#god imagine arthur finding out (au everyone lives) and being torn between wanting to cast the sword away but also wanting to keep it on him

[justaz]

merlin (immortal) giving arthur (pendragon) the only blade that could kill him

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me 

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Pain. 

That’s all Hermione feels. 

No words she’s ever read in books, no expression, no description could even begin to cover the insufferable, burning, all consuming sensation.

At this point she isn’t even sure if it’s from whatever Bellatrix was dealing out day after day along with the rest of them. Or maybe this pain, the terrible, indescribable kind, was emotional. 

Almost like everything she’s endured clawing at the heels of her ankles, slowly creeping its way into the forefront of her mind. 

Her parents- oh god… 

The thought of them alone makes her burn, makes her ache. The only other time she’s ever felt that kind of sensation was whenever Greyback would claw his way up her body. His dirty nails burying themselves in the pits of her stomach while he did unimaginable things. 

Maybe that was the word: unimaginable. 

The pain she was feeling was unimaginable. Unfathomable to even a mind as brilliant as hers, one that could best Albus Dumbledore himself. 

But the pain won’t go away. 

No matter how many times she closes her eyes or tries to take her mind elsewhere, it’s still there. 

She doesn’t have to imagine something so clear, so fresh. 

She almost wishes the tingling itching at her body would just consume her whole. She knows it's the cruciatus doing its worst and maybe it would be easier if it did. 

Maybe it would be easier if her mind was as empty as the Longbottom’s. If she could live in a world where her parents were okay, where her purity was intact, where whenever she closed her eye’s she didn’t see unruly brown curls, noseless demons, and hungry werewolves. 

The only action she could possibly place with releasing some of it, is screaming. 

She wants nothing more than to let out a gut wrenching, throat scratching, ear piercing scream. 

Maybe then they’d understand a fraction of her pain. 

Maybe then, she’d feel a bit lighter. Unlike how she feels now, almost like she swallowed dozens of anvils. 

Hermione knows deep down things were meant to be this way. Well- not meant to- no, not all. She just means, that this was part of the ongoing torture.  

All her life she said what she thought. 

That very notion got her into the predicament in muggle elementary and for a brief time, made her friendless at Hogwarts. However, she soon realized voicing her knowledge was one of her greatest gifts. 

Telling Harry a solution to his newest problem, one that could very well save the wizarding world. Telling her professors the correct answer. Telling her friends the correct answers to homework. Telling Ron that since she’s so brilliant, she knows he is too. 

And it's more than that. 

Before she could tell someone thank you, she could tell her parents she loved them. 

Now she can’t do any of that. 

She can’t thank the nice healers taking care of her. She can’t tell Harry she missed him. She can’t tell Mrs. Weasley that she needs a mothers love right now. She can’t tell The Order about what happened and about how Narcissa Malfoy was her savior in that wretched place. She can’t even tell Ron everything she’s been holding onto for so long. 

She can’t tell anyone anything. 

She’s realizing now, she’s having a hard time even telling herself anything. 

So instead she listens, because from her experience that was one of the only things that kept her alive. 

‘Listen here Muddy…’

‘Listen to the Dark Lord filth!’ 

‘Listen to Bellatrix and stop fighting me! We always know I get what I want.’

‘Listen to me Hermione, I’m going to get you out of here.’ 

‘Listen to me love, you’re going to be okay.’ 

She’s broken from her thoughts when her ears are able to catch something familiar. 

The creaking of a door. 

Unconsciously she mumbles Cissy’s name, like a reflex she can’t help. 

Next, she swears she hears the whispers of familiar voices. 

“-the door.” Someone who sounds like Arthur Weasley says quietly. 

Then Hermione can’t shake the feeling that eyes are burning into her and she just needs to make sure one of those penetrating gazes isn’t someone who stands with the Dark Lord. 

Mustering the little strength she has left, she lets her lids flutter open. 

And before she can take in anything else her eyes hone in on the slim piece of wood between someone’s fingernails. 

The unmistakable sight of the very wand that got her out of there. 

The very one that belongs to, “Cissy.” She barely grumbles before she can realize it. 

“Put it away Tonks.” She hears Ron bark at the auror, making Hermione flinch at the sudden noise, one that brings her back to memories of screams directed at her, curses, demands-

“Ronnie.” Mr. Weasley scolds, sensing her discomfort. 

The man's voice breaks her unwanted interruption as she vigorously shakes her head. 

She wants- no needs the wand. It’s a reminder that she’s gone, that she got out. It gives her purpose too. 

The incessant need to return it to its rightful owner and to thank her for all she’s done. 

Shakily, Hermione holds out a hand, fighting the terrible pain in order to grab the wand from Tonks. 

The purple haired woman looks confused on what to do. Ron is about to snatch it away when Arthur stops him, letting Hermione grab it. 

“Dad-” Ron’s voice fades. 

Hermione can’t focus on that. Just the cool sensation of the sleek wood in her palm. 

She imagines another version of herself, a stronger version, that twirled the wand and got her to safety. 

God where was that girl now?

“Ap…” The word died in her throat. 

Her brown eyes fell on Ron’s silently pleading for him to understand. 

He senses the urgency and pushes past the other two to cover her hand with his own. Aiding her in holding the wand. 

“What is it Mione?” He whispers tenderly. 

So tenderly it almost makes her melt, Almost makes her forget all the bad. 

Almost. 

“App-” It dies again, the word almost painful on her tongue. 

And she isn’t one for foul language, but fuck Bellatrix Lestrange. If only Ron could hear her now. 

Looking into his concerned- but dare she say, loving eyes, she wants to do this for him. 

Slowly and painfully she pries his hand off and begins to mimic a twirling motion, ignoring the daggers the action sends through her wrist. 

“Ap…” She tries to no avail. 

And like Hermione just told Ron he’s won all the gold in Gringotts, his eyes light up as he beams at her. 

“You apparated out of there?” He asks hopefully. 

Almost excitedly, the most excited Hermione’s felt in a long time, she nods. 

At this, Ron let’s out a boisterous laugh as nothing but pride consumes his features. 

Gently, he pulls her into a hug, mindful of her injuries. 

“Brilliant. You’re so brilliant darling.” He whispers so only she can hear. 

All she can do in response is try and squeeze him tighter. 

This feeling is one that used to be nothing but a dream. 

However, the feeling is soon cut short when her decent arm presses a little too hard against his back, making her feel like tiny daggers were being poked into it. 

Then like a tidal wave, memories came rushing back to her. 

The very pain from when Bellatrix carved her was happening again, all over again.

With a sharp cry she fought the pain in her other hand and clunked the heavy cast over her forearm and frantically began rubbing at it. 

She wanted it gone.

All of it. 

The words. The feeling. The memory. 

She didn’t want to ever have to look or think about it again. She didn’t want Ron to see it either. 

The last thing she needed was a reminder to herself and everyone else of exactly what she is. 

A mudblood. 

‘That ought to teach you your place, now you shall never forget! Wait till the Dark Lord sees you!’ Bellatrix had praised her handywork, even going far enough to brand the wound with a proud kiss. 

God her stomach was flipping at the very thought. 

Hermione would’ve been sick had she eaten something. Instead, her attempts turned to painful heaves as she began scratching at her arm with the plaster thing, ignoring the pain, uncomfortable sensation, and red blood staining her cast. 

And while Hermione was ignoring these things, Ron couldn’t. 

“What is she- What’s going on?” Tonks had said to Arthur from behind. 

“We must get the healer.” The old man said, as calm as he could manage before they split up to find Jamison. Arthur didn’t need to tell Ron to take care of Hermione in the meantime, without a doubt his son would. 

“Mione, hey, hey.” He tried calling to her softly at first, worried if she was in a state that physical contact may set her off to thinking he was someone he wasn’t. 

However, when his pleas didn’t work and Tonks nor his father turned up with help, he knew he had to do something.

Then, he saw tiny streaks of red along Hermione’s arm. 

Yeah, fuck waiting. 

He’d done enough of that. 

Lightly, but with enough force to stop it, he grabbed at the large cast wrapped around her arm. Setting it back into the sling before she could protest. 

After the limb was settled comfortably back into its support, she seemed to break her daze. 

Quickly Hermione tugged at the scratchy hospital sheets and buried her arm under them, so embarrassed and ashamed. 

“What are you doing, love?” He asked steadily, not wanting to let his own fear scare her anymore than she already seemed to be. 

In response all the brunette did was shake her head frantically. 

Ron leaned forward to inspect, causing Hermione to shift uncomfortably to semi block his path. And sure, he could have easily still torn away the sheets, but he wanted to respect her and not take advantage of her weak state. 

“What are you hiding? Please don’t hide from me.” He begged, finally catching her eyes as she stopped shaking her head. 

Behind the pools of brown Ron could sense the conflict. He knew her well enough to know that she was so badly aching to show him whatever it was, but for some reason she couldn’t. 

When his gaze flicked back to her covered arm, he noticed the sheets pooling with a crimson red. 

Instinctively, he stood up and grabbed some gauze from the counter before rounding to her other side. He crouched next to the bed and put his hand gently next to hers, making Hermione jump. 

“N-no.” She cried. 

“Darling, I have to lift the sheet. I can’t let you be in pain like this, alright?” He approached gently. 

Hermione’s chin continued to quiver but he noticed her hold loosen considerably as she turned her head away from him, unable to meet his eyes. 

Thanking Merlin that his Hermione wasn’t feeling stubborn at that moment, he peeled the sheet back. 

As he moved the fabric, he felt hesitant, like maybe she was right and he shouldn’t see whatever this is, knowing it’ll cause him more pain. 

No, he told himself quickly. This isn’t about you, this is about her, you can take suffering, imagine how she feels, he told himself. 

There was red all over her arm, but he could see where it was coming from. Clear as day. 

His left hand, the one not attending to her, twitched near his back pocket. 

His body at its own accord was itching to dissapparte and murder Bellatrix. 

How dare she do this. What a sick fuck. Twisted, maniacal, horrid, scum of the-

Ron’s thoughts are cut off when he feels something on him. 

Two eyes, round as saucers boring into him, gaging his reaction.

“U-ugly.” She whimpered in shame, trying to pull her arm away, but found herself too weak. 

In response, his own eyes bulged. He shoved his fury aside best he could, not wanting Hermione to think his reaction was because of her. 

Sure, he would never want that on her skin, but it was because she didn’t deserve it. It didn’t make her any less beautiful or any less magical. He just hated the pain and story behind it. He hated that awful word. 

Hermione Granger was the Brightest Witch of her Age, she was beautiful, she was brilliant, brave, and he loved her. He never wanted her to be associated with anything else. 

“No, no, no.” He said, bringing up the hand from his back pocket to cup her cheek. 

Tears fell out of her eyes. 

“Come on Mione please, look at me, hey.” He tried. 

Slowly, her watery eyes found his. 

He pulled away momentarily, to roll up the sleeve of his jumper revealing the swirls the brain left him. 

“Look, me too, I’ve got some too, okay?” He knew it wasn’t the same. Not at all. But he was desperate to make her feel alone. 

‘Miss Granger is just as sane as you and I, she just has less to be sane about.’ 

Dumbledore’s words rang true at this moment. He couldn’t afford to let his Mione get lost again, never again. 

This seemed to work a little as her breathing slowed, “You’re still gorgeous, please believe me. I’ve got them, Bill, Harry-”

At the last name she whimpered. 

“Harry?” He repeats. 

She nods, “O-okay?” Hermione questioned worriedly. 

If her blood wasn’t staining his hands and if he wasn’t so determined on killing Bellatrix, he’d smile at how big her heart is. 

“He’s fine, I promise. How about when the healer comes I get him, alright? Would you like that?” He coaxes her. 

Slowly she nods, but her eyes are still trained away from him in embarrassment. 

“Please Hermione, I promise you that-” 

“I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could!” Jamison called from the door, “What seems to be the problem?” He asked, stepping closer. 

Hermione visibly shrunk at the sight of yet another person, a stranger at that. 

“Hey, you’re safe. I promise.” Ron whispered, leaning in close so his lips brushed her ear. 

It made her shiver. 

The most wonderful, lively sensation she’s felt in months. 

And she believed his every word. 

Ron was explaining to the healer something, but she didn’t listen, too focused on the pain now registering in her arm as the old man pressed onto it. 

“I’m gonna get Harry, I’ll be right back.” He told her softly as he subtly flicked his eyes to where his father was standing, letting her know she wasn’t alone. 

She wasn’t sure how long the healer stood there wrapping her wound. He must’ve sensed she wasn’t feeling conversational and thankfully did so in silence, nodding to her with a small smile and promise to be back as he left the room. 

Some more time ticked on. What was only really an additional two minutes had felt like hours to Hermione when she was alone with her thoughts. 

There was so much to think about. So much that went wrong. So much that could still go wrong. Maybe if I had just-

The sound of nearby footsteps broke her trail of thoughts, but she attributed it to the sound of the returning healer, as he never shut the door. 

But it was Ron who called to her, “Mione.” His tender voice called. 

Her eyes snapped up to see blue ones and then green. 

A green she knew so well. One she had missed dearly. 

“Hermione.” Harry practically whimpered as he took long strides to the bed, pulling her into his arms none too gently. 

Ron nearly interjected to tell his best mate to be careful, but he didn’t have the heart once he saw the trail of tears falling from beneath the lenses of Harry’s glasses. 

“I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry.” He sobbed. 

Hermione ignored it. She just figured it was something to say. Something she was guilty of saying to Harry after all the tragedies he’s endured. As to say ‘I’m sorry this happened to you.”

But that wasn’t what he meant. 

“I’m sorry I ran after her that day. I’m sorry it wasn’t me.” 

Vigorously Hermione shook her aching head on his shoulder, letting him know his words were not to be tolerated. She even heard Ron say Harry’s name as if warning him. 

She pulled back and gently ran one of his fingers over the scar on his forehead. Feeling the rough patch of silvery pink skin. 

He sat still in confusion as Ron watched with pain in his eyes, knowing where the action was stemming from. 

Harry’s scar was a terrible reminder of a horrible night, left by the mark of a horrible man. However, it was also imprinted with the reminder of the love his mother shared for him. The protection it provided. 

Ron’s scars were a mark of bravery. One’s he could tell someone he donned during a battle trying to protect his friend. 

And the awful word branded on Hermione represented cowaridice. There was no elaborate story of throwing curses and being a hero. There was no trace of love to be found in the pitiful thing. Instead it was a disgusting act used against her as she finally succumbed to her captors. 

“Are you okay?” Harry’s asked raspily, immediately feeling stupid for asking such a thing after. 

Hermione deserved a break. Everyone in that room and outside in that hallway knew it. 

Except her. 

Needing to be strong to sooth Harry’s guilt and Ron’s evident worry she pulls back and places one shaky hand on the Chosen One’s shoulder, making sure his misty green eyes are trained on her. 

What she does next shocks them all, especially herself. 

By some strength from within she attempts to stretch a smile on her dry cracked lips, ignoring the pulling it does on her cuts and bruises. 

She feels it falter and shake in its place but she knows to keep it on long enough to hopefully convince Harry and maybe even herself. 

Ron however saw right through it. Her eyes weren’t lit up like he knew them to be. Her lips were quivering and her hand was shaking on Harry’s shoulder. Almost like it was painful to keep up with the facade. 

The black haired boy seemed too transfixed to notice, letting out a wet chuckler and pulling her back to him. 

“You’re brilliant Hermione. You’ll always be brilliant.” He whispers into the depths of her hair, practically overcome with relief at her feeble attempt to indicate she was okay. 

Harry loved Hermione. Not at all in the same way that Ron did, but he loved her nonetheless. She was the sister his mother never had the chance to give him, she was his best friend, his support system. She was his family.

So no, he didn’t believe her phony smile, but what he did know now was that Hermione was still in there. The Hermione he knew and loved would always put everyone before herself. And while the notion wasn’t comforting, it assured his aching heart that there was hope. 

With that thought he mindlessly moved his hand and gave her another squeeze being not thinking twice about her sore body and countless injuries. As his hand absently roams, she jumps as he hits a particularly tender wound. 

She groans loudly, making him jump away and Ron lurch closer to the pair. ,

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-” 

He stops when he notices what her eyes are focused on. A thick white bandage on her arm. 

His green eyes turn to Ron who watches the scene in anguish, a pained look across his face at her reaction. 

Soon Hermione lifts her casted hand and Ron fears she may pick at it again. 

“Mione.” He begins softly. 

Instead, she nudges one of Harry’s hands from where it’s pulled fearfully in his chest. Briefly exchanging a look with Ron, he complies and lets her lead his fingers to graze the edge of her bandaid. 

“L-look.” She chokes.

“What?” Harry splutters. 

She nods to him, reaffirming her words. 

As his shaking fingers begin to peel away the gauze, Hermione looks at Ron longingly, imploring him to come over. 

Thankfully he understands and walks over and sits himself next to her, diagonal from Harry, placing a gentle hand on where her neck and shoulder meet, rubbing it gently. 

When she feels the cold air hit her open wound, she gasps, and so does Harry. She never feels Ron’s blue eyes stray from hers, not wanting to be reminded of her pain anymore than he already has been today. Instead, just be there for her. 

A tear escapes Harry’s green eyes and drips its way down his nose. At the sight Hermione begins to shutter beneath his hold as multiple tears stream her face. 

Broken at the sight of her and at what they did, Harry thinks back to a moment they shared just minutes ago, now having an entirely new understanding of it. 

Lifting her scarred arm gently, he pulls at her fingers and places them over the jagged lightning bolt on his forehead. Next, he rolls up the sleeve of Ron’s jumper and places her casted hand over his arm, making sure her revealed finger tips graze the swirls running along the length of his best mates freckled skin. 

Seeming to understand what he was doing, Ron then moves his own hand to rest along Hermione’s free wrist as he scoots up so her head can rest along his shoulder. 

She complies and drops her head in the crook of his neck, eyes flicking between Harry and Ron as more tears find their way down her face. Her vision is so blurred that she barely notices the boys are crying now too. 

They sit like that until the sun goes down. 

And no words were passed, there didn’t need to be any. 

This moment was one for understanding. 

In this moment between the only family she has left, Hermione realizes who she is now. 

As long as she’s known Harry, he’s been the very thing she’s become upon waking up in St. Mungo’s. 

Scarred orphans lucky enough to have been saved by Ron. 

[1asbrightasthestars3]

holy fuckin god

merlin (immortal) giving arthur (pendragon) the only blade that could kill him