Figuring it Out
Rating: R - NC17
Summary: Ron's having a tough time.
Pairings: Ron/Neville, Ron/Lupin, Ron/(Draco)Malfoy, implied Ron/Hermione, Snape/Harry
Warning: Mention of kink, incest, and non-con.
Note: This is based upon Amanuensis’ And Just Plain Wrong, and Juxian Tang's sequel Damage Control and it's sequel, Eodrakken's Cut Like Diamonds. This has been OK-ed or whatever by Amanuensis.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.



She giggles at him and pets her bed sheets, and in the next second, her face turns blank. Her head suddenly swings around to look at him and Hermione cocks her head at him almost sweetly, childishly, and Ron’s heart breaks again.

“Hel-lo!” she chirps, and laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Her body shakes so badly that she falls over in the hospital bed and wrinkles the sheets. The standard hospital gown slips over one of her shoulders and Ron can see how her shoulder blade juts out unnaturally. She’s horrifically skinny – it looks like she hasn’t eaten in years.

Maybe she hasn’t, Ron thinks, and does and doesn’t want to know where she’s been.

She rolls onto her side, and ragged whip marks are exposed by the backless design of what she is wearing. Ron flinches at the reminder of what they’ve seen, of what they’ve done.

He shakes himself and reaches a hand out – but he can’t touch her, the memories are too fresh in his mind and his hands hover a few inches away from her bare shoulder and he can’t touch her because he might have loved her once, when they were happy and innocent and still children, body, heart and soul.

She doesn’t notice him, and he averts his eyes and his hand drops away.

“Hermione,” he whispers quietly, “I miss you. It’s over, you can come back now.”

The chortles fade away and she is silent for a second, and Ron raises his eyes to look at her again and hopes, wishes, prays - and Hermione sits up, uses her palm (oh, god, her wrists are so tiny, so bony, they were never like that before, before everything) to straighten her sheets, her face once again expressionless. She looks up at him and her vacant eyes fill with innocent cheer and she beams at him.

“Hel-lo!” she chirps again.

Ron turns his head to stare at the wall instead of her and fights the urge to gag.

&&&&

“Harder,” he pants against a neck that is warm and sweaty as a cock pounds in and out of him, “Faster,” he hisses.

His partner complies, and Ron instinctively bites his bottom lip to muffle a cry. He feels teeth press against his shoulder and his skin vibrates and tingles as Neville stifles a cry against his shoulder.

There’s a quiet ‘shluck’ing sound as Neville slides out of him, and collapses beside him. Ron wiggles – it’s strange to feel simply sore and disgustingly slimy down there without the cruel, excruciating pain and he wonders at it. He reaches out with an arm and touches Neville on the arm and turns his head to look at him.

Neville’s eyes, grey and solemn, stare back at Ron, and they are both silent and there’s an understanding that Ron doesn’t understand, but he’s grateful for it nevertheless.

The bed dips as Neville sits up and slides off of the bed and begins dressing. Ron lies still, watching him from his entangled position in the disorderly sheets.

Neville finishes, and hovers slightly by the doorway. “Bye,” he says, lamely, and leaves quietly.

“Bye,” Ron echoes, and wonders where Harry is.

But thinking about Harry makes him think about Snape and about Harry and Snape, and thinking of them makes Ron think of Peter, and he doesn’t know much anymore, but he knows he doesn’t want to.

Ron takes a shower and makes the water so hot that it nearly scalds his skin.

&&&&

Ginny screams, and screams, and screams, and all Ron can see is blood, blood, blood and he turns around and throws up his lunch all over the front of George’s robes.

“Hey now,” George protests, looking down at himself in disgust, but Fred shakes his head at him and he presses his lips together.

“No,” Ginny is sobbing, “It hurts, it hurts, make it stop, Mum, please, please…” Through the door, mediwitches and wizards can be heard snapping instructions back and forth and Molly’s voice drifts through the door, cracking over syllables and Ron can imagine her face – pale, stricken, heart broken – her little baby, her sweet daughter is having a baby, yet no one knows who the father is.

No one truly wants to know.

Get away, he thinks irrationally, get away, must get away, and he whirls around and runs.

He’s in Hermione’s hall, and all around him, Ron can hear the desolate cries of people who continue to live a nightmare in their minds. Bile rises in his throat when he recognizes someone trying determinedly to wrench out of imaginary handcuffs, struggling, screaming – a Hufflepuff boy (man?), who was in his year.

Ron turns away, and he shouts in surprise at who he sees behind him, face pale and worried.

“Neville,” Ron says, and then his tongue is in Neville’s mouth and it doesn’t matter who did what or what they’re doing because they’re both broken and needing and Neville pounds Ron against the door of a broom closet, wooden handles and cleaning supplies slapping Ron in the calves.

&&&&

The baby is a girl.

“It’s so small,” Ron whispers, looking at the baby from a good three feet away as the nurse bathes and cares for her. Ginny is in the other room recovering (and whenever she looks at the babe, she starts crying and even Molly can’t look directly at the newborn innocent life).

“Poor thing looks sort of like Da,” Fred says, and it’s supposed to be a joke but even as Fred says it, his voice falls flat. The small group of people present look down or up or at a wall because Fred is sort of right, and they don’t want to remember that the tombstone behind the burrow marks an empty coffin and Arthur Weasley is on some old, forgotten battlefield, buried in a shallow grave.

Neville puts his hand on Ron’s shoulder – he shrugs it off and leaves the room.

Hermione doesn’t look at him today, and the mediwitch tells him that her condition is deteriorating, and she will probably never recover her mind.

Neville fucks him outside in an alleyway, and Ron buries his face in a sharp, bony shoulder that he still can’t associate with the soft, chubby cheeked boy who couldn’t find his toad.

&&&&

Hullo Ron, the postcard says at the top. It’s from Harry, and there is a huge, obnoxiously yellow animated sun on the back with a big smile-y face. It’s from America - California is scrawled in a perfectly messy way underneath the sun.

Ron puts it in a drawer, and doesn’t read it.

&&&&

Ron visits her every day, hoping she’ll remember something, anything or at least say something different than “hello.” Today, he brings her cinnamon rolls, a discovery of Fred’s.

There is another visitor there already, and Lupin looks up at Ron and they both freeze in surprise.

“Get away from her,” Ron snarls at him, because he don’t deserve to look at her, even if she’s been broken and stained the same way they all have, she’s Hermione, beautiful, brilliant, and bloody, stupidly brave and nothing will change that, even if she’s contained in a white, plastic room, giggling and forgetting everyone and everything whenever she turns her head.

She couldn’t have been anything but a Gryffindor.

“Ron,” Lupin starts, starting to stand up, but Ron won’t have any of it.

“Get out,” Ron snaps, “Get out, you filthy werewolf, don’t you dare think you have the right to get anywhere near her, you fucking bastard-”

“Mr. Weasely,” a familiar, calm voice says, “Watch your tongue.” The blue eyes do not twinkle or crinkle at the corners, but are cold with ice. Ron knows ice, he’s bathed in it, had it shoved in him in all sorts of crevices, swallowed it whole – Dumbledore can do nothing to him that hasn’t been done before by Bellatrix Lestrange, or Professor Nott or any of the other ‘teachers.’

Ron spits at Dumbledore’s feet. The man doesn’t look at him, but stares straight at Lupin instead.

“Ron,” Lupin tries again, sounding more alarmed this time.

Ron ignores him. “Well, isn’t it the great Albus Dumbledore,” he says scathingly, “Well, how are you? You’ve come to visit, have you? Come to see how your students are doing? It’s a little late, don’t you think, Headmaster?”

“Have you seen Hannah Abbot,” he asks, casually, but with an edge, “She’s the one who has to be restrained because she tries to claw her eyes out daily.” Dumbledore still isn’t looking at him, the fucker. “Cho Chang? Poor girl, they’re still trying to counter the spell that is making her melt.”

It was a curse, Ron remembers, the death of her master triggered it, and they can’t heal her other numerous injuries until they manage to stop it. Her agonized shrieking was the only way they were able to find her after, hanging from the ceiling by her pinkies. Her cell is at the very end of the hall, the door padlocked and the air thick with the magic of the many charms they've tried.

“Where were you?” Ron hisses at Dumbledore, “We needed you and you weren’t fucking there.”

It’s fair, Ron assures himself, when Dumbledore shakes slightly (he’s never seen the man show any weakness before, it unnerves him), because it was Dumbledore’s job to protect his students, protect Hogwarts and he'd failed miserably at it.

He deserves so much worse, Ron thinks darkly.

“Have you seen my sister?” Ron demands, placing himself right in front of Dumbledore, and righteous anger keeps him from faltering when he meets that intense blue gaze, “She’s had a baby, you know that, right? The Ministry’s thinking of having the baby –it’s a girl, by the way- put down because she could be the daughter of a Death Eater. She’s only a month old.”

“Stop,” Dumbledore commands him, but Ron only steps closer. He needs Dumbledore to understand, to know, to feel the same shame and guilt and disgust he feels in the pit of his stomach.

“They haven’t decided yet though,” Ron pushes on ruthlessly, “because the baby could be the child of almost any male that happened to be in that building. It could be one of the Creevey brother’s. It could be Neville’s.” He curls his lip at Dumbledore, and says, “It could be mine.”

Dumbledore walks out the door, and Ron goes after him and hears Lupin at his heels. “And my brother, Percy,” Ron says to Dumbledore’s back, “Do you want to know how he died?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “He died with my cock buried in his throat and Lucius Malfoy’s dick up his ass. They liked sick stuff like that. They got off on it.”

Dumbledore turns the corner ahead, and Ron pants with the effort of keeping up – Dumbledore is fast for such an old man. “You bastard,” Ron shouts, “Do you care? Or is your precious Harry the only one that matters? Or do you even? I bet you know all about the sick, perverted things that they did to him and you didn’t care, you only saw a tool, not the person, not the boy that he was, not the children that we all were!”

Lupin grabs uselessly at his shoulder, but Ron just drags him along. “Or did you get off on it too? Were you watching us get abused and fucked in everyway possible, your hand down your-” Ron turns the corner, and Dumbledore is waiting there, and the surprise of it makes him shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth.

“You know nothing,” Dumbledore hisses at him, and sweeps away.

“Something we have in common,” Ron muses to the empty space in front of him, feeling strangely cheated and cold, and Lupin stumbles into Ron’s back.

“O-oh, sorry, Ron,” Lupin stammers, and then tries again to apologize for the other thing, to explain, “Please, I couldn’t do anything about it, I didn’t know-”

“I don’t care,” Ron whispers, tiredly, he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, “Just leave.”

Lupin looks at him helplessly, almost angrily. Ron stares back at him flatly. The other man (thin like Hermione, he thinks, and more ragged than ever) sighs, and deflates visibly, pushing grey strands of hair out of his face. “I won’t leave,” Lupin says, finally, and Ron stiffens, “but I won’t go into her room. I’ll wait outside for you.”

Ron looks at him strangely, and then shrugs.

Hermione stares at the ceiling listlessly, giggles sporadically racking her body and Lupin’s lips are thin like Neville’s, but he doesn't (won’t) fuck Ron no matter how much Ron begs.

&&&&

The drawer is nearly overflowing with letters and packages, but Ron just starts using another drawer to house what Hedwig brings to him. He doesn't know why he can't bear looking at them.

Lupin introduces him to Muggle coffee houses, and they talk around everything important and when Ron goes to see Hermione later, he pulls Lupin in with him and holds his hand tightly as Hermione thrashes violently on the bed, laughing wildly as a mediwizard rushes in to sedate her.

&&&&

Ron enters the nursery, and he sees Ginny stands over the cradle, staring at her daughter. Tears stream down her face, and she sobs brokenly and looks at him. “I can’t love her,” Ginny wails, “She’s my daughter, and I’m supposed to love her but I can’t!”

He wraps his arms around her to comfort her, offer her what protection he can spare, like he would after another one of the teacher’s ‘family sessions,’ when they were allowed a little time together to breathe. “I can’t,” she sobs, “I see her, and I can only see them and there and she’s just a child,” and Ron shushes her and rocks her back and forth.

“I know,” he whispers into her hair, staring at the relaxed, round face of the small babe, “I know.”

&&&&

Neville tries to cuddle, and Ron jerks away, and realizes that the fucking has become softer, more loving and Neville looks at him hurt, face like a puppy dog that has been kicked, and Ron runs out of the hotel half naked, scandalizing a group of old, female tourists.

He Apparates to Lupin’s place, hysterical and making no sense and Lupin invites him in. Lupin’s bed is warm and Lupin-smelling. Ron tells him this, and Lupin smiles and only says, “Call me Remus.”

Ron tries it, and it tastes weird, so he says it several more times and Lupin— Remus, kisses him and there’s something about the way that Remus’ hands are entwined behind Ron’s head or how he closes his eyes and winces so very slightly as Ron enters him that scares the shit out of him, and the next morning, Ron leaves and takes all Harry’s unread letters and packages with him.

In Italy, Ron has to buy a bigger desk because two extra owls come with Hedwig to him every week.

&&&&

Ron wakes up one night staring up into hateful blue eyes that he knows intimately, a wand pressed painfully to his neck. “You ruined my life,” Malfoy hisses at him.

“No,” Ron tells him, “You fucked it up yourself.” He flicks his wand underneath the sheets and in one smooth motion, the curtains detach themselves from the windows with a loud ripping sound and wrap soundly around the blond.

Malfoy snarls at him and Ron looks at him, and revels in the feeling of knowing that he won’t get punished for this severely later somehow.

Ron writes a letter to the Ministry to inform them that Malfoy has escaped, and leaves it on his desk – he hasn’t got an owl anymore, he’ll just wait until Hedwig or one of the other two owls come.

Malfoy curses at him fluently and threatens him all night, and Ron doesn’t get anymore sleep that night.

&&&&

Malfoy has taken to recounting every single encounter he had during Voldemort’s new reign, in excruciating detail. Most of them involve Harry or Ron or Hermione, and Ron is proud of himself for managing to keep from reacting the way Malfoy expects him to, even when he wants nothing better than to beat the smirking, insufferable face in until there’s nothing left but a bloody mess.

“You’re pathetic,” Malfoy tells him abruptly, interrupting himself during a long soliloquy about an orgy that he orchestrated that Ron remembers very well and wishes he didn’t.

“You’re one to talk,” Ron mutters, rubbing his temples.

“Please,” Malfoy sneers, “I am hardly on the same level as you, Weasley.”

“Fuck you,” Ron snaps, irritated at Malfoy for being a jackass, and at himself for rising to the weak insult.

“Why not?” Malfoy says, smirking, and spreads out as provocatively, the loose chains attached to the handcuffs that Ron replaced the carpet with allowing him the leeway to do so. Ron looks away. “Don’t you want revenge,” Malfoy asks, “For everything that I did to you, to your friends… what we did to you?” Malfoy leers at him.

Ron looks at him. “No,” he says, struck by the honesty of his own answer, “I just want you to fucking shut up.”

Malfoy shuts up, and Ron is finally given blissful peace and quiet.

&&&&

Hands wrap around his throat, and Ron opens his eyes to look up at Malfoy, blue eyes gleaming with malice. “You’re an idiot,” Malfoy hisses at him, “You knew those cuffs wouldn’t hold me, didn’t you?” Yes, yes, he did, and Ron wants to know why Malfoy kept up with the farce for three days.

“Why?” Malfoy whispers, and Ron doesn’t know, but the hands let go of his throat, and he tries to draw in a deep breath but Malfoy slams his mouth down onto his, and his tongue wrestles furiously with Malfoy’s.

Ron shoves Malfoy off from on top of him and rolls them both over so that he is on top, and Malfoy’s wrists are pinned firmly above his head. “Are you going to fuck me,” Malfoy hisses at him, “Fuck me like I fucked you, huh, treat me like your fucking whore?”

“No,” Ron says, and dips his head down to lick a trail up Malfoy’s neck.

He makes love to Malfoy tonight and thinks of Remus and Neville, and of coffee and alleyways and kicked puppies. He thinks of Hermione and Harry, and of vacant looks and new hope and lost innocence and lost dreams. He thinks of Malfoy and of pride and foolishness and family loyalty as the pale body writhes under him, and afterwards, Ron sobs against Malfoy’s neck, and thinks he feels an extra wetness against his shoulder.

&&&&

On his desk the next morning, there is a paper that someone has scrawled, ‘I fucking hate you,’ on it, and Malfoy is gone, and Ron still has whosever wand it is that Malfoy stole.

The letters fill three overpriced boxes that Ron buys at the flea market, and the Muggle airport almost doesn’t let him through.

&&&&

“Ron?”

A whispered syllable, barely audible, makes Ron nearly walk into the doorway. “Hermione?” he croaks, and she smiles at him, her eyes no longer empty but old and his heart aches for her because he knows that she remembers everything and he sits down next to her on the bed and hugs her fiercely.

“Oh god,” he whispers into her hair, bushy and tickling his nose and she smells like bleach and detergent and she’s hugging him back and he loves her and, “Oh god,” he repeats, “I missed you so much.”

“I know,” Hermione says quietly, “I’ve missed you too.”

Ron moves back to give her some air, but he can’t stop touching her now, he holds onto her shoulders and looks her over and stumbles over his words. “I can’t- how did- w-when did this happen?”

“A couple weeks ago,” someone says from behind him, and Hermione’s eyes flick up to meet their eyes over Ron’s shoulder, and she smiles slightly.

“Hi Harry,” she says.

Ron is rendered speechless. “I- I- I- w-what?”

“I came back when Remus owled me,” Harry explains, and gives Ron a hug. “Why didn’t you answer my letters?” he mumbles into Ron’s ear, “Didn’t you get them?”

“Yes,” Ron says, numbly, because it’s Harry, Harry’s here, and his Hermione’s back and it’s the three of them again, it’s been so long, he loved, loves them so much and they left and now they’re back and he feels overwhelmed. He clutches Harry's shirt almost painfully with one hand, and Hermione puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Weasley,” Snape says darkly, appearing in the doorway, “Close your mouth. You look like a fool.” He shuts his mouth, and Harry lets go of Ron and straightens up and smiles at Snape, making Snape turn slightly pink and mutter in an annoyed way at himself.

Ron wasn’t sure if the sight was more adorable or disturbing.

He has to bite back hysterical laughter when Neville walks in, nearly trips over himself when he sees Ron, then walks back out stiffly, nearly running Lupin- Remus- Lupin over. “Ron,” Lupin says, surprised.

“Hi,” Ron chokes out. Hermione looks from him to Lupin and frowns.

Neville stalks back in and hugs Ron tightly. “Oomph,” Ron says into Neville’s chest, and then suddenly there is a huge group hug, minus Snape, who mutters something about tea and walks out.

Ron, to his complete embarrassment, bursts into tears.

&&&&

Ron sips tea as Lupin and Harry tell him about what has been happening. Snape and Harry sit across the table from him, holding hands, as Ron tries desperately to ignore that and the people that glance at the table and whisper loudly about the Boy-Who-Lived and his former Death Eater slave. Hermione sits to his left, and Neville to his right, and Lupin sits next to Harry.

He is quiet as Harry and Neville discuss how Malfoy managed to escape while being transported back to Azkaban after being found guilty at trial, and how less than a month later, he came back and turned himself back in.

“Come to think of it now,” Neville says, “he actually came back not too long before you got back, Ron.”

Neville’s hand slides into Ron’s hand, and Ron says, “Oh really?” and doesn’t look at Lupin, “What a coincidence.”

Small, delicate fingers caress his other hand, and Ron turns to look at Hermione, who smiles at him and she knows. She kisses his cheek carefully, and lets go of his hand, and he suddenly feels empty and cold. He watches her laugh good naturally as Harry admonishes her for barely touching her food, and she teases him for being like her mother (she looked just like her mother, Ron remembers, and Bellatrix had delighted in watching his face as she killed the woman who looked like his best friend but wasn’t, and Hermione’s scream had echoed in the halls).

Hermione pats his hand without looking at him, and takes a bite of her pasta at Harry’s urging and tears sting his eyes as he realizes she is letting him go. He wants to grab her and hold her and never let her go and beg her to never to leave him, but a frail-looking but surprisingly strong hand reaches across the table and yanks him forward and Lupin’s thin lips press against his firmly.

Ron’s brain flounders around inside his skull uselessly, and he responds automatically. Neville’s hand slips out of his, and Harry squeaks in surprise when his drink spills over his and Snape’s lap. Hermione coughs, and Lupin (Remus?) releases him, and sits down.

Harry looks shell-shocked, but Snape looks too busy cleaning off his clothes to care. Hermione smiles enigmatically, and Ron flops back into his seat, confusedly. Neville shifts away from him and gets out of the booth.

“Neville,” Ron says, and Neville pauses for a moment and glances back at Ron. He looks away, and walks out of the restaurant.

Everyone is staring at him, and Ron sinks down in his seat. “So,” Ron said weakly, “how are the Americas?”

&&&&

There is a key in Ron’s pocket that feels like it’s weighing him down, like instead of a few ounces, it’s really about twenty pounds. “You are always welcome in my home,” Remus (Ron doesn’t know whether it’s appropriate to call him Lupin or Remus and decides to just do what he’s told, it’d never failed him before) said, and gave the key to him.

He knocks on Neville’s door, and the key seems to have gained a few extra pounds. Neville opens the door, and they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Ron says.

Neville nods in response, and shifts from foot to foot. “I feel stupid,” he murmurs lowly, and a shiver runs down Ron’s spine. He remembers that voice, lips pressed against his skin, warm air ghosting down his chest… Ron shakes himself.

“Why?”

Neville turns away, and his sentences run over each other. “Because I- but you don’t- and P-professor Lupin-”

He doesn’t really make any sense, but Ron understands and he kisses him because he wants to and because stopping the tripping flow of words does more good than bad. “I do,” Ron mutters, and struggles with a headache.

Neville frowns in confusion. “Then, Professor Lupin?”

Remus hasn’t been ‘Professor Lupin’ in a long time, but Ron just says, “Yes.”

Neville stares at him.

And then he shuts the door in Ron’s face.

&&&&

“This is fucked up,” Ron sighs to Hermione, and she pats his shoulder comfortingly.

“He’ll come around eventually?” she says hopefully, and links her arm in his.

Ron grins down at her, and says, “We’ll see. Now, for a tour of your new home…” and he proceeds to show her around the Burrow, like she probably doesn’t know it better than he does, and she laughs at him through his entire narrative he entitles ‘The Burrow; the most enduring house on the whole bloody planet.’

&&&&

“So,” Harry says, sitting down on the bed in front on Ron, so they are face to face, “Neville. And… Lupin.”

“So,” Ron parrots, “Snape.” Ron understands it, he really does. If Peter… Ron shakes his head.

It’s silent. They’ve never really made a habit of discussing anything like this, even before… everything.

Finally, Harry stands up, and pats his shoulder. “I’m happy for you,” he says, and leaves.

&&&&

Ginny comes home from the hospital, and she doesn’t mention his absence at all. She just smiles at him and gives him a hug, and uses him for several different menial tasks. Ron can now diaper a baby in less than ten seconds. George is bitter – his best time is twelve seconds.

“She’s grown so big,” Ron remarks, as he attempts to feed her, dangling the baby bottle filled with solution tantalizingly in front of her. She squeals and reaches out for the bottle expectantly.

Ginny smiles. “Babies tend to do that,” she teases, and laughs when he makes a face at her. “Did I tell you what I named her yet?” she asks.

“No,” he says, and the baby shrieks happily and hits Ron in the nose.

“Carys,” Ginny says proudly, and he looks at her. Her face is almost glowing with happiness. “It means ‘love’ in Welsh or something.”

Ron is quiet for a moment, and then he gets up off his knees and gives his sister a hug. “Good for you,” he tells her, and she sighs happily.

“Thank you,” she whispers into his chest, and beams up at him.

Carys squealed happily and claps her hands, and chuckling, the two of them turn their attention back to her.

&&&&

Ron knocks on the door. When no one answers immediately, he knocks harder and faster. The door wrenches open, and Ron has to stop his fist from colliding with Remus’ face.

“Hello,” Remus says, looking bemused.

“Hi,” Ron says, and kisses him hard.

Remus blinks when Ron releases him. “Oh,” he says, and pulls Ron in.

&&&&

Harry smiles at Snape, and no matter how strange it still seems to Ron, he can admit that his friend has probably never looked happier.

“Must you go,” Hermione states, rather than asks, “We will miss you so much.” She hugs him, and Ron joins in, making it a group hug. Snape moves as far away from them as he can get while still holding Harry’s hand.

“I know,” Harry mumbles into Ron’s forehead, “but I’ll come visit. I promise.”

“You better,” Ron says, his voice rough with emotion and he hugs them a little tighter before stepping back.

Hermione lets go of Harry too, and takes Ron’s hand in hers as Harry waves at them, and in the next second, he and Snape are gone.

“I wish he wouldn’t leave,” Hermione says wistfully.

“Yeah,” Ron says, though the last part of the word is suddenly much less melancholy as Remus walks forward to take his other hand. Hermione eyes the two of them with good humor and shakes her head, laughing quietly.

“Oh,” she suddenly gasps, “Oh, Ron, look.”

He looks, and he sees Neville walking towards them, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, looking nervous. Ron glances over at Remus, who looks far too innocent, and Ron frowns at him for being sneaky.

Neville stops a few feet away from them, and Ron lets go of Hermione’s and Remus’ hands and steps toward him.

“So,” Neville says.

“Hi,” Ron says at the same time, and bites his lip when Neville’s mouth suddenly clamps shut.

Neville peers up at him sheepishly and shyly. “Do you-” he starts tentatively.

“Yes,” Ron says, before he’s finished.

Neville nods. “Good,” he says, and Neville kisses him softly and Ron sighs happily.

“You’re a good man,” Hermione whispers to Remus.

He shrugs, still watching them. “I love him,” Remus says, “I want him to be happy,” and Hermione nods.

“Yeah,” she says, and watches the sun come up, “Me too.”


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