Biting back a sudden, almost automatic urge to catch Hermione’s eye and hiss, ‘I told you so!’, Ron tightened his grip on Viktor’s wrist. He could feel the man’s pulse, and it was rising fast; a quick glance showed Ron that Viktor’s pupils had narrowed to mere pin-points, that his mouth was firmly set in a thin line, curved at the corners to form a distorted kind of scowl. “I’ll stay here, you run and get help,” he offered. On Viktor’s forearm, vague as a shadow yet still somehow bright as day, shone an ominously grinning skull, a serpent hanging from its gaping mouth.
“No. No one’s leaving, no one’s going to get help! Not until I…” Looking as if she didn’t quite understand what she was seeing, Hermione cast her gaze fleetingly to Viktor. “Is that… what I think it is?”
“What the bloody hell do you think it is?” Ron snapped, glancing over his shoulder at Hermione with outrage. “It’s a--”
“I know what it is!”
“Why did you ask, then, if you ‘know what it is?’”
Hermione stared into Viktor’s deep, dark eyes and gave a sort of grunt, drawing her wand. “Let go of him, Ronald.”
“Are you mad?” the redhead sputtered. A moment later, startled by the ferocity in her chocolate-colored gaze, Ron released Viktor’s wrist, though he refused to step aside.
The brunette advanced on Krum until she had to look up to see his face, her nose nearly touching his. A few moments passed, in which an eerie, expectant silence filled the bar. Ron watched anxiously, his grip tightening on his wand all the while. Hermione was close enough to kiss the bloke, and for an instant he half-feared she would do just that. Just when he was about to put a stop the staring contest, a satisfyingly sharp snapping sound broke the silence.
What was even more satisfying was the look on Viktor’s face as Hermione’s palm met his cheek quite violently.
“I guess I vos deserving that…” was Viktor’s gruff reply after a moment. He rubbed his stinging cheek dejectedly. “Please, Herm-own-ninny. Let me explain.”
“Explain? How can you ‘explain?’ I trusted you, Viktor!” Hermione exclaimed. “But you’re… ” She trailed off, eyes wide with hurt and shock. Ron took a step forward and placed a protective, freckled hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“A lying, homely, putrid pile of slime?” he offered, his voice a low snarl.
Hermione furrowed her brow, not looking from Viktor’s almost pleading gaze. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘a Death Eater’, or, ‘one of his’…”
“Potato, pot-ahto….” Ron raised his wand to Viktor’s throat.
“I only ask zat you listen for even one moment, please, Hermy-own-ninny.”
“We don’t make it a habit to negotiate with Death Eaters, Viktor.”
The Bulgarian cocked a thick eyebrow, gazing at the girl in earnest. “I am ze same man I vas minutes ago, upstairs. You had no problem vith speaking to me zen, vhy is now any different?”
“A minute ago she didn’t know you were a bleeding Death Eater, that’s the difference!” Ron growled, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder.
“I am very sorry to have hurt you, Hermy-own-ninny. I have not meant for it to come zis far. You vere never to find out”neither of you.”
“Of course we weren’t, you prat!” Ron hissed. “You couldn’t very well prance around in dark velvet robes--”
Hermione brushed her elbow sharply against his side, quieting the redhead. “Ron, hush.”
“Even the Minister of Magic”your brother--gives his prisoners counsel; allows a man to defend himself before condemning him!”
“Unluckily for you,” the freckled boy replied heatedly, ignoring Hermione. Next to him, the girl cringed, undoubtedly because she knew Krum had struck a rather sensitive nerve. “I’m not Percy. I care more about my family, my friends”the people that I love than I do what the bleeding Prophet will have to say about me when I finally get around to severing your--”
But Ron never got to tell the man exactly what he planned to sever.
“Hermy-own-ninny!” the Bulgarian gasped. “Have ve not been friends for these last few summers? I vould have thought that you”you of all people, vould understand…” Seeing the incredulous expression on the girl’s face, a low snarl emitted from the man’s thin lips. He took a step forward and plunged a hand into his robes, pulling out his wand with a flourish.
In the blink of an eye, Ron sidestepped in front of Hermione, using the hand he still had on her shoulder to spin her around and hold her behind his back. He pressed the tip of his wand to Krum’s throat; though his hand was trembling in the slightest, the redhead’s icy-blue eyes were ablaze. “Not a smart move on your part, mate,” he growled, straining to keep hold of the protesting brunette. Despite his stony front, Ron flinched when Krum threw his wand at his feet.
The Weasley lad lifted his left foot searchingly and pressed his toes down upon the thick wooden stick, its handle pressing into the soft soles of his trainers. Glaring at Krum as if daring the man to make a move, Ron scuffed the ground, sending the Bulgarian’s wand spinning across the beaten floor to rest under the legs of a barstool. A satisfied grin slid onto his freckled face as Viktor’s dark eyes followed the path of his wand with dismay.
“Now you are armed and… I am not,” the man drawled, returning his gaze to Ron and pushing the redhead’s wand from his throat with a thick, hairy finger. “Now vill you hear me speak?”
“Talk, Viktor,” Hermione snapped before Ron could open his mouth, wrenching herself free from his grasp and appearing at the boy’s side. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, wand twitching in her opposite hand.
Viktor eyed the pair, clearly unnerved and regretting the loss of his wand. “thank you, Hermy-own-ninny. I am glad to see zat von of you, at least, has some compassion.”
“You wanted a chance to talk,” Ron grumbled, losing what little patience he was pretending to have. “I’d use it wisely, if I were you.”
“I vas only sayink,” Viktor pressed, shrugging his slumped shoulders. “That Hermy-own-ninny is a bit more trusting than yourself, Mr. Veasley. Something that is as much as an advantage as it is a hindrance. Yet, the both of you have trouble seeing something that is lying before your very noses….”
Casting Hermione a sidelong glance, Ron was appalled to see that his friend actually looked mildly thoughtful. “Philosophy lessons from a Death Eater?” he spat. “You aren’t seriously considering… whatever the hell it was Krum just said?”
“Well…”
An angry huff of air burst from Ron’s lips as he looked back at Krum. Whatever insight or wisdom Hermione seemed to find in Viktor’s words was totally wasted on the redhead; to him, it sounded like Krum was making a bunch of stuff up, trying to buy himself more time. “Alright then, you had your chance to ‘explain yourself’, and you blew it. But, while we’re on the subject of lectures,” the red head paused, a smirk twitching in the corners of his mouth as he slanted his wand a fraction, aiming its tip a bit lower than would be expected in most duels, “I think its right time I taught you a lesson of my own.”
Face ghostly pale save for two bright red spots on the apple of his cheeks, Viktor swatted Ron’s wandering wand away. “You vouldn’t.”
“Try me,” Ron challenged, cocking his head to one side. “Scum like you shouldn’t be breeding, anyway.”
“Speak, Viktor,” Hermione demanded, her tone stern. “Or forever hold your peace.”
“In Azkaban,” the freckled boy added for good measure.
Krum moved his dark gaze to Hermione, his expression almost pleading. He mouthed wordlessly for a moment before finding his voice.
“The Dark Lord can be… very persuasive. I haff connections, you see”connections the Dark Lord found vould help his cause greatly. And the things he offered me… I could not resist… But I did not mean to hurt you, Hermy-own-ninny. that, you must understand.”
“But you realize, of course,” Hermione replied slowly. “That I am a Muggle-born? One of those that Voldemort has sworn to exterminate? You and I have been in friendly correspondence for over a year”I find it hard to believe that your ‘Dark Lord,’” she spat the words as if they were a nasty swear word, “would think you a loyal ally, seeing as you don’t see eye to eye on one of the subjects very dear to his black-hole of a heart.”
She’s got him, Ron thought almost cheerfully, watching the Bulgarian open and close his mouth like a goldfish out of water. It was refreshing to see someone besides himself or Harry feel the wrath of the razor-sharp tongue that Hermione donned whenever she felt the need to tell off someone who thought they could get away with breaking a rule.
“But that’s it, isn’t it? We haven’t been in friendly correspondence…” Hermione tugged her wrist free of Ron’s grasp, her brow furrowing the same way it always did when she began to piece something or another together. She pressed her palm against her forehead. “Or, at least, you haven’t. Connections… Oh, how could I have been so stupid? It isn’t a coincidence that my best friend happens to be your Master’s archenemy….”
“Erm…” It was at times like this”when Hermione figured something out before Harry or himself, but refused to come right out and say it, insisted on thinking out loud, waiting until they were breathless with anticipation before revealing the plot and making them feel thick and dimwitted for not catching on sooner”that Hermione was at her most exasperating, Ron thought. But it was also when she shone the brightest.
“You were using us,” she breathed, staring accusingly at the Death Eater. Viktor gazed back at her, his expression blank. “Using me. To… to get to Harry.”
He didn’t know whether it was the girl’s trembling voice or the terror in her gaze, but something about Hermione made the redhead’s insides turn to ice. “Wait a minute…”
“He’s been asking for weeks,” Hermione explained, straining to keep her voice level. “About Harry, I mean. I thought nothing of it; Harry is one of my best friends… I thought you were being friendly, Viktor, that you were concerned about him when you asked how Harry was fairing after Sirius’ death, when you asked if we’d made plans for him to meet us at the Burrow this summer… if he was still at his wretched Aunt’s house and whatnot….”
Ron blinked at her for a moment as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “And what did you tell him? Hermione? After all the misery you put me through the other day at supper over my letter to Harry, you didn’t tell Krum--”
“Anything!” the man spat, glaring at Hermione. “She vouldn’t tell me a blasted thing. Hermy-own-ninny kept insisting that she mustn’t put anything in viting, incase the letters vere ‘intercepted and read by untrustvorthy eyes.”’
“Yes,” Hermione snarled. “And it’s a good thing, too. Though I must confess that I hadn’t suspected for a minute that the untrustworthy eyes would be yours.”
Though the knowledge that Harry was still safely out of the picture had brought a momentary surge of relief upon the lad, Ron could feel ice-cold fury burning in his stomach, turning his ears red and his palms sweaty. “You would have had Hermione betray Harry? Would have had his death--abduction”torture, whatever it was you and Voldemort were conspiring to do, on her shoulders? And you said you hadn’t meant to hurt her! That is some very messed up thinking, if you ask me, Krum.”
“You’re wrong,” Viktor said, his voice a grunt.
“He’s wrong in that it isn’t a rather twisted thought process; or he’s wrong in that you had meant to hurt me?” the brunette asked heatedly.
“It is true; you vere never to experience pain, Hermy-own-ninny.” Viktor stood a bit straighter. “Vat is untrue, however, is the crime of which I am being accused. Yes, I have been prying in your letters, Hermy-own-ninny. But I respected the loyalty you portrayed in refusing to visper secrets, even to a trusted friend. It is lucky for me that my… mission, vas not to extract information from you.”
Ron’s eye’s narrowed; he didn’t like where this was going. Reaching for Hermione’s free hand, he held it in his own. Simply by squeezing her trembling, clammy fingers, the redhead could tell that she didn’t, either.
“And so,” Krum continued. “It is not because you failed to give me the information that I sought, Hermy-own-ninny; not because you have discovered von of my darkest secrets; and not because I have never honestly valued our friendship…” He flexed his gnarled fingers, dark eyes twinkling.
“Viktor…” Hermione warned, her face going pale.
“It is simply because it is vat I vos ordered to do--” Krum’s words were cut short as Ron, with every ounce of strength he had in his body, lunged at the man. He rammed his shoulder into Viktor’s chest with a throaty grunt and sent him flying, only to crash into the barstools that lined Tom’s bar. Glasses fell from their hooks and shattered, showering everything”the bar, the floor, and the boys themselves”with grimy bits of glass.
Ignoring his throbbing shoulder, Ron rolled onto his back, having landed hard a few inches away from Viktor. Accepting Hermione’s outstretched hand, he pulled himself up. He turned to Krum. Stooping, he jabbed the tip of his wand sharply into the man’s neck, straddling his chest. “Kill her?”
An incomprehensible hissing noise escaped Viktor’s lips.
“Excuse me?” Ron prodded furiously, pressing his tip so hard into the man’s throat that he gagged.
Hermione grabbed his wrist, her palms sweaty. “Ron… he can’t breath,” she whispered, her tone suggesting that she was more worried her best friend may become a murderer than his potential victim’s actual well being.
Reluctantly, he eased up. “Well?”
Viktor drew in a gasping breath before speaking. “…no…”
“No! Don’t lie to me, you--filthy pile of rags!” Part of him told Ron that he was over re-acting in the slightest. That, while Viktor was a proven Death Eater and dirt bag, there may be some chance that the man’s mission was comparatively innocent. That he wasn’t supposed to kill Hermione, rather to schmoose Tom or one of his guests into doing some dirty work.
Still, the thought that Viktor might have been biding his time for the perfect chance to knock off Hermione had roused an almost subconscious, primal part of him; a part that said ‘to hell with misunderstandings. Knock him down and make sure he doesn’t come back up. Beat him with a bloody club if you have to.’
“I vos to gain the trust…” Viktor croaked, shifting under Ron’s weight. “ … Are you going to kill me, Mr. Veasley? It is in your eyes.”
“… I haven’t decided yet,” Ron heard himself say. To his right, Hermione shifted almost uncomfortably. Undoubtedly, she was torn between telling Ron to get a hold of himself, and getting right down on her knees next to him and pinning Krum’s arm to the ground. “Depends on the way your sentence ends.”
The Bulgarian sighed as much of a sigh as someone whose lungs were being crushed could manage. “I vos to gain the trust of Harry Potter’s best friends. You vere my connections. Hermy-own-ninny and yourself.”
“We’ve realized as much, thanks,” the brunette spat, taking no heed to the apologetic tone of Viktor’s voice or the pleading in his eyes. “I think what we really want to know, Viktor, is why.”
“You act as if you already know the answer,” Viktor accused.
“Of course she does, she’s Hermione.” He turned his freckled face to look up at the girl. “Maybe you should finish for him,” Ron commented sardonically, a bit annoyed by the knowing twinkle he saw in Viktor’s eyes. It quickly changed to the appropriate shine of pain as Ron dug his knees a bit deeper into his ribs. “Krum doesn’t look like he’s much in the mood to chat.”
“It’s obvious, though, Ron. He was going to use us to get to Harry. By gaining our trust, he would have had Harry’s, since Harry would trust us not to forge dodgy alliances. It’d be child's play to set up a trap, and right beneath the Order’s nose…” Hermione brought a hand to her forehead and exhaled sharply, as if she should have realized this sooner. “What? I’ve got it wrong, have I?” the girl snapped, seeing the strained way Viktor was shaking his head from side to side. With a silent nod, she told Ron to ease up on Krum’s chest, just enough so he could talk.
“I meant Ronald,” he mumbled feebly. “Ron already knows the answer. It’s in his eyes, as I said, and in the grip he has on his vand… the veight he has so kindly placed upon my chest.”
The redhead in question blinked at Viktor for a moment, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose. Before Hermione could express her confusion, he snarled, “It was to kill her, then.” Krum had as good as admitted it; therefore, Ron could honestly tell himself that he would feel no guilt whatsoever after blasting this man to smithereens.
“Not exactly,” Viktor gasped, grasping Ron’s wrist just as he had begun to rather violently raise his wand.
Ron’s icy blue eyes bore into Krum’s own. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled, trying to wrench his arm free. Viktor was proving quite strong for a man with one hundred forty-some pounds on his chest.
“No more games, Viktor,” Hermione commanded in a finalizing tone, brandishing her wand. “Let him go, and you won’t get hurt.”
“No, not hurt”killed,” the man responded tartly. He eyed Hermione’s wand with distaste. “I do not believe you are having it in you to kill, Hermy-own-ninny. But Mr. Veasley, here…”
“Too right you are, mate,” Ron spat.
Now Hermione cast her warning gaze to the blue-eyed boy. “Tell him you won’t do anything, Ron. Promise him,” she demanded. Although commanding, her tone suggested that she didn’t want Ron to promise Krum he wouldn’t harm him” not yet, anyway”but rather to promise her he wouldn’t do anything rash. Like killing Viktor.
“Can’t,” he retorted simply, eyes still planted on Viktor’s face. “He was going to kill you, Hermione. You know too much for him to turn back now, we both do.”
Hermione’s silence spoke volumes, telling him how horribly his killer resolve was frightening her; how terribly irrational he was behaving, how out of character his actions were. But he had an excuse. The man upon whose chest he sat had intended”perhaps even from the beginning, even from Fourth Year”to take Hermione’s life. The redhead couldn’t bear to imagine Hermione’s chestnut hued eyes dull, their former kind-hearted, intelligent light gone. Forever lifeless.
Particularly not now that he had admitted to himself how much he really cared for her, not when he had been moments away from admitting it even to the brunette herself.
Oddly enough, he now felt almost grateful for the jealousy that had plagued him for two years, thankful for the monster that had torn at his insides at the very mention of Viktor Krum’s name. It was a mistake on Krum’s part, he now realized, to have egged him on, to have antagonized him, feeding the monster. If a jealously green fog hadn’t clouded his rational sight, he might not have been so stubborn in his assertions that Viktor was not to be trusted. He might not have come to the Leaky Cauldron after reading the letter Ginny had shown him. He might have gone up to his room to sulk, and Krum might have killed Hermione well before he realized that it was getting late and went to check up on her.
Just thinking about it made his anger grow. Thinking about how nonchalant Viktor had been through his exposure made him angrier, and the cautiously amused look in the man’s eye even more so. Viktor had a man on his chest, and two wands pointed at him; he’d been knocked onto his back, and is certainly facing a death sentence or, worse, life imprisonment in Azkaban. His plans had been thoroughly botched, and even if he did get away, Krum would have to face the wrath of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ron knew that the ‘Dark Lord’ didn’t take kindly to failure.
So why was Krum acting as if this was all just a big joke, a game?
Because it was? Was Viktor toying with them?
Ron’s eyes widened as he continued to stare into Viktor’s face, though now his gaze was unseeing. Viktor was a star Quidditch player, in top physical condition. Ron wasn’t in particularly poor physical condition”he was lazy, not flabby. But he wasn’t as fit as he’d like to think, either. Playing Keeper in school Quidditch matches hardly demanded as rigorous training sessions as world-class matches. He shouldn’t have been able to take Krum down so easily, and even if he had managed to knock the man down, Viktor could have easily wrestled him off his chest if he wanted to. If he wanted to.
It suddenly occurred to Ron that Viktor was acting so indifferent because, in fact, everything was going just spiffing, that everything was going as planned or anticipated. Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake that Viktor had roused suspicion and mistrust within him. Perhaps, knowing it would be quite difficult to befriend Ron, he had chosen to become his rival instead. And, maybe he even knew(as nearly every person in the Weasley household had, even before Ron could admit it to himself) that Hermione would have been a soft point, an easy nerve to pinch. He’d be killing two gnomes with one stone.
All he had to do then was get Hermione away somewhere where she would be vulnerable, or perhaps get her away when she was vulnerable(at this point, Ron saw again the pale, slightly tearstained face he saw when he had looked over his shoulder on the stairwell), as Viktor had already done, probably in anticipation that Ron would follow soon after, as he, too, had already done. It now seemed very possible that everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes”the row, him finally proving to Hermione that Krum was a Death Eater, Hermione giving Viktor a chance to explain himself, and Ron knocking the man down”had played right into the bugger’s huge, hairy hands.
Krum had been telling the truth; he hadn’t meant to get to Harry. His mission was to kill his connections, ‘Harry Potter’s best friends’. Viktor had meant to kill not just Hermione, but Ron as well.
Ron had been so busy following his own strategy, too occupied with setting his own trap and taking out as many of his opponent’s pieces as possible, that he had allowed himself to be backed into a corner with no way to escape, and his Queen was going to go down with him. Put simply, Hermione and himself were on the bad side of a surprise ‘checkmate’ situation.
An icy fist, with a grip twice the strength of the one Krum had on his wrist, squeezed his heart, sending a rush of dread and adrenaline through his body. “Herm--!” he managed to gasp before Viktor’s left fist smashed into his skull. Alternate waves of bright light and deep darkness flashed before his eyes in time with his pulse as pain spread from his temple and flooded his mind. Coherent thought didn’t exist in the redhead’s mind as he was flung backwards, returning only an instant before his head smacked hard onto the wood floor, welcoming back the great abyss of nothingness and pain. He might have lain there for an eternity, trying to drown himself in the darkness that accompanied the pain in skull, if Hermione’s sharp yelp hadn’t brought him back to reality.
Ron forced himself up onto his knees, willing his head to clear and the pangs of pain shooting through his brain to cease. He realized that his right hand was empty; Krum’s punch and the realization that the entire situation was a set-up had come as such a shock that Ron had dropped his only useful weapon. Dizzy and defenseless, he opened his eyes, tasting blood in his mouth. For an instant, his vision swam, bubbling and distorting the world around him. A world that consisted of two dark orbs shrouded in shadow and reeked of cheap cologne.
“Gerroff me!” he sputtered, thrashing against Krum’s solid frame. He would have punched the man square in the nose, Merlin new he wanted to see the man spill blood, but Viktor had Ron’s arms pinned at his sides.
“I could do it now, you know,” Viktor taunted, his voice that of a madman. “One flick of my vist, and your neck vould snap.”
“I never did like you,” Ron snarled, choosing to ignore the fact that he had practically worshipped the bloke prior to and during much of Fourth Year. Having given up his thrashing, he was now attempting to gain a bit of leverage with his knees.
“And I--”
“Oppugno!”
In a flash of gold light, a great weight was lifted off Ron’s shoulders. Far away, he heard the familiar sound of shattering glass, followed by the unmistakable thud-crash of a body smashing into several wooden stools. He could sense Hermione at his side an instant later. Her gaze was planted on the pile of robes and limbs that lay haphazardly someway down the bar, draped over numerous stools and sprinkled with cutlery. They both watched the body for a moment longer, keen for any sign of movement. Sufficiently assured the Viktor wouldn’t be rising anytime soon, Ron turned his eyes to Hermione. “Thanks for that,” he mumbled, taking her hand and pulling himself up. He scrubbed his face with his hands as a terrible dizziness consumed him, wand they soon became damp with an abhorrent blend of sweat and blood.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said quietly, inspecting his freckled face. She thumbed a cut on his temple, memorial to where Krum’s knuckles had met Ron’s skull, and the source of all the blood. Ron sucked air in sharply through his teeth, fighting not to flinch. The wound wasn’t horribly deep, but it was wide and about two inches in length.
“You didn’t tackle me,” Ron muttered truthfully, shaking his head. He quickly stopped the motion, though; it already felt like his brain was trying to force its way out of its skull using a hammer and chisel, and shaking his head only made it feel worse. He almost couldn’t stand the way Hermione was staring at him, looking guilty and concerned and bemused at the same time. He shifted his gaze to the left, looking over her shoulder at the mess of stools, glass, and hair that was Krum’s sorry form. “And you didn’t know he was… you know.”
“No,” she admitted, averting her own gaze. “But… I’m sorry I hadn’t believed you in the first place, or gone for help when you told me to. I was…”
“Confused? And then you were confused even more,” Ron added with a forced grin. “Because not very much ever confuses Hermione Granger. Except chess.”
Sheepishly, Hermione looked up at him. “You’d be surprised.” The redhead cocked an eyebrow, or would have if the eyebrow in question hadn’t been momentarily out-of-order, but Hermione shook her head. “I am sorry, Ron. About… everything.”
“Stop it,” Ron demanded, his voice perhaps a bit harsher than he would have liked. Hermione’s eyes widened, and Ron felt another icy fist squeeze his heart. The brunette was disconcerted enough as it was--he could tell by the look on her face that Hermione was trying very hard to maintain her composure--and here he was making things worse. The freckled boy hesitantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
“I mean, stop apologizing. Please, stop saying you’re sorry, Hermione. ” Not feeling quite as awkward now that Hermione was returning his embrace, Ron spoke into her shoulder, his gaze roving the disaster scene before him; glass, straws, and forks littered the beaten floor, and all but one stool had been toppled in the scuffle. Ironically, almost symbolically, Viktor’s wand was still resting beneath the stool, forgotten. To the left of it, equally forgotten and symbolic, was a shining silver chain. The necklace must have fallen from his breast pocket when he had run down the Quidditch player.
Even distracted by the pendant, Ron could hear the smile in Hermione’s voice. “Can I be sorry I hadn’t let you hex the hell out of him?” she inquired, although her tone and the fact that she had cussed revealed that she was only half-joking.
“Will it make you feel better?” Ron asked, releasing her and holding her at arms length. Pale and seemingly exhausted, tearstains still evident on her cheeks, he thought she must feel as horrible as he felt and, probably, looked. He considered confessing everything just then; explaining to Hermione that it had been jealousy that had had him following her to Hogsmeade and that had eventually saved them both; embarrassed panic that had justified lying to his mum and caused the twins to invent a disease in order to hide a stupid trinket; and not intellectual interest but interest in an intellectual that had brought about his request for her Charms textbook.
But he couldn’t help feeling that now wasn’t the right time. She was too vulnerable, they both were. Instead, he chose to keep his mouth shut and smile down at her as she nodded in reply. “It would help, I think.”
“Alright, then,” Ron conceded, dropping his arms. “If you think so.”
Hermione caught his hands before they fell to his sides, giving them a friendly squeeze. “It’s settled then; I wish I had let you curse the living day-lights out of him before he gave you a concussion.”
Ron was thankful for the second time in two days that there was an abundance of a sticky red substance plastered to his face.
After a moment, he gestured with his chin to a point over Hermione’s shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll be waking anytime soon. One of us should head back to the Burrow, or maybe Gri… Headquarters. The Order will want to get a head start…” His voice trailed off as his gaze returned to Hermione’s face. Her expression clearly said that she would not be the one to go, and Ron knew he sure as hell wasn’t about to leave Hermione alone. At the risk of starting yet another row, he whined, “Well, we can’t both stay here, someone has to--”
“Shh!” Hermione glanced over her shoulder, scanning the bar warily. Evidently not finding what she was searching for, she turned back to Ron. “Sorry. I… thought I heard something. It was just nerves, I suppose. Paranoia setting in. Discovering that someone you trust”or detest-- actually has it in for you can do that to a person.”
The redhead grunted in agreement, but nevertheless, his gaze was on it’s own search-and-destroy mission. Nothing seemed peculiar; Krum didn’t appear to have moved, and there didn’t seem t be anyone on the staircase. The necklace was still exactly where it had been, next to Krum’s wand. Except, Viktor’s wand wasn’t there anymore.
He hadn’t even had time to comprehend this fact before movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye. Ron flicked his stare to what had once been the sorry pile of robes and limbs just in time to see that Viktor had risen from the wreckage. Aiming through the upturned legs of a chair, his wand was pointed at an unsuspecting Hermione’s upper back, the first words of the Killing Curse already curling on his lips.
In an instant, Ron swung Hermione around, doing an odd sort of two-step in an effort to maneuver her out of Viktor’s range. With his back to the Death Eater and making a conscious effort not to look the girl in the face, as much so that she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes as it was so that he couldn’t see the terror in hers, he flung an arm around the girl’s shoulders once more, but kept his other hand firmly locked in hers(“Ron?”).
From what Ron could hear, Viktor seemed to be enjoying the struggle. He was speaking the incantation painfully slow, relishing each syllable. “Advada…”
The stiffness of Hermione’s body told Ron that she now fully understood the situation. His assumption proved correct as the girl’s rigidity melted away and she began to fight against him, her voice dripping with dismay. “Ro-on!”
Holding Hermione fast and squeezing his eyes shut, Ron hissed, “Hermione, I’m sorry.” Not for the first time, the brunette’s voice rang truthfully in his mind, It’s now or never. “And--I lo--”
“…Kedavara!”
Although Ron finished his sentence, his words were drowned out by a powerful roar. The entire bar glowed a deep, vibrant green as the spell flew across the room from the tip of Viktor’s wand, deadly as a bullet. Ron heard Hermione scream; faintly thought that Krum might have called his name. Then a second crack reverberated in the air, louder than the first roar, and the wind was knocked right out of his lungs as they seemed to catch fire. The redhead collapsed to the ground, only having time to consider coming back as a ghost, if only to see Hermione again, before everything went black.
Git in Shining Armor by juniorauthor
Chapter Notes: I am terribly sorry this took so long, folks. I hope you will forgive me, and that this chapter was worth the wait. I promise that the epilogue(yes, an epilogue. I just can't help myself) will not take nearly as long. Again, I apologize. Thank you for your patience.