Call Me Psyche - Dramione

1

Author Note: Please vote or comment to let me know if you think this is good enough to continue. Thanks! DDD

He was gone.

It was one sentence, so short, just a thought on repeat in Hermione Granger's head. He was gone and it was all she could think about as she sat against the tent door, an unread book open in her lap. She stared into the dark moor that seemed to stretch on forever on all sides. So much cold empty space, and Ronald Weasley wasn't in it. The night before, she had chased him, begged him not to go, and he'd left them – left her – all the same.

Harry was inside the tent, the awful horcrux locket around his neck, trying to sleep while she kept watch. They'd hardly spoken all day. Hopeless. It all felt hopeless now. Ron wasn't just a boy she fancied, not just a best friend. He had felt like her future, like a family after she'd lost her own. Harry was her hope to win the war, and Ron was her hope to be able to be happy after it was all over. She'd never told him that, but she felt like he knew. And then...how could he just...

She wiped her eyes and stood up. If she had to cry over Ronald Weasley she could at least do it somewhere there was no chance of anyone hearing, not even Harry. The dry winter heather snapped under her feet as she crushed a path through it. Was there really any point in leaving her wand unlit tonight? Who would be looking for them out here, wherever exactly this was?

She'd left her scarf on a rock next to where the warded tent was concealed so she'd be able to find her way back to it. Away from the shelter, the wind was hard and loud. It was biting at her face, whipping her hair out of her braid, but also somehow invigorating. For the first time all day, she felt like something might happen, some move toward a future she had never imagined, something that wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe somewhere out there, Ron was changing his mind, and if she moved, he would sense her, and find his way back again.

No, that was rubbish. She knew it and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Please," she said aloud. "Come find me."

Then she heard it, the crack of an apparation. She crouched in the heather, her heart pounding, eyes wide as she tried to see who'd arrived on this distant, blasted moor with them. Was it an enemy? Someone hunting Harry or here to retrieve the locket horcrux? It could be someone from the Order. Or it might be him, Ron like a walking wish coming true, coming back to her already.

Whoever they were, they stood alone on the moor, not striding around brooding like a character from an old romance, but startled and poised as if to defend themself. Their arms were sprung at the elbows, wand raised, head swiveling to find their bearings. They seemed to have no driving purpose, but kept quiet, listening hard as the wind tore at their long, dark cloak.

Hermione risked creeping closer, still unable to recognize them. They were tall and thin, their head hooded. There was an alert litheness in them, as if they were young and maybe athletic. It could very well be Ron, but he didn't have a cloak like that when he left the night before.

She crept even closer, wishing the visitor would light his wand so she could see him, but also terrified he might see her. If they recognized her, the sight of her would give Harry away, and one thing was certain. Harry had to stay hidden. Everything depended on it. He had to keep sleeping in the tent until either Ron revealed himself, or whoever else this was went away.

The person swore to himself, a low but tense masculine voice. He thrust one hand into his pocket, retrieved something, and made a motion Hermione knew well. It looked as if he'd flicked a Deluminator.

Ron – it had to be Ron.

Hermione was moving to stand up in the heather, about to reveal herself, to call Ron's into the wind.