taken by Dumbledore to meet Sirius, Mad Eye and Jack Geiger. They told me that though the N.E.W.T.s were officially a primary category to work in the Ministry, it wasn't the only considered for Auror training. So I didn't have to finish school to enlist. They gave me a lot of shit on my potential and abilities, which I didn't believe. I said no, straightaway, after all I didn't have the balls like Harry or your cleverness with spells. No matter how exciting it sounded I knew that I could lose everything.

"But Dumbledore and Sirius told me the truth. The reason they needed me was because I was closest to Harry. And because I was from a Wizard family I was posed a lesser hazard for abduction than you did. I was best suited to protect the two of you. That was what convinced me. Because the only thing to me more important to my life was yours and Harry's. Damn the whole world to hell, I just wanted the two of you alive. Those hours when you thought I was serving detention I spent with the best Aurors being trained. It was hell at first...but I kept thinking of the moment Voldemort would attack and that just drove me on."

"Sirius knows?" she whispered, feeling a little cheated, sitting on the bed, next to him adjusting the pillow behind his back.

He nodded and continued, "Dumbledore had had me under a secrecy charm, so I couldn't tell you, even if I wanted to. Why do you think I worked hard for my N.E.W.T.s? I didn't care about those blasted exams; I just had to make it appear that I wanted to join the Cadets with you and Harry. I was instructed to get into trouble as often as I could at theCadets, with the assurance that I would not be expelled, so I could be taken for advanced training, whenever everyone thought I was suffering punishment."

And all the while she wondered why someone who seemed eager to be an Auror was constantly playing pranks all over the Training.

"And your death?" she whispered.

He sighed resignedly, "Snape was sent as a spy for the Death Eaters. That is why he disappeared in the latter half of our seventh year. Rumours were allowed to spread that he rejoined the Death Eaters. The problem was, that bastard Voldemort always knew that Snape was on our side. He just allowed everyone to think he didn't know. Especially Snape, who filtered information to us, until finally Voldemort had him tortured and flung over the cliff where his lair was. Everyone thought he was dead, but Sirius suspected otherwise. We were in our second year at the Cadet training then, remember? So even if Voldemort knew I was being trained to be an Auror, he would suspect I posed no threat. I was the perfect choice for the assignment."

"You were nineteen!" she exclaimed softly.

"And a full fledged Auror, long before you knew," he pointed out. "Snape had reached information to us that there was a plan to have me kidnapped as bait, for Harry. So they told me that I was to finish Voldemort and then feign my death."

"Why?"

"Because there was suspicion that three Death Eaters who apparently died in Voldemort's 'service', as Malfoy had boasted before he was killed, had escaped to preserve their group and try to resurrect Voldemort in case something went wrong with their fucking megalomaniacal plan. The plan backfired...in a way."

"What do you mean?"

"The Aurors underestimated Harry's nerve as usual and didn't anticipate him to face Voldemort. They were supposed to send the Auror Team to rescue me from the torture chamber and arrest Voldemort then tell the world that I had died in pain while I slipped underground. Only that Harry reached there first, while he was giving me hell. I had no option but to stop the bastard from killing Harry. So when he cast the curse on Harry...I was badly wounded...I didn't know at that moment it was an AKD...but I figured it was the Avada Kedavara or something of the sort. I used a barrier spell to stop it from reaching Harry and retaliate on to him. I came in front of him by mistake, which made Harry think I blocked the spell. I hadn't intended to let Harry see it...but it just went out of hand, I thought about sticking around, but the minute I heard him screaming I knew that was the moment I had to do it. So I Apparated out of there to my reporting site. And Harry..."

Hermione watched as his face crumbled and the tears began steaming like a flood from his eyes. She sat still for a minute, tears streaming down her face. When his anguished growl came as his body pitched with sobs, she shifted closer and he grabbed her and brought her closer burying his wet face in her shoulder. She pressed her lips together and tried not to sob with him as he wept on her. Her arms went around his bare back, she felt him pull her closer as his rough beard rubbed at her skin. With anguished gasps she heard him whisper, "...I had been told that it was a one way trip. I would never be allowed to return...I had to do it. Those fucking bastards would never leave Harry alone, if I didn't. I had to do it..." he broke off taking a sharp intake of air. And suddenly she felt him jerk violently. If she hadn't shifted her head backwards, his forehead would have collided with her jaw.

She saw a painful grimace as he caught his side again. She whimpered a little before, forcing him to recline on the bed, saying, "Ron, you need rest."

"No," he moaned, "I just...I didn't..."

"Shh...it's okay."

He squeezed his eyes shut and kept his embrace on her saying, "Hermione, I was not supposed to tell..."

"I know," she said in an assuring manner. "Don't worry..."

"No...I can't stay here."

"Ron," she caught his face and forced him to see reason, "Nobody knows you're here."

"I have to get information to..."

"I know," she asserted. "But you are in no position to be moving."

"Please," he groaned and suddenly exclaimed, "Argh! Fucking pain!"

"The pain will only increase," she whispered. "It will become worse if you shift too much. I shouldn't have let you exert that much."

"Hermione, if they know I am alive...they'll come for me..."

Hermione did not respond immediately. With a sudden deliberation she said, "They won't..."

"I have to tell them," he whispered.

She kept her hand to his forehead and sighed. His temperature was rising.

"Ron..."

"I have to reach news. They don't know I am still alive."

"Who don't?"

"S-O-S..."

"Special Operatives Sector?"

He nodded and began gasping loudly, all of a sudden.

"Ron?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Can't....breathe..."

Hermione felt his heart pounding wildly against his chest. She knew just by the way his body was breaking into sweat his blood pressure was raising monumentally high. He began wheezing loudly and his eyes were rolling back into his head and Hermione reached her wand and directed it towards chest.

"Depressario!" she said. His body immediately lurched violently shaking the bed. As it fell back she watched his breathing slow down and his irises rolled to the front. His exhausted face sank in an expression of stupor and within minutes he was unconscious.

Hermione sighed heavily in a mixture of exhaustion and overwhelming misery, and left him to owl the hospital that she was not coming to work, again.

***

Hermione was never much of a sleeper. More so after Ron's 'death', she had often been kept awake by dreams and nightmares, so she had sort of gained a dislike for sleep, and only slept because it was necessary to keep sane. However now, since Ron had come into her life, she collapsed on the sofa in her living room out of sheer exhaustion hoping and praying that Ron would not go into any more crises while she slept.

She blamed herself. After all she had provoked him every time before he would go into some sort of reaction. Although, the poison had been cleared out of his body his lesion, which was very large, still bled. Mostly because of his overexertion. For almost a fortnight she kept watch on him, checking the large dragon shaped tear in his side. The previous evening, she realized with alarm that the coagulant potion supply she had was depleting and the only place to get it was the alchemy at St. Mungo's, at it was a potion which could only be acquired by prescription or by the doctor's personal request. She had decided to take the full fortnight off, which Dr. Prichard, the Dean had owled her to say was absolutely fine with him, as long as she was in refreshed when she returned ('take my advice, Hermione, the determination with which you have been working with us, incessantly, I feel you should take the month off to compensate for the amount of actual leave you have forgone in three years!'). She couldn't risk any of her colleagues at St. Mungo's delivering the potion home, so it meant she'd have to get it herself.

It meant she'd have to leave Ron in the house, vulnerable.

Of course, the only talk that left his mouth the few times in a day he was awake was leaving. He constantly reminded her that he was in danger and that she by the basis of her association with him automatically became a target with him. If it wasn't that argument, then it was his need to go and meet them or tell them. She assumed them was the SOS regarding his being alive and offered to send a message to Sirius (for whom she had been harbouring a little bit of anger, on learning that he knew about Ron's mission and allowed them to suffer). But he kept saying something about the SOS underground, something she couldn't understand and didn't have either the bravery or the curiosity to venture into. She had at least one vociferous dispute per day with him regarding his unreasonable desire.

Of course she knew that though his timing to leave was irrational, she knew the reason behind it wasn't.

Hermione often wondered, if it was the Raeties who cast the spell on Ron, but from what she learnt of them they never associated with humans directly. They considered humans so despicable that the idea of even casting a spell directly would mean contamination of their race.

At least that was Abdul said.

Hermione shifted to make herself more comfortable and closed her eyes thinking of the words in Khalid Abdul Sayed's diary. As she continued to read she almost thought she could hear a deep voice in her head that was his as he narrated to her a story. The man clearly had the art of narration in him and within three days of reading it was like she was listening to the fantastic experience of an old friend, so much that she began calling him Abdul.

Hermione swore all of a sudden. Even when she wanted to sleep she could not. Her mind was plagued with thoughts and wonderings. Half of them reproaches, most of them hypothesizing over the what-ifs and if nots of her life. She growled lowly and turned to her side on the sofa, kicking off the blanked over her. It was a cold night but she for some reason felt her blood boil.

When everything that Ron had told her came back at her like a charging army later that day, she sat in a heap on the floor next to the fire and felt a burst of anger towards everyone. Towards Harry Potter for being 'the Boy who Lived', towards Voldemort who was the cause of this whole mess, towards Ron for befriending her, towards Sirius who stayed silent while they all mourned for his death, towards herself for being so weak, towards everyone. When she was able to control her anger and her tears she wondered what it was like for Ron to be alone all these years. She had long ago learnt that it was much more painful for someone who knew their family to lose them, than for an orphan like Harry who never knew them to be aware of their loss. Because where Harry had hate and responsibility, he didn't have the pain of memories. And for someone like Ron with so large and well bonded a family, she understood for the first time that he may have suffered more on the knowledge of deceiving them, and for the first time she in reality understood that Ron could never go back.

Never.

Hermione sat up on the sofa and sighed. She was tired and frustrated, she felt like a trapped animal and felt guilty all of a sudden. Ron never forced her to accept this state of not being able to go out and keep silent about what was actually going on with her. As a protective measure she sent a letter to Harry asking him if he thought she was crazy to just curl up in her house for two weeks and tend to herself. Harry responded with a fireplace call urging her to dump all her books away and to get out and smell the roses, with a happy grin.

Of course, she thought, if only he knew.

Ron had noticed that she hadn't gone to work in the end of the first week and that they had been in the house for nearly two weeks that morning, whenever he was fully conscious. The previous night when she told him about the lack of potion and this morning her reluctance to leave the house, he threatened to leave naked, if she didn't get back to the hospital.

...Have you gone mad, woman? You're worried about my potion? You have a life for crying out loud, I'll be damned if you stay here and get fired for malingering...

So she did get back to work. And bugger! Paranoia did not come close to describing her actions throughout the day!

...Bloody hell Hermione, you'll be gone for...what? Couple of hours! There is not a single fire causing agent in this house that you haven't put out except your own ruddy paranoia!...

She was under the distinct impression when she left the house after making sure was alright that morning that a fire could break out in her house and he would be alone and unable to get out. She had made him swear not to leave and to ensure it she cast a spell where he could neither leave nor could anyone enter, so if a fire broke out he could not leave. When he had shouted the fear of the house burning down with him in it, out of her, because she had returned thrice to check on all electrical appliances and magical flame igniters, she settled down and nodded and left only to return again to ensure that the spells were intact. Even if there wouldn't be a fire, he was still a target for murder.

Blushing embarrassedly, and no longer wanting to remember her jumpiness throughout the day, especially when she almost attacked Dr. Prichard, who was under the impression she was going through a nervous break down, told her to take the rest of the week off and that he would not pay her salary if she even came once to work. So refilling her supplies of all possible potions, spells and books she would need in case of any more crises she bounded back to the house and burst into the room surprising Ron, who nearly fell of the bed at her entry and then they launched into another vociferous argument.

Hermione suddenly stopped. She looked around and found herself at the door to her bedroom and realized that she had unconsciously come to check up on him. Or was it to check on him? Lost in her thoughts she hadn't realized how used to him she had become. The greatest fear in her heart now was not when Ron would leave, but rather the fact that he would. No matter how much she ignored it she knew that he could not stay longer than a few days. Even if he wanted to the responsibilities he had taken on, as a Spectre would haunt him. If he tried to go back to Harry or his family she knew he would suffer more pain, because she suspected that even though his family would accept him back, they would still despise him for his deception. Just as she despised him when she first learnt of it, and she still did occasionally. Though she had the luxury of learning the horrible truth of his story, she doubted if he could tell them. He had already committed a grave mistake by telling her, and if any of his colleagues or superiors or whatever you could call them, found out it would cost him.

Realizing that without her knowledge she had already entered the room, where she once slept and which he usurped unintentionally and unknowingly and for which she did not resent him one bit, she sat on the opposite site of the bed. She was under the opinion that her bed was too big for her, when Harry had first helped her buy it. Now she thought his entire bulk made it suffice only for him. He was still lean, but she could see the strength in those muscles that lay bare for him as he slept peacefully, his one hand draped on his own chest, the other above his head. The moonlight streamed into the room, giving a blue tinge to everything, including his fiery hair. Hermione had often thought, whenever she observed him sleeping in school that for a man his size and formidability he looked like an innocent child when he slept. Now as she saw him with all that mass of hair around his face that made her barely recognize the face underneath, he looked like an innocent child with a premature beard.

She smiled at the ridiculousness of the thought and shifted closer to observe him sleep. She checked the bandage over the wound and was happy to see it was devoid of the blood that it was often stained with whenever it ruptured and bled, and made her replace it, at least twice every day until two days ago. Hermione was relieved that it was healing, the wound was as good as a hole in his side and she had struggled to control it from killing him.

Hermione thought of the idea of him dying again and swallowed a sob. Even though she resented his being alive, she couldn't bear the knowledge of him being dead, as in actually dead and the idea of losing him...again.

She realized with a start that she was lying down by his side. She had only done that once before, unconsciously and she had enjoyed it, but dared not venture into it again. Yet she felt a sudden wave of comfort and sleepiness wash over her body, making her wonder if it was because she slept on the sofa for all these nights that she found her bed rather inviting.

As she looked at the peaceful form that lay next to her, she understood unwittingly that it wasn't.

Ron woke up to find her peaceful face in view. He realized that he was getting accustomed to being in Hermione's company that he no longer awoke wondering where he was. He turned his head to look at the ceiling and widened his eyes to push out the sleep from it. Sleep was something he loved but he never permitted himself to such a luxury except only when necessary for the very fact that there where many gutless enemies who were cowards enough to kill people in their sleep and he was often a favourite target. Though, with her by his side he suddenly felt protected. He tried not to smile at the reaction he would get if he told Geiger, he thought that. Jack Geiger was the Spectre weapons specialist who often taught the Auror Cadets the art of combat and was more unruly, rude and unaccommodating than Snape. Particularly towards women. He was a typical 'male chauvinistic pig' as Hermione had disgustedly put it, because he never hesitated to jump on the guns of female witches, no matter how talented they were. Hermione despised him, much to Ron's amusement because he never thought she had such opinions on superiors, but he could understand. The man never had any manners, and if a female Auror-to-be showed any potential which Hermione was full off, Geiger made it his self-proclaimed right to prove it otherwise. He and Harry had often been alarmed at Hermione's resolve not to retaliate at the man, when he would often pass crass comments on her in the academy, when even they were tempted to kick him in the balls. Hermione had often cried on his and Harry's shoulder whenever they dared to break her calm exterior on the matter, particularly because she was forced to work against time to prove herself in an as-good-as macho profession because female Aurors were rare and their superiors who were women were no comfort to her. Their attitude was worse than the men.

Of course, when he actually got to know Geiger, he could make out that he actually admired Hermione's ability to cast spells with perfection though he would never verbally admit it.

'Protected by a woman?' Geiger would say, 'Are you a man or a wimp?'

Of course, this was no ordinary woman; he thought as he looked at a face he longed to hold in his vision for as long as he dared. Her strength to manage to practically carry him around in his indisposition baffled him. He knew very well the implications of being hit by a Maut spell. He didn't know how he managed to survive that long for nearly three hours after being hit but he asserted for the millionth time in two weeks that the reason he survived after that was because of her. How on earth she did it, when even the best doctors the Spectres beheld failed, he didn't know.

Of course, considering it was Hermione, there was no point in trying to know.

Tired of being in bed for so long, he tried to slowly sit up. Relieved that the pain was only minimal and almost gone he shifted softly, so she wouldn't be disturbed. He looked at her as he leaned against the headboard. She lay curled towards his site, her long hair tied into a loose plait, which fell about a shoulder. She was wearing a woollen button-down shirt over faded jeans. His eyes roamed over the curve over her hips and length of her legs, and immediately darted away when he felt something in his diaphragm. He was complicating things for himself, he told himself again. It was bad enough, he longed to just be with her forever and now to have not so friendly thoughts about her, would only make things difficult. He swung the covers off him and debated whether to cover her sleeping form, but clearly she wasn't feeling cold and he knew she didn't appreciate unnecessary chivalry (one of the many things he adored about her). He looked down at himself and realized that he had been in her bed, naked for two weeks and there had not been a drop of sex involved. Of course, thoughts of sex...his eyes went towards Hermione's hips again. He swore under breath and swung his legs out of bed and rested his weight on his arms, which supported him on either side.

He looked down at his wound and was relieved once again, because he felt a lot better and less tired that he used to. His gaze unwittingly went lower...down there...

... Oh don't worry...I'm not looking at that. Besides...I've seen better...

He smiled and shook his head, casting a glance back at her, any other woman would have gone red with the idea of him being naked in her bed for so long and not doing anything about it. Of course Hermione never seemed to express most of her opinions on the men she knew. Partly because she knew they would tease her mercilessly and partly, at least he felt, it was because she didn't want to get sidetracked from becoming a bloody good Auror. Ron looked at his body. He had lost considerable amount of weight but...something else struck him. Quite a few scars on his body, which he was told were irreparable, had disappeared. He looked a lot less bruised and he wondered if he was sure he heard ben-Jahiba right when she told him that some damages were permanent. His answer came as he looked back at the woman who had now turned to lie on her back.

Imagine Fletcher's surprise if he told him that ben-Jahiba wasn't the best doctor on the street!

He looked at the window and smiled, the sunlight streamed into a perfectly kept room. Hermione was still as organized as organized could get, of course she was still the frantic worrier. He still remembered the paranoid expression she had on her face every time she returned yesterday, before making it to the hospital. She was convinced for some reason that a fire would blow up her house or someone would attack him or that the poison which thanks to her was cleared out would phenomenally reenter his body. After so many verbal battles with her she finally left him exhausted and he slept through the day to wake to find her bursting into his room checking if he was still there.

"Hermione! Look at me! Where'd you think I could go like this?"

"I don't know Ron; I don't know what to think!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, woman! I can barely stand properly!"

"Don't use that 'woman' tone with me Ron Weasley!"

He smiled involuntarily as he stood slowly, overjoyed that the world wouldn't swirl about him and make him keel over and drop in a dead faint, and also at the fact that some things between them would never change. He walked towards the bathroom casting a glance at Hermione who had now raised her arm to rest her elbow on her forehead. The action caused her woolen blouse to ride up and he was greeted with the sight of her flat stomach and her rather attractive navel. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the image. He felt the blood going down south and swallowed the desire to stand and stare any longer before entering the bathroom.

I need a cold shower, he thought, as he splashed water on his face, a really cold one. He looked at the cabinet of the mirror and fought the sob as the memory of finding the vial of Oblivion, which was what the peddler name was for Azoprapine Phoenicius. The drug she was using as an anti-depressant. He believed her when she assured him; she no longer used it but only left the empty vial there as a mistake, but it killed him to think of her using it ever...especially because of him. He looked at the mirror at the beard, which had grown unnaturally long. He shook his head and went towards the tub.

Though Hermione had sponged him every day, he was mostly unconscious while she did it, not that he minded. He felt rather stupid at being so helpless though her opinion was that men forget they were their mothers cleaned up their pissing and shitting when they were babies. Thinking of his mother, he sighed. He longed to just enter the kitchen and having her bawling at him because he ate a pie he shouldn't have had. Even on the rare occasions he ate a feast, he missed her cooking and her nagging attitude towards cleanliness. He wondered if it was okay to have a bath. He pulled out the bandage and saw that scar tissue had been formed over the obtrusive wound. Gently rubbing his finger over it, he was satisfied to find it was dry and that the feel underneath was firm. It was healing very well thanks to 'Hermione magic'. He pulled the bandage away completely and pulled open the tap for hot water, relieved that there was some. As the rush of water filled the tub he noticed that the pain he usually had when he bent had gone.

He looked at the full-length mirror he had seen countless times before, but never really noticed. He looked at himself and was satisfied that a bath would not affect the wound.

...I've seen better...

A sudden wave of jealousy rose from his stomach and shot through his head. Swearing rather colourfully he turned towards the bathtub and got in. The warmth of the water helped ease the hot irritation that he felt in his heart as he reached to turn of the tap and relax into the water, closing his eyes as he revelled in the heat seeping into his sore muscles and easing the ten in them. That didn't relax the jealousy, which turned into pain. The statement was a joke, clearly, but the idea of her seeing anyone naked, in that fashion made his blood boil with malicious jealousy.

Despite the heat that washed all over onto his body, he suddenly went cold with a realization that quelled all his sense of feeling.

He had no fucking right to be jealous.

Although he had accepted a long time ago that she would have moved on, it was only on seeing her that the pain of seeing her with someone else gnawed at his heart. But he had no right, because he was dead and he could never return. Even if the operation was cancelled and he returned with what emotions could he return? He had never been with a woman unless he had made it clear that he wouldn't be there in the morning when she woke up. The Spectres were allowed to recreate with the firm advice that they leave their memories of sex with the bed that they had it on. Hell! He had recreated with the women of his operative enough to have them hate him to want to fuck his brains out again. Love; however...was an unacceptable idea. He was an assassin...a murderer; he had done things far worse than he could have imagined when he first realized he had a crush on her. If she learnt about it...

Ron swallowed. There was no question of returning. This was a one-way task till his death. In the even of it shutting down, according to Geiger, they would be relocated and reassigned to something with different identities.

Clearly she didn't socialize much, but he knew that he was the bloody culprit for all of that. From all his conscious awareness of the past two weeks, he knew Hermione wouldn't have a boyfriend. If she did, it would be strange because he saw no man popping up at her door and treating her like she deserved. How could any man keep away from her that long and survive?

How could he keep away from her so long and survive?

Besides, if she ever found out about his long lists of bedmates, would she even want to touch him? Ron sighed and closed his eyes as he rested his head on the rim of the tub. She could arouse him even without touching him. All he had to do was just look into her eyes and see the furious look whenever he did something stupid, and all the hormones would charge down south. Coming here had been a mistake, he thought. He couldn't just look at her and not want to kiss her or remember the feel of her body as she held him when he cried and not want to meet her again, if it was just to look at her face. If he stayed any longer, and still didn't do anything, it would make no bloody difference because he knew that the longer he was around her the more he would want to take her away with him. The more he avoided her the more he wouldn't be tempted to go back to her. Who was he kidding? The woman served as his conscious for crying out loud!

How long would he last before he gave in and touched her in a way that a man touched a woman and then break her heart? Even if he wanted to lay with her in his arms after making love to her he couldn't because there was always a tomorrow for him with some new dickhead wanting to get back at Harry Potter.

He had to get out of here before he broke her heart.

Because that was something he could never forgive himself for.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Ron opened his eyes at the tired face of the woman whose eyes were still half closed as she entered the bathroom. He felt rather guilty. He knew that she would have spent most of her nights worrying over him to sleep. Most of the time she slept somewhere down, and he felt even guiltier to have stolen her bed.

"I said..."

"I heard you." He smiled. "And good morning to you to."

Hermione opened her eyes sleepily and walked over to him and repeated her 'greeting'.

"Er...we usually call it bathing."

If her sleep hadn't disappeared before it had now as she glared at him before saying, "Why?"

He was taken aback by her question and then smiled, before saying, "Well...I don't know about you but I need it to keep clean."

Hermione covered her yawn and then crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side and said, "You should have asked me first."

"Why?"

Her answer was looking down over his abdomen and feeling the wound gently. The touch of her fingers, made his body tense and she looked at him. "It hurts?"

He shook his head, if she didn't look away now, the wound wouldn't be the only thing she'd be seeing on his naked body.

"Then why'd you tense?" she asked, looking at the wound again.

"I guess..." He started to say something, but then he trailed off, thinking of all the excuses in the world to make her look away. "I suppose...I just am not used to anyone touching me without my expecting it."

It was when she blushed furiously and turned around to hide her face, he understood the pun in his statement and hid a smile.

"Why Dr. Granger? Are you embarrassed by a naked man?"

She walked stiffly to the mirror and opened the cabinet and said, "No."

He could see the pink in her cheeks and thought she looked adorable enough to tease.

"Then why may I ask, did you turn so suddenly?"

Hermione put toothpaste on her toothbrush and turned around, with a more composed face. "You're too unattractive for me."

Ron's jaw dropped at the statement, and she smiled triumphantly before coming to the tub. Her rather delectable expression, made him wonder if she would see the reaction that was going on in him, but she suddenly pulled the curtains around the tub, making him sputter.

"Wha-? Hermione! What are you doing? I'm not that unattractive, am I?"

He could see her put the brush in her mouth and holding the small gap that was his only vision of anything else in the bathroom

"I don't want you to see me brushing my teeth."

With one swish, his view of her was obstructed and he laughed. "What?"

A frothy mumble came from the other side. "I gont wantthooo cheeing me bwush my cheeth."

"What's the big deal?"

"Ichs disgushthing thoo chee someone bwushing jeir cheeth."

"What?"

He heard the sound of spitting before she answered properly, "Its disgusting to see someone brushing their teeth."

He could hear brushing again as he shook his head, "And you're parents are dentists!"

"I know."

Ron smiled, that woman would be the end of him.

He heard the sound of the basing water running and her gargling before spitting again as he wondered what the big thing was in watching people brushing their teeth.

"Do you want me to open these?" she asked. He could see her shadow behind the white curtains.

"If you think I am too attractive to resist, then," he teased.

She opened the curtains looking a lot fresher than she did when he first saw her that morning, with an annoyed expression. "Don't look so smug," she said, shortly. "A grotesque grizzly bear looks better than you do."

Oh this was war!

"Hey!" he snapped, cheerily as he sat up. "Who might you be comparing grotesque what's-it's-arse?"

"The 'what's-it's-arse' is a bear."

"A bear?"

"Found in North America, mostly, thought Colin told me..."

"Who's Colin?" he frowned, very much nonchalantly; he was more irked about being compared to a bear than who Colin was.

Hermione sighed and said, "This chap."

"Chap?" He raised an eyebrow, did she mean, what he thought she meant? Now the bear was no longer an issue.

"Chap," she answered composedly, "Anyway, you look pretty grotesque."

He decided against pressing about 'Colin' and made an offended face, "Well I suppose you'd have an opinion, if your face was all black and blue."

"Black and blue? Don't insult my healing abilities, thank you very much! I was talking to the general appearance."

"General?" he said, frowning.

"What's with the hairy appearance?"

She was sitting on the rim of the tub, crossing her legs over the other and holding on to it, for balance. Ron realized that she wasn't used to seeing him with his beard and long hair. He had given up shaving, because he found it too much of a pain, when his arse was getting whipped. Besides, it kept his identity a secret.

Of course, many women thought it made him look virile.

"I don't," she said, in a strained voice as she stood up to go back to cabinet.

Why did his thoughts come out loud in front of her?

"Well," he defended, "it still doesn't make me any less ruggedly handsome."

She coughed and looked at him incredulously. "Ruggedly handsome?"

She didn't like beards much, he assumed, and nodded.

"Suit yourself."

"You don't like it?"

"If you like it, I like it," she said, trying to hide a smile.

"It's just a pain to shave it." He shrugged.

"Is it a pain to wash your hair too?" She cocked her head, amusedly.

War! She insulted his hair!

"No...too lazy."

"Ah! Then why don't you have your 'many women' wash it for you?"

"Jealous, are we?"

"Jealous? Me? Don't kid yourself!"

"Okay, if you have so much of a problem with it, you wash it for me," he retorted.

Hermione crossed her arms, and said sarcastically, "I thought you might want to keep it to hide your 'ruggedly handsome' face."

"Makes no difference," he said, shrugging. "Doesn't matter what we look like as long as we make sure no one knows who we are."

Her face suddenly became serious; she seemed a little uncomfortable and came to sit on the rim of the bathtub again.

"Ron?" she asked uncertainly, "Who exactly are the Spectres?"

Ron looked into her concerned eyes and hesitated. Although he had told her everything when he wasn't supposed to, he didn't regret it. Because if there was anyone he could trust it was her. He knew that even if she were tortured endlessly she wouldn't relent. His heart slammed into his diaphragm, or so he felt. The idea of anyone laying a hand on her filled him with intense hate. Should he tell her? What if someone came for her?

What difference would it make? The Hermione who served as his conscience told him, as he looked at the one he stared at. They would have to come for her first, for her to say she didn't know. And he would make sure to prevent the first eventuality.

"Ron?"

"Hermione," he sighed, "I can't stay here."

"I know that..." She put a hand on his shoulder. "But you're in no position to leave."

Ron knew she was right. She made absolute sense too, if he tried to leave and got sick again, it would all go notch.

"You can't tell me," she suddenly said. "I'm sorry, I asked."

She rose but he caught her and indicated for her to sit. If not for the fact she would understand, then for the fact that he owed her, at least that much. She was his saviour and as much as he hated to acknowledge it, his protector. Actually he hated liking the fact that she was his protector rather than the fact that she was.

"Hermione..." He resorted to the comfort of the water.

"No, Ron," she interjected. "I am sorry I forced you to tell me everything, but the more information you give me, the more someone is liable to come for me. I don't want you to blame yourself for trying to live."

"I am not sorry," he stated. "And I'll be damned if someone comes for you."

"How will you know Ron?" she said softly. "When you're gone..."

She broke off as though the idea seemed painful to her.

Sighing heavily she continued, "When you're gone, you won't know, will you? I don't care about what happens to me. But I cannot risk having them know about you."

"Don't you want to know who them is?" He leaned forward. "And even if you don't care, I do."

"That's your problem," she said resignedly. "If you didn't care so much..."

"This from a woman who accused me of not caring," he joked.

Hermione's expression paled as her face fell. Ron immediately cursed himself of being so damn insensitive.

"Hermione, shit! I am sorry...I didn't mean to tell you that."

Hermione said nothing and looked at his wound. After a long awkward pause, she said, "You should have asked me before taking a bath Ron. Fortunately the scar tissue is hard, but you could..."

"Hermione."

"No Ron." She looked into his eyes. "I know you cared..."

He nodded, and was about to say something, but she stopped his words, "But I still resent you."

Ron looked at the turmoil waging within her mirrored in her brown eyes and nodded silently. He couldn't provide any more explanations or answers for her. He knew it and more importantly, she knew it.

Not really looking at him, she whispered, "You should have asked me."

Why was she obsessed with his bathing without her permission?

"Would you like me to ask you before I take a piss too?" he snapped.

Hermione's face jerked towards him.

"Yes," she said shortly, "If you're going to do it on my bed, you better."

Ron's mouth fell open at her statement. He could see she was seething. They glared at each other for what could have been one minute or one hour.

It was then nostalgia hit both of them and they both burst out laughing, hysterically.